#jobs in Iron Curtain Security Services

[georgefairbrother]

On July 1st, 1963, the BBC reported that Harold ‘Kim’ Philby had been finally identified as ‘the third man’ of the Cambridge Spy Ring, which also included Guy Burgess and Donald Maclean. Philby had been working for the Soviets during his entire time with the British Foreign Office, which included an assignment at the British Embassy in Washington, liaising with the CIA. Ironically, in the late 1940s, Philby had worked as Britain’s head of Anti-Communist Counterespionage.

Lord Privy Seal, Edward Heath, told the Commons that while working for MI6 in Washington (around 1950-51), Philby had used his inside knowledge to warn Burgess and Mclean that they had been rumbled, allowing them time to escape to the Soviet Union. At that time Philby’s involvement was suspected, although not proven, but he was ousted from the Foreign Office on the orders of then Foreign Secretary, Anthony Eden, and the investigation remained open.

According to BBC reporting in July 1963;

"…British authorities had always suspected there was a "third man"…Mr Philby, often known as Kim, had been working as a journalist in Beirut when he disappeared four months ago…"

Philby subsequently turned up in Moscow, from where he denied that he had tipped off Burgess and Mclean, and said that Maclean had actually been alerted to the fact that the security services were onto him when the M15 agents tailing him got a little carried away and accidently bumped into his car.

Philby became a Russian citizen, a KGB General, and was awarded the Order of Lenin. He died in 1988 and was buried with Soviet military honours.

The Cambridge Spy Ring consisted of a group of 1930s university students who were recruited by Soviet agents. The motivation, according to the BBC, was ideological rather than financial, prompted by the belief that capitalism was corrupt and life beyond the Iron Curtain offered a ‘better model for society’.

“…The Cambridge spy ring was informally led by Harold 'Kim' Philby. He and his friends later moved into jobs in British Intelligence and the Foreign Office where they had access to top secret information. They spent their working lives passing valuable information to the Soviet Union…”

The identities of the fourth and fifth Cambridge Spies were not revealed until much later. Anthony Blunt was named in 1979, and John Cairncross in 1990. Cairncross had tipped off the Soviets in time for them to change their codes before Bletchley Park had cracked them, and it was believed the information he passed on about British and US atomic weapons programmes laid the foundations for the Soviets' nuclear capabilities.

There’s a little more on the Cambridge Spies in this 1999 BBC Report ( a classic piece of vintage internet);

[mastermover345]

Furniture Removals Cape City

Together with the City’s Cleansing Department, the SAPS, and The Old Wynberg Village society, the WID supplies public safety and urban cleansing providers to boost the sanitation and security of the realm. Our products are particularly designed to make your life easier, safer, healthier and more pleasant. Our experienced group will be certain that we discover the best product for you. I just needed to provide a massive thanks to the team that helped me take away hoards of Junk today - they have been polite, punctual and simply massively skilled in all sides of the move. It was all a bit overwelming and annoying but the group made it painless at present. Customers can order Ecobox products on-line and have them delivered, or visit any of the company’s stores, nationwide.

Additionally, this can encourage and encourage you to move ahead with the move, so you don’t get too wired. Sorry, we didn’t discover any businesses inside your category and site. Very pleased with these guys, they did a fantastic job will definitely suggest and we're positively look ahead to seeing them once more in the future thanks to all the group and workers Corporate Office Movers Wynberg at cm Removals. The assortment companies of various forms of development and constructing waste as ‘building rubble.’ This building particles is produced as waste from construction, renovation, demolishing, and transforming tasks. In order to improve the looks and activity of the city, the elimination of rubble is a follow of clearing the mixture.

South Africa's real property, furnishings, building and renovations, swimming pools, gardens, safety on-line assortment. Our skilled move consultants will come to your home upon request before the move to conduct a pre - move survey, assessing your particular person necessities and deciding how finest to safely and securely transport your treasured furnishings. Steinhoff's total imaginative and prescient is to be a mass discount retailer in all categories, except food. "That is the area the place the expansion might be. The people that need to have the flexibility to purchase high quality and worth with as little cash as potential - this phase is rising every day." It might appear to be an overnight phenomenon, however the company's success has been anything but sudden. Founder Bruno Steinhoff started buying and selling in 1964 when, under the shadow of communist rule, he began a business sourcing furnishings from Eastern Europe, which he would promote on the other aspect of the Iron Curtain in Western Europe.

I verify that the information submitted here is true and accurate. I confirm that I don't work for, am not in competition with and am not related to this service provider. There are additionally two well-maintained parks in the suburb the place households and out of doors lovers can relax and revel in a tranquil respite, he says. He says key elements have been security that extends to every International Movers Wynberg key card-accessed residential floor, in addition to consolation. Every single unit, from the 14sqm studio at R3 850 per month to the 25sqm Deluxe Studio at R5 250 and two twin lodging choices, has its personal toilet, kitchenette and examine space. In addition to a big communal rest area, he says every flooring has its own lounge and free Wi-Fi is on the market throughout the building.

Among the cognoscenti, Wynberg actual estate has lengthy been recognised and valued as being situated as the proper Cape Town property suburb in which to reside. Not the least of these is the fascinating and vibrant historical past, significantly of the now wanted Chelsea Village hub. Sherrell said that he hoped the improved constructing would translate to improved services. He instructed that the employees Storage Wynberg ought to put on uniform for better identification. "I feel like moving from the bush to the town... this is great improvement," mentioned Lance Sherrell, who got here for help. That office was housed in a dilapidated building and was characterized by power outages, among different problems, triggering complaints from clients.

The control room runs 24/7 to make sure a continuing line of communication between property homeowners and the safety patrolmen and service suppliers. The company also prides itself on providing clients unbeatable comfort and constantly friendly, environment friendly service. Cockroaches are widespread pests discovered all through homes and companies. They can be seen crawling around your personal home or enterprise any time during the day or evening. Cockroaches feed on food particles corresponding to crumbs, dirt, and paper. The commonest species of cockroaches embody the German cockroach (1 year Pest Control Wynberg guarantee), American cockroach, Oriental cockroach, brown-banded cockroach, and others.

For a brief distance move it is best to start planning the method about three weeks before the time. By utilizing a professional moving company, you can consult with their well-trained staff to make sure that your goods are delivered on schedule, safely packed and effectively transported. Moving Company Wynberg moves private items and livelihoods to and from Cape Town. For local Moving Company Wynberg and long-distance travel, our home furniture elimination service is always available. No stress, we will package and put together your valuable belongings as required and thoroughly transport them. Allow the  Master of Movers to make your international relocation as simple and as cost-effective as possible.

As an organization, Master Movers has a 20 12 months historical past of helping customers move their houses. We have dedicated personnel to help make your move run as smoothly as attainable. We have coordinated hundreds Home Movers Wynberg of moves all over the world each and domestically in South Africa we've moved……actually we lost count.

The Chelsea is a recently launched upmarket residential growth in Aliwal Road and, backed by Buffet Investments and Investec, nine of the 12 items had been already snapped up on launch day. Jooste prefers to maintain a low profile, although that is prone to change as he runs an more and more prolific multinational from South Africa - and has turn into, unbeknown to many, the single largest racehorse owner in the country. The buy of French furniture retailer Conforama in 2011 for à 1.2-billion (R15.7-billion at today's rates) made the group the biggest furniture retailer in Europe. The buyout of 92.3% of Pepkor for R62.8-billion bolsters this portfolio by adding additional pursuits throughout Africa, Australia and Eastern Europe.

[kalimullah27777]

Iron Curtain Security Services Jobs 2020 for Security Staff 2020 Job Advertisement Pakistan Iron Curtain Security Services Private Limited Lahore, Pakistan is seeking experienced candidates for the posts of Security Guard, Security Supervisor, Driver, Clerk, Security In Charge, Security Chief. You can apply online at vacancy after registering at site. Telephone: 042-37182236 Source link

[wh6res]

chase — renhyuck

“needy kitty. i can’t wait for purge night.”

tw bullying, violence, swearing, yandere themes, possessive themes, blood, weapons (a gun, a grenade), implied noncon, implied kidnapping, mentions of stalking

disc i dont condone this behavior

wc 5k

‏‏‎ ‎

29 hours before the annual purge

“hold her down—i said hold her down, idiot!”

putting everything into account, they saw you more like a glorified chew toy than an actual person. 

they ruined your life simultaneously and it's ironic, that despite being sworn rivals, it seems you were their neutral ground—after one has had their own fun, you’re passed on to the other person so they can deliver that final, shattering blow that weakens your resolve. 

it was meant to be that way because it had always been that way. you’re the unlucky loser that ignited the worse sides of both lee haechan and huang renjun. 

they’re like oil and water; they don’t mix but with you, they found a compromise. stealing your lunch money, trashing your homework, quickies in between lectures. all of these should’ve been enough to give them a good power trip. but they’ve developed a hunger so severe that these past instances are but mere crumbs that hardly satisfy their cravings. 

it was beyond exhausting, being caught in between two headstrong people that were unwilling to back down at any cost. their aggression and anger towards each other directly being channeled onto you as they shove and swing you around like some ragdoll. 

you weren’t a bunch of kids, you knew that. you don’t cry and sob and say that it’s unfair, you hold your chin high and walk up to the guidance counselor’s office to report them for bullying. but you never should’ve underestimated the power of money and their respective families’ broad network of connections. 

without a doubt, the empty promises for justice is what broke your heart the most. it breaks with every bruise, every tight grip, and every nasty name the people willingly turned a blind eye to. 

it’s sad but it was a reality you taught yourself to get used to—the meek mouse learning how to evade the cats hot on her trail. 

but you weren’t as lucky today. 

“i am holding her down.”

a pair of lips comes in contact with your neck. its feathery and light at first until its biting down to mark you with his teeth. not too strong to draw blood, but enough to dent the surface of the skin. 

haechan has an oral fixation. biting his lips. his nails. whenever you see him, he always has a lollipop on his mouth and if he doesn’t, he’s painting hickeys across your skin. you hated his oral fixation, especially when makeup and clothes proved useless to hide the marks he gives you. 

“why run?” renjun asks you, slipping his fingers underneath your skirt as he kneels. “you know you have nowhere to hide in the campus.”

haechan snorts. “or anywhere else.”

it’s always the same thing. you go to school. you sit in your first period for thirty minutes until one of them shows up. then the other boy probably felt a gut instinct that he’s missing out on the fun. last time, it was an empty classroom in the abandoned left wing. 

they like taking you there all the time, it was always dark, the blinds pulled and shut tight. not to mention it was incredibly dusty. but both male knew you’re afraid of the dark, exactly why it’s their favorite spot. but empty classrooms and supply closets are close seconds, too. 

“you’re so pathetic. useless—only know how to whine like a fucking pornstar,” he quickly comments, feeling you arch against him when renjun’s tongue comes in contact with the pearl between your legs. “my cumdump.”

you feel a sharp exhale against your lower lips. you shudder. renjun clicks his tongue in annoyance. “can you shut up? you’re making my dick soft with all that talking.”

but haechan had ignored him completely, blissfully ignorant of the petite boy’s frustrations as he angles your head up to crash his lips onto yours. when he slightly pulls away, still playfully nibbling your bottom lip, what he said next made your blood run cold. 

“needy kitty. i can’t wait for purge night.”‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

6 hours before the annual purge

the price to pay for protection started rising again this year and you, much like your neighbors, are in a sense of turmoil. jamming the doors with cabinets and nailing your windows with wood is hardly enough to satisfy the gnawing feeling in your stomach. much less when you didn’t even have a weapon to wield other than a wooden bat and a cheap taser you bought on sale. 

“its not like anyone will be coming for you, right?” the little girl says, touching the randomest stuff in your apartment. her name was naeun and she never really liked pink and sparkles like most girls her age, maybe that’s why she took a liking to you. 

her mom works a 9 to 5 and her grandma stays with her on occasion. but the old lady loved to sleep, naeun said, so she gets the chance to slip out and come knocking on your door. you tried shooing her out of your apartment countless times but she’s stubborn. 

she reminds you of yourself. 

“well, i hope no one does.” you joked, putting on a turtleneck. 

naeun’s mom doesn't like you as much as it is, but if you yourself let naeun see the bruises on your skin? you’d hate yourself forever. “now, come on little missy, go back to your grandma. i need to head over to the bank to settle my protection fees.”

“but you just said no one is going to come for you anyway,” she whines stomping towards the door. “mom already settled ours yesterday becase grammy forced her to. mommy said it was just a waste of money because who’d bother to rob us anyway?”

a memory flashes in your head. two boys who’ve sandwiched you between them in the dark of a fucking supply closet at uni. wandering hands, labored whispers, curt giggles, one pair of lips trailing up your neck while the other up your inner thigh.

“needy kitty. i can’t wait for purge night.”

you needed that protection. that was no slip up because haechan never makes mistakes. if he wanted to make you feel like some animal on the run after catching a whiff of trouble then he sure is doing a good job. 

“hey! i think you just went someplace else there,” naeun says, nudging your side irritably to get your attention again. 

you try forcing out a chuckle but it doesn't work, still deeply peeved by a memory from last week replaying vividly in your mind. if they ever mean what they meant (which you know they do) then this is now more than just trying to get through the night—you have to survive, prepare, and pray neither of them finds you. 

“i think your grandma’s right in doing what she did, naeun. with humans, you’ll never know.”

and just like that naeun went silent, bid you goodbye, and disappeared behind the apartment door.

the bank was a quick walk from your apartment. you hardly broke much sweat and you even managed to stop by the grocery store to make some last-minute runs. the store’s nearly empty, deserted of any human being as the seconds slowly but surely ticked away. it was only when you walked past aisle seven did you pause, the hairs on your back standing as a slow chill crawled up your spine. 

you look over your shoulder. 

no one’s there. 

you swallow, quickly looking down your watch to check the time as you made your way to counter. 3 hours before the annual purge. you needed to get your ass moving. you just need to grab one more thing and you’ll best be on your way. 

you practically ran towards the dairy section and just as you spin around, strawberry ice cream pint in your hands, you jump as he appears before you in thin air and you drop whatever you’re holding. 

“such a skittish little kitten,” renjun clicks his tongue, bending down to retrieve the ice cream on the floor. “here you go.”

you couldn’t even stare at him in the eye. your hands shook but it wasn’t because of the cold desert. now you get it. it’s his eyes you felt on you earlier, ever intrusive and piercing as he watched you from afar. was he stalking you?

“i didn’t quite catch a thank you, kitty.”

how foolish of you to think he’ll let you duck away without at least speaking to him, hm?

“thank… thank you?”

renjun grins, satisfied with your stuttering as he raises a hand to ruffle your hair—he ignores how you flinched away from him—before walking away with one hand in his coat pocket, whistling an eerie tune that can haunt your nightmares way after purge night. 

“see you later, kitten.”

if it wasn’t the whistling that set you on edge or that clear promise of your doom—it’s the pack of zip ties and duct tape in his hands.‏‏‎ ‎

you were watching a rerun of your favorite morning reality tv when it cuts to the dreaded blue screen showing the flag of korea. 

this is not a test.

this is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of the annual purge sanctioned by the south korean government. 

weapons of class 4 and lower have been authorized for use during the purge. all other weapons are restricted. 

commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours. 

police, fire, and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning until 7 am when the purge concludes. 

may god be with you all.

you’ll never get used to the blaring siren that echoes through the empty streets. you can feel the floor vibrating and it travels throughout your whole body as the dread starts sinking deep into your skin. 

you’ve already double checked all your windows and the front door. activated the security system provided by the bank. and you’ve also already charged your taser and have hammered down nails into your wooden bat. fine. if they wanted to scare and bully you into a panicked frenzy, it did its job but fuck no will you go down without a fight. 

you shut all the lights, the apartment basking in the moonlight glow brought by the translucent curtains as you make your way to your bedroom, nearest the emergency exit just in case they barge through your front door by force. 

at first, nothing happened. it was peaceful. tranquil. you can hear a pin drop with how quiet it was. both inside and outside. you were almost tempted to cover your mouth in case you were breathing too loud. 

it’s silent. until it wasn’t.

your phone rings. it’s there, vibrating on your desk and you make long strides until you’re face to face with a set of numbers on your screen. an unregistered contact. there’s a debate inside your head whether to answer it or not, fingers hovering between the red and green button… until it eventually lands on the green. 

you put it up to your ear, hands sweating as you wait with bated breath for the person on the other end to speak. 

“kitten?”

it’s renjun. you don’t answer. 

“i can hear you breathing, you know. i can’t wait to see you. we’ll have so much fun together. it’s sad that i have to share with that imbecile but better half of you than nothing of you, right?” he laughs and you feel a rush of anger surge through you. yet, you don’t bother to give him the satisfaction of a reply. 

“i can see you’re angry, little kitty. while it’s cute and hot… don’t be. turn that frown upside down for me, wouldn’t you?”

but the blinds are drawn he couldn’t have seen you—

“you’re never going to get me, you fucking bastard. i’m not scared of you,” you sure do hope he can’t hear the tremble in your voice. “whatever you plan on doing to me, you’ll fail.”

you walk back slowly, eyes darting everywhere to look for a camera they could’ve installed in your room. they have connections and the money to do it so you won’t put it past them. 

“oh, my stupid kitty. how can we fail when we already got a head start?” 

the floorboard behind you creaks and before you could turn around, someone slams your head against the desk. you hear a crack, whether it’s the screen of your laptop or your nose, you couldn’t tell. the person is agile and silent as he maneuvers you to the ground and seals your lips with duct tape. 

“after all,” haechan giggles. “you can’t lock out what’s already inside, kitten.”

your phone lands somewhere near your head. renjun has already dropped the call and the line goes silent. 

squirming, you glared at the person on top of you. is this how you’re gonna go? you can’t deny, even you yourself find this pathetic. the security alarms you bought, the nail-studded bat, your taser, everything was all for naught? just because you didn’t check under your bed to make sure no one was there?

how long was haechan waiting? when naeun was still here? when you went out to buy groceries? 

you thought it would be fear you’ll be feeling as you get caught but the emotion isn’t present at all. instead, it’s white hot anger that overrides your system and forces you to act without thinking—and it just fucking saved your life. 

haechan always saw you as a vulnerable, sad little human being who couldn’t do shit on her own. it’s easy to underestimate you and that’s his first mistake. 

the second is rather foolish—not tying your legs up first. it’s all too easy to slam your forehead against his before jerking your leg up to knee him in the balls. 

you can see the anger in his eyes clear as day as you made a run for it to the kitchen, having come up with another escape plan—because surely if you went down the emergency exit, haechan would’ve caught up easily with those long legs after he’s recovered from your assault. 

your nose was probably bleeding and your head is in the early stages of a full blown migraine, at least you were able to function enough to wobble your way towards the trash chute situated near the stove. you had cursed that chute the first day you moved in here (who would put a trash chute next to a fucking stove) but the day has come for you to thank the gods that you have that in your house. 

going for a swim in all your neighbors’ trash is disgusting and unplanned (plus, falling down maybe six floors to your doom) but you’ll choose that over lee haechan and huang renjun any day. 

“don’t you dare fucking think about it!”

you flashed him the middle finger to tick him off. a petty retaliation for all the bullshit he and renjun put you through but it felt good nonetheless. 

“catch me if you fuckers can.”

and you were falling down the trash chute.‏‏‎ ‎

okay, yeah—maybe you should’ve thought it through before hurling yourself six floors down only for some half-filled dumpster to catch you but at least you’re still alive, right? alive and free, mind you. but you don’t have time to celebrate. 

it smelled awful and you swear your knees and elbows are bruised but you scramble to climb out and run away as fast as you can. 

it was only haechan inside your apartment. no sign of renjun but he did see you somehow and you have no doubt it was a camera inside that room. you didn’t have much time to ponder for how long they were installed in your room. it’s the least of your worries at the moment.

you’re outside. 

during purge night.

even if you did manage to escape it felt more like a win than a lose, forced out of your own apartment in nothing but shorts and a shirt—heck, you don’t even have shoes on!—it felt like they won. again. 

if you’re not going to die in the hands of some other wacko, you’ll die of hypothermia. how nice. 

you didn’t know where you were running to, the only thing you knew was you need to get the hell out of this neighborhood as fast as you can. you didn’t want to run in alleyways and risk getting stabbed for fun. maybe the sewer system… oh, right. you don’t have your phone on you and it’ll probably be pitch black down there. 

you really, truly, genuinely didn’t want to run so out in the open but it was the best you can impulsively come up with. 

when you feel like you’ve put a reasonable distance between you and the apartment, you stop, hands resting flat on your knees as you crouch to catch a breath. just as quick the adrenaline appeared as fast as it had disappeared. you feel the weight and tension crushing your legs, not to mention you’re really starting to feel that headache settle after headbutting haechan. 

you almost collapse against the brick wall. 

the last person you ever thought you’ll see jumps out from the corner of the alleyway and you almost broke their nose. 

until you saw who it was. 

“NAEUN?”

their apartment got raided, some buffy sickos who they had the misfortune of breaking into their house to purge. luckily they got away, but after getting attacked on the streets, naeun got separated after she ran for her life just like you did. you can’t help but feel sorry for the little girl, who experienced the full effect of this godforsaken holiday. 

this is bad. you can’t leave her but it’s tough enough to have to fend for yourself. you’re not so sure whether you can protect another human being but you’ll have to try. 

“did your mom or grandma tell you anything? anything at all?” you ask, crouching to her eye level. “you said your mom knew the way… where? what do you mean?”

“mom said they’re providing refuge on the other side of town but it’s a 30-minute drive. walking would take longer.”

shit. you didn’t want to risk it. you don’t have a car and you’d rather die right here right now than walk another step out in the streets—

“who’s ‘they’?”

“i don’t… i don’t know. she didn’t say.”

you licked your chapped lips. you can’t trust what she’s saying, not when you didn’t even know these people. it’s too risky, not to mention you’re already running from not one, but two people.

naeun sits next to you against the bricked wall of the alley, looking down at her lap. “i’m scared,” she admits. you hear a tremble in her voice. “are mom and grammy de—”

“no,” you cut her off, pulling her tiny body against yours. when you feel her fists clutching your jacket, you swear to protect this girl with your life. “no, they’re not. i’m sure they’re heading there now to the refuge center just like we are.”

her head pokes out, looking up towards you. “we’re going? i thought you didn’t want to.”

you shake your head, wiping her tears. “well, it’s the one way for you to meet your mom and grammy, right?”‏‏‎ ‎

walking down the streets during purge night—man, this has got to be the most ballsy thing you’ve ever done after that one time you spat at renjun in the eye. you managed to find a litter of bodies way into thirty minutes of walking and you nearly sent naeun flying onto the asphalt with how hard you pushed her back. she couldn’t see this mess, you’d be damned to allow a nine-year-old walk right into psychological trauma. 

you pocket a gun—you didn’t have enough courage to fight with a knife. you wiped the blood off using your shirt before shoving them down onto the garter of your shorts. you didn’t bother to take their shoes, none of them would’ve fit you anyway and it’ll just slow you down. 

“hey, are you alright? is that blood—”

“it’s not mine, naeun. come on, let’s get moving.”

for two hours you walked towards this mysterious refuge center on the other side of town and both you and naeun managed to evade death three times. 

the first attack: a group of high schoolers with their uniforms on. there were three of them, about your height, and while you weren’t responsible for the blood on your shirt, you’re not so sure about their lot. they looked crazy, excited even, but sloppy in the way they flung their knives and bats around. their first purge, you assumed, so it was fairly easy to take them down. a bullet to the head worked like a charm. naeun didn’t say anything when you urged her out of her hiding place to flee the scene. three bullets left. 

the second attack: it was a surprise, one that got you stabbed in the shin of your right leg. it was a drunkard with a knife, you could smell him as you walked past by his slumped form in the sidewalk. he wasn’t moving, so you thought he was dead and it was poor judgement on your part. it’s pathetic getting injured this way, you thought, but at least it was you who faced the consequences and not naeun. two bullets left.

the third attack: two men but deadlier than the girls and the drunk. you didn’t get to reason out with either of them, not when they drove their cadillac at 140 miles per hour and nearly ran you over. a chill crept up your spine when you saw the bloody, naked women strapped down onto the hood. victims. you didn’t engage in any form of combat, it’s impossible, so you took naeun in your arms and ran straight to the back alleys. number of bullets remain the same.

three lucky strikes. 

three times you’ve cheated death. 

but time is up and your luck has run out. 

“beating up a girl? what a coward, if you ask me,” you say, spitting out a tooth after someone kneed you in the face. you were in no position to say such things when they’ve got you busted up and bloody, left eye swollen after one hard punch. 

naeun is nowhere to be seen. 

good. 

who knows what these assholes could’ve done to her. you told her to run so she better fucking run and make sure she lives through this nightmare. 

another kick flies to your ribs and you lie sprawled on the dirty pavement of an alleyway—what an uncool way to die but at least you’ll die with a clear conscience. 

you passed by city hall a few minutes ago. surely, the refuge center is not too far from there. naeun will make it safe. she’ll make it. 

“what’s that look on her face? is she dead?”

another one scoffs. “well… if they’re after her then she’s as good as dead.”

you blacked out. ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎

you hate the scent of disinfectant. it crawls up your nose and you hate how the stench is so strong you can taste it on your tongue. this isn’t heaven, not when you know you’re better off burning in hellfire.

unless you weren’t dead—your eyes shoot open, sitting up in haste as you clutch the thin blanket. 

rows upon rows of the same cot you were lying on greets you. people injured, some standing, some sitting. there were people treating them, too, but they were in normal clothes so this can’t be a hospital. in fact, it looked like you’re in some warehouse, stacks of metal crates sealing off all entrances. 

“it’s the refuge,” you whisper. 

“you’re awake!” before you could even turn around, a body launches itself onto you and nearly makes the cot collapse. judging by the small frame and the pitchy voice—

“naeun, be careful!” her mother hisses but the girl in between your arms couldn’t care less. if she’d been an adult, she’d be squeezing the life out of you. when she pulls you closer, your healing ribs made a strike of pain surge through you. 

you groan, bowing in the pain. distantly, you can hear the mother and daughter fighting and it was a banter you’ve never experienced with your own mom. it nearly made you tear up from the overwhelming wave of emotions you were feeling but all else disappears when a person tenderly grips your shoulder. 

“thank you for taking care of my granddaughter.” the old lady was smiling appreciatively as she stared at you. 

that was it. it could’ve been the happy ending to a gruesome and bloody storyline—it should’ve been, family of three reunites again and that was all thanks to you, right?

but even heroes have their own bad endings. 

you heard the ticking of the grenade only seconds before it detonates. the other refugees didn’t even have the time to take cover as some closest to the sealed doors were sent flying so far back they crashed into the row of crates behind you. 

you were severely injured, limping, ribs broken, and you only had one good eye to rely on—yet the first thing you thought of was protecting naeun. maybe the midget had a way of worming herself into your heart. but before you even push yourself off the cot, a figure emerges from the smoke. 

petite and harmless, pretty as the tips of his hair grazed porcelain cheekbones. renjun’s eyes are as cold and calculating as can be and it’s the only thing that terrifies you to no end. when he opens his mouth, anger is hidden well underneath that calm tone. 

“i’ll give you one minute to come here willingly.”

there’s no room for bargain, he needn’t when he knows you have absolutely nothing to offer him but yourself. he doesn’t finish his sentence but he trusts you’re smart enough to figure out the silent threat—come, or he’ll turn this place into a fucking bloodbath. 

cornered and weak, defenseless. weird how they have a fixation for calling you ‘kitty’ when they’re the cats in this chase. 

“naeun,” you whisper, trying to crane your neck to look for her in the filth of rocks and debris. please don’t be hurt.

you freeze when you feel a barrel pointing at your head. it was only there for seconds, haechan probably doesn’t have the guts to hurt you in any way permanently (unless it’s inflicted with his own hands and not through some other medium). 

“ah, look. now we have matching black eyes,” he giggles like a madman, craning your neck up and the leather in his globes brings discomfort to your skin. 

you see the way the other refugees looked at you—scum, dirt on their feet that brought about trouble in their lives. they were already badly hurt as it is and now, this happened? you don’t blame them. 

not one man tried to stand up for you as haechan hauls you up and throws you down on renjun’s feet. your ribs were screaming and you’re cold and so, so afraid. with shaky fingers, you gestured towards the crowd. “just... please, don’t hurt them. they don’t have anything to do with this.”

renjun coos. such a cruel smirk for a pretty face. “aw, such an angel my darling is. always thinking of others instead of her own safety. funny because i don’t think you’ve ever done such a thing for me and haechan, though. i wonder why...”

the latter digs his heel in your injured legs and you scream as black starts to surround the corners of your vision. you tried to crane your neck back, pleading eyes wanting to look at the assaulter but renjun’s calloused hand is gripping your chin too tight.

“should we make a bargain, kitten?”

you stare deep into renjun’s eyes. he knows you don’t have anything left, he can see it in your glassy eyes, too wide and vulnerable. he’s doing this all for show, trying to make you even more desperate and self-aware of your eventual demise.

and you thought haechan was the only cunning one.

“what… what bargain?"

renjun practically gleams in pride. “i’ll let everyone walk free—even your precious little naeun—that’s her name, right? the little girl you’ve been protecting the whole night?—we’ll let her and everyone in this building walk away unharmed. that’s my bargain. you know how those work, right? now, you need to give me something i want.”

forcing you to offer yourself up to them.

what a brutal way to crush your pride.

choice wasn’t an option. if you don’t oblige and choose to run away on your own, they’ll kill them and still hunt you down. you gotta say, it was a tempting bargain that appealed to the sense of heroics in your heart. naturally, you have to choose where there is less blood shed. and as renjun lets go of your chin and lets you look over your shoulder to meet little naeun’s eyes, how she sobbed against her mother’s arms and shook her head and screamed…

“hurry, kitten. i don’t like to be kept waiting.”

you know what needs to be done.

“me. i’ll give you… me.”‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎

they stood playing a game of pool in the dead of night. it’s peaceful inside the estate while the city beyond rampaged and burned. they achieved their goal, had finally seen an end to a plan that had been set in motion for years. they’ve succeeded and the broken woman lying on the bed meters from the pool table is proof of their victory. 

“don’t you just love it when an elaborate plan works like clockwork, injun?” he asks, voice like trickling honey as he hits number 9 with the cue ball. 

the other, more petite male, rolls his eyes but doesn’t disagree. “oh, please, people like us always triumph, donghyuck. it’s nothing new. although i am surprised that little girl and her so-called “family” played along so well. almost had me fooled.”

“i agree. it's such a shame they had to go.”

‎

taglist !!

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‎

jenoluck (c) all rights reserved

[katedrakeohd]

Cordonia 1885

Catch up on previous chapters here.

This AU series borrows TRR characters and puts them into a macabre supernatural vampire world. We've gone down a spooky rabbit hole folks.

word count: 1300ish

-------------

Where the Dead Live

Drake's mind was buzzing with unasked questions as he followed Bastien and the woman down the dark hallway. At least the mystery of where his coat went was solved, because she was wearing it.

“Wh..where are you taking me?” Drake asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Somewhere safer than this, now watch your step as you go down the stairs.” Bastien answered.

The woman reached out for Drake's hand in the dark, and he gratefully took it. When they reached the dimly lit lobby she started talking nervously.

“We have a carriage waiting outside. I'm really sorry I left you in the state you're in. I panicked and fled when you passed out. I thought you were dead.”

“You left in such a rush that you didn’t even get dressed my dear,” Bastien scolded, “Which is a shame considering the trouble you went through to steal that gown in the first place.”

Drake frowned, feeling even more perplexed than before. “But…but all the blood? She looks fine. Whose was it?”

“Sssh, you're going to wake everyone,” She whispers and tugs at his hand when Drake stops in the middle of the room.

“We'll explain everything when we get to where we're going. Now please let's go.” Bastien opens the front door to the hotel, sticking his head outside to make sure the way was clear. Seeing no one he leads them out to the waiting carriage. After Drake and the girl climb inside, Bastien climbs up into the driver's seat.

Drake was starting to wish he hadn't met Bastien and his mystery woman, but he had nowhere else to go. Plus she still had his coat and he wanted it back. To him she had been Elizabeth Beaumont, but knowing now that it was a lie, he wanted the truth.

Sitting across from him in the carriage wearing only her cotton undergarments and his old wool coat, she didn't look nearly as well put together or noble as when she first walked into the tavern. With her pale skin and large eyes she looked fragile like a doll. The way her blonde curls framed her face and her slim frame made the shoulders of his wool coat droop added to the illusion. If possible she was more beautiful to Drake now than in her noble disguise.

As the carriage swayed side to side down the deserted street Drake spoke up, “You’re not really Elizabeth Beaumont are you?”

She shook her head, “Mary, my name is Mary. I was one of their maids.”

“Was?”

“I was fired for stealing the gown I was wearing, among other reasons.”

Drake frowned, “But would’t they have taken the dress back when you were dismissed?”

“Bastien let me keep it.”

“Why? What is he to the Beaumonts anyway?”

“Their head of security. Look I was more than just the maid ok? At least to the Duke anyway. Elizabeth caught us in bed together and wanted me gone. As his Mistress he would often confide in me, especially when he’d had too much wine to drink. He didn’t want his dirty little secrets to leave with me, so he ordered Bastien to make me disappear.”

“Disappear? As in…”

Mary nods.

“Well he obviously couldn't go through with it if you're still here right?”

Mary doesn't say anything, though her eyes look sad as she gazes back at him.

“So you got fired, and ...left the Beaumonts. So why is Bastien parading you around like some Lady?”

Mary looks down, picks at a thread on Drake’s jacket. “Because now I work for him.”

“Work for him how?”

“I..I’d rather let him tell you.”

The carriage comes to a stop and Mary pulls the curtain aside to peek out the window. “We’re here.”

Drake sits forward on the seat, his hands gripping the edge of the cushion nervously. “And where is ‘here’ exactly?”

Before Mary can answer, Bastien is out of the driver's seat and pulling open the door. “We must hurry, it will be dawn soon.”

After climbing out of the carriage with Mary, Drake takes in his surroundings. They were in front of a two story house with a tiny front garden and a wrought iron fence. There was no light in the windows, and the overgrown state of the garden gave the impression of neglect or abandonment.

“I need to take the carriage down the road and then set the horses free. Take Drake into the house.”

When Mary holds out her hand to Drake this time he shoves his hands in his pockets instead. He shrugs, “Sorry, my hands aren’t that clean. I'll just follow thanks.”

Mary holds his coat tighter around herself, “Alright then, suit yourself.”

Drake follows her through the gate and along the overgrown path of the stone walkway. “Whose house is this?”

When they reach the door, Drake is surprised to see Mary open it without a key. “It was my Mother's house,” she answers quietly, her voice heavy with sadness.

“Was your Mother's house? Where is she now?”

Mary doesn't answer, but as they step into the narrow front hall they're met with a musty and foul odor. Drake wrinkles up his nose and covers his face with his sleeve. He realizes it's the smell of something gone rotten. Mary doesn't seem to notice, and busied herself with lighting the oil lamps. Stepping into the front sitting room, Drake sees the hulking shapes of furniture under dust covers. When Mary lifts the edge of one sheet, Drake gets the hint and helps her remove them. Once the room has been put back into service, Mary starts gathering the sheets and folding them.

“While I take care of these, could you build a fire in the grate for us? Bastien will be here any moment and then no doubt he'll find some other task for me to do.”

Drake nods and then gets to work on a fire. He notices some dusty framed family photos on the mantle near the box of matches. The largest one features a man and women in formal clothing posing in front of the same fireplace. Drake pulls a match out of the box and gestures toward the photo, “Are these people your parents?”

Mary takes the photo down and dusts it off with the corner of one of the sheets. “Yes, this wasn't long after they were married.”

Mary traces the faces of her parents with her fingers and then puts the picture back.

"So where are they now?" Drake asks as he arranges pieces of wood in the fireplace.

"Father died shortly after I started working for the Beaumonts. Mother was upset that I didn't leave my job and come back home to be with her and to help her run the house. I told her I needed a life of my own, and would send her money on the monthly."

Drake looks around the room at the worn corners of the quality wooden side tables, and faded but intact cushions and upholstery. Mary's mother had felt pride in her home and kept it neat, overpolishing surfaces to keep them clean, a working class widow trying to hold onto everything she had to maintain her status in society.

"It must have been difficult to support yourself and your mother on a maid's wages."

Mary shrugs, looking down at the tattered fabric of Drake's wool coat, her voice taking on a shy tone as she remembered how she was paid for extra favors. "I did what I had to do, and the Duke paid better than most. I was one of his favorites."

"Yes, until suddenly you weren't."

"Bastien looks after me now. And he's shown me how to fend for myself when he's busy at the Beaumont estate."

Drake looks down at his dirty hands and stained shirt, "I suppose this is your house now. Do you have a bathtub where I could clean up a little?"

Mary blushes at the thought of helping Drake bathe, "Oh, of course! How silly of me. You'll be needing new clothes as well. I'm not sure if my Father's things will fit you, but it's something at least."

Drake smiles and nods gratefully, following Mary to the staircase. "Lead the way."

::

Tagging:

@texaskitten30 @janezillow @hopefulmoonobject @dcbbw @pedudley @ravenpuff02 @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @indiacater @kingliam2019 @jovialyouthmusic @walkerswhiskeygirl @emceesynonymroll @kimmiedoo5 @speedyoperarascalparty @mfackenthal @xxrainbow-princessxx

[qelle21ahsgov]

Legislative and Executive Action

H.R. 6586: Social Media Accountability and Account Verification Act April 21, 2020

The bill originated in the house but it has not passed either the house or the senate at this time.

The bill requires that social media companies better regulate what accounts are fake and what are real. The bill pushes to not allow such fake account as to not spread so much misinformation and hateful content. It also calls for the companies themselves to better regulate the authenticity of their content.

The bill is in very early stages so it has only been sponsored by one republican. This early on it’s hard to tell which way this bill could swing but I believe that if this bill gets the backing of the House Energy and Commerce, then it would get passed.

The House Energy and Commerce.

I would encourage you to vote yes just because it’s more regulation on social media conglomerates and would allow safer social media platforms. The bill would be one of the first that would make Facebook take a serious look at their company and how they operate.

Department of State

“Leading America’s foreign policy to advance the interests and security of the American people.”

Michael R. Pompeo is the secretary of state for the U.S. senate. Secretary Pompeo is more than qualified for the job, as he has had years of military service where he patrolled the iron curtain before the fall of the Berlin Wall. Years of political experience in both the senate and as the director for the CIA for a year. His appointment is a logical one as his years of service towards fighting for America inside and out of it, proves how capable he is for the job.

I believe it would be suitable for the cabinet to agree with my ideas about Facebook and other social media companies. The Department of State’s main job is to use facts and reasoning to help the American people in their best interest. H.R. 6586: Social Media Accountability and Account Verification Act April 21, 2020

The bill originated in the house but it has not passed either the house or the senate at this time.

The bill requires that social media companies better regulate what accounts are fake and what are real. The bill pushes to not allow such fake account as to not spread so much misinformation and hateful content. It also calls for the companies themselves to better regulate the authenticity of their content.

The bill is in very early stages so it has only been sponsored by one republican. This early on it’s hard to tell which way this bill could swing but I believe that if this bill gets the backing of the House Energy and Commerce, then it would get passed.

The House Energy and Commerce.

I would encourage you to vote yes just because it’s more regulation on social media conglomerates and would allow safer social media platforms. The bill would be one of the first that would make Facebook take a serious look at their company and how they operate.

Department of State

“Leading America’s foreign policy to advance the interests and security of the American people.”

Michael R. Pompeo is the secretary of state for the U.S. senate. Secretary Pompeo is more than qualified for the job, as he has had years of military service where he patrolled the iron curtain before the fall of the Berlin Wall. Years of political experience in both the senate and as the director for the CIA for a year. His appointment is a logical one as his years of service towards fighting for America inside and out of it, proves how capable he is for the job.

I believe it would be suitable for the cabinet to agree with my ideas about Facebook and other social media companies. The Department of State’s main job is to use facts and reasoning to help the American people in their best interest.

[alexsmitposts]

Heinz Felfe: why the SS officer was awarded the order of the red Star No one introduced Heinz Felfe into the SS: he served there of his own volition, and almost until the end of the war. In may 1945, Felfe was captured by the British and subsequently worked for MI6. But the fate of the former obersturmfuhrer changed the meeting with a former colleague.

During world war II Heinz Felfe was born in 1918 in Dresden. Subsequently, the place of birth played a crucial role in the fate of Felfe. However, in other respects, the biography of the future SS obersturmfuhrer did not differ much from the life of his countrymen. Felfe, like everyone else, was drafted into the army, but was soon discharged due to illness: during the service, he suffered severe pneumonia. After demobilization, according to Alexander Sever, author of the book "Bridge of spies", Heinz decided to follow in the footsteps of his father, who worked in the police. In 1941, Felfe became a member of the security police in the system Of the General Directorate of Imperial security.

Subsequently, Heinz Felfe served in the Dresden criminal police, as well as in the Gleiwitz police. In 1943, Felfe was transferred to the VI Directorate Of the General Directorate of Imperial security. After a while, as Olga Greig and Alexander Rudakov write in the publication "Konigsberg-13, or the Last secret of the amber room", he took the position of head of the Department for Switzerland. But at the end of the war, already in the rank of SS obersturmfuhrer Heinz Felfe was sent to Holland to throw saboteurs in the rear of the allies. However, the SS commander failed to fulfill this order: in may 1945, he was captured by the British.

Working for MI6 and a fateful meeting Heinz Felfe was released from captivity in 1946. At the same time, according to Felfe's own confession, which is given in the memoirs of an SS obersturmfuhrer "in the secret service of Moscow. How I beat the CIA", he moved to the German city of Munster, where he began working for the UK's secret intelligence service, MI6. However, the former SS man's collaboration with MI6 ended rather quickly. The fact is that the British suspected Felfe of double-dealing. At least, this is what Alexander Severus and a number of other historians claim.

After ceasing to work for MI6, Heinz Felfe chose to retire to the small town of Rendorf and enrolled as a freelance student in the faculty of state and law at the University of Bonn. In order to make a living, Felfe took up journalism. In connection with his chosen profession, he traveled a lot around the country. One day, Felfe met a former colleague in VI management, Hans Clemens. In 1949, according to the author of the publication "Scouts and spies", Stanislav Zigunenko, Clemens became interested in the employee of the MGB of the USSR Ivan Sumin. Sumin managed to persuade Hans Clemens to cooperate with Soviet intelligence.

Secret Soviet agent With Clemens ' help, Heinz Felfe was also recruited in 1951. However, Felfe himself claimed that the senseless bombing of his native Dresden by Anglo-American troops played a decisive role for him. Soviet soldiers distributed food to German residents after the war. According to Theodor Gladkov, author of the publication "Elevator to intelligence", the Soviet leadership, taking into account felfe's past experience, told Him to get a job in the intelligence "organization of Gehlen". While working for this organization, the former SS man managed to transfer more than 15,000 important documents to the Soviet Union and turned over about a hundred CIA agents.

However, in 1961, Heinz Felfe was tracked down and arrested. The court sentenced Felfe to 14 years in prison. But 8 years later, according to Leonid Mlechin, author of the book "mind Control and other battles of the cold war", Heinz was exchanged for Western intelligence agents caught behind the "iron curtain". In Moscow, Felfe was received not only cordially, but also with honors. For his service, he was awarded the order of the red Star and the red banner. However, after working for some time in the KGB, Heinz Felfe returned to his homeland, where he began teaching criminology at a Berlin University. Felfe died there in Berlin in 2008.

[frcmashes]

 In  LAS VEGAS, NV I found EMRYS CROSS, a child with the ability of TELEKINESIS / TELEKINETIC BLASTS. At first HE came off as STANDOFFISH but they also seemed RESOURCEFUL. I was unable to procure the child, as an adult, they should resemble SAM CLAFLIN.  ( c, she/her )

hey hi hello everyone!  back at it again with a new muse.  this is my trash son, emrys/rhys, and i hope you guys like him skgshsgss.  hmu here or on discord if you want to plot !!

       TW: description of war, PTSD, description of violence, alcoholism. 

&. basics

full name: emrys arlo cross

nicknames: rhys, cross

age: 29

sexuality:  bisexual

relationship status: single

date of birth: october 1

place of birth:  reno, NV

gender & species: cismale, enhanced humanoid(?)

current location:  brooklyn, ny

&. more basic info

languages: english, french, spanish.

religion: christian - united

education: high school diploma, 12 weeks at the police academy, 1 year EMT-B training. 

military service: 3 years active duty, 2 years desk duty.  

occupation: personal security / paramedic / EMT

drinks, smokes, & drugs: no, yes, no.

&. personality

zodiac sign: ( references: one, two ) libra

mbti: ( reference link ) intj

likes:  breakfast for dinner, pokemon go, board games, trashy romance novels, game of thrones, motorcycles, crossword puzzles.

dislikes:  city driving, the bar scene, city traffic, jaywalking, ebooks, coffee, sour candy. 

bad habits:  neurotic over-analyzing

secret talent:  he can recite the entire ‘ to be or not to be ‘ monologue from hamlet 

hobbies: restoring classic cars, doing puzzles. 

fears: persecution, loss of loved ones, discovery of his abilities on a broad scale.

five positive traits: determined, honest, loyal, resourceful & strong-willed.

five negative traits: standoffish, reserved, indecisive, stubborn.

other mentionable details:   rhys is a recovering alcoholic.  he has been sober for about a year. he went through AA and attributes his sobriety to the program. 

&. appearance

tattoos: n/a

piercings: n/a

faceclaim: sam claflin

&. family information

parent names: sarah & serena cross ( birth mom: arlo cross )

parent relationship:  rhys is close to all of his mothers.  his birth mother arlo was 18 years old when she gave birth to him.  as such, her older sister sarah ( and her wife serena ) legally adopted him.  he was raised by all three women, though his birth mother was more of an aunt figure than a mother. 

sibling names:  he has a younger half sister and a half brother.  his sister is 8 years younger than him, and his brother is 6 years younger.  

sibling relationship: rhys tried to stay in contact with his siblings, even when life took him out of NV, but it wasn’t always easy.  the three siblings are closer now that they’re adults but as kids they weren’t the closest. 

other relevant relative: uncle ( arlo’s husband ), and a sister-in-law ( married to his younger brother )

children: n/a

significant other / spouse: n/a

pets: n/a

&. biography

        emrys was born on the rainiest day of the season.  his mother was at home, watching television, when he arrived.  to say the cross family were shocked would have been an understatement.  since arlo was only 18 years old, her older sister sarah ( + her wife serena ) agreed to adopt the baby.  arlo knew she wanted kids, knew she felt some sort of love for this baby that had been placed in her arms, but at 18 she knew that she wasn’t ready.  so serena and sarah moved in nearby, arlo played the role of doting aunt, and the three ladies raised emrys — or rhys, as he preferred to be called — to be the strong, loving, and kind person he turned out to be.  

     at 18 years old, rhys surprised his entire family by announcing his intention to enlist in the army.  when the twin towers fell in 2001, rhys could remember the way his stomach plummeted.  seeing such devastation on US soil, seeing a country in ruin, stuck with him even at a young age.  he joined ROTC in high school and eventually went on to enlist in the army.  he made it through basic training and was deployed in iraq for 2 years before an injury saw him medevaced home.  he spent the greater part of the next year recovering from a blast that had nearly killed him when his convoy was attacked.  as one of the only survivors, rhys lived with a lot of survivor’s guilt and struggled to find his place.  he finished out his desk duty and left the army on good terms.  he was officially diagnosed with PTSD and made the choice to move away from nevada to start over.

     so here’s the thing about rhys’ powers.  they didn’t manifest until late in life.  like, very late.  there were a few moments when he was younger that strange things happened, things he couldn’t explain, but when he TRIED to replicate what had happened ?  nothing.  it was only when pieces of shrapnel were about to rip through his face that he was able to throw his hands up, the pieces halting in mid-air as he was thrown through the window of their military vehicle.  his back was ripped to shreds, pain nearly suffocating him.  but he was alive.  he was alive, and they were dead.  somehow, he’d managed to stop the shrapnel from hitting him, long enough to crawl out of the wreckage and the line of fire.  it was there, on his stomach, that he wondered if this was god’s mercy or god’s wrath.  he’d been given the ability to save himself, but not to save the others.  it was too late for them.  it didn’t seem fair.  

     but new york was a fresh start.  new york didn’t remind him of the funerals, of flags handed over to grieving families while his own rejoiced that he was alive.  he’d survived, but alive wasn’t something he necessarily felt.  new york was an opportunity to do things better;  to be better.  so he decided to figure out what the FUCK these powers were and how he could use them to help people.  he enrolled in the police academy but ended up leaving the program.  it was more politics than he wanted to deal with and he knew there were more efficient ways he could use his powers - and his skills - to help people.  he ended up taking a temporary job as personal security for a tech guru and ended up enjoying the job so much he deferred education for over a year.  then he scaled back to part-time while he studied to be an EMT and completed the training program.  currently he is a paramedic / EMT in new york and has an apartment in brooklyn.  i say he has an apartment  but he spends most of his time working, at the gym, or picking up extra shifts and hours as part of ariella bellefleur’s personal security team.

      when the academy called, at first rhys thought it was a joke.  of course he’d read the news articles, knew about the umbrella academy, but he’d never thought for a second that HE might be one of them. sure, he had powers, and over the years he’d finally figured out how to control them, but the idea that there were 42 people out there who were just like him? it seemed insane.  seeing it in person was even more insane, honestly.  if he hadn’t seen the other 42 with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believed it.  seeing as he already lived in the city it hasn’t been uncommon to see him stopping by the academy just to take a look behind the curtain.  he imagines its what people would feel if they sat on the iron throne;  a part of something bigger, something that just might be kind of wonderful. 

[the-stick-scribblers]

The Womb

Crime is up five hundred percent since the Academy opened The Womb.

Twenty years ago, some newish academics who were still in their first century and therefore still hopeful, published a groundbreaking study on crime. They said the problem was simple: people committed crimes because somewhere in their past or current reality, they lacked security and love. Becoming a criminal was simply a call for help, too late. That part wasn't groundbreaking, but it bore repeating (and repeating, and repeating - hit the boring nail on the head, they did). Here's the important bit: they then asked what would happen if criminals could return to their childhoods and start from scratch, supported by the state? The ultimate rehabilitation program? 

Instead of prisons, they imagined a system of homes with specially trained and vetted "parents" to provide love; instead of cells, there would be small rooms they called nurseries filled with safely approved enrichment toys and lots of soft things for squeezing; there would still be community service opportunities and classes and career preparation, but capital punishment was firmly nixed.

It hinged on some pretty wild de-aging technology, but once they'd made the proposal it was only a couple of years before the tech caught up and then it was all hands-on deck "for the future of all children" and other such meaningless shit. There were some modifications - the cells are simply called rooms instead of nurseries, for example - but when they rolled out The Womb it was pretty much as presented.

Let's say you commit a crime. It's a little one, like maybe you didn't pay a traffic ticket, or some dick egged your apartment and you told them where they could shove it in front of the wrong soccer mom. The judge says hey, okay, that wasn't very good. But it was probably just a little lesson you forgot to learn along the way that led you to your Mistake, so you're sentenced to be de-aged a year and you're given a counselor who's supposed to help guide you onto a better path this time around.

But let's say the crime is bigger. You threw a major party and then drove drunk and high on heroin and ran over someone's dog. You commit armed robbery. Someone got seriously hurt, repeatedly. A guidance counselor for a year isn't going to cut it, so that's when the jury steps in and tries to figure out where your life went wrong. Was it at sixteen the first time you shoplifted and got away with it? At ten, when your teacher told you your work would never be any good? At eight, when your mom started working three jobs because she was suddenly raising you alone? And then you get zapped back to the pivotal age and placed in The Womb so you can be Reborn.

Somehow in all their planning the academics and the politicians forgot to bank on the allure of avoiding all those five hundred-year-old wrinkles and arthritis for a couple hundred extra years. Most people when they hit four hundred rob a bank at fake-gunpoint. That's the biggest crime that's least likely to get them killed rather than de-aged. That, or they get involved in some sort of tax fraud scheme. What's losing access to a couple million when you're going to die soon anyway? A second chance at life has got to be worth at least that.

The worst offenders get de-aged all the way back to babies, but that doesn't happen very often. It can seriously shorten your life if you end up a repeat offender, and anyway raising babies is more resource-intensive than the other kids. You have to kill a whole lot of people in a whole lot of lives to make it worth the parents' time.

The years you de-age get borrowed off the end of your life. As long as you avoid any more Mistakes, you get those years back and get to live out your original life span in full, with the bonus of a second childhood thrown in. But if you make another Mistake, you lose them forever, and have to live with it. That's how come I've only got two years left to take over the world.

I have been twelve years-old seven times. The last time I was Reborn, I'd made it all the way to age three hundred and fifty before I made another Mistake.

"You gonna eat that?"

We Reborn may have to use our manners, but for some reason the Womb Workers are exempt.

I sit up straight, elbows off the table, and look at my pudding. "My spoon is dirty."

They pick up the spoon, squint at it, rub it on their apron, then return it to the table. "You going to eat that now?"

The pudding looks delicious, actually, full of real chocolate shavings and cherry jam and cream liquor. If I let myself look at it any longer, I might cave. So I look at the Worker instead. They look like they could use some prune juice.

"This spoon is dirty. I would like a new spoon." 

The Worker opens their mouth, probably to tell me where I can shove the spoon, when Ren interrupts in a tiny voice, "You've got to say please."

This is Ren's second time Reborn. She's six years old now. When she was twenty-one she was sent back for planting an eco-bomb, and for again stealing an entire corporate farm when she was ninety. She's got an impressive file; we could be a good team eventually. I like her. But, regretfully, I no longer have the time.

"Please," I say, and smile real sweet.

The Worker takes the spoon from my hand with a measured precision that means they would much rather stab me with it, and give a little bow.

"Tell Jeremy he needs to pay more attention; the spoon was dirty!" I holler after them after they've passed into the kitchen, to everyone else at the table's disapproval.

Because this is my seventh time in The Womb, I've been placed in a high-security house, with experienced Grandparents rather than normal Parents and bars on all the windows under the cheerful blue and yellow curtains. I've also only got five siblings rather than the usual nine; Ren is the littlest, and Matthew is the oldest at seventeen. The rest of us hover around the dining room table in the throws of those terrible years right on the cusp of puberty, and we've all got the lanky self-awareness to match. Really, the jury should have forgiven me the second they realized my pivotal moment was at twelve, or at least written me off as a lost cause. What preteen doesn't want to take over the world? How was living through that desire again and again supposed to make me desire it any less? But we've established the establishment isn't very smart about the details of redemption. They just want to Save the Children, or at least look enough like they are to appeal to the constituents a couple times a year. Statistics to the contrary are handily swept aside as anti-love.

Everyone here has taken a wood chipper to someone else's moral fabric, most more than once. Even the Grandparents have been Reborn once each, although they won't tell me how come. Just that it's part of the job requirement, so they can relate to where we're at on our journeys or something disgustingly syrupy like that. I'll miss them the least.

The Womb Worker reappears at my left elbow. Another little bow, definitely sarcastic this time, and then they hold out a silvered fork. "Jeremy says all the spoons are dirty, but he offered an extra fork. The pudding is thick; this should serve just as well."

Finally. I accept the fork and dig in with an admirably restrained glee, I think. The pudding tastes sweeter knowing that it will be my last meal in this place.

Jeremy is old hat, been with the place since it opened basically, and is the only Worker authorized to visit every Home because he's worked his way up from day cook to Head of the Households. The first time I met him (on accident, during a poorly planned slip during my first sentence, involving a new bouquet of flowers every day until the home was buried in chrysanthemums and little baby's daisies and Womb Workers had to come and confiscate them all) he told me about his First Home, in Libya. It's taboo to talk about First Homes, not because it's illegal or anything or even really frowned upon. It just makes people sad. But Jeremy smiled as he told me about the fried dates and bsisa, the ironic wetlands and sprawling steppes and the big sky full of birds over everything all the time, the migrations. About the little lizards, the way they sashayed when he chased them down the streets. He made me forget almost everything and believe I'd grown up in Libya too. I volunteered for kitchen duty every night after in hopes he'd be that night's cook.

He climbed the ladder and I followed behind him to each new role, begging for stories about Libya, and about The Womb too, since he knows everything there is to know about it. Including, of course, how to get out. It wasn't hard to bribe him. Just two more rebirths of a little bit of smiling, a little bit of begging, and I've now had six life cycles to practice my hand at money laundering. Jeremy is four hundred and ninety-five this year. It's time for him to bail.

The pudding is gone too soon, and I lick my lips and immediately wish I had some Vasoline. They’re dry, and they sting. "I'm not feeling well. May I please be excused?"

Ren's tiny face looks doubtful and a couple of the other kids look intrigued, but Grandnanna is a warm, benevolent rock. "Do you need me to grab a basket?"

"I don't think so. I think I just need to lie down."

"Let me feel your head."

"It's my stomach," I protest, but go to her nonetheless. I'm up from the table, which means I'm almost in the clear.

She puts the back of her hand against my forehead and cheeks, then turns to rattle in the credenza behind her seat at the head of the table. "Richard, can you grab me the thermometer please? I forgot I moved it to the study when that cough went around last month."

"I'm kind of dizzy. I just want to lie down." I cross my arms and hunch my shoulders and do my best to turn excitement into flush agitation. Grandnanna (what a laugh; she's younger than me by a century, at least) purses her lips.

Then she steps back, and sighs. Good for her – she’s learned how to pick her battles. Probably why she’s still only been reborn once. "Grab a clean towel from the cupboard on your way up."

I finished my part of our plan this morning - digging out each of the security features in the home and bypassing them with a wire or a code I custom-wrote before my latest de-age debacle. The bars are just a formality now. But that's the most I could do on my own. It was up to Jeremy to arrange the rest - reaching out to my old contacts, setting up the weekend lecture series, making sure the Grandparents are out, finding a Sitter with enough moral ambiguity to agree to pack their overnight stuff in over-large luggage and to not ask questions. It was a lot of work, and he hasn’t said it but he’s going to negotiate for a better cut once we're free and clear. At least fifty percent. That's a cliché, but it’s fine. I can do those too. Not everyone makes it to five hundred. There won't be any questions when he’s never heard from again.

The corridor to my room is lined with photos doctored to look original, of the seven of us in this home, and each door has an initial painted in well-meaning green that comes off as military in the dim light. I dutifully grab a towel from the closet and go to my room, draping the towel over my pillow and curling up under the fluffy comforter. Once I bust out there will be no niceties, at least for a couple of months. Definitely no pudding. I close my eyes and sink into the bed. I dream myself a feast.

~D.E. Scevers

[talpa-stygius-blog]

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Averhill Episode Fifty-Two: Big in Averhill

Some tense discussions with the tiefling thief revealed that her name was Nyx, and she claimed to have once been an elf. She needed a wish from a genie to restore her to her original form, and thus was fixated on the iron flask.

Flick said their flask was empty but they were going to go to the Plane of Air, where genies resided, and as long as they obtained the service of a genie, Nyx could have a wish.

The others objected and the meeting was adjourned until breakfast, which Nyx paid for. Eventually they agreed to let Nyx join them, as her skills would help fill the hole left by Ris, and they could all go to the plane of air in search of genies.

Before they could do that, however, they had to get the damaged aetherium ship to Averhill for repairs. They returned to the Fernrift, which now reeked of the decomposing illithids and their allies. Kaipo magicked the ship smaller while Mel drew a portal circle around it, and when completed, the ship vanished in a blaze of light.

The party went back out into fresh air to wait a while before following. When they did so they found the portal room in Averhill crowded with onlookers and guards keeping them away from the ship.

Rivers was there too, in her human disguise as Sariah Hebore, humble administrative functionary. She had a scroll of Extended Animate Object for the party to use, and the information that a drydock at Mott and Blindley’s Shipworks had been secured for them; all they had to do was get the ship there within the hour, before the spell wore off.

The party worked together; Flick finding the best way through the city, and intimidating anyone who wasn’t persuaded to get out of the way by Mel. Kaipo cast the scroll and kept the ship from snagging on anything, and Nyx kept Flick in sight. They made it to the docks with time to spare, and a huge crowd in their wake.

The shipwrights had never seen anything like the ship before, and weren’t certain they had the expertise to fix it. At that point Salazar arrived, having followed the commotion; books and bags in to. He declared he’d take charge of the arcane aspects of the repairs.

Smithing expertise was required for the silver sails, and after dropping off their gear at the Maltery, they went to the Smithy to ask Jayderry and Mira to help also. At this point Nyx realised that her new friends weren’t just ambitious; in the Brass Belt of Averhill at least, they were famous, and once they’d vouched for her, she too was accepted despite her startling looks.

Jayderry and Mira agreed to at least consider the job, and Flick went to have dinner with her mother while Mel packed out the Maltery with stories of their adventures. They also learned that while they’d been gone the moon’s influence had caused storms and tides all along the coast, including some that flooded the low-lying areas near Hillrage Slough. Monsters too had been effected.

The next day they paid a visit to the docks. First to talk to Salazar, who was setting up his workspace. They learned Jayderry and Mira had taken the job, and that all in all Bindly expected it to cost around 50,000 gold for the entire repairs. He accepted a deposit of 10,000.

Next they went to The Dozing Ogre in search of Silas. They found it sporting lacy curtains and white tablecloths, and under the management of Walda Buckridge, Silas’s aunt. She recognised them from Silas’s stories, and told them that he and his crew were flying Averhill colours and defending the coastline. She didn’t know when he’d be back, but said she’d pass on a message.

Without a ship or crew, the party would have to find passage to the Pearl Isles on someone else’s. A trip to the Shipping Office pointed them towards the Timely Purchase, a rare, dwarven-crewed ship taking pork and weapons to Zoayang. The captain, Thelmir Bristlehorn, was happy to have extra muscle on board, and would even pay extra if the party was obliged to defend the ship.

The party stocked up on potions, and while Nyx read up on tieflings, the party reported to Rivers, explaining what they’d done and where they planned to go next. Rivers offered them help should they need it, but the party was better equipped for finding lost monasteries than the Reach was, so all she could do was wish them luck.

After an all-too-brief respite, the ocean awaited.

[whyspeakin]

Events of the Chernobyl disaster

Events of the Chernobyl disaster

Chernobyl Disaster Events of the Chernobyl disaster, this is a visual illustration of the inner workings of the reactor and the key events of the Chernobyl disaster. The power plant had four nuclear reactors brought online over six years.  The steam turbines were located in the adjacent turbine hall.  Unit four had been making electricity for 3 years at the time of disaster in 1986.  The reactor was the RBMK 1000 type, 1960's design and the legacy of the nuclear power race where trying to be first meant undesirable shortcuts were made.  Technological best practices and good ideas were not shared across the Iron Curtain and Chernobyl paid the price. https://youtu.be/7safrZnIUKM

Safe reactor that could not explode

what caused Chernobyl disaster The answers are many but we summaries it to Ignorance of the Plant ManagerRush to test the plantPoor Safety DesignCold War race The propaganda was that it was a safe reactor that could not explode, which gave a false sense of security. The uranium fuel was only slightly enriched resulting in a much larger reactor core. Western reactors are stable by design as they heat up the nuclear reaction slows which is what you want. 

Faulty Design

Faulty design of the reactor

Chernobyl was the opposite where at low power, increased heat accelerated the reaction setting it up to run away with itself.  The technical term is positive void coefficient. The pumps and steam systems which fed the turbines were paired on either side and circulated enough coolant water to prevent overheating of the fuel. The radioactive fuel was enclosed in a steel drum with a top and bottom lid. This was the radiation shielding which safeguarded the plant workers. Almost 2,000 vertical channels were arranged inside graphite bricks.

Events of the Chernobyl disaster clock

Events of the Chernobyl disasterThe saga of disaster

Huge Reactor size

Graphite was favored material for sustaining a nuclear chain reaction and low-grade uranium. These channels contained the uranium fuel assemblies and the control rods.  The uranium pellets shown here in red were Stacked inside steel tubes. They heated the water which turned the turbines to produce electricity.10% of the channels held control rods shown here in green.  Moving them in and out of the core did the job of the brakes and accelerator of the reactor. The RBMK core was huge.  This is the relative size of the Fukushima core which is 17 times smaller. Chernobyl had rudimentary containment. Here it is compared to the Japanese Fukushima reactor housing to the same scale. Fukushima had three containment layers.  The pressure vessel, the steel lining and the outer concrete layer.  The Chernobyl reactor had just one layer. The reactor was serviced from the reactor hall above. https://youtu.be/Y3PDt03sTaI

Refueling problem

 Refueling could be done while full power. This was a big advantage of the RBMK design. It was only possible because there was no pressure vessel. This can be likened to driving without a seat belt which is convenient but not wise. Most western reactors may only be refueled during a reactor shutdown. The control room is located outside the reactor building in the lower levels of the turbine Hall. It was accessed from the golden corridor that connected all units and was 600 meters long. It is ironic that this reactor blew up while testing if the reactor was safe. The control staff were under pressure to get the test done because the next chance for the test would be in a year. It is unthinkable that activating the emergency shutdown detonated this explosion.  A design error meant the shutdown mechanism briefly spiked the reaction before slowing it.  In the operating configurations of that evening this sent the reactor supercritical in seconds. The design fault in the AZ-5 shutdown system was not communicated to the Chernobyl controllers. The chief engineer who had poor knowledge of reactor science recklessly bypassed multiple auto safety systems and the reactor blew up.

Chernobyl reactor explosion exposed Radiation into environment

https://youtu.be/YjuVrYTkTqE Vast amounts of radiation were released directly into the atmosphere. Radioactive debris lay strewn all around the site. Large areas of Belarus and Ukraine were made uninhabitable.  The finest radiation was carried much further and detected in low amounts across Europe causing widespread fear and panic.  The reactor lid which weighed 1000 tons was blown up through the roof and landed back in the reactor pit on its side.  To seal the radiation outflow to the outside world an emergency concrete and steel cover was built in a hurry in just 200 days. They called this shield the sarcophagus. It was built in heroic circumstances and never meant as the final solution. https://youtu.be/o495aErAANA

Heroic sacrifice

The cleanup activities at Chernobyl was bravely done by as many as 500,000people called Liquidators.  Most were simply told to be there uncertain how it would impact their life expectancy. They were waging a war against an invisible self-inflicted enemy.  Large quantities of equipment were involved and abandoned after because of contamination. 30 years later the shield was rusting and cracking and leaking radiation.  It was at risk from extreme weather and was going to collapse sooner or later. A new permanent containment arch was constructed a safe distance away and rolled in place on rails in November 2016.The iconic Chernobyl ventilation stack was in the path of the new cover and was taken down and replaced with a smaller one. This new permanent cover is a success story of international cooperation. It took 15 days to roll the new arch in place. It is the largest movable land structure ever made. Finally the air we all breathe is properly sealed off and safe from this nuclear menace.  The arch has equipment for dismantling and decommissioning this atomic nightmare. It's a Hercules task to summaries Events of the Chernobyl disaster

Chernobyl HBO miniseries

Chernobyl HBO miniseries watch it to experience the trauma of residents and ignorance of Russian Administration. https://youtu.be/n7aMcKinrWY

Conclusion

Chernobyl was the result of a flawed reactor design, human stupidity and the erosion of safety culture.  The fundamental failings of the Soviet system were laid bare at Chernobyl.  The Soviet Union unraveled soon after. Ukraine was left to carry this burden of historical proportions and to this day continues to be played as a political football by Russia.  The rest of Chernobyl's reactors continued to run after disaster.  Unit 2 burnt in 1991and was abandoned.  The last reactor was switched off in 2000 after European insistence.  Russia to this day still operates 10 RBMK reactors at three locations and plans to run the last one till turn 2034.  These units were retrofitted with safety modifications. This is the cursed town of Pripyat .It was a model town of 50,000 where the power plant staff lived.  It was a privilege to work and live here and in many ways it was the Soviet dream until it was evacuated the day after the explosion. Countless lives were devastated here forever by this tragedy. The Chernobyl nightmare that dragged on for so long finally has a workable long-term plan but the cleanup will still run for decades. Chernobyl has become an ever more popular tourist stop and hopefully it will retain the title of the worst nuclear power disaster in history. The Pripyat amusement park was days away from its May Day opening when it was hastily opened early as a diversion for residents concerned about the obvious damage to the power plant which would have been visible from the top of the ferris wheel. Later in the day they were instructed to evacuate for three days unaware they would never return. Read the full article

[neetjanitorialservices-blog]

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Conclusion: We are professionals in each & every type of cleaning. We take care of your every cleaning and housekeeping requirements, with due diligence. We have earned tons of goodwill from our clients for the last about 20 years. We provide services in Surrey, BC, and in the nearby cities. We strictly deliver our services as agreed with the clients, to their utmost satisfaction, without any complaints. We turn clients’ perception of reality in the matters of cleaning. Our clients feel proud of with results of cleaning. At the cost of self-praise, it is mentioned that our company is second to none in Surrey, BC, in the matters of housekeeping & cleaning. We are unbeaten in delivering consistently appreciable qualitative results within the client’s affordable budget. You are requested to contact us at the following numbers, and you will feel that we are different than the other cleaning services around.

[sunflowerseedsandscience]

X-Files Fic: She’s Beauty, She’s Grace- Chapter Six

Note: I suddenly realized this chapter was getting away from me and cut it off, but there’s an excellent chance (since I was well into what’s going to be the next chapter when I decided it was getting too long) that there will be an additional update later tonight.  :)

Previous chapters: one | two | three | four | five

Even though she’s managed her first uninterrupted night of sleep since her shooting, Scully still wakes up exhausted, and the day begins far earlier than she would have liked.  Skinner, Mulder, and Elise converge on her hotel room within fifteen minutes of her alarm going off, and all four of them order breakfast from room service, rather than taking the time to go down to the dining room.  While they wait for their food to be brought up to them, Elise gives them the schedule for the day.

 “Tonight’s the official start of the pageant,” she says.  “Your call time is six o’clock, two hours before the curtain goes up.  Until then, though, the only two events you’ll need to attend are one last dance rehearsal, which is at eleven, and a rehearsal for the talent portion.”  Scully bites her lip nervously.  Two dance rehearsals, plus the performance tonight?  There won’t be enough Vicodin in the world… or at least not left in her prescription bottle. 

 “What time is the talent rehearsal?” she asks.

 “Each contestant has a fifteen-minute slot, and yours is at one-thirty this afternoon,” says Elise.  “The rehearsal is more for the crew than it is for the performers.  They need to get a copy of your music, see how long you’ll be onstage, and where you’ll be, so they can put together a lighting design.  It doesn’t take long.  And beyond that, you’re free for today.”

 “How free?” asks Scully.  “Lounge-around-the-pool free, or five-strategizing-sessions-before-lunch free?”

 “Somewhere in between,” says Skinner.  “We do have things we need to go over, but you also need to take it easy as much as you can.  It’s going to be a long night.”

 “Tonight will start with the group dance number,” says Elise.  “Then you’ll have the first round of interviews.”  

 “I completely forgot about the interview portion,” groans Scully.  Elise smiles.

 “Don’t worry too much about it,” she advises.  “Each contestant only gets one question in the first round.  Otherwise, with fifty women, it would take all night.”  Scully nods, somewhat relieved.  “Then the night will finish with the swimsuit competition.”  Scully frowns.

 “No talent portion?” she asks.

 “That’s the next night,” says Elise.  “For the top twenty-five, anyway.  After the swimsuit portion is over tonight, you’ll all change back into the evening gown you wore for your interview, and they’ll end the first night by announcing who’s made the cut.”  Scully brightens.

 “So I might not ever have to perform my talent portion at all?”

 “You’re guaranteed to make the top eight,” says Skinner.  “To make sure you’re on hand as long as possible.”  It makes sense, but still, Scully’s disappointed.

 “Don’t worry, Scully,” says Mulder, giving her a reassuring pat on the shoulder.  “You’ll do fine.”  He’s smiling in a way that says, all too clearly, that he’s looking forward to it tremendously, and Scully just barely manages to resist giving him an impromptu shower with the orange juice that has just arrived.

 As soon as breakfast is over, Mulder and Skinner leave to meet Kersh and the profiling team, and Elise stays behind to help Scully get ready.

 “I had this delivered to your room last night, while you were in your rehearsal,” she says, unzipping a garment bag hanging on the end of a rack in the corner of the room.  “Someone from the Luxor brought it over in the afternoon.  It’s on loan from one of their floor shows.”  She holds up a bright green velvet dress of the sort worn by Irish dancers- long-sleeved, close-fitted through the bodice, with a flared skirt that’s meant to hit the dancer at about mid-thigh.  A complicated Celtic knot work pattern is embroidered across the front in silver.  “Try it on,” says Elise, passing it to her.  “The wardrobe mistress at the Luxor says they have other sizes, but I’m pretty sure this will fit.”

 And fit it does.  Standing in front of the full-length mirror, Scully has a strong sense of having been transported fifteen years into the past, back to high school, when she and Melissa had practiced their routines together nearly every afternoon.  Their mother had driven them to competitions all over California, and once, when Missy had been a senior and Dana a sophomore, they had qualified for Nationals.  They hadn’t, however, been able to attend the competition- their father had been at sea, there hadn’t been anyone to watch Charlie (Bill had already been away at school), and anyway, they hadn’t really been able to afford it.  Airfare for three, plus hotel rooms and a week of restaurant meals, were a bit much to afford on a Navy man’s salary.

 For a moment, standing in front of the mirror, Scully misses her sister more than ever.  Missy would have gotten a huge kick out of this, out of the idea that even though they’d been denied the chance to dance in that long-ago competition, her little sister is still going to be dancing in front of the entire country.

 “Perfect,” says Elise, grinning at Scully and jerking her out of her reverie.  “The judges are going to eat you up.”

 “I feel a little ridiculous,” Scully confesses.

 “Don’t,” laughs Elise, patting her shoulder.  “I’ve seen some truly ridiculous talent performances over the years.  This won’t be one of them, I’m sure.”  She rifles through the garment rack and pulls off a hanger holding a royal blue one-piece swimsuit.  “Try this on next,” she says, handing it to Scully, who takes it into the bathroom.

 True to her word, Elise has made sure to secure Scully a one-piece bathing suit that manages to cover what it needs to while still showing off her figure.  The neckline plunges dramatically, it’s true, and there are large, geometric cut-outs in the sides, but the gunshot scar is covered, with several inches to spare, so that even if the suit shifts (which Scully doubts it will- it fits like a glove), it will still be covered.  Scully imagines, for a fleeting, private moment, what Mulder’s reaction will be when he sees her wearing this, and she flushes all over.

 Elise nods approvingly when Scully comes out of the bathroom.

 “Do you feel comfortable in it?” she asks, and Scully laughs shortly.

 “Comfortable?  No,” she says.  “Exposed?  Definitely.”  She looks down at herself.  She hasn’t shown this much skin in public since her bikini days on the beaches of San Diego in high school.  “But everything’s covered that needs to be.”  She smiles gratefully at Elise.  “Thank you for finding this,” she says.  “It’s probably the best I could hope for under the circumstances.”  Elise smiles.

 “Not a problem at all,” she says.  She crosses to the clothing rack and unzips another garment bag.  “We’ve got a killer evening gown for you to wear tonight,” she tells Scully, “but obviously, we’re not going to make you walk around in it all day.”  She takes out a pale lavender pantsuit and passes it to Scully.  “This should be a little more comfortable.”

 “Finally, a piece of clothing I recognize,” Scully says, laughing as she looks at the suit.  The cut is perfect, definitely something she’d choose for herself, though not in this color- at least, not for work.  “Where’s the blouse to put under it?”

 “There isn’t one,” says Elise.  Scully raises her eyebrows.  The jacket closes fairly high on the chest, it’s true, but still… there’s going to be an awful lot more of her chest exposed than usual.

 Once again, she thinks of Mulder, and once again, she goes warm and red all over.

 Once Scully’s showered and dressed in the suit, a matching pair of heels on her feet, Elise sits her down in front of the mirrored vanity and goes to work on her hair.  There’s not much opportunity for conversation while the blow dryer’s running, but once she moves on to the flat iron and brush, Elise gets talkative.

 “So, how long have you and Agent Mulder been together?” she asks.

 “I was assigned to work with him a little less than seven years ago,” Scully says.  Elise cocks her head to the side.

 “Oh, no, I meant how long have you been together?” she asks.

 “Um….”  Scully’s taken aback.  “We’re not… that is, Mulder and I, we’re not like that,” she says.

 “Oh!”  Elise’s eyes are wide with surprise.  “Gosh, I’m sorry, Dana.  I didn’t mean to be presumptuous.”

 “No, it’s fine,” says Scully.  “Plenty of people think that we’re… uh… involved.”  She shrugs.  “We’re the only two people in our department, we’ve been working together for a long time, and we’re close.  There are always rumors.”

 “I just… well, Agent Mulder didn’t talk about anything except you the entire time I was with him yesterday,” says Elise.  “And I mean the entire time.”  She shakes her head, smiling.  “I guess I’ve never heard a guy talk like that about a woman he just works with.”

 “Well, we’re friends,” says Scully, suddenly feeling defensive.  “Best friends, really.  We’ve been through a lot together.”  Elise nods, but she doesn’t look convinced.  She finishes flat-ironing Scully’s hair, and Scully obediently covers her eyes in preparation for the hairspray.

 “So,” says Elise, as she swivels Scully’s chair around and pulls up a chair of her own to start on the makeup, “if you and Agent Mulder aren’t a couple, are you seeing anybody?”

 “Not for a very long time,” says Scully.  “The job doesn’t leave me with much free time.”  She sighs.  “I’m barely home enough to keep my houseplants alive.”  She waits, tensed, for the question she knows is coming next, now that Elise knows her partnership is not a romantic one: is Mulder seeing anyone?

 But the question never comes.

 ————————————

 The morning meeting with Kersh is uneventful: there’s no new information yet, no further threats have been received, and no one has noticed anything suspicious or out of the ordinary.  All of the other undercover agents are in place as stage hands and security guards, and Skinner and Mulder show Scully the setup for the coming night.

In the dressing room, backstage, Scully has been allotted a space all the way at the end of a long row of mirrors.  Each mirror has a corresponding curtained-off changing area across from it.  There’s a door just to the left, and Skinner explains that there is a conference room immediately on the other side, which is where all of the agents who aren’t undercover will be, watching a live feed of the pageant.  Scully looks at Mulder.

 “That’s where you’ll be?” she asks, and he nods.

 “With a direct line to you at all times,” he says, tapping his ear.  She turns to Skinner.

“And you?”  

“In here with you,” he says.  “Coaches stay with their contestants throughout the pageant, I’m told.”  Scully nods, extremely thankful for the curtained changing areas.  Changing clothing in front of her boss would be a whole new level of uncomfortable.

The door to the conference room opens, and Agents Marino and Young wheel in the clothing rack from Scully’s hotel room.  They say nothing, but smirk at Scully and exchange a look with one another that she can’t quite read.  She assumes they’re still angry about her turning down a body camera, and shrugs it off.

The eleven o’clock dance rehearsal with the rest of the contestants is short, thankfully.  They only run through the routine three times before they’re dismissed.  Scully tries to get Tina’s attention when it’s over, hoping to pick up last night’s conversation where they’d left off.  But it turns out that Tina’s talent rehearsal is starting in minutes, and Scully is forced to leave the theater without her.

Lunch is a solitary affair, in her room, by her choice.  Scully’s been surrounded by people more or less constantly since Mulder had picked her up from her apartment yesterday morning, and she’s desperate for some time alone to recharge.  She stretches out on her bed and relaxes until one o’clock, when it’s time to go get changed and get ready for her talent rehearsal.

The fit of the green velvet dress, the stiffness of the skirt, and the supple leather of her hard shoes all combine to give Scully the strongest feeling of deja-vu she's had in a long, long time.  Backstage, in her changing area, Elise helps Scully apply a heavier coat of makeup to compete with the bright stage lights, and uses a curling iron to give her a head full of tightly-wound spirals.

"Elise, can I ask you something?"  In the mirror, Scully sees Elise smile encouragingly.

"Of course," she says.

"I don't want to sound like I'm ungrateful or like I'm not thrilled you're here, helping me, but... is there a reason you're not coaching a contestant in this pageant this year?  A real one, I mean."  Elise's expression grows sober and uncomfortable.  "You don't have to answer if it's a sore subject," Scully says quickly.  "I just... you're obviously very good at this.  I was just curious."  Elise doesn't answer for a moment, concentrating instead on curling the hair at the back of Scully's head.

"I did have a contestant that I was coaching," she says, finally, not meeting Scully's eyes in the mirror.  "But we had a falling out... just a few weeks ago, in fact, which is how I ended up being available to help you."

"I'm sorry," says Scully.  Elise nods, still not meeting Scully's gaze.

"I'd been coaching her for a long time," she says.  "But things started going south right after she won the pageant for her state... and within two weeks, she was just... different.  Everything I said or did made her angry, we couldn't agree on anything... she was a completely different person almost overnight." Something pings in the back of Scully's mind, some connection she's missing. She gropes for the loose ends in her head, trying to figure out how this information relates to what she already knows, but it eludes her.

"Well," she says, "I feel awful that that happened to you... but I'm definitely happy to have your help, Elise."  She smiles at her, and now Elise does meet her gaze, and she grins.

"You're all set," she says, stepping back.  "Go knock 'em dead."

All in all, it's not as bad as it could have been, Scully decides twenty minutes later as she changes back into the lavender pantsuit, returning the velvet dress to its garment bag.  She did have to run through the routine three times, so that the lighting technicians could make sure they had her lit the way they wanted, and she's a little sore, but the extra repetitions of the routine had served as much-needed practice squeezed in before tomorrow night's performance.  She remembers all of the steps, and while her footwork is certainly not clean enough to win a national competition, it's good enough that she won't blow her cover.  

And at the very least, Scully thinks to herself as she leaves the dressing room, Mulder is busy elsewhere, so there's no way that he could have-

"That was awesome!"  Mulder's enthusiastic shout is the first thing to greet Scully as she leaves the theater, and she cringes.  "How come I never knew you could do that, Scully?"

"I thought you were busy with Kersh, Mulder," Scully grumbles, walking past him with her shoulders hunched.

"I was," he says, turning to walk along with her, "but I made sure to get down here in time to watch you.  You really used to do that in competitions?"  Scully nods as they step into a waiting elevator.  "Why didn't you ever tell me about it?"

"It never came up," she says.  "It hasn't been a part of my life for a long time now.  And anyway...."  She leans heavily against the elevator wall as the car begins to ascend.  "It's something I used to do with Melissa, so... it reminds me a lot of her."  Mulder's face immediately sobers, the boyish enthusiasm fading away.

"I'm sorry, Scully," he says.  "I didn't know."  She shrugs.

"Missy would get a kick out of all this," she says.  "Me, dancing onstage in a beauty pageant.  It's not exactly the sort of thing I ever thought I'd be doing."  She shakes her head.  "It's not a scenario I ever pictured when I made the decision to join the FBI."

"You're handling it great, Scully," Mulder says sincerely.  He reaches out and fingers the lapel of her lavender blazer, pulling the edge ever so slightly towards himself.  "This is a good look for you, by the way.  I meant to tell you earlier."  Scully feels a warm flush spread to the rest of her body from her chest, where his hand is hovering oh so close to where the blazer covers her bare skin.

"Yeah?" she says, her voice little more than a breathy whisper.  "You like it?"

"I do," he says.  He's moved a little nearer without her noticing, somehow.  "I'd say it's too bad you can't dress like this all the time in the office... but then I probably wouldn't get anything done, ever."

He is so close.

"And what makes you say that?" she asks, tilting her head back to meet his intense gaze.  He says nothing in answer... only drops his eyes down to the exposed valley of her cleavage, then meets her eyes again.  He tightens his hold on her lapel ever so slightly, pulling her inexorably towards him...

...until with a sudden, unwelcome ding, the elevator stops and the doors fly open, admitting Tessa Gillman of Texas, with Stephanie Price of Minnesota standing next to her.  Scully tries to pull away from Mulder, but he holds her fast.

"Wait, Kath, don't move," he says.  "I've almost got the mascara off your cheek."  He rubs his index finger across the skin under Scully's left eye, and she freezes, realizing at once what he's trying to do: if a contestant is caught making out (or looking like she's about to make out) with a man in the elevator, it won't look good for her, and she could get in trouble.

Having her makeup adjusted by her pageant coach's personal assistant, however, is perfectly permissible.  

"Katherine, who's your friend?" exclaims Tessa, grinning broadly.  Scully's all too aware that her face (and, likely, the exposed skin between her collarbones) is flushed bright red.

"Tessa, this is my coach's personal assistant, Mul...."  She trails off, but Mulder, thankfully, is still right on top of things.

"Marty," says Mulder, extending his hand.  "Marty Luder."  Tessa shakes his hand, then Stephanie, as they pass.  Tess looks very much as though she'd like to say something- her eyes are sparkling with mischief- but they’re saved by Skinner’s voice booming down the hallway behind them.

“There you two are!” he calls, and Scully turns gratefully, waving good-bye to Tessa and Stephanie, who are still looking between her and Mulder with enormous grins on their faces.  “Katherine, I need you both before dinner.” The elevator doors close, and Skinner beckons them down the hallway.  

“Has something happened?” asks Mulder, and Skinner shakes his head.

“Nope,” he says.  “I just want you-” he points at Scully- “back in your room and resting until dinner at five.” Scully opens her mouth to protest, but Skinner cuts her off.  “That’s an order.  Mulder, Kersh is waiting for you in the command center downstairs.”  His tone brooks no argument, so Mulder brushes Scully’s shoulder with his hand.

“I’ll see you at dinner,” he says, dropping a wink.  “Get some rest.”  And Scully retreats reluctantly into her hotel room to lie restless on her bed, with nothing to distract her from her jangling nerves.

[racingtoaredlight]

Opening Bell: January 27, 2017

This week, President Donald Trump at a White House reception launched into a story which he claimed was relayed with him by professional golfer and Florida resident Bernhard Langer from Election Day last November. The story was billed by Trump as the reason for his proposed nationwide probe into alleged voter fraud. Deciding to launch a massive investigation based upon hearsay evidence from a German citizen living in the United States is hardly sound, but what makes this even more amazing is that late yesterday Langer claimed that he never told Trump the story at all, but had heard it from someone else and then passed it along to another friend who must have mentioned it to the White House. To say that President Donald Trump’s first week in office has been “interesting,” would be the understatement of the century so far.

Also this week, Trump signed an Executive Order decreeing that the federal government should begin marshaling resources to start the construction of a wall on the United States-Mexico border “within months.” Trump has since early in his campaign pledged to make Mexico pay for the wall and yesterday Press Secretary Sean Spicer said that funding would be collected by assessing a 20% tax on Mexican imports to the United States. These announcements caused Mexican President Enrique Peña Nieto to cancel a summit meeting with Trump that had been planned to take place soon in Washington. Trump’s border plan also includes a massive hiring increase of Border Patrol officers and customs agents. Within days of this announcement, the chief of the Border Patrol, former FBI careerist Mark A. Morgan, was removed from his position by the acting Commissioner for Customs and Border Protection. Morgan had been in conflict with the Border Patrol’s powerful union. Morgan was on the job for barely six months and was the first chief to come from outside the Border Patrol’s ranks.

Trump’s immigration Executive Orders this week drew swathes of criticism from Democrats, but also from some Republicans who represent districts adjacent to the border. Rep. Will Hurd represents the Texas 23rd District, which stretches from the western suburbs of San Antonio down to the upper Rio Grande Valley and across most of West Texas and the Big Bend to the suburbs of El Paso; a district larger than some states. Hurd has come out against the wall, calling it extraordinarily impractical, and defeated Democratic challenger Pete Gallego last November by promising voters in his majority Hispanic district to stand up to Trump. Another issue which observers have questioned of the Trump administration plan: does he realize the number of ranches and oil and mineral leases that exist near the southern border from Southern California to South Texas? Asserting eminent domain in order to construct a large, obtrusive wall, will not sit well with many land and leaseholders in the four border states.

Yet another Trump Executive Order which is already causing controversy: newly sworn-in CIA Director Mike Pompeo—whose first day in the office was Tuesday—was not consulted or notified ahead of time that President Trump would sign orders tasking the CIA with reopening so-called “black sites” around the world and with resuming the use of interrogation techniques like water boarding. Pompeo only learned of both orders when he saw them reported on in the news. At his Senate confirmation hearings days before his confirmation on Monday, Pompeo stated in no uncertain terms that he was against the use of both black sites and of interrogation techniques not found in the U.S. Army Field Manual, which is significant because the Army’s Field Manual does not allow physical abuse of prisoners. Meanwhile Trump himself declared in an interview with ABC’s David Muir this week that he believes that “torture works,” notably eschewing the term “enhanced interrogation techniques” used by the Bush administration.

A document obtained by the Huffington Post this week appeared to indicate that the Trump administration’s goal in Syria will be to use both U.S. military and State Department resources to establish “safe zones” in Syria and its neighboring states. The Obama administration deliberately avoided this and other ideas, such as “no-fly” zones, in order to avoid the potential for a messy confrontation with Russia, which is conducting an independent air campaign in Syria.

In the least bemusing Trump news of the week, he has nominated former hedge fund manager Philip Bilden to be Secretary of the Navy. Bilden was an intelligence officer in the Army Reserve from 1986-1996 and, like Trump’s pick for Army Secretary Vincent Viola, comes from the world of finance. Trump’s pick for Air Force Secretary, former New Mexico Rep. Heather Wilson is an Air Force Academy graduate and well known for her technical expertise in defense administration and acquisition.

Hey, how about a story about questionable political judgment that does not involve Donald Trump? A week ago, I linked a story about a secret trip to Syria by Hawaii Democratic Rep. Tulsi Gabbard. She returned to Washington after seven days and revealed that she had met directly with Syrian President Bashar al-Assad. Criticism of Gabbard’s trip was bipartisan, though Republicans were more vocal. House leadership across both aisles indicate that they were not forewarned about the trip by Gabbard’s office and no one is entirely certain who paid for it. Gabbard received further criticism when she declared that the American bombing campaign was not helping moderate freedom fighters, but instead was assisting ISIS and other radical terrorist groups. This talking point has been bandied about multiple times by Assad’s government since the air campaign began two years ago.

Steven L. Hall, a former 30 year veteran of the CIA’s Clandestine Services, writes about the scope of the victory by Russian intelligence services in hacking American political organizations and significantly affecting the 2016 campaign. Hall, who spent much of his career behind the Iron Curtain in Warsaw Pact territory, provides fascinating insight into Russia’s goals and views when it comes to offensive use of intelligence assets.

While in office, former President Barack Obama famously used a Blackberry smartphone which was secured from outside attacks. Just prior to his inauguration, President Donald Trump was forced by the secret service to give up his Android smartphone for a new, highly-secured phone with a brand new phone number which only a handful of people are allowed to have. This story talks about what security steps and methods were probably used by the Secret Service to secure this new phone for Trump.

A long-planned Centers for Disease Control and Prevention conference on climate change and the environment, which was cancelled only days before the inauguration of Donald Trump, is now back on. The conference cancellation caught the attention of former Vice President, and noted climate change communicator, Al Gore who worked with non-government organizations to sponsor the event—reduced from three days to one—and host it at the non-profit Carter Center in Atlanta.

Seven days into the Trump administration, the University of Virginia’s Center for Politics does one last deep dive analysis into the results of the 2016 Presidential election. This time it is by the Center’s Rhodes Clark. If you’re into deep statistical analysis, this is your election recap.

Foreign Policy magazine has two stories which looks at those Executive Orders which seek to reduce American involvement in international organizations like the United Nations and its place on the world scene. FP is traditionally interventionist in its leanings—though perhaps less hawkish than individuals like Sens. John McCain and Lindsey Graham—and so you can imagine that FP takes a dim view of Trump’s less-than-internationalist views.

Fifty years ago today, the crew of Apollo 1—astronauts Gus Grissom, Ed White, and Roger Chaffee—were killed in a fire which broke out inside the pressurized crew capsule during a test run on the launch pad at Kennedy Space Center in Florida. While the capsule itself remains locked away in NASA storage, probably never to see the light of day again, the hatch from the capsule will be displayed by NASA today. The hatch, which in ideal conditions required 90 seconds and a technician with a specialized wrench to open from the outside, was partly blamed for the astronauts’ deaths; had crews been able to open the hatch more quickly, they might have been able to extinguish the fire which fueled toxic fumes in the capsule which killed all three men.

Finally this week, once upon a time Pennsylvania had a thriving lumber industry. Now the state is more closely linked to coal production and steel manufacture, though neither of those industries dominates the state as they once did either. The New York Times has an interesting pictorial retrospective on Pennsylvania’s extinct timber industry.

Welcome to the start of Trump week 2: Electric Boogaloo.