#hong kong police? more like attempted murderers

[homosexuhauls]

I haven't seen anyone mention it on here, most likely because English language news sources are reporting them as friends, but a man murdered a lesbian couple in Hong Kong last week.

(Twitter thread includes more sources and proof of the two victims being in a relationship. However, video of the attack exists online and some of the photos in Chinese news articles are graphic/disturbing. Please proceed with caution.)

Fang Xiaotong (26 years old) and Liu Jixi (22 years old) were stabbed to death by a 39 year old man in a targeted attack in a shopping mall. Allegedly, he purchased the knife only after seeing the visibly gay couple, then attacked Fang Xiaotong, who was a Tom, which has a similar meaning to a butch or stud or masc lesbian. Liu Jixi attempted to intervene to save her girlfriend, but the perpetrator stabbed her also. Bystanders and mall security did not intervene, although eventually chefs who worked at the mall heard screams and armed themselves with stools before attempting to stop the attacker. The perpetrator then waited calmly for the police, and both women were pronounced dead at the hospital. While Western sources are painting this as a result of mental illness, the video and local news stories make it clear that this was likely a hate crime.

(Nb. I've also seen their names given as Fong Hiu-tung and Lau Kai-hei, and also that they may have used the nicknames "Daniel" and "Amber". I can't know which names they would have preferred to be used, hence why I'm including all of them here but using Fang Xiaotong and Liu Jixi throughout the post for consistency and clarity.)

From Naomi Wu, whose twitter thread I've linked above, an explanation of the sometimes deadly hostilities Toms and other lesbians face in China and Hong Kong:

When men attack Toms (butches), they think a lot of things- sometimes in Chinese we say "one lesbian steals two men's wives"- herself and her partner. And for bitter middle-aged, unmarried men like this attacker, they've been told their whole life they are owed a wife to wait on them hand and foot- and they feel robbed and wronged by a young handsome Tom taking what's "theirs". They are angry, entitled, jealous- they want to teach her a lesson. They want to punish her for having what is rightfully theirs when they don't. Then it's "Oh, if you want to act like a man, I'll treat you like one". Most need to justify it to themselves to get started. Of course, the femme/Dee/P is always next, because we will fight to save our Tom, and once we do, they can justify turning their violence on us next. In their twisted head, they decide their unprovoked attack was "fighting 1-on-1" and it's our fault for getting involved. All Toms know the deal, they cannot win, all Toms tell their girls again and again "if something happens, just run, I can take it". When the time comes, all Toms try to buy their girl time to get away- even as they go down under fists and boots...or knives They want to buy us time, but no femmes can bear to leave them, so it never works. But they always go for our Toms first, then us. Every time.

Fang Xiaotong was a waiter in a high-end restaurant. She loved small animals and children and had lived with her mother and step-sister prior to moving in with Liu Jixi one to two months before the attack. Liu Jixi was a hair stylist and also worked part-time at a bar, which is apparently where she and Fang Xiaotong met. On the day of the attack, both women were planning to meet up with Fang Xiaotong's family to celebrate her grandfather's birthday.

Rest in peace 🫶 your courage will not be forgotten.

[aelloposchrysopterus]

From Albia with "Love"

It is an undeniable truth that Albia has a sense of humor. It is also undeniable that Albia acts with a sense of impunity because, as far as anyone knows, she is the only God-Queen left, and mere mortals have a difficult time getting her to play by their rules, let alone attempt to have any accountability.

Trelawney Thorpe likes to open her mail carefully in the event of any surprises, especially when anything is postmarked as being from Albia. It was a lesson learned the hard way. When your employer’s a millennia-old God-Queen, you have to get use to dangerous things (like, say, a cursed amulet) getting sent to your door, because of course you’ll be able to deal with it before your morning cuppa, right? Spark of the Realm and all that?

Trelawney sometimes wishes she could quit her job. She was getting jealous of the celebrity Tarvek Sturmvoraus, who just gadded about as he pleased, being a spark and saving the day and, yes, occasionally getting into trouble. For the head fashion designer of the Storm King brand, he was quite roguish — and she likes that about him.

She likes that about all of his jet-setting crowd, she can’t deny that. She likes the Gilgamesh Wulfenbach candid photos where he’s caught in dubious situations and he can’t worm his way out of it, so he just gives the camera that deadpan libertine stare of his, suit jacket hung over one shoulder only. She likes reading the Agatha Heterodyne arrest reports from each time she goes full madgirl. Agatha, Gil, and Tarvek, toasting on the runway and on the runway. She likes — and hates that she likes — that they’re all power brokers, each in their own way.

Albia knows about the folder on Trelawney’s phone labelled “Gil” that’s mostly a collection of the most roguish photos of Gil, outside the notorious nightclubs of Paris and the shadiest bars in New York, the sleaziest pubs in London and the most dubious casino backrooms of Monaco. Albia also knows that Gil is wanted by the police for questioning in an investigation into the murder of Omar von Zinzer. Albia, eternally wise, knows that Trelawney capturing Gil would greatly bolster Trelawney’s career, which is slightly stagnating after the Budapest debacle.

(What Albia doesn’t know is that Trelawney has matching folders for Agatha and Tarvek, that technically Agatha is more responsible for von Zinzer’s death than anyone else still alive, and that Trelawney really, really, really wants to quit.)

At 09:00 GMT on 20 May, Gilgamesh “Gil” Wulfenbach is spotted leaving a party in the Beverly Hills area of Los Angeles, looking severely and abnormally intoxicated.

At 20:00 GMT on 20 May, a British military flight from Los Angeles lands at Chequers.

At 01:24 GMT on 21 May, Bangladesh “Bang” DuPree, a Silicon Valley exec, reports Gil Wulfenbach missing after he failed to show up to a lunch meeting and she was unable to contact him. She is told to call again when he’s been gone for 48 hours.

At 01:47 GMT on 21 May, Agatha Heterodyne reports Gil Wulfenbach missing after he failed to return to their luxury estate in Montecito after the party. She is told to call again when he’s been gone for 48 hours and a partial transcript of her call is leaked, turning her into the front page of the next day’s tabloids.

At 06:28 GMT on 21 May, a package is dropped off at Trelawney Thorpe’s Ealing apartment, postmarked from Chequers. She moves it inside but does not open it, instead choosing to leave for her job as an MI5 analyst.

At 07:13 GMT on 21 May, the business magnate Klaus Wulfenbach is interrupted during a late-afternoon meeting in Hong Kong by a call from Bang DuPree that notifies him of his son’s disappearance.

At 07:19 GMT on 21 May, Tarvek Sturmvoraus listens to a voicemail left by Agatha Heterodyne while in Lagos, preparing for a semi-major fashion show.

At 07:25 GMT on 21 May, Violetta Mondarev, an angel investor, receives a text from Tarvek Sturmvoraus and immediately books a private jet from Sofia to Paris.

At 07:33 GMT on 21 May, Xerxesphina “Seffie” von Blitzengaard, an influencer currently based in Milan, reads a screenshot of Tarvek Sturmvoraus’s text to Violetta Mondarev, sent to her by her close friend and personal self-help guru Sparafucile.

At 07:46 GMT on 21 May, Colette Voltaire, president of France, is called by Seffie von Blitzengaard during a national security meeting. She hangs up but promises to call back.

At 08:00 GMT on 21 May, Colette Voltaire calls Seffie von Blitzengaard back.

At 08:27 GMT on 21 May, Sparafucile takes a flight from Milan to Los Angeles.

At 09:01 GMT on 21 May, a very stressed Tarvek Sturmvoraus gets off the phone with Agatha Heterodyne and creates a WhatsApp group composed of himself, Agatha Heterodyne, Bang DuPree, Klaus Wulfenbach, Violetta Mondarev, Seffie von Blitzengaard, Sparafucile, Colette Voltaire, and Gil Wulfenbach’s right hand man, Ardsley Wooster.

At 09:06 GMT on 21 May, the WhatsApp group reaches the consensus that they will not find Gil Wulfenbach anytime in the next few hours. They collectively agree to take the search down a notch and amp it up once Bang DuPree and Agatha Heterodyne are able to report Gil Wulfenbach missing.

At 09:07 GMT on 21 May, Ardsley Wooster, an MI6 agent, texts his handler to make them aware of the current status of the Gil Wulfenbach situation and make sure that Queen Albia didn’t have anything to do with it.

At 09:09 GMT on 21 May, Ardsley Wooster texts his friend Trelawney Thorpe.

At 11:02 GMT on 21 May, Violetta Mondarev lands in Paris.

At 11:15 GMT on 21 May, Klaus Wulfenbach hosts a press conference in Hong Kong about his missing son, calling for his safe return.

At 11:17 GMT on 21 May, screenshots of text messages between Tarvek Sturmvoraus and Gil Wulfenbach are leaked to the tabloids.

At 11:23 GMT on 21 May, the article “Gilvek: Fact of Fiction?” is posted online, along with an accompanying quiz called “Who Said It?: Twilight, the Bard, or Gilvek?” that gives readers quotes from the leaked Tarvek Sturmvoraus-Gil Wulfenbach texts, the Twilight series, and Shakespeare plays.

At 11:36 GMT on 21 May, Tarvek Sturmvoraus takes advantage of the media storm around the leaked text messages to release an appeal he calls “Help Me Find My (and Agatha’s) Boyfriend”. The original video is viewed over 2000 times within fifteen minutes.

At 12:02 GMT on 21 May, Agatha Heterodyne releases her video, “Help Me Find My (and Tarvek’s) Boyfriend”. Her video is viewed over 2500 times withing fifteen minutes.

At 12:14 GMT on 21 May, Klaus Wulfenbach is ambushed by a reporter and admits he did not know that his son was in a polycule with Agatha Heterodyne and Tarvek Sturmvoraus.

At 12:18 GMT on 21 May, the WhatsApp group agrees to a policy of total silence following the debacle that is the tabloids trying to get in on the “Agagilvek” story.

At 12:19 GMT on 21 May, Ardsley Wooster texts Trelawney Thorpe, begging her to check her phone.

At 16:25 GMT on 21 May, Trelawney Thorpe checks her phone and leaves work early.

At 16:45 GMT on 21 May, Trelawney Thorpe arrives at her Ealing apartment.

She enters the flat carefully and gently kicks the box that arrived that morning.

It springs back.

“Bloody hell,” she mutters. She finds the nearest packing knife she has and gently cuts away the tape, taking photos as she goes. If Albia did this… Once she’s cut all the tape away, she opens the lid tenderly, hoping to not be surprised by what’s inside.

She is, of course, surprised, because who else but Albia would send a murder suspect kidnapped in a different country through the Royal Mail to the Spark of the Realm. She regains her composure rather quickly. She can’t do anything while Gil Wulfenbach is still unconscious, so she won’t do anything. She’ll just text Ardsley and hope like crazy that he’ll get here before Gil wakes up, but she knows he’s in New York right now because of course he is, so he probably won’t.

Violetta Mondarev, her one-time-flame, is, however, in Paris (they still share their locations with each other), which is close enough. While Trelawney knows that Letta would still come running if she called, she feels guilty about it. The breakup was… fine, it was just because Trelawney didn’t think she would be able to do long-distance when Letta decided she needed to be based in New York, and since the breakup was on her… Trelawney always hesitates before asking Letta for anything.

Ardsley first. Trelawney texts Ardsley Wooster the photo of Gil in the box with the caption “send help albia’s really done it this time”.

She then overcomes the fear of bothering Letta and calls Violetta Mondarev. Her contact still has a heart in it; Trelawney could never bring herself to get rid of it.

“Letta,” she says when Violetta picks up.

“Hey, Tawny!” Violetta replies, cheerful as ever. It was through Letta that Trelawney had met Tarvek and his group of friends, but Trelawney had never heard Letta as happy around all her friends as she sounded right them. “You need something?”

Trelawney swallowed her pride. “Yes. I… I… I need you to come to my flat as soon as you can. I can’t talk about it on the phone, but Letta, I need you.” Well, that was desperate.

“Okay, Tawny, I’ll be right there. I’m chartering a plane and I’ll get there in two-ish hours, okay? Everything’s going to be fine.” She could hear Letta starting to type on a computer, presumably chartering a jet.

“Thanks, Letta,” she says.

Letta laughs on the other end of the line. “Oh, it’s my pleasure. Look, see you soon, okay? I’ll be there in two hours.”

Trelawney is deprived of the ability to respond by Violetta hanging up the phone.

She paces her flat for two hours, waiting for Gil to wake up (he doesn’t) or Ardsley to respond (he doesn’t, either, because he doesn’t know what to say or who to say it to, and he can’t get over to London fast enough) or just anything at all to happen. She’s fought monsters before, she engineers fantastic contraptions to save the day on a regular basis, she’s the Spark of the Realm, she should be able to deal with anything. It’s just that, well, unconscious Gil Wulfenbach on her living room floor is a little bit outside of her comfort zone.

Violetta Mondarev, true to her word, arrives in two hours. She sees Gil lying on the floor as soon as Trelawney lets her in.

“Tawny… this is an Albia thing again, isn’t it?” She points at Gil, who’s beginning to stir a tiny bit.

Trelawney nods.

“And you called me because I’m adjacent to the Agagilvek jet-setting crew, so I’d be more able to deal with this than you?”

“Letta, I’m translucent when it comes to you,” Trelawney tries to laugh.

Violetta grins. “Oh, Tawny…” They both get lost in each other’s eyes for a few minutes.

“Ladies. What.” Gil’s voice comes up from the floor.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Trelawney says.

“Where am I?” Gil asks.

Violetta smirks. “The floor of Trelawney Thorpe’s Ealing flat, exactly where Albia sent you.”

“Uh, I’m wanted for murder here, aren’t I?” His face is a perfect specimen of horror.

“Technically, just for questioning,” Trelawney rolls her eyes.

“And so what are we going to do?” He asks. “I don’t know about you, but I’m personally not a fan of being questioned by British police.”

“That’s unavoidable,” Violetta says. “Look, I’m going to call Agatha and Tarvek and tell them to get their butts over here, since you three were involved in that whole von Zinzer disaster. Once they’re here, Trelawney will turn you over. Klaus’ll have a panic attack and Trelawney will come clean about Albia ordering your kidnapping, okay?”

“That’s… surprisingly amenable for one of Tarvek’s Smoke Knights,” Gil says.

Violetta grins. “Tawny, you on board?”

“Yep,” Trelawney says.

Six months later, Agatha Heterodyne is throwing the party of the century in an Irish castle she somehow owns, celebrating the conclusion of the von Zinzer murder trial and the acquittal of Gil Wulfenbach. Trelawney Thorpe is there, a minor celebrity in her own right after her fiery resignation letter from her position as Spark of the Realm that had implicated Albia in various illegal acts beyond just kidnapping Gil (Interpol had given her a job offer right after that, but she’d rejected it to take time to decide what she wants to do). She stands off to the side, watching Agatha, Gil, and Tarvek Sturmvoraus lovingly and tenderly interact with each other. Some emotion deep within her is activated.

Letta’s got to be around here somewhere. She passes the buffet table, where Ardsley Wooster has gotten himself into a heated discussion with Sparafucile about where six slices of American bacon and two fried eggs is a good breakfast. Bang DuPree is over by the fountain, fighting with Zeetha Wulfenbach, Gil’s sister and Agatha’s best friend who had just returned from a twelve-month off-the-grid survival adventure with her boyfriend Axel Higgs. Over at the tennis courts, Seffie von Blitzengaard is flirting with Colette Voltaire, who is trying to not get caught in a romantic entanglement with a foreign national by the French media. Klaus Wulfenbach stares pensively into a pond, wondering where exactly everything went so wrong. She walks by Van von Mekkhan, the property manager for much of the Agagilvek set, and Moloch von Zinzer (who, despite Agatha’s involvement in his brother’s death, remains her right-hand man) trying to fix a broken window that had happened when Gil’s latest drone adventure had deviated from the flight plan. Violetta Mondarev is nowhere to be seen.

Trelawney Thorpe turns a corner of a hallway a bit too fast and collides with someone; they both skid on the stone floor, spinning slightly.

Trelawney stands up as soon as she can. “I’m so sorry —”

“Don’t be,” Violetta Mondarev says. “Tawny, I ran into you.”

“Oh, Letta, but I hit you.”

“We both hit each other, and we’ll be here all day if we want to determine whose fault that is.”

“I’d spend all day with you, Letta.”

“If this is your way of hinting to me you want to get back together, yes, Tawny.”

“I don’t care that we’d be long-distance —”

“I’m moving to London.” Violetta smiles. “I’ve been planning it for a while. We won’t be long-distance starting, oh, early next month.”

Trelawney jumps up and hugs Violetta.

“Uh, can I have a little bit less of the suffocation?” Violetta asks, gently prying Trelawny’s arms off her.

“Right, sorry, I forgot,” Trelawney says.

Two years after that, the angel investor marries the MI5 analyst-turned-spy novelist. After they return from their honeymoon, they start opening their wedding presents.

From Agatha Heterodyne, a miniature Fun Sized Mobile Agony and Death Dispenser, with the attached note of “Remember Budapest, when great times were had by all”.

From Tarvek Sturmvoraus, a set of fine linen, embroidered with maps of places that he thought were significant to them.

From Gil Wulfenbach, a cardboard box with the tag “From Albia with ‘Love’” that contained the wedding cake toppers that had mysteriously disappeared after the reception, along with a letter.

Trelawney and Violetta —

Congratulations on the marriage! We’re so happy for you.

Agatha thought you’d like a memento of Budapest, which Tarvek thought was a bit tactless, but in the end, we agreed that it was certainly a memorable time for all. Tarvek went with the linen because — sorry, Trelawney — he didn’t think that the current set you have was very pretty (Gil disagreed, but we’ve all seen that coat of his, so his color sense is automatically disqualified). Gil insisted on stealing the cake toppers and doing this whole thingamajig with the box as his way of (finally) thanking you for dealing with the time Albia kidnapped him. We were all worried sick.

We hope you’ve had a wonderful honeymoon! If you’re not deathly sick of travelling by now, we’d like to invite you to join us in Geneva for the holidays this year.

Your friends,

Agatha & Gil & Tarvek

Read on AO3.

[cantsayidont]

MY NAME (2021): Pulpy, violent, derivative Korean crime drama about a young woman named Yoon Ji-woo (Han So-hee) who sets out to avenge the murder of her gangster father by joining the gang of which he was a member and then, at the behest of the organization's crafty boss, Choi Mu-jin (Park Hee-soon), infiltrating the Inchang Metropolitan Police under an assumed name to find her father's supposed killer, a senior narcotics cop (the avuncular Kim Sang-ho).

The plot (whose major beats you'll likely anticipate just based on the preceding synopsis) is kind of a gender-swapped riff on the Hong Kong film INFERNAL AFFAIRS (remade in the U.S. as THE DEPARTED), with some echoes of John Woo's Hong Kong classics (in particular HARD-BOILED), albeit executed with far less thematic unity. There are some stylish moments, but MY NAME never finds a consistent groove, and it only occasionally goes hard enough to compensate for its awkward pacing, clunky structure, and numerous lapses in plausibility and plot logic. Only in the finale does the show serve up the emotional grandiosity needed to give the bloodshed some real juice, and it's still let down somewhat by a weak coda.

Park's cool charisma is a major load-bearing element throughout, but Han, curiously, is more convincing in the action scenes than the quieter moments, perhaps because the scripts struggle to give Ji-woo (or any of the show's very few female characters) any meaningful interiority. An ill-advised early time-skip also undermines the clarity of her motivations and priorities, which too often leaves her seeming like a supporting character in her own story. CONTAINS LESBIANS? There are barely any women other than Ji-woo. VERDICT: Moderately diverting if you can stomach the brutal violence, but even its strongest moments feel recycled from earlier, better examples of this genre. CWs apply for attempted sexual violence in the first two episodes, and episodes six and seven include some scenes of graphic self-harm.

[lavaeolus]

Shadows of Hong Kong: The Minimum-Kills Run

Last year I attempted what was basically a Shadowrun: Hong Kong pacifist run. Essentially we played a perfectionist Shadowrunner who preferred clean ops: they used charm and guile to complete objectives without violence, and if combat did break out, used Duncan to subdue enemies non-lethally. On a good run, we were the ideal Shadowrunner. On a bad run, well...

Now, you might wonder why it's been over a year between installments. After all, the DLC isn't that long. The truth is that our ethos doesn't translate. Or at least, it's been changed radically. We could beat the main campaign without killing a single metahuman, and only a few key runs threw heavy combat at us. Neither of that's true any more. Many enemy types now no-sell AP damage entirely thanks to JoltAlert, and our slow-and-steady approach to enemy removal will now frequently have us sustaining ourselves through multiple waves of enemies.

Still, you may as well strap yourself in. The campaign's on the shorter side, so that means you can have a full breakdown this time. How many people do you have to kill in Shadows of Hong Kong?

Mission-by-mission report

Rude Awakening: We actually get through this mission with no kills recorded, despite gunning a captain down. Maybe it's something to do with the plot-radio he's carrying messing up the scripting. If you like, mentally increase the kill-count by 1. Unfortunately we can't save the civilians from the police, since we can't enter Pang's restaurant while in combat and one of the officers involved is another captain with JoltAlert. If you're questioning me leaving a bunch of civilians to die to complete a run smoothly: absolutely, you've got a point. Given the themes of the story, I like to think of this as an opening descent of sorts. After all, we've been shadowrunning for a while and have evidently reached the point of executing the odd person here-or-there. We're still keeping to a code of keeping the bodycount low on the job, but mayhaps we've gotten a little too used to the casualties this line of work can leave.

The Tiger's Den: The key fight takes place shortly after Lam's betrayal. It's terrible to have your own tactics turned against you, but not much can be done to stop the shock-baton heavies crawling out of the woodwork, bashing poor Gaichu over the head again and again. I could've set the turrets to lethal mode, but while I've used it as a measure, I'm not strictly trying to game the kill-count here. (Fun fact: I think in Dragonfall at least, DOTs will sometimes avoid adding to it. You know, if you want to do a murder-everyone no-kill run.) So that means the turrets are peppering away at the AP of my enemies, but they don't have much of a sense of who to prioritise. Still, by drawing aggro they make this whole affair just that bit easier. We subdue all we can, but by the end 7 police members die by our party's hand. Once the main fight's done, however, we're under no obligation to fight anyone on the rooftops or car park. We sprint past the AP-damage-abusing bastards to safety.

Detention: While the other optional mission requires you to fight (and kill!) things right from the start, here fighting can be delayed until the end of the mission. In an expansion that frequently ensures you end combat before progressing, it's a change of pace to just be able to run past the drones on the rooftop. Things wrap up with, of course, a mass group fight, but we can try to keep casualties to a minimum as chaos rides. I did side with a corp here, which makes the fight a little easier.

Tai Po: We have to kill one person outside the warehouse and then it's time for the final showdown. As far as I can tell, we can't grab the spider-drone controller without having killed some captains, so we take out all four of them the hard way. Fortunately, the evidence to persuade Krait is accessible. That doesn't mean our final fight gives us much room for mercy, though. We subdue what few we can while unloading on the rest. In the end, 12 of our recorded 19 kills come from this mission, but that count includes the spiders. When Krait finally appears, we tell her to shove off; she complies. As to whether we leave Shadowrunning behind now that the bodies are piling up or finish things by pulling Qiu from a burning building, well, I'll let you decide.

Wrapping things up

So that was Shadows of Hong Kong. I don't know if it was to provide a challenge and test for endgame builds, to provide a sense of escalation after facing an actual god, or an overcorrection to complaints of Hong Kong being too combat-light; but whatever the case, it certainly gave my team a good workout.

Unfortunately, Shadows doesn't have quite the polish of the base game. While it's absolutely hit-or-miss in terms of reactivity, the main campaign will occasionally deign to acknowledge a few subduals: the thugs at the start, leaving Gaichu tied up, sparing the Plastic-Faced Man's mistress. I don't think there's any such moments in Shadows.

Still, the job's done and all-told are hands our as clean as they could be. Fun to dust off this old stunbolt-enthuasiast of a character and bring their story to a close. As bloody as that ending might be.

[ahgaseda]

phoenix | one

I’ll be the phoenix, leave it to me, we be flying, spread your wings behind your back, they call us phoenix, ride or die, ride or die...

summary : the clock is ticking as you recount your passionate affair with Jackson, the most wanted man in Shanghai, to the people trying desperately to catch him, but no one - including you - knows if he will risk his life to save yours.

warnings : strong profanity, explicit dialogue, mentions of blood and violence, references to drug and alcohol use, graphic sexual content, self-destructive themes, potentially triggering elements involving kidnapping, arson, etc.

miniseries chapters : one / two / three / four / five / six / seven

The chains rattled on the steel table. The cold cuffs wrapped around your wrists were anchored to the surface, looped through a bolt. You weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

It had been a quiet Thursday night. Nothing out of the ordinary to note. You left your apartment and went out for dinner. The steak was cooked just right. Your company of friends were lighthearted and buzzing from wine, but for once didn’t grill you about your relationship.

On the way home, you were ambushed. You put up a fight, of course, knowing all the while it was futile. The men had descended on you like thieves in the night and none of them were gentle.

Shoved into a chair and fastened to the table, you were read your rights, but by their tones, you had none. Five hours had passed since your less than legal arrest. The clock slipped past midnight a while ago. There was no telling when you would be reported missing, if at all.

Your closest friends knew you vanished from time to time. It was that good for nothing guy you dated, whisking you away to god knows where, they often jeered. Envy was ugly.

He was on your mind. He would notice your absence. Especially the empty space left in his bed.

The detective slapped a file in front of you, but the loud smack that echoed through the room did little to rouse you at this ungodly hour. He was middle-aged and the lines of his face were hard, furrowed. You wondered about the kind of people often in your current position. Gangsters, killers, and the like. You had done nothing to warrant the same treatment.

“Am I being charged with a crime?” you asked, poised and calm as you had been trained. You tossed the idea of trying to speak to them in their native tongue the moment you were booked. Your Mandarin was rudimentary and would likely get you into more trouble. “You have no right to hold me here, chained up like a criminal.”

He shot back, “You are at the center of a government investigation.”

Those words alone should have sent your heart somewhere to the pit of your stomach, but you knew better. All your life, you had been a law abiding citizen. But they treated you like you were wickedness personified.

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” you replied, head held high. You dared not give them an inch. You couldn’t afford it.

He glanced at you over the rim of his glasses, eyes scathing. His reply was bitter, dripping with disdain, “Your lover has done plenty.”

You didn’t argue. It was abundantly clear you had no rights in this damned metal box. Lover; the word lingered in your mind a second or two. Yes, he was your lover. No man had loved you like him and no man ever would again.

Was he in love with you? Not even God knew the answer to that.

The detective finally took the seat across from you, in an attempt of appearing more diplomatic. His shouting and intimidation had gone nowhere.

“Tell me about your relationship with Jackson Wang.”

Your eyes fluttered. Just hearing his name made your heart spin. The boy owned you - mind, body and soul. Lacing your fingers together in front of you, you lied, “I don’t have one.”

The detective snorted. Then, he withdrew a photo from the file and placed it before you.

There you were in black and white, centered in a scope that for all you knew could have belonged to a sniper’s rifle, caught up in Jackson’s arms as he kissed you with abandon. Passion flowed freely from every inch of the photograph. It belonged on display in a gallery for twisted, ill-fated lovers.

You could still remember that day in the picture clearly, how it felt when he pushed you up against the window. The glass was frigid on your back, but did nothing to rival the heat of his body against yours.

Jackson always felt as if he carried the entirety of Hell inside him.

You lifted your gaze from the image at last and murmured, “A moment of weakness… a long time ago.”

The detective didn’t believe you for a second. He rifled through more pages in the file and fanned them out in front of you. “Phone records. Travel logs. Looks like you live in a constant moment of weakness,” he sneered. There was no doubt he resented having to share the same oxygen as you; a woman that willingly slept with the devil himself.

“I do,” you retorted, almost regretting the words when they left your tongue.

The detective raised his voice angrily, “Jackson Wang is singlehandedly running the underworld of Shanghai and is a major player in the open rebellion against the People’s Republic.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. One day you knew you would be confronted with what he was, what he had done. There were nights you lay awake, wondering if you slept in the arms of a murderer.

The detective tapped his finger on the table and the noise brought back your attention. His face was severe, red from stifling his rage. To him, you were a valuable pawn, but a pawn nonetheless. His ass was on the line. Perhaps you were the one and only chance he would get at piercing Jackson’s armor.

“I have no information to give,” you answered quietly. “I know nothing of that. Nothing.”

He had gathered that. From the months they had you under surveillance, you were never seen near any of Jackson’s businesses or his known safe houses. He went to great lengths to keep you at a distance from his work.

“Given the nature of his crimes and how viciously he runs his underlings, what would happen if we were to… leak that you were in here, singing like a canary?”

The first threat of the night. You knew it wouldn’t be the last.

You scoffed. He knows I would never betray him. It didn’t matter what Jackson did, you were loyal. Jackson had the ability to inspire loyalty in those close to him. He tolerated many, many things, but disloyalty was not one of them.

The detective lifted a brow, thinking your silence meant he had found an edge. “Have you seen what he does to his enemies?”

Your expression didn’t change. No, he made sure I never saw.

Jackson was ruthless when he took his pleasure from your body. Even more merciless when he buried his head between your thighs. You could only imagine how intensely he ran his underworld.

“Do you know nothing of what he is?” the detective exclaimed, incredulous.

He never wanted me to know, your thoughts wavered.

The world didn’t exist when you were with Jackson. Together, it was just you and him, and everyone else be damned. Every moment spent with him was a lifetime unto itself.

A spontaneous trip to Maldives. An impromptu midnight ride on his yacht in the harbor of Hong Kong. A weekend in South Korea spent locked away in a riverside cottage with only the birds to witness your sins.

Jackson had money. There was no denying that. But so did you. You had made a fortune in your line of work and from then on, no one could buy your attention or affection. Jackson was different. He didn’t shower you with designer clothes or heavy diamonds. He paid attention. Learned your interests and kept you on your toes. He understood you to be like some beautiful mystery in need of solving.

You bit your lip, tears pricking your eyes. You wanted Jackson, wanted to be safe in his arms, hidden against his chest. You loved him. God, you loved him with every fiber of your being. He had taught you how to live again. He showed you there was still a soul somewhere inside you.

Even if his own had been burned out of him.

Clearing your throat and pushing back your emotions, you asserted, “For your own safety, don’t show me anything and don’t leak that you have me in here against my will.”

The man before you bristled with wrath, jaw clenching. “For my own safety?”

You frowned. It was not your intention to anger him. You just needed to keep buying time.

The detective stood abruptly, knocking over his chair and shouting, “Is Jackson going to come for his whore?”

You winced, more so at the screeching sound of his chair scraping the ground than the unsavory words. You weren’t surprised that was how they saw you.

They had probably sent women to seduce Jackson before. Find a crack in his walls to exploit. They must have waited years for him to finally have someone he could love, someone to ultimately break him.

The detective began circling the room, like a vulture spiraling around its next meal. You weren’t afraid. There were laws in place for situations like these. At least, you hoped they still applied to you.

I have to get out, you thought. You steadied your breathing and remembered what you had been taught.

Being held captive was something you had rehearsed many times. Jackson tried to chase you off once. He didn’t want you to live in a constant state of danger because of what he was. Then, Jackson realized he had been waiting his whole life to find you - the person who completed him. And that’s when he started preparing you.

In fact, rehearsing being in police custody was one of your favorite roleplays.

You remembered being led into a tiny room, no larger than a closet. Bound to the only chair, Jackson had stormed in and treated you like a traitor. But you knew how soft he was for you, and how bad of a liar he was, and had seen through the ruse all too quickly.

Nevertheless, he wanted you to be ready for whatever the dirty cops would throw at you should the day come you were in their clutches.

“Baby, had I known you were going to tie me to a chair, I would have worn something a little more seductive,” you teased, licking your lips.

With your hands overlapped and cuffed behind your back, your shoulders were pressed to the top of the chair rather uncomfortably. Jackson skulked before you, not uttering a word. His face was shadowed, dark and menacing. All it did was turn you on.

With heat in your eyes, rather than look demure or nervous, you spread your legs.

Jackson let his gaze fall to your parted thighs, clad in black pantyhose. He had bought you the red bottom heels you were wearing and fuck, if they didn’t make your legs look longer. Without a word, he bent down before you, taking your ankle in hand and slipping off the shoe.

You watched in surprise as he tossed both shoes to the wall where they clattered loudly. No distractions, you mused, wanting to giggle.

Jackson saw your little smirk and fought a grin. You weren’t fooled by him in the least. He stalked across the room, coming to stand behind you with a hand gliding up your arm.

You shivered when his fingers found your neck.

“We have ways of making you talk, sweetheart,” he whispered darkly.

“Mm,” you hummed, breathing heavier as his hands stroked your jaw and throat. With every pass of the rough strokes of his palms, they moved further south. You sucked in a gulp of air when his fingers grasped the buttons of your blouse.

Glancing down, you watched him unfasten one button. Then another and another.

“What do you want me to say?” you asked softly, pulsing with adrenaline.

Jackson traced the pads of his fingers down the lines of your cleavage, which he already knew quite intimately, and grinned at the sight of your blood red bra. Also a gift he had bought for you. Perhaps you wore the matching panties beneath your skirt.

It went without saying that red was his color.

You shuddered when you felt his breath hot on your neck, lips brushing your ear. Your hair stood on end. Electricity prickled across your skin. His touches on your breasts were maddening, drawing senseless patterns that only served to stir a fire between your legs.

“I want you to say,” he replied venomously in your ear. “That you’re going to give me everything I want.”

You gulped, shifting in the chair. That voice was lethal, drawing you into a heady fog that almost made you forget the purpose of this roleplay in the first place. And his hands cupping your clothed breasts were even worse. Jackson had godlike hands. Long fingers. Bulging veins. Your mouth watered.

“I’m waiting,” he taunted, taking a patch of flesh on your neck between his teeth.

You quickly asked, “What is it that you want?”

Jackson squeezed your mounds, tugging down the cups of your crimson bra to expose your nipples, pinching them between his deft fingers. With how badly you squirmed on top of the chair, it was safe to say his hands alone were doing a number on you.

“Jack…,” you started, about to tap out. You needed him to soothe the ache he had created.

Jackson caressed your nipples with his thumbs, smirking at the way your chest rose and fell for breath. “Where is the money?” he growled, trying to sound vicious.

You shook your head in defiance. “I never cared about the money.”

Jackson flicked his tongue over the blemish he had made on your neck, one of his hands leaving your chest to wrap around your throat. His next question sounded more like an accusation, “Are you saying you don’t trade him your body for money?”

You snickered. “I give him my body because I love what he does with it,” you purred, snapping your jaws as if you were going to bite him in retaliation.

“Good girl,” Jackson said with a chuckle, thoroughly pleased with you.

You smiled victoriously. Whenever he said those two little words, you melted into his hands. The man could play your body like an instrument. He could draw the devil out of you like poison to dance with his own.

Jackson pressed a single chaste kiss to your temple. Then his thumb and forefinger gripped your neck, suddenly pressing to your blood flow. Your vision clouded and thrummed. The room began to fade. When you felt a hand dip between your legs and settle on your clothed sex, you knew you had passed the test and would get your reward.

You found yourself back in the present, crossing your legs beneath the steel table. It did you no good to think of Jackson and the power he had over your body. Always leaving you satisfied, shaking and screaming. He took pride in making a complete and utter mess of you, ruining you for anyone else.

The detective resumed his threats, but his voice faded into static. He offered to toss you in a cell and throw away the key. But in your mind, you were back in Jackson’s bed, naked save for his dress shirt as he told you what to expect.

“They’ll try to scare you into talking,” he said levelly, sporting only a towel around his waist after a hot shower. “If you flinch, they’ll escalate. Find your happy place and don’t give them an inch. Never let them know you’re afraid.”

You nodded, distracted by the fiery tattoo that covered the full expanse of his back. Jackson was a perpetual distraction.

“Then, they’ll switch it up. Offer you a deal. They may give you full immunity if you give me up,” Jackson continued, focusing on your face to see your reaction.

You rose to your knees, shuffling to the edge of the bed and grabbing him by the hips. Pulling him close, you pressed a kiss to his lips and crooned, “Ride or die, babe.”

Jackson rewarded you with another kiss, but pulled back the moment you tried to slip him your tongue. His expression turned grim. “Then, they might turn off the camera. Might start threatening you with pain.”

You shook your head. Being with him made you brave. “I’m not afraid of pain.”

Jackson cupped your cheek, stroking his thumb over your soft skin, and whispered, “I won’t be there to protect you, but I promise on my life… something bad will happen to them when they least expect it.”

“Just get me back to you, back to where I belong,” you told him impatiently, carding your fingers into his damp hair and teasing your tongue over his bottom lip before kissing him again. At the time, you wanted him to hush this line of conversation, wanted him to focus on the precious time spent together.

What you didn’t know was that the noose had been tightening and Jackson was setting things in motion.

For a moment, he indulged you, sucked eagerly at your tongue in his mouth and kneaded your hips in his broad hands.

Finally, he stopped you, cradling your face and staring intently into your eyes. “You need to know this,” he whispered in hushed tones. “The cops are dirty. Corrupt, every last one of them.”

You nodded your understanding and made sure never to forget it.

The door opened and you snapped out of your reverie, the detective joined by another officer that had been one of the men to participate in your violent arrest. He strode in forcefully, a phone you swiftly recognized as your own held in his hand. The device was hooked to a number of wires and receivers.

“Here, talk to your bitch,” he snapped harshly.

The officer grabbed a handful of your hair and shoved the phone to your ear.

You groaned at the stiff tug on your head and answered confusedly, “...Hello?”

“Baby,” was all Jackson said.

“I’m fine,” you spoke like a well-rehearsed robot, looking up to make eye contact with the man holding your hair in his fist. “They are treating me very well.”

The officer shouted loud enough for your lover to hear, “She’s being a very cooperative cunt, Mr. Wang.”

You bristled, practically feeling Jackson’s wrath through the phone.

“Baby girl, rest assured,” he hissed under his breath and you had never heard his voice devolve into such a growl. “They are all dead men.”

You flashed your teeth in a grin at the man gripping you so roughly and sang, “Yes, Daddy.”

The line clicked dead.

“Damn it,” the officer groaned, releasing you none too gently.

The door swung inward again, causing the man beside you to jump. Whoever had just entered was clearly a superior, because the others bowed deeply.

“Out,” said the stranger with little to no patience, dressed in a crisp charcoal suit.

You watched the two shuffle through the door, metaphorical tails tucked between their legs. It was a relief to be free of them. Though you now had a new enemy to confront.

The interrogator spoke your name in greeting, offered a warm and somewhat reassuring smile, and introduced himself, “I’m Park Jinyoung.”

“Korean,” you mulled in surprise. “What are you doing in Shanghai, Mr. Park?”

He looked barely Jackson’s age, but you already respected him more than the others because of his kind manners. He wasn’t here to play any violent games with you.

“I was about to ask you the same question, Mrs. Wang,” he retorted, pointing at the ring on your left hand.

“I’m not his wife,” you were quick to correct, overlapping your hands to hide the piece of jewelry. It was the most precious thing you owned. You sighed in relief when they hadn’t removed it during your arrest process.

Jinyoung approached and withdrew a key from his pocket, unfastening your cuffs. You caught a glimpse of the gun strapped to his hip and decided not to cross him. Once you were free, he sat down comfortably across from you, unfastening the button of his coat.

You murmured a small thank you and studied him carefully. He was a far different entity than the corrupt detectives.

“I apologize for the unsavory care that has been given to you in here,” Jinyoung said, seemingly genuine. “From what I understand, this is hour five for you.”

You nodded. “Spent the first hour being read my rights. The only word out of my mouth was lawyer. Then, no lawyer in sight, hour two they left me in here to sweat,” you told him as you rubbed your aching wrists. “I didn’t sweat.”

Jinyoung bobbed his head as you spoke, as if he was well aware of all that, adding, “And as I saw, he has already been in contact.”

You sighed. “Not long enough to get a trace.”

Given the officer’s reaction when Jackson hung up, you gathered that much.

Jinyoung smiled. He was almost amused. Opening his notebook to a blank page, he tapped his pen and said, “We both know they won’t get anything from you. You’re not going to crack.”

You tilted your head. “Are you interested in finding a way to break me, Mr. Park?”

Jinyoung was a master tactician, highly respected for his intellect. He had been watching from behind the tinted glass. Your behavior with him was a stark contrast than with the detectives. You had been trained. You were more at ease with him. Jinyoung realized he didn’t put any fear in you. And that was an advantage for him.

Jackson’s words echoed in your mind, “If someone comes in from the outside, a different agency or a different country, he or she will be the real deal. They will have been hunting me for a long time and will see you as a key to finally bringing me down.”

Jinyoung’s delayed response cut through your thoughts, “I’m more interested in how someone like you became involved in this. Level with me. How did you meet the one and only Jackson Wang?”

You shrugged. “Why do you care? It won’t help you find him.”

Jinyoung uncapped his pen, ready to write, and pressed, “Some girls are drawn to men like him. Men with violent, dangerous power.”

“I never knew about his powers,” you shot back vehemently. Was he implying you were insane for loving someone like Jackson?

“I’ve spent the greater portion of my professional career in a cat and mouse game with him,” Jinyoung confessed, trying to smooth your feathers. “Help me get to know him better.”

“You’re the mouse,” you smarted.

Jinyoung glanced up through hair straying into his eyes. With a smirk, he scribbled something at the top of his blank page and said, “Whenever you’re ready.”

You exhaled loudly.

The last of Jackson’s warnings rang in your ear. “If they’re the real deal, buy time. Get a feel for them. Figure out what it is they’re after and how they want to use you. And then, whatever you do, don’t give it to them.”

Glancing down at your nails, noticing one or two had broken in your scuffle during your shady, back alley arrest, you began, “I met him at some ritzy, overpriced hotel. It had been a shit day. Another board meeting of senior partners where no one gave a damn what I had to say. As long as our stocks came out unscathed, they didn’t care if the rest of the world was about to go to hell…”

You had been sitting at the bar, manicured nails drumming on the black marble. The bartender kept a steady flow of red wine coming your way and you sipped your glass in an attempt to clear your head of all its moral conscience.

It was a wonder you had lasted this long and you pondered how much longer you could keep going. You never imagined selling your soul to a corporation, playing with people’s lives. It had all just been numbers and math, at which you excelled, and then the corruption steadily seeped into you.

“Another crisis, Luke,” you told the bartender.

He tossed a cloth over his shoulder and retorted, “Another Tuesday, madame.”

You chortled and put the glass to your lips. “That’s the truth if I ever heard it,” you mumbled bitterly.

You saw the numbers. Numbers were your expertise. The market would crash. Much, much worse than before. Hard-working people would lose their retirements, their livelihoods. Some would never recover. Meanwhile, you and your bosses would roll in cash and the government would cut the banks a giant check to fix the disaster they had created.

Looking at your hands, you marveled how clean they looked for being so stained and filthy.

Luke glanced at the television overhead, where you had asked him to switch to the financial channel. The bell was chiming. The market had closed, deep in the red. No surprise there.

You glared at the screen. They had no idea what was coming tomorrow morning. People worked hard, but greed worked harder.

Luke turned to you, pointing at the coverage, and inquired curiously, “That kind of crisis?”

You tipped your glass toward him for more wine and nodded. “Now is the time to pull out.”

“My pull out game has never been good,” Luke quipped after topping off your drink.

You nearly spat your wine with laughter and your stomach ached. Fuck’s sake, when was the last time you laughed?

“Dammit, Luke. How am I supposed to cut in now?”

You angled to the man who had been seated a few stools down from you.

Luke held up his hands in defense, smirking with satisfaction.

The first thing you noticed about Jackson Wang was his smile. It was warm, undeniably playful, yet something about it put you at ease. Most men in your field had smiles that warned of danger or bad intentions.

Your eyes met and Jackson could see right off the bat you were unimpressed. It had been a rough day and you were in no mood to flirt. So Jackson decided to finesse, which luckily was his specialty.

Turning back to your wine and tasting it on your tongue, you tried not to steal another glance or two at the handsome man at the bar.

“Should I unload my portfolio?” Jackson asked, wanting your attention.

You looked at him out of the corner of your eye and feigned disinterest, “What’s your pleasure?”

He cocked his head and joked, “I’m surprisingly vanilla.”

You rolled your eyes and deadpanned, “In stocks.”

Jackson recognized that icy tone of a woman who did not have a single fuck to give him and knew he would need to melt you a little. You had caught his eye at the bar, but beautiful women were a commodity in his line of work.

At first he dismissed your glowing skin beneath the bar lights and your big beautiful eyes glistening with unshed tears. You almost hooked him with that tight black dress and the way it hugged your every curve. And your legs, hot damn, keeping his eyes off of those had been even harder.

Then, he heard you speak. You talked with intellect and eloquence, and he was ready to hire you to narrate the rest of his life. He realized you may have some intelligence in that pretty head of yours and that snared his attention.

Because Jackson had learned long ago he was very, very easily bored. And the vapid nonsense that came out of the mouths of the girls he tended to attract with his money just didn’t cut it for him anymore.

The pursuit was on.

“Mostly gold, some silver. A few auto brands,” he replied, attempting to sound humble.

You answered expertly, “Gold and silver will bounce back in the long run. They always do. Some auto manufacturers may not survive, but just the American ones are at risk. And more than likely Uncle Sam will bail them out like last time.”

Jackson winced, but it was for effect. “Bye-bye, Cadillac.”

You chuckled.

Jackson sobered a little, frowning at the television. “Another crash, huh?”

“You didn’t hear it from me,” you whispered under your breath, sipping your wine and knowing every time you opened your mouth, you jeopardized your entire company.

In the morning, when the opening bell rang, your firm would unload all of its dirty, worthless stock to unsuspecting buyers, and the market would collapse like clockwork.

Numbers didn’t lie.

“I trust your expertise,” Jackson flirted, voice like silk.

You gave him a sideways glance, not convinced. More than likely he was just trying to get into your pants. “Most men get turned off when I speak with expertise in my field,” you said, running a hand through your hair.

Jackson shook his head and retorted, “I’m not most men.”

You giggled; how predictable. “That’s what they all say.”

But you knew now that he was right.

As the conversation went on, Jackson moved closer and closer. By the time he sat at your side, his presence was a welcome one. After another glass of wine, you started leaning into him.

You talked about everything. Topics shifted from the market to the weather to international travel and finally to your favorite subject, good food. You were never one for small talk. In fact, you hated it. But Jackson spoke like he could match your rhythm.

He didn’t shy away from more complicated discussions. He didn’t bat an eye when you challenged his opinions. He could keep up with a little verbal sparring and seemed to enjoy it as much as you did. And he never tried to dumb you down like so many men before him.

Finally, after you didn’t back away when he moved dangerously close to you, Jackson cut to the chase and teased, “Don’t act like you’re not feeling me.”

You laughed, but there was no weight behind it.

Jackson shuffled closer and murmured, “I see you.”

You blinked up at him innocently. “What do you see?”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “I can’t explain it, but I could try if you wanted me to.”

It had been a long time since you indulged a man to sweet talk you or romance you or even get you into bed with him. You had given up on the opposite sex not long after you began ascending the ladder at work and learned the vast majority of them were threatened by your success.

Jackson was not the least bit intimidated by you. At this point, he was a goddamn unicorn.

“Explain it to me,” you whispered slyly, realizing his lips were mere inches from yours.

Jackson moved even closer and whispered for your ears only, “You’re gravity. You’re a magnet. I can’t stop getting closer.”

You lowered your head, hiding the heat quickly rising behind your cheeks.

Jackson slipped his fingers beneath your chin and tilted you back up to meet his unwavering eyes.

It was the first time he touched you.

“I want you,” he said, a low rumble of a growl in his throat.

Your eyes flickered, faltering under how intensely he looked at you. You wanted desperately to hide how badly his words and voice affected you, and you sneered, “Does that line work?” You had to keep him on his toes in this little dance. You weren’t ready to surrender yet.

Jackson wasn’t going to let you have the upper hand anymore. He knew you were what he wanted and he was coming in for the kill. “You tell me,” he spoke, more aggressive. “You’re the first woman to hear that from me.”

You pouted when his fingers slipped from your chin, satisfied he had made his point. “You’re smooth,” came your reply, a little hesitant from the tension. “I’ll give you that.”

Jackson slouched comfortably on his bar stool and said, “I’ve flashed the watch, the rings. Most girls get very friendly once they’ve seen sparkly rocks.”

You clicked your tongue and snorted. “If you only knew how much money I make.”

Jackson tried another approach. “So I can’t buy your affections?”

With a shake of your head, you crooned, “Sadly, not for sale.”

“Fine,” Jackson said, noncommittal and rather abrupt.

You panicked. It sounded like he was about to throw in the towel. Your heart began to beat a little faster against your ribs.

Jackson gulped what was left of his drink and set the glass back down loudly on the bar. Adjusting his tie, Jackson rose to his feet and peered down at you, whispering, “Tell me you’re not feeling me and I’ll go. And you’ll never have to see me again.”

That was not a welcome thought.

At your silence, Jackson pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and handed it to Luke. “Mine and the lady’s tabs, pal,” he said, driving the last nail into the coffin.

You reached out and grabbed his sleeve without hesitation, gazing up at him with naive eyes. You had no idea then what you were getting yourself into.

“Don’t…,” you whispered bashfully, cheeks flushing again.

Jackson moved back to your side, a victorious smile on his face.

You saw his grin and chuckled, realizing you’d been beaten in the game.

Jackson cupped your cheek and leaned in with confidence, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

Your lashes fluttered. He smelled good, ridiculously good. You wanted to bury your face in the crook of his neck and breathe him in.

Jackson resisted the urge to slip his hands in your hair and kiss you like he really wanted. Your skin was soft; so soft he wanted to trace his lips over every inch of you and write his name with his tongue across your body.

You managed to hold onto some semblance of self-control throughout the elevator ride. The tension was thick. The air was heavy. No words passed between either of you. And you stood at opposite corners of the elevator.

Jackson led you down the hallway, your hand tucked inside his. The moment he stopped at door 309, the two of you were on each other.

“You’ve got some nerve getting me turned on like this,” you teased, panting softly.

Jackson’s lips were on your neck, his arms around your waist. He crushed you between his body and the wall, and you couldn’t be happier. After that comment, he pulled back to look into your eyes and smirked, nipping at your lips.

You took his face in your hands and smashed your lips on his. It went without saying that you really liked kissing Jackson. It was all you wanted to do for the foreseeable future. He tasted of liquor and really bad choices.

Jackson wedged a knee between your thighs and made room for his hips to fit between. You moaned into his mouth, tempted to lock your ankles behind his back, but rather conflicted about it. Were you going to hook up with him? Your first thought was an emphatic yes.

Your hands roamed over his shoulders and back, feeling taut muscles underneath his expensive suit. He was hard like iron, thick thighs bracing you against the wall. His hands wandered too, exploring your body, finally able to touch those curves.

Despite his hold on you and your tongue down his throat, Jackson managed to pull the keycard from his back pocket and swipe it over the panel. You heard the familiar beep of the hotel door unlocking, followed by Jackson pushing it open.

Mumbling against his mouth, you grabbed his wrist and pulled, blurting, “We can’t.”

“What…,” Jackson exclaimed, his lips red. “Why?”

“Because,” you huffed, letting your head fall back against the wall in defeat. “If I go in there, we’re gonna fuck.”

The words alone made a certain something twitch in his pants. Jackson fought a chuckle and gave you a glance over. You were already disheveled and breathless, and he hadn’t even touched you yet. “Is that so?” he taunted, expression full of boyish energy.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, still at war with yourself. Then, you leaned into his chest and collided your lips back to his.

Jackson smiled against your mouth, tightening his arm around your waist and meeting the rush of your kisses. He took them to mean you changed your mind and swiped the key card again.

Hearing the chime of the door, you grabbed the lapel of his suit with both hands and broke away. “No, we can’t.”

Jackson laughed, amused by you. “Okay. Okay,” he relented.

“Sorry, but…,” you trailed, still trapped in his arms. “I’ve never fucked anyone I just met.”

“Me neither,” he replied softly.

You cocked a brow. No one gave a damn if men had sex with every human that passed their sight. For that reason, you were inclined to believe him.

Jackson pulled the door closed and pressed the sweetest of kisses to your lips. When he stopped, your eyes fluttered open and you peered up at him.

“Gravity,” was all he said, chuckling to himself.

Yeah, you felt it, too.

Running your fingers into his hair and tugging gently, you ordered, “Keep kissing me.”

Jackson didn’t need to be told twice.

The rushed, hurried kisses were over. Now that the two of you weren’t sprinting to the bedroom, you could focus on how your tongues danced in each other’s mouths. Jackson stroked a hand down your thigh and hooked your leg over his hip, needing to be as close as humanly possible to you.

When his lips moved back to your neck, you rolled your eyes and the catch in your breath almost sent him to his knees.

“Can I take you to breakfast in the morning?” he asked between kisses.

“Yes,” you replied, fingers pressed to his shoulders.

Jackson proceeded to suck a mark of possession beneath your ear. “And dinner tomorrow evening?”

You were out of your mind, insane with lust and desire. Sweat was beginning to gather beneath your dress, courtesy of the fire burning inside him. “Absolutely.”

Jackson licked the bruise he was making, tasting your skin. “How about the day after that?”

You groaned in frustration. He was making it fucking impossible. “And the day after that. Just don’t stop kissing me,” you whined, bringing his face back to yours for another kiss.

You blinked your eyes rapidly, dismayed to find you weren’t in Jackson’s arms, but still caged inside the grey room. Grasping the ring on your left hand, you spun it around - a nervous tick, but it was vaguely comforting. The ring had been a gift on your first anniversary. Inscribed along the inside of the band were the words, never stop kissing me.

It was the closest Jackson had ever come to confessing his love for you. Slipping the ring on your finger, the finger generally reserved for wedding vows, Jackson had said, “So every man knows you’re spoken for.”

Jinyoung let his gaze fall from your face to your hands, noting how you turned the gold band around your finger to soothe yourself. It was human nature, to cling to something sentimental when under duress.

You noticed where his eyes had fallen and quickly covered your hand. His expression was one of scrutiny and belied interest, and you deflected, “Alright, I told you how we met. Makeout session included. Tell me what you hope to get from that.”

Jinyoung replied without hesitation, “I want to catch him. I want to put him away forever.”

A bitter taste filled your mouth. “I will never help you do that.”

“You already are.”

You blinked.

Jinyoung leaned back in his chair, at ease when he explained, “I can keep you here indefinitely. We wait for him to crawl out of his hole.”

You shook your head vehemently. “He won’t.”

“He won’t trade his life for yours,” Jinyoung questioned, seemingly shocked.

“He…,” you paused with indecision. “I don’t know.”

The cold, hard truth was, you didn’t. There was a part of Jackson’s life he never shared with you. The life that was centered around his powers.

But you knew Jackson took great pride in what he had built. He came from nothing, was told his whole life he would never amount to anything, and he had destroyed all the odds stacked against him. He not only beat the game, he changed it forever.

“You’re in here, ready to give up everything for him,” Jinyoung’s voice faded into the background.

“Am I?” you questioned, lost in your memories.

The first time Jackson made love to you, he revealed himself to you and said something that was burned into your mind forever. The two of you were naked, exposed and vulnerable to the other. So many little nothings had been spoken while endless promises and vows were written into each other’s skin.

Then, in a moment of stillness, Jackson cradled your face and drowned himself in your eyes. He called your name and you stared up at him, hinged on his every word.

“Do you know what they say,” he breathed, chest heaving. “About playing with fire?”

“Are you going to burn me?” you asked him innocently.

“I burn everything I touch,” Jackson told you, filling with sadness. “And only I survive.”

“I’ll be your Phoenix then,” you whispered, bringing your fingers to rake teasingly down his back over the tattoo of the immortal firebird inked into his skin.

Jackson smiled and shifted on top of you to take you again. “You are the closest I will ever get to heaven…”

And you watched in disbelief as the dark brown of his irises turned to scorching red.

Jinyoung called your name. He knew you were somewhere far away in your head.

You blinked through oncoming tears.

“Do you know what he is? Do you have any idea what he’s done? Do you even know what they call him?”

You heard the rumors and read the headlines, just like everyone else. He wasn’t the only one; these men with strange powers. Some said they were harbingers of the end times.

“The Phoenix,” you interjected.

Jinyoung frowned in contempt.

“Because he burns everything and everyone in his path,” you finally confessed. Whatever gets in his way.

“One day, he’ll raze cities to the ground.” Jinyoung’s tongue was a razor. “Did you think you wouldn’t get burned?”

I asked for it, you admitted to yourself. I fell in love with the villain.

Reaching down to pick up the photo still on the table of you swept up in Jackson’s arms, you sighed in acceptance of fate, “Moth to the flame.”

Somewhere out in the night, as Shanghai finally drifted to sleep, Jackson sat in the backseat of his tinted car, gripping the phone so tight he was sure it would snap at any minute.

There would be hell to pay for those that had taken you. Jackson already identified each of them. But in the meantime, he could only sit and think. Getting revenge was easy. Getting you back was considerably harder.

He had to stay ahead of the game. They took you for a purpose. You wouldn’t roll on him, Jackson was sure of that. You would never give them the satisfaction. But they would try to use you as leverage and Jackson couldn’t risk everything he had built. It would make the entire city fall down on top of him.

If he tried to rescue you, then the whole world would know he had a weakness and you would never be safe again for as long as you lived. If he didn’t, then the corrupt cops could put you in the hands of enemies that were much worse to make a bloody example of you.

Jackson grit his teeth. He knew this day would come, when he would finally have to confront his feelings for you. He swore to never let his heart out of its cage, but it had escaped and fled to the palm of your hand. There was a reason he never told you he loved you.

He couldn’t admit it to himself. Love was meant only for humans.

“What do I fucking do?” he cried out in his mother tongue, wringing his hands before hiding his face behind them. He needed you in his arms, needed to hold you again.

But he would lose everything.

The phone chimed and Jackson opened the text.

Call it off. Or she drowns first.

Jackson shook with rage and opened his hand, irises turning crimson as flames appeared on his palm. Then, he closed his fist, snuffing them out.

next chapter →

Hey there, beautiful! If you enjoyed this, please leave a like or reblog or follow me! Or maybe buy me a coffee so I can keep writing? Or check out my masterlist here for more stories! Thanks for reading :) - Katya

This work is fictional and for entertainment purposes only, but is licensed and protected under a creative commons attribution-noncommercial-noderivatives 4.0 international license. Any instances of plagiarism will be dealt with accordingly. Do not re-post or translate without my permission.

{ copyright 2018-2020 © ahgaseda // all rights reserved }

[thechekhov]

So with the Hong Kong protests there was a list of concise demands, that if they weren't met, the protests would continue. Is there some list of demands the BLM protestors are using do you know? I haven't seen anything outside of like vague chants for justice and change, but like nothing specific like we demand officers be put through stricter training, psych evals, go through deescalation training, etc etc.

I’m going to answer this and it probably won’t be a complete list - but lots of people have been adding to these posts in the comments, so please check those as well!

First of all, unlike in Hong Kong, the BLM movement is protesting not a single law but a system - or a set of systems, really - that are racist in nature. There isn’t a new bill being proposed, but there ARE a list of issues they are concerned with, and their main purpose is anti-racist advocacy. These protests are not only demanding a simple correction in the margin of a single law - they are attempting to bring public attention to a VERY big problem that will take a long time to fix.

The first one that you might be immediately aware of is the disproportionate killing of Black people by the police. This is a multi-faceted issue. It’s about people caring less about Black people when they suffer from police brutality and dismissing cases of it under the racist assumption that whatever happened must have been provoked. We see this constantly with people even pushing back against George Floyd’s death - just like they did with Trayvon Martin’s death, Tamir Rice’s death, Mike Brown’s death - “Well was he resisting arrest? He should have just complied. The officers probably had a good reason. Their job is hard.” (None of these things are cause for murder.)

You can actually read more on wikipedia, because I just realized they have a wikipedia page! Ha.

Advocacy means support - not a one time protest that ends when one case closes successfully, but instead a network of people dedicated to a recurring problem that will show up and serve as a way to amplify the voices of the victims and bring it to public attention. Because unfortunate as it is, this will not go away with One Good Protest. This is an ongoing effort.

A branch of this is of course legal reform - and an example of this is Campaign Zero, which aims to reform/defund the police forces in the states which are now completely out of control and in over their heads. 

I recommend you check out their website: https://www.joincampaignzero.org/

This is why you may have heard so many people calling to ‘abolish the police’ at protests. 

Now, many people have a kneejerk reaction of ‘abolish the police? There’ll be chaos!’ but in reply to that I have these set of graphics for you that I feel succinctly explain the reasoning behind these demanded reforms:

Hope that helps!

[dweemeister]

Best Documentary Short Film Nominees for the 93rd Academy Awards (2021, listed in order of appearance in the shorts package)

NOTE: For viewers in the United States (continental U.S., Alaska, and Hawai’i) who would like to watch the Oscar-nominated short film packages, click here. For virtual cinemas, you can purchase the packages individually or all three at once. You can find info about reopened theaters that are playing the packages in that link. Because moviegoing carries risks at this time, please remember to follow health and safety guidelines as outlined by your local, regional, and national health guidelines.

A Love Song for Latasha (2019)

On March 16, 1991, Latasha Harlins, a 15-year-old African-American girl, was murdered by Soon Ja Du at Du’s convenience store in Los Angeles. The murder, which occurred almost two weeks after Rodney King’s beating at the hands of the Los Angeles Police Department (LAPD), contributed to the start of the 1992 LA riots one year later. Directed by Sophia Nahli Allison, A Love Song for Latasha is an avant grade film that intercuts statements by Latasha’s friends and family about the young girl they cared deeply for. Alongside reenacted scenes of childhood, of black girls frolicking on the Californian coastline and the streets of Los Angeles, the film serves as an intimate eulogy for Latasha – one delivered as memories about her become less immediate.

Whatever justified rage the Los Angeles rioters might have felt in 1992 is not the dominant force in Allison’s film. A Love Song for Latasha is foremost a cinematic lament rather than a political polemic. With the reenacted scenes edited and appearing as if it resembling a home movie, this piece appears like a visualization of the memories that the interviewees are recalling. When Latasha was murdered, she ceased to be just a daughter or a friend. A Love Song for Latasha, thirty years on, seeks to reclaim those distinctions for those who knew her best – something, given the significance of Latasha’s murder in history, that may never happen.

My rating: 6.5/10

Do Not Split (2020, Norway)

From Norwegian documentarian-journalist Anders Hammer comes Do Not Split, a street-level glimpse into the protests against the 2019 Extradition Law Amendment Bill (ELAB) that inspired the passage of the 2020 Hong Kong national security law. The events depicted in Hammer’s film include the Hong Kong police’s sieges of the Chinese University of Hong Kong (CUHK) and Hong Kong Polytechnic University, in addition to small-scale clashes between protesters and police, as well as mainland Chinese instigating confrontations. Hammer’s footage is harrowing material, a collection of violent imagery with few moments of individual revelation or introspection outside of the presence of Michigan-born activist Joey Siu. Do Not Split decides not to attempt a dialectic of why the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) and the Hong Kong Legislative Council (LegCo) are pursuing these changes and are brutalizing the protesters, depriving this film of the context that less knowledgeable viewers might need. For those who have been keeping at least superficially aware of events in Hong Kong, there is never any question on which side Hammer is on – despite Hammer’s journalistic background, this is not a piece of objective journalism.

Yet this is not agitprop due to the politics left mostly unexplained, and none of Do Not Split’s flaws take away from the rawness of the protesters’ desperation and the cynicism of the police and government officials enacting the crackdown. Despite the repetitive nature of the footage by the time it reaches the final stages of its thirty-five-minute runtime, Do Not Split contains excellent, crisp hand-held footage that makes immediate sense of the space and time of the depicted violence.

My rating: 8/10

Hunger Ward (2020)

For Pluto TV (some cord-cutting television service I was not familiar with until I started writing this) and MTV Films and directed by Skye Fitzgerald (2018 Oscar-nominated short film Lifeboat), Hunger Ward follows doctor Aida Al-sadeeq and nurse Mekkia Mahdi as they treat malnourished children in the midst of ongoing the Yemeni famine. The famine, directly related to the civil war that began in late 2014, has seen almost a hundred thousand children die in what UNICEF describes as, “the largest humanitarian crisis in the world.” Fitzgerald film works best when focusing on Al-sadeeq and Mahdi, as they describe the heartbreak conditions of the hunger ward and their experiences since the famine began. However, much of Hunger Ward’s footage is too in-your-face with footage of the mothers’ grieving and the last moments of several children. It appears almost as if gawking at the desperation and death that occurs every day in this hospital.

This is not to say that there is no revelation in the image of a child with their eyes glazed in lifelessness or the unearthly wails of a mother overtaken by grief. Fitzgerald edits and shoots their film in a way that makes this process – a child in their last moments of care, a declaration of death, a shot of the child’s corpse, a cut to the mother inside or arriving to the deathbed, and the echoing despair – occur tediously in their movie. Hunger Ward never breaks from this tedious formula. The film is redeemed only by withholding its slings and arrows until some text prior to the end credits, correctly assigning responsibility with Western nations that have enabled and abetted the violence in Yemen.

My rating: 6/10

Colette (2020)

Colette Marin-Catherine is in her twilight years and, upon first appearances, one might not predict the incredible life story that she has to tell. She was a French Resistance member, and French Resistance narratives tend to be sidelined in favor of those depicting Allied soldiers liberating France instead. But Anthony Giacchino’s (the brother of composer Michael Giacchino) film, distributed by British newspaper The Guardian and made for an extra feature of the virtual reality (VR) video game Medal of Honor: Above and Beyond, decides to linger on the memories of Colette’s murdered brother, who died at Mittelbau-Dora concentration camp in Germany, instead. At the urging and with the assistance of the young historian Lucie Fouble, who is interested in telling Colette’s story (although technically this is not Colette’s story), Colette travels to Germany to visit the site of Mittelbau-Dora so that Colette can… spill out her feelings?         

It is self-evident that Colette does not see the academic or personal value of such a trip, but the irascible subject of this short film will nevertheless humor Fouble – her intentions genuine, her approach questionable. Colette, who cannot forget the loss of brother but has not been dwelling on his death, is emotionally vulnerable throughout the trip to Germany, and the audience learns little about Colette, German atrocities, or her brother. Even in these moments, she remains a compelling figure on-screen, but this movie is a disservice to its eponymous subject – one who deserves more credit as a member of the French Resistance, as someone not defined by the worst thing that had ever happened to her.

My rating: 6/10

A Concerto Is a Conversation (2020)

Distributed by The New York Times and executive produced by Ava DuVernay, Ben Proudfoot and Kris Bower direct a deeply personal documentary short film to bookend this slate of five. A Concerto Is a Conversation contains a conversation between Kris Bowers (composer on 2018’s Green Book and 2021’s The United States vs. Billie Holiday) and his grandfather, Horace Bowers Sr., before the premiere of Bower’s concerto at the Walt Disney Concert Hall in Los Angeles. What follows is a disjointed film with sketches of Jim Crow-era America from Horace’s past to the anxiety-laden self-questioning of Kris’ present. Kris, as a black man, is questioning his place in the classical music world – which has, justifiably in some ways, been seen as staid and white. If A Concerto Is Not a Conversation can bridge the differences between Horace and Kris’ stories, it barely does so thank to the scattershot editing.

Yet Kris and Horace’s conversation is wholesome, admiring, loving. This is Kris’ way to show his appreciation for his grandfather and the struggles that he endured for most of his life. The out-of-focus background makes A Concerto Is Not a Conversation seem almost like a dream, a meeting that almost should not be happening. And in honoring Kris’ profession and the piece that is set to debut, the film is divided into noticeable thirds – just like a concerto’s three movements. A Concerto Is Not a Conversation might not make for the most cohesive viewing, but it is a celebration of a profound bond, tied together by forces that defy even the most eloquent words: music and love.

My rating: 6.5/10

^ All ratings based on my personal imdb rating. Half-points are always rounded down. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

From previous years: 88th Academy Awards (2016), 89th (2017), 90th (2018), 91st (2019) and 92nd (2020).

[vgckwb]

P5R: Rebel Girl (A FeMC Story/P5R Rework) Chapter 59: A Deeper Look

On Thursday, Ren got a message from Yusuke.

Yusuke: Pardon me, but do you think we could go to Mementos, just the two of us?

Ren: That’s an unusual date spot.

Yusuke: Ah! Forgive me. I wasn’t asking you out on a date.

Ren: ...I know...I was just teasing you…

Yusuke: Ah. Forgive me. I’m not used to being “teased”.

Ren: I can tell…

Yusuke: So, you forgive me?

Ren: Sure.

Yusuke: Very well.

Yusuke: So, is that a ‘yes’?

Ren: I guess…

Ren: Why just the two of us?

Yusuke: This isn’t meant as a proper traversal of Mementos.

Yusuke: Rather, I’d like to sketch Mementos if possible.

Yusuke: I would like to make it the focus of my next art piece.

Ren: So why am I coming?

Yusuke: Just for backup, if need be.

Yusuke: While we aren’t going in fully, I imagine shadows might pop up.

Ren: Yeah, that makes sense.

Yusuke: Plus, it gives us a chance to get to know each other better.

Ren: Right.

Ren: Let’s go!

Yusuke: Hold on, where are we meeting?

Ren: The usual spot, I guess.

Yusuke: Very well.

Ren and Yusuke met up and headed into Mementos.

They didn’t venture terribly far before Yusuke found a good place to begin his sketchwork. Ren began her patrol. “So,” Yusuke started asking, “how does this ‘teasing’ work?” Ren seemed confused. “I find it better to work when something else is occupying my time. Besides, one of the reasons I asked you was so that we can get to know each other better.”

“Right,” Ren said, somewhat awkwardly. “So, you wanna know about teasing?”

“Yes,” Yusuke said.

Ren was stunned. “Basically, it’s just saying things in a jokey, lighthearted tone to get a reaction.”

“Why do you do that?” Yusuke asked bluntly.

Ren continued to be stunned. She didn’t know how to react to someone with Yusuke’s disposition. So, she decided to remain honest. “Well, part of it is it’s fun, but mainly it acts as a barrier. A wall. A mask.”

“Hm,” Yusuke said. “I thought we were supposed to be getting closer.”

“We are,” Ren said. “I don’t do it all the time. Even now, I’m opening up to you.”

“Right, but why do it at all?” Yusuke pondered.

Ren paused for a moment. Any attempt at obfuscation would be met with more of Yusuke’s personal brand of blindness. In a way, it made a better wrecking ball than any aggressive attempt to break her. She sighed. “Well, you know I’m not from Tokyo originally.”

“Right” Yusuke answered.

“Back in my hometown, I wasn’t all too well liked,” Ren explained. “So, I put up these walls because I’m afraid. I’m afraid the next person I run into will hate me outright simply for just existing. If I pretend not to care, then maybe they won’t. And maybe I won’t either.”

“Huh,” Yusuke said. “I think I understand.”

“You do?” Ren asked.

Yusuke nodded. “There were plenty of times when I lived with Madarame where all I wanted to do was cry, or scream, or get upset, but I eventually grew to know that that would only make things worse.”

Ren was shocked. “Jeez. When you put it like that, my problems seem a little more trivial.”

“Ah, rest assured, I wasn’t trying to trivialize your problems,” Yusuke said.

“...Thanks?” Ren responded.

“Rather, I was trying to hearken back to our delicious hot pot celebration,” Yusuke explained. “Everyone was sharing their views on the world, and how that they’re all askew from the typical outlook. But in that askewed view, we found each other, and more importantly, we can save each other, and everyone else.”

Ren was once again stunned, but not out of confusion this time. Rather, she was impressed. She chuckled. “Thanks.” She looked at Yusuke’s sketch. “Um, if you don’t mind, why do you sketch?”

“It’s to get a reference so I can focus and take my time on the finished product” Yusuke answered.

“Right,” Ren said, running right back into Yusuke’s wit. “I mean, when Kosuke made that painting for me, he just took a picture.” Ren took out her phone. “Although I’m assuming our phones don’t function here. Which I guess is a net positive. If someone saw real evidence of all of this, it would cause problems.”

“Ah,” Yusuke said. “Well, that’s just a matter of personal preference. A lot of artists like sketching because it gives a sense of how they work with it right away. Kosuke even sketched a lot, but I’m assuming that this was more of a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing, rather than a big plan.”

“Yeah,” Ren said.

Yusuke stopped, took a look at what he had, and said “Alright, I’m finished.” Just then, a bunch of shadows showed up. “What impeccable timing. Joker! Let’s vanquish these foes together!” Ren nodded, and the two fought the shadows. It was an easy victory. “Boy, these shadows do not know how to pick a fight they can win.” He noticed something. “What’s this? It looks like one of those cards we’ve been picking up.”

“You’re right” Ren said, getting a good look at it. “This one’s blank though.”

“Right,” Yusuke said. “Maybe if I…” Yusuke drew on it. “Ah! It became real.”

“Wow” Ren said.

Yusuke thought about this. “Perhaps the fact that this is a world based on what one perceives, maybe by drawing on it, it gives it real power.”

“That makes sense,” Ren said. “If I find any more, I can give them to you. It works out for us, plus I assume this’ll be a nice way of keeping your sketching skills up.”

“Hm. A real Theo now, aren’t we?” Yusuke said.

“Um, that’s not my name…” Ren said.

“Ah. I should explain” Yusuke said. “When I say ‘Theo’ I am referring to Theo Van Gogh, the brother of Vincent. Vincent didn’t achieve fame in his lifetime, but found a supporter in his brother.”

“I see,” Ren said, impressed. “Well, if you ever need help with your art stuff, or anything in general, then I’ll be happy to be your Theo.”

“Thank you,” Yusuke said.

I am thou... Thou art I… Thou hast acquired a new vow...

It shall become the wings of rebellion that breaketh thy chains of captivity.

With the birth of the Emperor Persona I have obtained the winds of blessing that shall lead to freedom and new power.

Emperor-Yusuke Kitagawa: Rank 1

“We should get going before any more shadows show up,” Yusuke said. Ren nodded, and the two quickly left Mementos.

Later that evening, Ren headed over to Untouchable to stock up. “Hey kid,” Iwai said, literally a split second after she walked in. “What impeccable timing.”

“I take it something happened?” Ren inquired.

“Well, something’s about to,” Iwai stated. “I’ve told you about Tsuda.”

“He’s the one you didn’t meet in the diner?” Ren asked, just to get her facts straight.

Iwai nodded. “He called me to set up a meeting soon.”

Ren was concerned. “Is that a good thing?”

Iwai grunted. “I doubt it, based on what we heard at the diner. Besides, out of everyone in the clan, Tsuda and I were the closest. We were practically inseparable. I know him like I know the back of my hand, and I know he’s up to something.”

“So, what happened when you, well, separated?” Ren asked.

Iwai smirked. “I asked him to come along too to be like an uncle to Kaoru, but he refused. He did help smooth things over with the higher ups though.” Ren chuckled slightly. “Hm. Anyways, let’s get back to business. I’d like to see what he’s up to, but the problem is Tsuda knows me just as well, so I can’t collect any information from my usual sources without tipping my hand.”

Ren smiled. “This is where I come in.”

“Sharp” Iwai complemented. “Tsuda knows ME quite well, but he has no idea about you. You’re my wild card.”

“They don’t call me ‘Joker’ for nothing” Ren said, a bit too excited.

“What?”

“What?”

Iwai was still confused, but decided to let it go. “Anyway, I just need you to ask around about anything big Tsuda’s done recently. “ He took out a piece of paper. “He’s a list of people who might be in the know; their general description, as well as where they’re likely to hang out. Can you investigate to see if you can find anything?”

Ren was a bit put off, because the last time she went investigating about a mobster, a former police officer got brainwashed into enacting murderous justice as his favorite superhero. Well, that’s not gonna happen twice in a row. Ren grabbed the list.

“Thanks kid,” Iwai said. “I’ll be here. You know my number. If anything happens, don’t hesitate to call, and if you get into REAL trouble, put me on speaker.” Ren nodded and headed out.

Ren searched around and found a scruffy looking guy hanging about. He matched one of the descriptions, so she approached him. “What do ya want?” he said, slightly angry at her approach.

Ren remained brave. “I’m looking for information on Tsuda.”

“Tsuda?” the guy said. “Who put you up to this?”

“That’s on a need to know basis” Ren said.

The man was curious, but concerned. “You with the cops?”

“Please,” Ren said. “I don’t trust the cops farther than I can throw them.”

The man laughed. “That's REAL disdain in your voice. Alright. You didn’t hear this from me, but apparently at the beginning of the year he struck a deal with the Hong Kong mafia for about 100 million yen.”

“Oh my” Ren said.

“That’s all I know,” the man said.

Ren nodded. “Thanks.” She took out some money. “For your efforts.”

“Heh. Keep it” the man said. “I’m a lost cause. You look like you can still climb out of whatever hole you’re in.” Ren was surprised, but walked off, nodding in appreciation.

Once she got back, she saw Iwai was on the phone. “Uh huh...yeah...of course...seeya then.” He hung up. He took notice of her. “Ah, you’re back. Find anything?”

“Something about a deal with the Hong Kong mafia worth 100 million yen at the beginning of the year,” Ren answered.

“I see,” Iwai said. “Say, did you have to pay for that? Cause I’ll reimburse you.”

Ren shook her head. “I tried, but he told me to keep it.”

“Woah, you talked to HIM?” Iwai said, surprised. “How’d you get him to talk to you?”

“He said I had ‘real disdain’ in my voice,” Ren explained.

“Makes sense” Iwai rationalized. “You told me you were arrested. I doubt that leaves much room in your heart for liking the police.” Ren shook her head. “Anyways, that was Tsuda on the phone. He just finalized the date of our meeting. So, maybe it’d be a good idea to not come around here too often for extended periods of time.”

Ren smiled. “Well then, mind if I do all of my shopping now?”

“Knock yourself out,” Iwai said. “But not really though. While they aren’t real weapons, they’re still kind of heavy.” Ren giggled. Ren proceeded to make her purchases. After Ren finished shopping, Iwai sighed. “Tell me, do you fear the unknown?”

Ren was alerted. “Where is this coming from?”

“It’s just,” Iwai sighed again, “I’ve known Tsuda for a while now. But ever since I left the mafia, we’ve grown apart you know. I’m just worried that the man I’m going to talk to won’t be the same.”

Ren could sense his tension, and decided to be honest. “Well, sorry, but you’ve asked the wrong girl for advice on this.” Iwai looked at her, surprised. “Aside from people I’ve met in Tokyo, I would LOVE to meet someone I’ve known for a while and not recognize them.”

Iwai got a laugh out of that. “I’ve been there before. That’s part of why I joined up in the first place. But then the whole thing with Kaoru happened, and I decided that he needed an honest shot. And if no one else was going to give it to him, I might as well try.”

He looked over Ren “Sounds like Tokyo is giving you an honest shot too. If you want my advice, figure out what’s really important before it’s too late. Once you know what that is, don’t let go.”

“How will I know what that is?” Ren asked.

“Heh” Iwai chuckled. “From what I’ve seen, you’re a smart kid. I’m sure you have something of an answer already. I’m just saying this to help you think some more.” Ren chuckled back. “Anyway, once I’ve had my meeting with Tsuda, I’ll message you, or something. Oh, and thanks for the info.”

Hanged Man-Munehisa Iwai: Rank 4

Ren nodded, and left without saying anything else.

[shalebridge-cradle]

Historical References in What Are You Going to Do With Your Life? Chapter 13-15

Chapter 13

“Hey, that’s a gun! You can’t have that, it’s illegal!” Not quite right. Members of the UK public can own certain sporting rifles and shotguns, but handguns (like the one used by the robber) were effectively banned after 1996.

Before the 18th century, a crowbar was usually referred to simply as a ‘crow’ or ‘iron crow’ as far back as 1400 – the latter phrase is used by Shakespeare, in, again, Romeo and Juliet.

“Their pronunciation is atrocious – worse than Arthur’s.” Catherine of Aragon was definitely fluent in Latin, as was Prince Arthur, Henry’s ill-fated older brother. The two communicated via letters in Latin before Catherine came over to England, only to discover they learned different pronunciations when they tried to talk to each other. They could read what the other wrote, but couldn’t understand what they were saying.

Catherine Parr took after her godmother in her interest in languages, but she wasn’t afforded the same level of education as a Spanish princess was. She spoke French fluently, which we know because she spoke to ambassadors in French, and that she attempted to learn Spanish during her queenship. A letter from her stepson Prince Edward mentions that Parr was “progressing in the Latin tongue”, and Parr herself reprimanded the University of Cambridge for sending a missive in Latin; “and as they be Latin-ly written, (which is so signified unto me by those that be learned in the Latin tongue), so I know you could have uttered your desires and opinions familiarly in our vulgar tongue, aptest for my intelligence”. This may be false modesty, however, and we know she knew at least a little Latin, as well as Italian and Greek.

Chapter 14

“…actually, it can’t be that one, I’m here.” Henry reportedly could not, eh, perform with Anne of Cleves on their wedding night – while this might be because of his suspected impotence, he claimed it was because he had his doubts about Anne’s virginity, claiming that “I never for love of the woman consented to marry; nor yet, if she brought maidenhead (her virginity) with her, took [it] from her by true carnal copulation”.

The emails are both references, but one is more straightforward than the other. Anna’s is simple – 1515 was the year she was born. Richard Jones’ email address is an alchemical joke – 82 is the atomic number for lead, and 79 is for gold. Lead into gold.

Chapter 15

A Levels, also known as Advanced Levels, are the subject-based part of the school-leaving qualification in the United Kingdom (but not Scotland) and other parts of the world, including India, Nepal, Hong Kong, Singapore and Zimbabwe.

Anne of Cleves came over to England in January of 1540. Katherine Howard was executed in February of 1542. Two years, give or take.

4:50 from Paddington, known as What Mrs.McGillicuddy Saw in the U.S., is the seventh novel by Agatha Christie in the Miss Marple collection, and is the payoff of the Catherine of Aragon Murder Mystery Easter egg chain. It has been adapted into other mediums several times, including twice for television, the most recent adaptation in 2004 featuring Toby Marlow in a minor role.

The closest Catherine Parr came to death in her third marriage was when she argued about theology with Henry on a regular basis. Henry (and some conservative members of the court) did not appreciate this, and wrote up a warrant for Parr’s arrest on the grounds of heresy. Parr found out about this, and when she went to see Henry next, claimed she wasn’t arguing with him, but learning from him, “yet must I, and will I, refer my judgment in this, and in all other cases, to your majesty’s wisdom, as my only anchor, supreme head and governor here in earth, next under God, to lean unto”. Flattery tended to work well with Henry, and so Parr lived.

While most of the strange occurrences recounted by Parr are fiction, one or two are based off specific events said to have occurred in one of London’s most haunted houses, 50 Berkeley Square. Two sailors stayed in the house for one night, only to be frightened by an apparition that sent one of them running to find the police. The other was found dead on a fencepost, having fallen onto it in the presumed attempt to escape. While some sources say the apparition was an inhuman creature with a gaping mouth, some say it was the ghost of a previous owner – Thomas Meyers, who lived alone in the house after supposedly being rejected by his fiancee, slowly going insane and dying at the age of 76 in 1874.

‘Dizzard’ is a word meaning fool or idiot, most likely taken from the Middle English word disour, meaning a jester. It was apparently used during the 1500s. If so, Catherine Parr would be familiar with it – she had a female jester called, appropriately, Jane Foole. It has been theorised that the woman on the far left of that 1545 portrait of Henry’s family is in fact Jane Foole, with other favoured jester Will Somers on the other side.

(Why would you put your current wife in the painting you commissioned when you can put your clowns in instead?)

The plot is based on a tendency of Henry VIII’s which both Catherine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn had experience with. Henry was a big fan of dressing up in disguises – one of his more famous costumes was Robin Hood, with his friends as the merry men. He would leave an event, get dressed up, return and demand dances and kisses from the present ladies. Everyone was expected to feign ignorance as to who the masked men were, then surprise when Henry revealed himself. The king got very sulky when people didn’t play along.

[newstfionline]

Saturday, December 26, 2020

Getting creative to help the homeless (AP) After three years on the streets, Tiecha Vannoy and her boyfriend Chris Foss plan to weather the pandemic this winter in a small white “pod” with electricity, heat and enough room for two. Portland this month assembled neat rows of the shelters, which resemble garden sheds, in three ad-hoc “villages”—part of an unprecedented effort unfolding in cold-weather cities nationwide to keep people without permanent homes safe as temperatures drop and coronavirus cases surge. “We just get to stay in our little place. We don’t have to leave here unless we want to,” said Vannoy, wiping away tears as they moved into the shelter near a downtown train station. “It’s been a long time coming. He always tells me to have faith, but I was just over it.” ... “Those (are) folks who would under normal circumstances maybe come into a drop-in center to warm up, or go into the subway to warm up, or go into a McDonald’s to warm up—and just not having those options available to them. What then?” asked Giselle Routhier of the Coalition for the Homeless in New York City.

Raise your mittens: Outdoor learning continues into winter (AP) Cindy Soule’s fourth graders in Maine’s largest city have studied pollination in a community garden. They solved an erosion problem that was damaging trees. They learned about bear scat. Then came a fresh layer of snow and temperatures that hovered around freezing—but her students were unfazed. Bundled up and masked, they scooted outside with their belongings in buckets. They collected their pencils and clipboards, plopped the buckets upside down in the snow, took a seat and went to work. The lesson? Snow, of course, and how snowflakes are formed. Schools nationwide scrambled to get students outdoors during the pandemic to keep them safe and stop the spread of COVID-19. Now, with temperatures plummeting, a smaller number of schools—even in some of the nation’s most frigid climes—plan to keep it going all winter long, with students trading desks in warm classrooms for tree stumps or buckets.

Explosion in Nashville that damaged 20 buildings, injured 3 people an ‘intentional act’ (USA Today) Authorities believe an explosion that occurred in downtown Nashville early Christmas morning and was felt for miles was an “intentional act” sparked by a vehicle. Police responded to reports of a suspicious vehicle parked outside the AT&T building just before 6 a.m. Upon arrival, police said an officer “had reason” to alert the department’s hazardous devices unit, which was en route, when a “significant explosion” happened. Three people were hospitalized with injuries, police said. At least 20 buildings were damaged, Nashville Mayor John Cooper said. The sound of the explosion could be heard from miles away, and people reported windows shaking from South and East Nashville. “It looks like a bomb went off,” Cooper said. The downtown area will be “sealed off” for further investigation and to make sure everything is “completely safe.”

US to require negative COVID-19 test from UK travelers (AP) The United States will require airline passengers from Britain to get a negative COVID-19 test before their flight, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention announced late Thursday. The U.S. is the latest country to announce new travel restrictions because of a new variant of the coronavirus that is spreading in Britain and elsewhere. Airline passengers from the United Kingdom will need to get negative COVID-19 tests within three days of their trip and provide the results to the airline, the CDC said in a statement. The agency said the order will be signed Friday and go into effect on Monday. “If a passenger chooses not to take a test, the airline must deny boarding to the passenger,” the CDC said in its statement. The agency said because of travel restrictions in place since March, air travel to the U.S. from the U.K. is already down by 90%.

Many just want a hug for Christmas this year, Queen Elizabeth says (Reuters) All many people want for Christmas this year is a simple hug, Britain’s Queen Elizabeth said in her annual festive message, saying it would be hard for those who lost loved ones to COVID-19 pandemic or were separated by curbs on social mixing. In her traditional pre-recorded Christmas Day address to the nation, the 94-year-old monarch repeatedly spoke of hope for the future whilst acknowledging millions of Britons would be unable to have their usual family celebrations this year. “Of course for many, this time of year will be tinged with sadness; some mourning the loss of those dear to them, and others missing friends and family members distanced for safety when all they really want for Christmas is a simple hug or a squeeze of the hand,” Elizabeth said. “If you are among them, you are not alone. And let me assure you of my thoughts and prayers.” “Remarkably, a year that has necessarily kept people apart has in many ways brought us closer,” said the queen, adding the royals had been inspired by stories of those who volunteered to help others in need. “In the United Kingdom and around the world, people have risen magnificently to the challenges of the year and I’m so proud and moved by this quiet indomitable spirit.”

For the European Union, It’s a Pretty Good Deal (NYT) The European Union emerges from fraught negotiations with Britain over its exit from the bloc with a sense of satisfaction—that it has maintained its unity and its core principles, especially the integrity of the single market of now 450 million consumers that is the foundation of its influence. And it is now looking ahead to its life without Britain. The final deal is a free-trade agreement that recognizes Britain’s desire to leave the single market and the customs union while preserving tariff-free, quota-free trade in goods with the European Union. To that end, Britain agreed to a mechanism, with arbitration and possible tariffs for violations, that would keep its regulations and subsidies roughly in line with those of Brussels, to prevent unfair competition. But the deal will require inspections of goods to prevent smuggling. The deal also covers many mundane but crucial matters of visas, health insurance, and air, rail and road travel. It treats Northern Ireland, which is part of the United Kingdom, as within the E.U. customs area to prevent the need for a hard border on the island, but requires some checks on goods going from Britain to Northern Ireland. And the deal reallocates fishing areas and quotas, given that Britain is now an independent coastal state.

Pope Francis celebrates low-key Christmas Eve Mass amid coronavirus restrictions (Fox News) Pope Francis celebrated Christmas Eve Mass on Thursday night amid coronavirus restrictions that reduced a normal crowd of as many as 10,000 congregants to a group of fewer than 100 people, according to reports. During his homily, the Roman Catholic leader urged followers to reach out to the needy, noting that Jesus Christ was considered an outsider. “The Son of God was born an outcast, in order to tell us that every outcast is a child of God,” the pope said. May the Child of Bethlehem help us, then, to be generous, supportive and helpful, especially towards those who are vulnerable, the sick, those unemployed or experiencing hardship due to the economic effects of the pandemic, and women who have suffered domestic violence during these months of lockdown,” he said.

Turkey debates law that would increase oversight of NGOs (Reuters) Turkey’s parliament began debating a draft law on Friday that would increase oversight of non-governmental organisations and which, according to rights campaigners, risks limiting the freedoms of civil-society groups. The government says the measure, covering “foundations and associations”, aims to prevent non-profit organisations from financing terrorism and to punish those who violate the law. Civil-society groups, including Amnesty International and the Human Rights Association, said terrorism charges in Turkey were arbitrary, and that the draft law would violate the presumption of innocence and punish those whose trials were not finalised.Investigations based on terrorism charges have been launched against hundreds of thousands of people under a crackdown following a failed coup in 2016. Hundreds of foundations were also shut down with decrees following the coup attempt.

Half of Russians sceptical Kremlin critic Navalny was poisoned (Reuters) Half of Russians believe that Kremlin critic Alexei Navalny was either not poisoned, as he and Western governments contend, or that his poisoning was stage-managed by Western intelligence services, a poll showed on Thursday. The poll, released by the Levada-Center, shows how hard it remains for Navalny to shape public opinion in Russia even as his case attracts wide media attention in the West and his own slickly-produced videos of what happened to him this summer rack up millions of views online. Navalny, one of President Vladimir Putin’s most outspoken critics, was airlifted to Germany for medical treatment in August after collapsing on a plane in Russia. Germany has said he was poisoned with a Soviet-style Novichok nerve agent in an attempt to murder him, an assertion many Western nations accept. The poll by Levada, which is regarded as more independent than state counterparts, showed only 15% of Russians believed what happened to Navalny was an attempt by the authorities to rid themselves of a political opponent. By contrast, 30% thought that the incident was stage-managed and that there was no poisoning, and 19% said they believed it was a provocation orchestrated by Western intelligence services.

Hong Kong street refrigerator keeps giving (AP) Most people who head to Woosung Street in Hong Kong’s old-school neighborhood of Jordan are visiting its popular restaurants serving everything from curries to seafood. Others may be headed for a lone refrigerator, painted blue, with a sign that reads: “Give what you can give, take what you need to take.” The door of the fridge sitting outside a hockey academy opens to reveal it is stuffed with packets of instant noodles, biscuits, tins of food and even socks and towels for anyone who may need them. Ahmen Khan, founder of a sports foundation on the same street, said he was inspired to create a community refrigerator after seeing a film about others doing the same thing. He found the refrigerator at a nearby refuse collection point and painted it blue. “It’s like a dignity, that when you go home, you open your fridge to get food,” Khan said. “So I want the people to just feel like that. Even if it’s a street, it’s their community, it’s their home, so they can simply just open it and then just put food there, and collect the food.” Khan’s blue refrigerator project went viral on social media and people have been dropping by to leave food inside.

Israeli jets fly over Beirut, explosions reported in Syria (AP) Israeli jets flew very low over parts of Lebanon early Friday, terrifying residents on Christmas Eve, some of whom reported seeing missiles in the skies over Beirut. Minutes later, Syria’s official news agency reported explosions in the central Syrian town of Masyaf. Other Syrian media said Syrian air defenses responded to an Israeli attack near the town in the Hama province. The Syrian Ministry of Defense issued a statement saying Israel “launched an aggression by directing a barrage of rockets” from the north of the Lebanese city of Tripoli towards the Masyaf area. Israeli jets regularly violate Lebanese airspace and have often struck inside Syria from Lebanese territory. But the Christmas Eve flights were louder than usual, frightening residents of Beirut who have endured multiple crises in the past year, including the catastrophic Aug. 4 explosion at the city’s port that killed over 200 people and destroyed parts of the capital.

[96thdayofrage]

America’s defeat in Afghanistan is one in a string of catastrophic military blunders that herald the death of the American empire. With the exception of the first Gulf War, fought largely by mechanized units in the open desert that did not – wisely – attempt to occupy Iraq, the United States political and military leadership has stumbled from one military debacle to another. Korea. Vietnam. Lebanon. Afghanistan. Iraq. Syria. Libya. The trajectory of military fiascos mirrors the sad finales of the Chinese, Ottoman, Hapsburg, Russian, French, British, Dutch, Portuguese and Soviet empires. While each of these empires decayed with their own peculiarities, they all exhibited patterns of dissolution that characterize the American experiment.

Imperial ineptitude is matched by domestic ineptitude. The collapse of good government at home, with legislative, executive and judicial systems all seized by corporate power, ensures that the incompetent and the corrupt, those dedicated not to the national interest but to swelling the profits of the oligarchic elite, lead the country into a cul-de-sac. Rulers and military leaders, driven by venal self-interest, are often buffoonish characters in a grand comic operetta. How else to think of Allen Dulles, Dick Cheney, George W. Bush, Donald Trump or the hapless Joe Biden? While their intellectual and moral vacuity is often darkly amusing, it is murderous and savage when directed towards their victims.

There is not a single case since 1941 when the coups, political assassinations, election fraud, black propaganda, blackmail, kidnapping, brutal counter-insurgency campaigns, U.S. sanctioned massacres, torture in global black sites, proxy wars or military interventions carried out by the United States resulted in the establishment of a democratic government. The two-decade-long wars in the Middle East, the greatest strategic blunder in American history, have only left in their wake one failed state after another. Yet, no one in the ruling class is held accountable.

War, when it is waged to serve utopian absurdities, such as implanting a client government in Baghdad that will flip the region, including Iran, into U.S. protectorates, or when, as in Afghanistan, there is no vision at all, descends into a quagmire. The massive allocation of money and resources to the U.S. military, which includes Biden’s request for $715 billion for the Defense Department in fiscal year 2022, a $11.3 billion, or 1.6 percent increase, over 2021, is not in the end about national defense. The bloated military budget is designed, as Seymour Melman explained in his book, “The Permanent War Economy,” primarily to keep the American economy from collapsing. All we really make anymore are weapons. Once this is understood, perpetual war makes sense, at least for those who profit from it.

The idea that America is a defender of democracy, liberty and human rights would come as a huge surprise to those who saw their democratically elected governments subverted and overthrown by the United States in Panama (1941), Syria (1949), Iran (1953), Guatemala (1954), Congo (1960), Brazil (1964), Chile (1973), Honduras (2009) and Egypt (2013). And this list does not include a host of other governments that, however despotic, as was the case in South Vietnam, Indonesia or Iraq, were viewed as inimical to American interests and destroyed, in each case making life for the inhabitants of these countries even more miserable.

I spent two decades on the outer reaches of empire as a foreign correspondent. The flowery rhetoric used to justify the subjugation of other nations so corporations can plunder natural resources and exploit cheap labor is solely for domestic consumption. The generals, intelligence operatives, diplomats, bankers and corporate executives that manage empire find this idealistic talk risible. They despise, with good reason, naïve liberals who call for “humanitarian intervention” and believe the ideals used to justify empire are real, that empire can be a force for good. These liberal interventionists, the useful idiots of imperialism, attempt to civilize a process that was created and designed to repress, intimidate, plunder and dominate.

The liberal interventionists, because they wrap themselves in high ideals, are responsible for numerous military and foreign policy debacles. The call by liberal interventionists such as Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton, Joe Biden, Susan Rice and Samantha Power to fund jihadists in Syria and depose Muammar Gaddafi in Libya rent these countries — as in Afghanistan and Iraq — into warring fiefdoms. The liberal interventionists are also the tip of the spear in the campaign to rachet up tensions with China and Russia.

Russia is blamed for interfering in the last two presidential elections on behalf of Donald Trump. Russia, whose economy is roughly the size of Italy’s, is also attacked for destabilizing the Ukraine, supporting Bashar al-Assad in Syria, funding France’s National Front party and hacking into German computers. Biden has imposed sanctions on Russia – including limits on buying newly issued sovereign debt – in response to allegations that Moscow was behind a hack on SolarWinds Corp. and worked to thwart his candidacy.

At the same time, the liberal interventionists are orchestrating a new cold war with China, justifying this cold war because the Chinese government is carrying out genocide against its Uyghur minority, repressing the pro-democracy movement in Hong Kong and stealing U.S. patents. As with Russia, sanctions have been imposed targeting the country’s ruling elite. The U.S. is also carrying out provocative military maneuvers along the Russian border and in the South China Sea.

The core belief of imperialists, whether they come in the form of a Barack Obama or a George W. Bush, is racism and ethnic chauvinism, the notion that Americans are permitted, because of superior attributes, to impose their “values” on lesser races and peoples by force. This racism, carried out in the name of Western civilization and its corollary white supremacy, unites the rabid imperialists and liberal interventionists in the Republican and Democratic parties. It is the fatal disease of empire, captured in Graham Greene’s novel “The Quiet American” and Michael Ondaatje’s “The English Patient.”

The crimes of empire always spawn counter-violence that is then used to justify harsher forms of imperial repression. For example, the United States routinely kidnapped Islamic jihadists fighting in the Balkans between 1995 and 1998. They were sent to Egypt — many were Egyptian — where they were savagely tortured and usually executed. In 1998, the International Islamic Front for Jihad said it would carry out a strike against the United States after jihadists were kidnapped and transferred to black sites from Albania. They made good on their threat igniting massive truck bombs at the U.S. embassies in Kenya and Tanzania that left 224 dead. Of course, the “extraordinary renditions” by the CIA did not end and neither did the attacks by jihadists.

Our decades-long military fiascos, a feature of all late empires, are called “micro-militarism.” The Athenians engaged in micro-militarism during the Peloponnesian War (431-404 B.C.) when they invaded Sicily, suffering the loss of 200 ships and thousands of soldiers. The defeat triggered successful revolts throughout the Athenian empire. The Roman empire, which at its height lasted for two centuries, created a military machine that, like the Pentagon, was a state within a state. Rome’s military rulers, led by Augustus, snuffed out the remnants of Rome’s anemic democracy and ushered in a period of despotism that saw the empire disintegrate under the weight of extravagant military expenditures and corruption. The British empire, after the suicidal military folly of World War I, was terminated in 1956 when it attacked Egypt in a dispute over the nationalization of the Suez Canal. Britain was forced to withdraw in humiliation, empowering Arab nationalist leaders such as Egypt’s Gamal Abdel Nasser and dooming British rule over its few remaining colonies. None of these empires recovered.

“While rising empires are often judicious, even rational in their application of armed force for conquest and control of overseas dominions, fading empires are inclined to ill-considered displays of power, dreaming of bold military masterstrokes that would somehow recoup lost prestige and power,” the historian Alfred W. McCoy writes in his book “In the Shadows of the American Century: The Rise and Decline of US Global Power”: “Often irrational even from an imperial point of view, these micromilitary operations can yield hemorrhaging expenditures or humiliating defeats that only accelerate the process already under way.”

The worse it gets at home the more the empire needs to fabricate enemies within and without. This is the real reason for the increase in tensions with Russia and China. The poverty of half the nation and concentration of wealth in the hands of a tiny oligarchic cabal, the wanton murder of unarmed civilians by militarized police, the rage at the ruling elites, expressed with nearly half the electorate voting for a con artist and demagogue and a mob of his supporters storming the capital, are the internal signs of disintegration. The inability of the for-profit national health services to cope with the pandemic, the passage of a Covid relief bill and the proposal of an infrastructure bill that would hand the bulk of some $5 trillion dollars to corporations while tossing crumbs — one-time checks of $1,400 to a citizenry in deep financial distress — will only fuel the decline.

Because of the loss of unionized jobs, the real decline of wages, de-industrialization, chronic underemployment and unemployment, and punishing austerity programs, the country is plagued by a plethora of diseases of despair including opioid addictions, alcoholism, suicides, gambling, depression, morbid obesity and mass shootings — since March 16 the United States has had at least 45 mass shootings, including eight people killed in an Indiana FedEx facility on Friday, three dead and three injured in a shooting in Wisconsin on Sunday, and another three dead in a shooting in Austin on Sunday. These are the consequences of a deeply troubled society.

The façade of empire is able to mask the rot within its foundations, often for decades, until, as we saw with the Soviet Union, the empire appears to suddenly disintegrate. The loss of the dollar as the global reserve currency will probably mark the final chapter of the American empire. In 2015, the dollar accounted for 90 percent of bilateral transactions between China and Russia, a percentage that has since fallen to about 50 percent. The use of sanctions as a weapon against China and Russia pushes these countries to replace the dollar with their own national currencies. Russia, as part of this move away from the dollar, has begun accumulating yuan reserves.

The loss of the dollar as the world’s reserve currency will instantly raise the cost of imports. It will result in unemployment of Depression-era levels. It will force the empire to dramatically contract. It will, as the economy worsens, fuel a hyper-nationalism that will most likely be expressed through a Christianized fascism. The mechanisms, already in place, for total social control, militarized police, a suspension of civil liberties, wholesale government surveillance, enhanced “terrorism” laws that railroad people into the world’s largest prison system and censorship overseen by the digital media monopolies will seamlessly cement into place a police state. Nations that descend into crises these severe seek to deflect the rage of a betrayed population on foreign scapegoats. China and Russia will be used to fill these roles.

The defeat in Afghanistan is a familiar and sad story, one all those blinded by imperial hubris endure. The tragedy, however, is not the collapse of the American empire, but that, lacking the ability to engage in self-critique and self-correction, as it dies it will lash out in a blind, inchoate fury at innocents at home and abroad.

[sablelab]

Covert Operations - Chapter 77

DISCLAIMER: This is a modern AU crossover story with Outlander and La Femme Nikita. LFN and its characters do not belong to me nor do those from Outlander.

SYNOPSIS:  The OCTB detectives investigate the bloodbath at Jonathon Randall’s nightclub. Meanwhile Inspector Jiang Ng is worried that his duplicity will be discovered because of the turn of events there. The Inspector has also been given explicit orders from the Chief Commissioner as far as Claire Beauchamp is concerned, which will play very nicely into Section One’s hand.

 I would like to THANK YOU for all so much for your stalwart support of my Work in Progress. As a writer you never know how your writing will be received, so THANK YOU, lovely readers for liking what I have written thus far.  I really appreciate that you are enjoying reading Covert Operations.  Previous chapters can be found at … https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations

  CHAPTER 77

  Inspector Jiang Ng sat at his desk littered with cold coffee cups and used cigarettes. Leaning back in his chair he rubbed his eyes then stretched his hands behind his head trying to waver off the tiredness he felt.  He’d been up all night trying to sort through this mess at The Triangle nightclub but seemed to be getting nowhere. He’d not slept a wink at all and looked decidedly dishevelled because of it. It had been a very long evening for his officers at the Organised Crime and Triad Bureau as well, for their investigation had gone long into the night. Many detectives were also still at headquarters refusing to go home until they had some concrete leads on this case. He’d taken a call from Jonathon Randall which had come through in the early hours of the morning to attend a random shooting and firebombing at his nightclub. When he had placed the call for assistance last night, Randall had said there’d been a disturbance on the dance floor at the most exclusive nightclub in Hong Kong where he was holding private birthday celebrations. The Inspector had immediately rallied and sent over a fleet of detectives, back up squads, and along with his police officers he’d also rushed over to the club when told there had been a murder. When they’d arrived, the scene outside the club was chaotic. There were many distressed guests from the birthday party standing on the pavement in shock at what had occurred inside The Triangle and many more who were obviously traumatised by what they had seen. There were several distraught men and women, some covered with blood splatters, who were being comforted by other bystanders. Some were walking up and down aimlessly mumbling under their breath, while others were being attended to by medics who had quickly arrived on the scene. The Inspector had dispatched some of his men to interview the eye witnesses and to take their statements to what had occurred.  He was now in the process of reading some of those reports and they weren’t pretty.  

Then, on entering the premises, they had never expected to find the massacre that they had on arrival. The real carnage had been inside the nightclub. It was more than just a murder; it was the sight of a triad bloodbath. The main area of the club and all the exits and entrance to the nightclub were littered with the bodies of the slain. At first glance it had all the characteristics of a territorial dispute where members of rival triads had flexed their muscle to exert their power or to cause as much trouble as possible for Jonathon and the Rising Dragons. The Inspector had ordered that the area be cordoned off to allow the police to conduct their investigations. Forensics photographers had photographed the deceased while other officers had tried to find any identification on the bodies. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was a disaster ... the shootings and firebombing at Randall’s club last night would be a nightmare to sort through in the coming week and beyond. Not only was it a blow for Jonathon Randall, but it was a catastrophe for the triad as well. The press would ultimately focus their attention on the Rising Dragons and the reasons why such a tragedy had occurred at a private party. He would also need to act swiftly to lay blame elsewhere. The evening was supposed to have been a private party celebration for Jonathon, so how did members of rival triad groups manage to get in the nightclub? 

He knew he would have to pull something extraordinary out of the box to turn this calamity around. Investigations would go on for some time and the nightclub would need to be closed for at least a week if not longer until the place had been thoroughly investigated for clues as to what really had happened. All security staff would need to be checked and verified, all invited guests screened and more statements would need to be taken from every person in attendance. Furthermore, the dead would need to be identified and next of kin notified.

Jiang shook his head in disbelief at the work that would be involved in this investigation. 

When he’d spoken to Jonathon earlier this morning, he’d said that the triad had sent in reinforcements ... yet there were still multiple causalities and the Rising Dragons had suffered their fair share too. How was that possible? They were well trained men who were proficient and skilful. How was it that they had died? Their work at the OCTB was often like this, but somehow this particular case seemed different. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason for what had happened. From all appearances, from those they had identified as belonging to the Black Panthers triad, there really weren’t that many rival triad members there ... So how come the Rising Dragons suffered multiple casualties particularly in the stairwell area? How did so few people cause such mayhem? The one thing he hoped was that this was not an inside job, but he would need to do a forensic check on the bullets of the dead victims to see their origin first. Perhaps that would shed some light on investigations as to who was responsible and why? He knew he would have to work fast to diffuse the situation at The Triangle and not centre attention on Jonathon Randall. This was not his fault ... the blame lay elsewhere.

 Placing his hands to his head, Inspector Ng shut his eyes and leaned forward deep in thought. In light of their investigations this past week about the Black Panthers and Samuel Li there was only one thing he could do. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* The news media had quickly appeared on the scene knowing that any story about Jonathon Randall was newsworthy. Inspector Ng thought that the best form of attack was to confront them up front, so he had called a press conference to clarify the situation and to allow journalists and reporters to ask questions. Jonathon Randall’s name had appeared in the press on numerous occasions and most recently with the attempted kidnapping of Laoghaire MacKimmie of which he had been exonerated. Perhaps the fact that he was handsome, rich and somewhat untouchable made him a person of interest to the public. Now there had been multiple murders at his nightclub. This would place Randall in the spotlight again as well as provide a great deal of material for investigative journalists to sink their teeth into because of this explosive story. Hence juggling what the print and visual media reported would be a balancing act as well. That's why when he spoke to the press after the operation Jiang moved swiftly to diffuse some of the heat from Jonathon Randall and place it elsewhere. As he stood on the steps of the OCTB building to face the media to release a statement, the camera flashlight bulbs were almost blinding. Microphones were thrust into his face as journalists jostled for the prime position to hear what he had to say and to ask questions. The reporters and journalists threw questions at him from left, right and centre. “Inspector Ng! What happened at The Triangle?” “Inspector Ng! What are the OCTB doing about the triad violence in Hong Kong?” “Do the police have any leads?”

 “Is it true there were many causalities?”

“Inspector Ng!” “Inspector Ng!” Holding up his hands to silence the frenzied questions Jiang managed to gain a modicum of silence, then when he was satisfied, he spoke. “Ladies and gentlemen ... I will answer your questions one at a time after I have made a statement. As you know police officers from the Organised Crime and Triad Bureau visited and searched the entertainment premises of The Triangle nightclub early this morning and found many deceased persons. Our investigations are progressing at the moment.” “Inspector Ng ... Jennifer Yew from “China News” ... Is it true that the OCTB conducted raids on the headquarters of triad groups this morning?” “Yes ... On the pretence of an early morning anti-triad operation raid, the OCTB simultaneously carried out raids on the headquarters of the Black Panthers and Red Lanterns’ headquarters early this morning. This resulted in several persons being arrested who are now in custody. The flash operation was conducted following the affray which had occurred at The Triangle because we believed that some triad members were involved in the incident.” “Inspector, can you elucidate further please?” “The men were aged between 18 and 47 and a large quantity of firearms and weapons were also seized.” “Martin Lam from “Inside China Today” ... Does this mean that we can expect more triad unrest because of the murders at The Triangle?” “We certainly hope not ... but unfortunately it is a possibility. Triad activities still remain a major policing priority of the OCTB. This morning's operation only reinforced our determination to confront and tackle those involved in these illegal activities and murder.” “Will there be a crackdown to prevent an incident like this occurring again?” “We’re determined to crack down on triad activities and will continue to carry out regular anti-triad operations to combat triad-related crime in Hong Kong. We will detain the arrested persons for further investigation.” “Inspector, Simon Leung from “The Hong Kong Chronicle” … Are these murders in any way connected with the car bombing in Victoria Park?” “It’s possible.” Jiang however, didn’t want the journalists to pursue that line of questioning and abruptly cut off any more questions. “I’m sorry ladies and gentlemen but that will be all for the time being.  When I have more information, you will be the first to know,” he stated calling a halt to the press conference. However, the press was still intent to fire questions as he left the podium. “Inspector Ng! Samuel Li is back in Hong Kong.  Is he involved? Or the Black Panthers?”

“Jemma Lin from “Oriental Morning Post” … Is it true Inspector, that there is a connection between Jonathon Randall and the Rising Dragons? … Why won’t you answer my question Inspector? … Inspector?” Turning his back on the gathered journalists, Inspector Ng made his retreat back inside the OCTB building amid more frenetic questioning that he didn’t want to answer from the Chinese press reporters gathered outside the building.  He totally ignored the last question, but because of it, he knew that he had much work ahead of him to dispel any connection between Jonathon and the triad. Without a backward glance, he briskly walked away from the press conference with much on his mind.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

This murder fracas could prove to be volatile. Ruffling the feathers of the triads was not going to go down well with Sun Yee Lok or the other leaders for that matter. He was also worried that his duplicity and membership with the Rising Dragons may very well be revealed because of the investigations. Consequently, he would need to keep a tight rein on procedures and take control over the proceedings. The need to tread warily was imperative as exposure would be the death knoll for him. There was much information that his enemies would like to know about him and his associations. 

Fiona Graham had gotten too close and she had paid the price but her death was inevitable and, in his mind, justified. Her threat to expose him had shown he could be ruthless and dangerous if the envelope was pushed too far. There was no way that he could let Intel about his associations be made public. Fiona had served him well over the years but she had slipped up and he had given her the benefit of the doubt because of their association. This dated back to when they were young. She had befriended him as a new recruit at the police academy and had graduated with him until she had left the force to go into private investigation. Over the years she’d provided some excellent Intel on enemies from within, and when called upon she had used her skills to infiltrate into the Hong Kong police. However, when Fiona had said she’d wanted out ... he was left with little choice. Her death was an inevitable consequence ... she knew too much about him and he couldn’t risk her passing on information into the wrong hands. His position in the OCTB was well ingrained and it served the Rising Dragons well. Over the years he had managed to prosecute their enemies and help the triad avoid other advantageous legal things that had seen the Rising Dragons prosper. Fiona had been an excellent undercover agent for the OCTB. She had infiltrated the other triad gangs to get evidence and intelligence they needed for prosecution and he had used this Intel to the Rising Dragons’ advantage. His musings pondered that transferring the blame to the Black Panthers for her death may very well have led to the bloodbath in Jonathon Randall’s club last night. It was well known that there was bad blood between the Rising Dragons and Samuel Li’s triad. Now the problem had just gotten bigger. It may not just go away and he may not be able to make it go away. This time he might just have been backed into a corner. The Inspector was in a quandary as he knew Claire Beauchamp and Karen Yee were in attendance last night as well.

 He would need to tread professionally with both women and play along with the charade with Jonathon Randall without giving it away that both of them were members of the Rising Dragons. Claire could not suspect that he was in any way associated with the triad and given that the Chief Commissioner had spoken with him, he would need to be wary of her and not raise any suspicion of his involvement.  He would need to be very careful and balance out the lies upon lies that would come out of his mouth in front of Claire Beauchamp. 

This was a tricky situation but it was not insurmountable ... he’d done it before ... but this time he would need to take precautions to cover his own back. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Inspector Jiang Ng had much to mull over with the unexpected circumstances at Jonathon Randall’s nightclub and it was to be expected that the Chief Commissioner would eventually contact him and ask questions ... as he’d done. He wanted to know about what the Organised Crime and Triad Bureau, and Inspector Ng in particular was going to do about this investigation. When Jiang informed him about the state of affairs thus far, the Chief Commissioner was impressed with the speed of the OCTB’s investigations and raid on the rival triad headquarters. To keep up appearances, Jiang had categorically stated that although Jonathon Randall was indeed a suspicious character for such an incident to have happened at his nightclub, it was apparent from their investigations that the Black Panthers and Red Lanterns’ triads were the prime suspects in the atrocities. However, since the OCTB had never been able to pin anything substantial on Jonathon Randall, the Chief Commissioner thought this may be their chance to see if he was in fact a member of a triad group. He had wanted Inspector Ng to place Jonathon Randall under closer surveillance and had given him a direct order to do so. That’s when the Chief Commissioner had dropped his other bombshell.

Unbeknownst to him, Claire had already been instructed to check out Jonathon Randall, through her friendship with Karen Yee and her boyfriend who worked at The Triangle nightclub.   Jiang was surprised by this information and he’d certainly not expected the request put to him concerning her.  However, in retrospect though, one of his quandaries and the one thing that had concerned him ... just who was Claire Beauchamp ... was unexpectedly taken care of with his request. The Chief Commissioner had given him explicit directives about this new mission for her. He’d been informed that Claire was to undertake a special assignment on his command, stating that this provided the perfect cover for her to keep tabs on Jonathon Randall and verify if he was indeed a member of the Rising Dragons’ triad. He had ordered that she be released from duties at the OCTB immediately and be placed in an undercover roll for this very purpose.

Not only that, but the Chief Commissioner had also long suspected that there was a traitor on the inside within the ranks of the Water Police or the OCTB. He’d said that Claire’s assignment would be to find out if Intel was being exchanged or compromised by a mole within their own people. Hence, if she were close to Jonathon Randall, she may very well find out if this was true or not. He’d further stated that it was imperative to find out who the person or persons were passing on information to the Rising Dragons’ triad particularly now in light of the atrocities that had taken place at the nightclub. The police could ill afford for their enquiries to come to naught when trying to prosecute the perpetrators of this these heinous crimes. Therefore, it was a priority one to set up this particular scenario to flush out the mole and to implicate and confirm Jonathon Randall’s alleged association in triad activities. 

This then was a two-way fortuitous situation, for not only could Claire Beauchamp supposedly check out Jonathon Randall, but he could find out more information about who she really was.  It also gave Jonathon a chance to be cautious and to be wary of what he revealed.  However, these directives were also a double-edged sword and were very worrying for Inspector Ng. Could it be that his duplicity would finally be found out? Was the net getting smaller on his triad activities? These orders placed him in an invidious position. He could hardly refuse the Commissioner’s request or else it could expose his link to the triad as the mole and then his career would be in ruins. Not only that, but his incarceration could very well be the cause of the triad disintegrating. He knew too much and would be a liability to the triad. He’d be a marked man and without doubt would be dead within the hour once Sun Yee Lok found out. He had to think ... and think quickly for if he protested, then the Commissioner would want to know why.

Just who was this woman Claire Beauchamp and who was she working for? It was certainly apparent to him now that she knew more than she should. Jiang rattled his brain to come up with a counter plan.  He would just have to turn this into a positive win-win for the triad for this could work both ways. Having Claire where the triad could keep an eye on her would be unexpected. If she was under their scrutiny, then they could obtain Intel from her as to what she knew about the Rising Dragons too. The Chief Commissioner knew that undercover work was extremely dangerous and no doubt she would be out of her depth dealing with the triad. Then, if Claire was to meet with an accident ... that could be seen as an occupational hazard. Accidents happened. She would come to grief once they knew what they needed to know about her then dispose of her body. It would all be so easy. Since Claire’s undercover assignment would be clandestine then her death would be viewed as an unfortunate but surreal consequence of how dangerous this kind of work was. It would be regrettable but necessary. The sooner he set this scenario into action the better, that’s why Inspector Ng had decided to call Claire into his office that very afternoon in the guise of questioning her about last night. He smiled at the cunning but stupidity of the Chief Commissioner’s request. Claire Beauchamp would not live to tell her tales that’s for sure. In the long run it would be to his advantage and he would come up smelling of roses. Sun Yee Lok would be pleased. It would be a pity to see Claire die, but this was not happy families ... this was the reality of triad life. If you betrayed it in any way shape or form, then you suffered the consequences. Jiang knew their mantra only too well and he knew what would happen to him if he betrayed the Rising Dragons. Be wary of its mercilessness For treachery brings you danger. Perpetrators be especially vigilant, For it will rise up in anger... The Rising Dragon! The triad has a cruel, ferocious wrath Beware! Take heed! Think twice! Never ... ever ... deceive or betray For you will pay the price... The Rising Dragon! ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* “Sir ... you wanted to see me.” “Yes. Come in Claire ... thank you for coming down to the station on your day off.” “That’s okay.” As she entered the office and took a seat opposite Inspector Jiang Ng, he explained why she was called in to Headquarters. “I believe that you were at The Triangle last night celebrating Jonathon Randall’s birthday.” “Yes that’s right.” “Is there anything you would like to say that could shed light on what happened?” “I got separated from my friends as we were leaving the nightclub when it was apparent that some trouble was brewing.” “Do you know who started the fracas?” “Not really sir. Although my friend Karen Yee said she thought the person was a member of the Black Panthers who had gained entry by deceit. Other than that, I really can’t elaborate on investigations I’m afraid. I had left before anything really serious had happened,” Claire expounded.

“Very well ... I will need to interview your friend as well to collaborate your story. Do you have her number?” “Yes,” she replied handing over Karen’s cell phone number. “Good ... I’ll contact her to come in for questioning later this afternoon.” “Were many people killed Inspector? I heard the gunshots from outside.” “Unfortunately there were quite a few fatalities.” “That’s regrettable. I guess Mr Randall will be devastated that the nightclub will be closed.” “I’m sure you’re right ... but that brings me to another matter Claire.” “Yes sir?” “I have an order here from the Chief Commissioner.” “Yes?” “I won’t beat around the bush or keep you any longer than necessary.” “Thank you.” “I won’t mince words either...” Inspector Ng paused for a brief moment before continuing. “... You are to go on an undercover mission to see if Jonathon Randall is a member of the Rising Dragons triad.” “I see. But may I say sir, that I find that a little surprising and hard to believe. What do you think?”

Was she goading him to make a declaration as to the absurdity that Jonathon Randall could be a triad member or was, she trying to trap him into revealing too much about himself? Given the second part of the Chief Commissioner’s demands he was wary… very wary.

“If he is, then I would be shocked but, then again sometimes the less likely people can be hiding their true identity.”

“Well I guess getting close to him will reveal the truth whatever that may be.”

Jiang merely nodded but her words stung. He would need to warn Jonathon that Claire Beauchamp was too perceptive and he needed to watch his step as indeed did he.  

“The Chief Commissioner also wants to know if he has connections to a traitor within the police ranks.”

Claire watched the stoic look Inspector Ng gave her, knowing that what he was telling her was really about him. The man had gumption. He never even blinked an eye when he was talking. “The Commissioner informed me of your excellent work in Aberdeen, which I might say I was unaware about, and he has specifically requested that you take on this new assignment.” “I’m sorry Inspector, but I couldn’t reveal any of that mission to you when I was transferred here to the OCTB.” “Not a problem ... I completely understand; however, this is a new assignment and one that I’m sure you will give your upmost.” “I will ... Is there anything else sir?” “No ... you may go. Knowing of your skill set Claire, I’m sure you will be successful in this request.” “Thank you.” Jiang watched as Claire Beauchamp left his office knowing that this would be the last time, he saw her alive ... the woman was history. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Claire came away thinking that Madeline had set this scenario up perfectly. The cat was indeed amongst the pigeons now. Section One had cleared her absence from the OCTB for a short while to expedite the new profile, and had managed to put the fear of God into Inspector Ng at the same time. There was no greater opportunity to apprehend Jonathon Randall as his focus could be channelled into time spent with her. The target’s obvious interest in her would work to Section’s advantage and Madeline had profiled accordingly. She would capitalise on his infatuation with her over the next few weeks. Also, this new assignment would work in conjunction to what she had already told Karen and given that Randall had asked her out to dinner, then the wheels would be set in motion. This would collaborate the premise she had given Karen and Jonathon Randall as well.  It was a win-win scenario that could only benefit Section’s capture of several main protagonists.  Jamie wouldn’t like the scenario, but she thought the plan was a lay down misere … an absolute certainty of a predicted and easy victory for the Section and perhaps be the catalyst to capturing the leader of the triad if it remained as originally profiled.

 As for Inspector Ng ... his day of reckoning was coming sooner than he thought.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ to be continued on Saturday.

[mexcine]

Trials of an Okinawan Village (1971) review: This film is known under several English titles: perhaps most prevalent is Trials of an Okinawan Village, but this doesn't seem to be a literal translation of Nippon Jokyȏ-den: Gekitȏ Himeyuri-misaki (note: the Nippon Jokyȏ-den part of the title refers to the series "Tales of Chivalrous Women"), so perhaps Battle at Cape Himeyuri is more accurate.  There's not much information available in English (the most complete I’ve found is http://www.weirdwildrealm.com/f-trials-okinawa-village.html) and my Japanese language skills are nonexistent, so I guess we'll never know. 

One odd and mildly annoying aspect of the film is its indefinite chronological setting.  Although the United States ended its occupation of the main islands of Japan early in the 1950s, it didn't turn over control of Okinawa until 1971 (possibly an inspiration for this film's production).  However, the film's script strongly indicates the story is taking place within no more than a decade after the end of World War Two: Junko Fuji and Bunta Sugawara are shown in wartime flashbacks and do not look that much different in the contemporary scenes.  Other characters refer to their wartime service, and a teenage girl says she was injured during the war when she was "very young," so a reasonably good guess would be that the film's main action takes place no more than about a decade after the war's end.  And yet the clothing, hairstyles, and--most noticeably--the motor vehicles are definitely much newer than that.  This was probably a Catch-22 for the filmmakers: the script had Fuji and Sugawara meet in 1945, and it wasn't feasible for them to be 25 years' older for the bulk of the movie, and yet recreating 1955 Okinawa was either too expensive or simply not considered important enough to attempt. 

Trials of an Okinawan Village begins with World War Two footage and printed titles which read (in translation): "April 1937; U.S. troops advance on to Okinawan soil."  This is clearly erroneous: the battle of Okinawa did begin in April, but it was 1945, not 1937.  I don't know if this is a translation error or if the original titles also contained this misinformation.  The footage changes to colour, with images of the U.S. flag, airplanes, and military bases; the titles read "Okinawa in state of recovery under U.S. Occupation."  

Yuri Yonamine (Junko Fuji) runs a trucking company in post-war Okinawa, taking over from her late parents; she has vowed not to consider herself a "woman" (i.e., not get married or assume a traditional female role) until the company is rebuilt.  Yuri and her employees visit a restaurant to celebrate the purchase of a new truck, and clash with yakuza from the "mainland" (according to the titles--this means the main Japanese islands) who are hassling Sachiko, a teenage girl selling flowers.  Boss Iwamatsu calls off his thugs.  Yuri drives Sachiko--who uses a crutch due to a war injury--to her village the next day; coincidentally, it's the home village of Yuri's late mother.  Asada, the mayor, tells Yuri the village is very poor; they've planted sugar cane but had to borrow a large sum of money against the crop.

When Yuri learns a lot of wartime scrap has been unearthed near the village, she sees this as a chance to earn money to retire the debt.  However, Iwamatsu's gang has the sole right to sell such scrap to the U.S. government, and is also shipping scrap illegally to Hong Kong.  Asada threatens to report the yakuza to the U.S. authorities, but is killed by a hit-and-run driver.  The villagers are put to work loading the scrap for Iwamatsu, but a bomb explodes and kills 3 women.  Iwamatsu refuses to accept responsibility or pay an indemnity.

Tetsu Nakagami (Bunta Sugawara), a yakuza fleeing from Tokyo police, arrives on Okinawa and discovers his wartime friend Asada is dead.  Yuri asks him to delay his revenge on Iwamatsu--whose men clearly murdered Asada--until they earn enough money to pay the dead women's families.  Nakagami, stationed on Okinawa during the war, knows where a large cache of artillery shells is stored.  As it develops (shown earlier in flashback), Nakagami met the young Yuri (who was serving as a nurse) in a cave during the final battle for Okinawa: he gave her a wristwatch and urged her not to sacrifice herself.

Iwamatsu orders his men, including Okinawa native Iba, to stop Yuri and the villagers at all costs.  They blow up a truck loaded with scrap, killing two of Yuri's employees.  Iba and Nakagami fight; Yuri convinces Nakagami to spare the other man's life.  Iwamatsu's men force the villagers to retrieve the scrap from the hidden cave.  However, when they bring Sachiko to the site--intending to rape her--Iba intervenes.  He's mortally wounded, but takes the girl to Yuri's office before he dies.  Nakagami sets off for the cave site, and Yuri follows.  

Nakagami and Yuri wipe out Iwamatsu's entire gang, including the boss (who is savagely hacked to death by a sword-wielding Yuri), but they are then both arrested by U.S military police. Yuri is acquitted but Nakagami is convicted of murder and shot to death by a firing squad.   

Junko Fuji, daughter of a film producer, began acting in the early 1960s, and appeared in a number of yakuza films in this era.  She had her own yakuza series, "Red Peony Gambler," but retired when she got married in 1972.  She came back a decade later and has continued to work to the present day, sometimes under the name "Sumiko Fuji."  As Yuri, Fuji repeatedly declares her desire to postpone being a "woman" until her business goals have been reached; nonetheless, she is depicted as caring and responsible, in contrast with the violent Nakagami.  At the conclusion, of course, Yuri and Nakagami are pushed too far, and Yuri more than holds up her part of the final battle, firing a rifle, tossing a grenade, and wielding a sword with deadly effectiveness, her face distorted by rage. 

The "romance" between Yuri and Nakagami that standard film conventions would seem to demand never progresses, even to the point of a kiss, despite the obvious attraction between the two.  [This could be (a) a Japanese cultural convention, (b) a yakuza film convention (this is what Wild Realm Reviews suggests), or (c) something deliberately done by the filmmakers in this particular instance.  Western viewers will likely have their expectations confounded, in any case.]  As Nakagami is being led away to his execution, a weeping Yuri repeatedly shouts "Don't die!" (the same thing he'd told her in 1945 during the battle for Okinawa), and the film concludes with Yuri honouring Nakagami's memory with a ceremony next to (presumably) his grave marker on an Okinawan cliff. 

Nakagami is a "noble yakuza" (a Sixties trend that was largely replaced by more negative, realistic depictions of gangsters in the Seventies, represented by Iwamatsu and his gang here): in one scene he even says his gang "never harmed commoners!" [Presumably meaning non-yakuza; “civilians” might be a better word.] He arrives in Okinawa illegally (fleeing, as we later learn, an unjust accusation from a rival crime family), but has the ulterior motive of visiting the island where he fought during World War II (he later tells Yuri that he came back to find her, although this seems like an afterthought).  Iwamatsu asks him to collaborate, but Nakagami demurs (he doesn't refuse outright, and even borrows a car from the gang boss!).  When Iwamatsu won't pay an indemnity for the woman killed in his employ, Nakagami prepares to go into action, but Yuri asks him to wait, hoping she can get money for the women's families without violence.  She later convinces Nakagami not to kill Iba, an Okinawan native working as a yakuza for Iwamatsu, apparently feeling the man has a good side (possibly just because he's Okinawan--the film makes a point several times of highlighting the differences between Okinawans and Japanese from the "mainland," even including a comedy scene in which one of Nakagami's aides arrives on the island and is perplexed by the Okinawan dialect). 

In a somewhat contrived scene, one of Yuri’s men is trapped when a stack of old artillery shells shifts suddenly.  One of the shells starts to tick--it’s a delayed action bomb!  Fortunately, Nakagami (who was an artillery officer during the war) has the know-how to defuse it.  The scene is tense even though the audience knows that Nakagami (and Yuri, who runs back into the building to be with Nakagami and her employee) aren’t going to get blown up with half the film left to go!

Nakagami learns he's free to return to Tokyo (the rival gang admitted their falsehood and cleared him with the police), but he decides to stay on Okinawa, turning over his criminal gang to his assistant.  It's implied that he is thinking about marrying Yuri and settling down, but his death puts an end to those plans.

The U.S. presence in Okinawa is overt in several scenes, although the occupation of Okinawa (and thus, its status as an island governed by the Americans rather than Japan) is referenced frequently.  Early in the film, Yuri and her assistant Isamu fleece a Military Policeman out of several barrels of much-needed gasoline: the man wagers the fuel against a date (later raising the ante to "and a kiss") with the attractive young woman, but loses a game of cards (Yuri cheats by viewing the reflection of the man's cards in Isamu's belt buckle).   Later, Iwamatsu betrays Nakagami's presence to the U.S authorities, and a large group of Military Policemen (with one Japanese-American who acts as translator), arrive at Yuri's house to arrest him.  Nakagami hides in Yuri's bedroom, and she distracts the Americans by allowing them to "catch" her with her blouse off.  "Wow!" one MP says, but then has the decency to say "Excuse me," and leave.  

Nakagami's aide Hide arrives from Tokyo and starts to run when he sees a jeep full of MPs--they hold him at gunpoint (he says "Why am I running? I didn't do anything!") and he babbles about his birthplace, etc., before he's spotted by one of Yuri's men, who takes him to Nakagami.  This scene suggests that the residents of Okinawa view the Americans with some trepidation: without recourse to their own system of laws, they're at the mercy of the occupying troops. 

At the conclusion, Yuri and Nakagami are arrested by a horde of Military Policemen (who arrive after the one-sided battle is over).  A military judge pronounces judgement (curiously he begins speaking in English then switches to Japanese): "Okinawa belongs to America!" Nakagami will be executed.  When Yuri protests, the judge says "Take her out!" and has the protesting Yuri dragged away by several MPs.   

Trials of an Okinawan Village does not go out of its way to attack the American presence on Okinawa--in none of the previously-noted scenes do the MPs actually do anything illegal or brutal (well, Nakagami is executed but it appears to have been done legally)-- but the film makes it clear that the Okinawans are under military occupation and have few legal rights of their own.  The American military is the largest "business" on the island and has a number of exclusive rights, and the native inhabitants have to accommodate these, to their own economic detriment.  

Iwamatsu and his yakuza are the overt villains: they have a license from the U.S. to collect scrap, and exploit the Okinawans because of this.  However, they're not satisfied with this, illustrating their dishonourable nature by illegally exporting scrap to Hong Kong. 

Trials of an Okinawan Village makes good use of location shooting and is generally quite slick and professional.  The script does get bogged down a bit in the middle section, as Yuri and Nakagami (and the villagers) keep finding different sources of scrap metal, Iwamatsu and his men keep taking it away, and so on.  The performances are all good, although the comic relief provided by Nakagami's aide Hide (who only appears briefly) is somewhat out of place. 

Generally entertaining overall, and of additional historical-political interest because of its setting and the depiction of the U.S. occupation of Okinawa.

[libertariantaoist]

News Roundup 11/11/19

By Kyle Anzalone

US News

Using isolation to prevent suicides in prison, makes it more likely people will attempt suicide. [Link]

The US Supreme Court rules that civil asset forfeiture can violate the 8th Amendment. [Link]

Texas will execute a possibly innocent man, Rodney Reed. The state is refusing to DNA test the murder weapon that could prove the man is innocent. There is other evidence that suggests Reed is innocent. [Link]* French President Macron said NATO was dying. US Secretary of State Pompeo said the alliance must grow to survive. [Link]

The US imposed sanctions on three Nicaraguan government officials. [Link]

Europe

The Spanish high court reissues arrest warrants for three members of the former Catalan government that held an independent vote in 2017. [Link] Two of the members were arrested and released in Belgium. [Link]

Ukrainian and rebel forces are withdrawing from the front lines in the Donbas region. [Link]

Hong Kong

A student fell to death as police were breaking up a protest. [Link]

Afghanistan

The Afghan election results will likely be delayed again as the candidates are arguing over what ballots should be counted. [Link]

Three judges were killed at a checkpoint in Afghanistan. The government claims the Taliban were behind the attack. [Link]

Syria

Eight people were killed by a bomb in Turkish held Syria. Turkey blamed the bombing on the Syrian Kurdish militia. [Link]

Turkish backed Syrian rebels are abusing Syrian Kurdish civilians. [Link]

Iraq

At least five protesters were killed by Iraqi government forces on Saturday. [Link]

Seventeen rockets landed near an Iraqi base hosting US soldiers. [Link]

An explosion in northern Iraq injured five Italian soldiers. [Link]

Read More

[kimminstudying]

Case Study - 001

Warning: GRAPHIC CONTENT

Note: I chose to do this one first because for my Forensic Science class we had to investigate a case of our choice, write and report, and do a powerpoint for it and this was basically my final project for the class. Enjoy!

The span of these crimes was from 1983-1985 and the victims were lured to a bunker in the woods through ads that were posted of stolen goods. If the respondents were male, they were beaten, robbed from, and then shot often within a day of their capture. Female respondents were tied up, tortured, forced into submission, then raped. They would be shot and killed after their “services were no longer needed.”  Families or couples that were brought to the bunker had the same outcomes.

Charles Ng (pronounced as ing) was born Christmas Eve of 1960 in Hong Kong. Ng was a compulsive Kleptomaniac as a child and he was sent to several boarding schools in both China and London. He was granted a student visa in 1978 to study in the U.S and his parents hoped a new life in another country would set their son straight. Briefly attending the College of Notre Dame, Ng dropped out after one semester to join the Marines. 

To do so, Ng lied about his birthplace in order to keep his criminal record a secret. He was caught stealing guns, explosives, and other weaponry before being sentenced to 18 months in Leavenworth prison after his dishonorable discharge from the U.S Marines. 

Leonard Lake was born on October 29, 1945, in San Francisco. His parents separated when he was six years old, leaving him and his siblings in the care of his grandparents. 

Growing up, Lake was described as very cunning but sinister as he would collect mice and other small animals to dissolve them in acidic chemicals. He developed a pornography addiction during this time and Lake would force his sisters into taking sexual photos of themselves or performing sexual acts in exchange for protection from their abusive brother Dom. This incestual behavior was encouraged by Lake’s grandmother. 

Lake attended the University of San Jose State but also dropped out after a single semester. He also joined the Marines in 1965 when he was 19 years old and served two tours as a radar operator during Vietnam. He received a medical diagnosis of Schizoid Personality Disorder, an uncommon condition in which people avoid social activities and consistently shy away from interaction with others and also have a limited range of emotional expression, which caused him to be medically discharged in 1971. 

After his diagnosis, he received psychotherapy treatments and joined a hippie commune afterward. At the commune, Lake was directing and starring in adult films that involved bondage and/or sadomasochism. He met his first wife at the commune but the marriage didn’t last long when she discovered Lake’s film industry and after he kept insisting that she star in said films.

Lake was remarried to Claralyn “Cricket” Balazs in 1981 after Lake was imprisoned in 1980 for car theft, she was the “woman of his dreams” as she willingly complied to his sexual interests. It is suspected that Cricket had some knowledge of her husband’s behavior and that she assisted in the luring of Ng and Lake’s victims. 

She once admitted in a police interview that Lake would often bring in children or various ages and genders and that she wondered what it would feel like to do stuff to them. 

The bunker in the woods where the crimes took place also belonged to Balazs.

Lake had believed a nuclear holocaust was near and needed sex slaves to repopulate the earth. When he met Ng he passed this plan on to the susceptible, younger male. As chronicled in a series of video diaries, Ng and Lake are caught on tape raping, beating, and killing their victims along with their own personal monologues. 

There was also a typed journal with a list of Lake’s Rules for his behavior and treatment to his victims. They had more of a mentor-mentee relationship; Ng was the Sheep and Lake was the Shepard. Ng had always had such ideas but he was too shy of a man to commit to his urges by himself. 

The Victims (Confirmed):

Harvey Dubs

Deborah Dubs

Sean Dubs (infant)

Lonnie Bond Sr. (Lake’s Neighbor)

Brenda O’Connor (Bond’s Wife)

Lonnie Bond Jr. (infant)

Clifford Peranteau

Jeffrey Gerald

Michael Carroll

Kathleen Allen (boyfriend was Ng’s cellmate)

Robin Scott Stapley

Both men are suspected of being responsible for the disappearances of up to 25 people. The women were kept in the bunker for at least a few days or up to a week before they were shot and killed after they were tortured and raped repeatedly while their family watched and then got shot right in front of her eyes. The men were used for financial gain, although they and the children were not the main priority of Ng and Lake. Men and children were killed within the same day as their abduction.

Lake’s Possible Victim’s

Charles Gunnar: Military friend of Lake’s. Lake’s best man in both of his weddings. Went missing during ‘83-’85 and Lake was using Gunnar’s ID at one point in time. His remains were discovered at the ranch in September of 1992.

Donald “Dom” Lake: Leonard Lake’s younger brother. The one he used as a threat during his childhood in order to get sexual favors from his sisters in exchange for protection. Vanished in 1983 and was presumed dead. His remains were also found on the ranch in September 1992.

Paul Cosner: Police found out that the real Robin Stapley was missing for several weeks at the time of Lake’s arrest and that Lake’s car belonged to Paul Cosner, 39, who had also been missing for eight months in November 1984. 2001: a San Francisco judge found Ng and Lake responsible for the murder of Paul Cosner, a missing auto trader who was presumed dead.

Donald Giulietti: The FBI estimates their kidnapping and killing spree started within a month of their reunion. In July 1984, Donald Giuletti, a San Francisco disc jockey, and his roommate, Richard Carrazza, were shot by an Asian man who broke into their apartment and robbed them. 

Giulietti died in the attack but Carrazza survived and would later identify Charles Ng as his attacker. The pistol used in the attack was found at the Wilseyville site.

Lake and Ng got caught when they went to the store to buy a new vise on June 2, 1985. The store owner was immediately suspicious since Lake used Stapely’s ID; Stapely was 26 but Lake looked far from it. Ng couldn’t control his instincts and tried to steal from the store only to have the owner catch Ng in the act. The police were called but Ng fled from the scene, leaving Lake behind to go into hiding.

Lake stayed behind in an attempt to pay for the goods in order to elude arrest. In his car, police found a .22 revolver with an illegally equipped silencer, which is why they were allowed to arrest him at that moment. Since Ng was nowhere to be found, police investigated the bunker.

Police discovered the bodies of 11 people and 45 pounds of unidentifiable bones, caches of weapons and explosives, personals from the victims such as clothes and forms of ID, and the videotape diaries. 

Ng escaped to Canada but got caught shoplifting at another store. Only this time, he panicked and drew a gun, which led to one of the officers getting shot in the hand. He was charged with robbery, attempted robbery, possession of a firearm, and attempted murder in Canada; Ng did his time there for the crimes committed there before being turned over to American authorities. 

In questioning, Lake told the police about Ng, where the bunker was located and gave a hint about what their master plan was. He asked the officer for a cup of water and a pen with paper. While the officer went to fetch the water, Lake wrote his suicide note. He used the water to swallow two cyanide pills that he had sewn into his coat collar. Police thought Lake was going to put his confession in writing when he asked them for pen and paper so they happily complied. 

Lake was rushed to the hospital and fell into a coma, survived on life support for four days before he died on June 6, 1985.

The trial was overly complicated because of Ng’s lie about his nationality and the fact that Ng would often fire lawyers, change the location of the trial, and attempt to defend himself in order to buy himself time and hopefully avoid a trial. Eventually, he faced trial for the first time in 1991.

The final trial took place in 1999 and it lasted for eight months. The jury deliberated for about two weeks until Ng was found guilty for the murder of six men, three women, and two baby boys. He was sentenced to death after he and Lake were caught and was sent to San Quentin. While no sentencing date is set, Ng is appealing his conviction to this day.

Side Notes:

Ng’s Military Cellmate said in a television interview that Ng professed to hating some ethnic groups and homosexuals so much that he killed a gay man by burning him alive.

“The Collector” by John Fowles is a novel about a lonely young man who works as a clerk in a city hall and collects butterflies in his spare time. 

The man becomes obsessed with a female art student and instead of coming up to her he watches her from a distance because it appears that he is socially underdeveloped. 

He then kidnaps the woman after moving into an isolated lodge and adds her to his collection of preserved beauties. He promises not to hurt her, only to shower her with his spoils. 

He is convinced that she would learn to love him over time, but she becomes ill and dies. 

Lake is said to have been obsessed with this novel. 

Kenneth Ng, Charles Ng’s father, blames himself for his son’s role in the killing spree on the physical abuse he did to his son during his childhood.

He testified in court that during that time, there was almost no line between discipline and child abuse. He meant to bring up his son in a narrow and straight path, which sometimes meant tethering him and whipping him with a stick. 

"I tried to bring him up right. Unfortunately, I used the wrong way. I thought this was normal. But now I know how wrong I am." 

Mr. Ng wanted his son to be sentenced to life in prison instead of to death, “I do hope I still have him in jail, instead of dead," he said.

Relatives of the victims said they were not swayed by the testimony, but expressed sympathy for Kenneth Ng. 

It was reported that Ng held his head down for the testimony and cried silently as his father spoke. 

~brianna

[p-lestinian]

About the H*ng Kong Riots

So I’ve been seeing a lot of people going on and on about how we should support the hong kong rioters because freedom and democracy. Now... I don’t really expect much from a majority western and white hell site such as this, but allow me to put these riots that you guys feverishly throw your hats in for into perspective. Let’s start with the history. Hong Kong fell under British rule in 1842 after the first opium war and British territory continued to expand after the second opium war. Now if you people cared about imperialism or aren’t disgustingly racist against Asians, then you would know that the opium wars were an abhorrent attempt at genocide by the British Empire which almost led to the Chinese almost getting completely wiped out.  “But @assignedcrackeratinternet!!” You cry out as your settler colonial conditioning kicks in “What does that have to do with the Hong Kong protests?!?!?” Well dear Reichmerican and/or Britishite, putting this history into perspective (including American history in Asia which I shouldn’t have to explain unless AmeriKKKans really are that ignorant), you should find it absolutely disgusting and suspicious that these rioters are waving the flags of their former colonizers.  “But @assignedcrackeratinternet!!” You cry out wildly “Hong Kong under Br*tish rule can’t have been that bad!” Well my sweet fascist child, you’re wrong. I’m not gonna go ahead and list out what exactly the British did to China but it’s a lot. You can read all about it if you actually care about Asians here. “But @assignedcrackeratinternet!!” You howl as your inner white savior comes to the forefront  “Hong Kong deserves independence!!” Independence from what? Hong Kong is Chinese historically and will always be Chinese, petite bourgeois student protesters who hate mainlanders for being too Asian and hate black people and hate themselves because of their pro-cracker westernized colonial mindsets doesn’t prove that Hong Kong should become an American proxy in Asia. Which, if you fools actually knew the history of western backed revolutions like in Allende’s Chile, that’s exactly what’s gonna happen if Hong Kong becomes “independent”. “But @assignedcrackeratinternet!” You yelp indignantly “Are you saying Hong Kong protesters are being funded by the United $tates?” Yes I am exactly saying that. It’s also a known fact that westernite white savior wannabe supermen join in on the protests. Do you guys even know how the protests started? Because it all started after a man who murdered his girlfriend in Taiwan escaped to Hong Kong and an extradition bill was proposed in order to bring criminals like him to justice. The Hong Kong protests so far have had ZERO police caused deaths. Can you imagine if there was a massive riot in New York City that was so bad the entire economy shut down? People would be slaughtered by police in the streets. The protesters cry about Police Brutality while begging AmeriKKKa for help, the biggest police brutality state in the world. These wannabe whites begging trump for help, posing with idiots like Ted Cruz, singing god save the queen, and brandishing Pepe symbolism, how obvious can it be?  Get off your armchairs and stop supporting every single color revolution you come across online just because the aesthetics of revolution are cool to look at and you feel like you’re doing something. Before engaging in Social justice discussions, DO YOUR FUCKING RESEARCH. And be more skeptical of foreign “pro democracy” riots where people are LITERALLY WAVING AMERICAN FLAGS as if America hasn’t destroyed and pillaged countless secular and democratic countries in the past.