#locus on the other hand... heh... well i like him...

[meatincorporated-2]

LOLIX PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE! I NEED MORE OF THEM PLEEEAAASEEEEEE.

felix kinda clean abt it

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Pluralistic: 11 Mar 2020 (Saturated fat and obesity, which foods produce satiety, spying VPNs, Twitter's research-friendly terms of service)

Today's links

Obesity and unsaturated fats: Blaming unsaturated fats for obesity is very plausible, but likely wrong, alas.

The satiety index: Which foods cause or satisfy cravings?

Sensor Tower's VPNs and adblockers spied on users: Like sneaking laxative into Immodium.

Twitter's new Terms of Service help academics: Good bots welcome.

Italy's "I Stay in the House" law: The comprehensive quarantine plan.

Scam-buster hacks into a scam-factory: He gets their CCTVs, recordings of their calls, transaction data, Whatsapp chats, and more. Delicious.

Postmortem: the catastrophic EU Copyright Directive. Testimony from yesterday's Senate hearing.

Podcast: A Lever Without a Fulcrum Is Just a Stick: My latest Locus column, on how copyright failed artists and enriched corporations.

This day in history: 2010, 2015, 2019

Colophon: Recent publications, current writing projects, upcoming appearances, current reading

Obesity and unsaturated fats (permalink)

Scott Alexander does a very deep dive into the literature on diet, weight, and saturated vs unsaturated fats.

https://slatestarcodex.com/2020/03/10/for-then-against-high-saturated-fat-diets/

The most important elements for me were first, the validation that something really has changed: average US adult men's weight went from 155lbs to 195lbs from the 1800s to today. The 90th percentile 1800s man weighed 185lbs, today, it's 320lbs. US obesity rates in the 1800s were 1%. Today, they're 25%.

But the usual culprits can't explain the change: they ate more bread and potatoes in the 1800s, for one thing.

In China, obesity rates were very low even with a diet dominated by white rice.

1970s France had 1800s US obesity rates, on a diet of "baguettes, pastries, cheese, meat. Lots of sugar, white flour, and fat."

It's true that some tactics (intermittent fasting, low-carbing) work for some people, but they're not what worked in 1970s France or 1800s USA. So if those things work, they're "hacks" – not an indictment of carbs or eating three meals a day.

There's a widespread theory that the change is driven by the switch from saturated to unsaturated fats, which was driven by spiking heart disease in the 1950s. It's likely this heart disease epidemic can be attributed to the vast increase in smoking a couple decades earlier, but the tobacco industry's denial machine meant that the blame fell on diet, and the US (and then global) diet's fat composition shifted dramatically.

We ate a lot fewer animal-derived fats and a lot more plant-derived fats. These fats had lots more Omega 6s and (to a lesser extent) 3s, and the ratio of these Omegas also changed dramatically, both in our diet and in our bodily composition. Intriguingly, these play a significant role in metabolism. There's a plausible ring to this whole business – particularly as a way of crisping up what we mean when we say "avoid processed foods." What is "processing?" Maybe it's doing something that requires vegetable fats.

Unfortunately, neither the literature nor the lived experience of experimenters support the theory. Studies don't support it. Meta analyses don't support it. Reddit forums skew heavily to people saying it didn't work for them (dotted with people for whom it did).

Which makes weight gain a mystery. It can't be (just) exercise: we're exercising more now than we did 40 years ago, and we're heavier now. Studies about causes are inconclusive overall, but clear that weight gain is more explained by diet than exercise. What's more, we're seeing weight gain in lab rats, pets and feral animals, so exercise seems an unlikely culprit here.

Alexander ponders other possible causes: plastics or other contaminants in our diet, or that it's a "ratchet" (once your weight set point changes, it doesn't change back.). Both have little evidence to support them.

He concludes that he's "more confused than when I started it," but will avoid unsaturated fats where possible, with the exceptions of Omega-3 rich oils (fish/olive oil).

I am likewise confused, but also better-informed than I was before I read his post.

The satiety index (permalink)

I lost ~100lbs in 2002/3 with a low-carb diet. The thing I immediately noticed when I started eating (lots) more fat and (lots) less carbs was that I was always satiated, with none of the food cravings that had plagued me all my life.

No other diet since has had that effect. I really struggle with cravings (and have put 50lbs back on through my 40s, though some of that is muscle from a much higher level of exercise). For me, satiety is the barrier to sticking to any diet. I don't just get ravenous, I get these all-consuming cravings that I can't put out of my mind, even if I resist them (and the longer I resist, the more likely it is that I'll really blow it out when I give in at last).

So I was really interested in this 1995 open access study, "A Satiety Index of common foods," which offers a league table of the foods that made subjects feel full.

https://www.researchgate.net/publication/15701207_A_Satiety_Index_of_common_foods

The meaty (heh) parts are in these charts on pp682-3.

Sensor Tower's VPNs and adblockers spied on users (permalink)

Sensor Tower, a company that made apps billed as privacy-protecting, installed man-in-the-middle certificates on your devices that let them spy on everything you did online.

https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/craigsilverman/vpn-and-ad-blocking-apps-sensor-tower

They made 20+ VPN apps for Android and Ios, but didn't disclose that all those apps were owned by analytics company, Sensor Tower. The apps had names like "Free and Unlimited VPN, Luna VPN, Mobile Data, and Adblock Focus."

The apps installed a "root certificate" in users' devices. With this cert, the company could insert itself in all the device's otherwise secure, encrypted sessions – web browsing, email, etc. Sensor Tower admits that they collected data using this cert, but insists that it was "anonymized," which is something most computer scientists agree is likely impossible for this kind of data. Re-identification of anonymized data is devilishly hard to avoid.

The claim is made even less credible when you listen to the company's other claims about its practices, such as the idea that they hid the authorship of their apps "for competitive reasons."

Or this howler: that "the vast majority of these apps listed are now defunct (inactive) and a few are in the process of sunsetting." Well, yes, they were removed for violating their users' privacy. It's not like the company had a change of heart or anything.

And then there's this: "Apple and Google restrict root certificate privileges due to the security risk to users. Sensor Tower's apps bypass the restrictions by prompting users to install a certificate through an external website after an app is downloaded."

Twitter's new Terms of Service help academics(permalink)

Twitter just published a new, and much-improved developer policy, one that permits academics to field bots for research and auditing purposes.

https://blog.twitter.com/developer/en_us/topics/community/2020/twitter_developer_policy_update.html

"Researchers will be able to share an unlimited number of Tweet IDs and/or User IDs, if they're doing so on behalf of an academic institution and for the sole purpose of non-commercial research, such as peer review."

https://techcrunch.com/2020/03/10/twitter-rewrites-developer-policy-to-better-support-academic-research-and-use-of-good-bots/

Twitter's also creating a bot registry that must include contact info for the botmaster, so that "it's easier for everyone on Twitter to know what's a bot – and what's not."

https://developer.twitter.com/en/developer-terms/policy#4-b

Italy's "I Stay in the House" law (permalink)

The FAQ for the Italian government's "I Stay In the House" decree is a fascinating document:

http://www.governo.it/it/articolo/decreto-iorestoacasa-domande-frequenti-sulle-misure-adottate-dal-governo/14278

Most notably, Italy has kicked out its tourists. As Bruce Sterling writes, "It's a tourist-ectomy. An Italy devoid of all tourists. It's fantastic, unheard-of. Surely this hasn't happened in at least 700 years."

https://www.wired.com/beyond-the-beyond/2020/03/stay-house-decree/

People are allowed to go to work, to shop, and to run errands, provided it is for an "essential purpose," which you must prove "by means of a self-declaration which can be made on pre-printed forms already supplied to the state and local police forces. The veracity of the self-declarations will be subject to subsequent checks and the non-veracity constitutes a crime."

Business travelers are permitted to enter and leave the country, cab, delivery and freight drivers are allowed to do their jobs, and "outdoor motor activity is allowed as long as not in a group."

Public offices are open. Training activities are suspended. Government offices need to provide hand santizer, but if they run out, they have to stay open ("disinfectant is a precautionary measure but itstemporary unavailability does not justify the closure of the office").

Bars, pubs and restaurants may open from 6AM to 6PM, but have to cancel live music, games and screening events. Theaters, cinemas and museums are closed.

Schools are closed. Universities are closed. Exams and graduations will be conducted by video-link. Med schools are not closed. Research institutions are not closed.

Masses and funerals are canceled. Islamic Friday prayers are canceled.

Farms are open.

Scam-buster hacks into a scam-factory (permalink)

Jim Browning is a talented and prolific scambaiter. He calls the numbers listed in pop-up tech support scams and has the scammers log into a specially prepared system that lets him trace them.

In his latest adventure, Browning thoroughly turns the tables on http://Faremart.com , a Delhi travel agency that was the front for a sprawling network of tech-support scammers taking in millions every year through fraud.

Browning not only traces the scammers: he breaks into their unsecured CCTV network so he can watch them work. He compromises their phone system and listens to the recordings of all their scam-sessions.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=le71yVPh4uk

He gets hold of their ledgers, which list how much money each scam nets for the gang. He doxes the scammers and learns their real names. He gets a confederate to fly a drone over their HQ and maps out their comings and going.

In part II, Browning treats us to a delightful scambaiting session in which he mercilessly trolls a scammer who claims to be in San Jose, CA, tripping him up in a series of ever-more-desperate lies.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uV-qa9M-o4E

It's part of a growing genre of journalists who explore and document the operations of overseas scam operations. See, for example, Reply All's excellent podcasts on this:

https://gimletmedia.com/shows/reply-all/6nh3wk https://gimletmedia.com/shows/reply-all/76h5gl

There are two more parts to come in Browning's series (you can watch them now on his Patreon, apparently):

https://www.patreon.com/JimBrowning

He also turned his footage over to the BBC's flagship investigative programme, Panorama, which has produced its own doc based on it:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7rmvhwwiQAY

Postmortem: the catastrophic EU Copyright Directive (postmortem)

Yesterday, the Senate Subcommittee on Intellectual Property held hearings on "Copyright Law in Foreign Jurisdictions," at which two key copyright experts testified on last year's catastrophic EU Copyright Directive.

First up was Pam Samuelson, one of America's leading copyright experts, who explained in eye-watering detail how the compromises made to pass the Copyright Directive produced an incoherent mess that no one can figure out how to implement in law.

https://www.judiciary.senate.gov/imo/media/doc/Samuelson%20Testimony.pdf

Next was Julia Reda, who served in the EU Parliament during the passage of the directive and helped spearhead the opposition to it.

Her testimony really shows you where the bodies were buried: how the EU knew it was making a pig's ear out of things.

https://www.judiciary.senate.gov/imo/media/doc/Reda%20Testimony.pdf

Both are essential reading for anyone striving to understand Article 17 (formerly Article 13) – it is such a tangle of garbage lawmaking that these kinds of guides are indispensable.

Podcast: A Lever Without a Fulcrum Is Just a Stick (permalink)

I've just posted my latest podcast: a reading of my new Locus Magazine column, "A Lever Without a Fulcrum Is Just a Stick," on how copyright failed artists and enriched corporations and what we can do about it.

https://craphound.com/podcast/2020/03/11/a-lever-without-a-fulcrum-is-just-a-stick-2/

Tldr: Giving monopolies to artists doesn't help them gain leverage over the super-concentrated entertainment industry, because the corporations control access to audiences and force artists to sign away those monopolies to get past their gatekeeping.

The more monopolies we give artists, the more monopolies are transfered to corporations, and the more they dominate the market and thus the more they can retain from the earnings generated by the artists' works.

Fights like the EU Copyright Directive are a distraction, a fight over shifting some points from Big Tech's balance sheet to Big Content's – but without any mechanism to move more of that revenue to creators.

Enriching creators means thinking beyond more "monopoly"-style copyright: instead, we have to think about inalienable rights that can be taken away through one-sided contracts (like the "reversion right" that lets US artists take back copyrights after 35 years).

And we have to think beyond copyright itself, by beefing up competition laws to break up entertainment cartels, and by beefing up labor laws to let artists form unions.

There is a role for copyright, but in things like extended collective licensing that would allow all online platforms to access the same catalog and pay for it based on the number of users they have, so a new platform pays pennies while Youtube pays hundreds of millions.

These blanket licenses have been key to keeping other forums for artistic revenues open: think of what the world would be like if one club or radio station could buy the exclusive rights to play the hits of the day, and then use their ensuring dominance to squeeze artists.

If you prefer the written work, you can read the column here for yourself, of course:

https://locusmag.com/2020/03/cory-doctorow-a-lever-without-a-fulcrum-is-just-a-stick/

Here's a direct link to the MP3 of the reading (thanks as always to Internet Archive for hosting – they'll host you too, for free!):

https://archive.org/download/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_330/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_330_-_A_Lever_Without_a_Fulcrum_Is_Just_a_Stick.mp3

And here's the RSS for my podcast:

http://feeds.feedburner.com/doctorow_podcast

Now in its 14th year (Thanks to Mark Pesce for convincing me to start it)!

This day in history (permalink)

#10yrsago London Olympics: police powers to force spectators to remove non-sponsor items, enter houses, take posters http://uk.news.yahoo.com/22/20100303/tts-uk-olympics-london-ca02f96.html

#10yrsago Leaked documents: UK record industry wrote web-censorship amendment https://www.openrightsgroup.org/blog/2010/bpi-drafted-web-blocking

#5yrsago Piketty on the pointless cruelty of European austerity https://www.spiegel.de/international/europe/thomas-piketty-interview-about-the-european-financial-crisis-a-1022629.html

#5yrsago Rightscorp loses big on extortion racket https://torrentfreak.com/rightscorp-hemorrhages-cash-profit-from-piracy-remains-elusive-150311/

#5yrsago UK foreign secretary: stop talking about Snowden, let spies get on with it https://web.archive.org/web/20150315031642/http://www.theinquirer.net/inquirer/news/2399082/government-minister-is-bored-with-snowden-and-wants-to-get-on-with-surveillance

#1yrago Defect in car security system aids carjackers, thieves https://www.pentestpartners.com/security-blog/gone-in-six-seconds-exploiting-car-alarms/

#1yrago Former Archbishop of Canterbury cheers on students who are walking out to demand action on climate change https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2019/mar/10/rowan-williams-school-pupil-climate-protests

#1yrago Leaked Chinese database of 1.8 million women includes a field indicating whether they are "BreedReady" https://twitter.com/0xDUDE/status/1104482014202351616

#1yrago Why #Article13 inevitably requires filters https://www.communia-association.org/2019/03/05/final-x-ray-article-13-dangerous-legislative-wishful-thinking/

Colophon (permalink)

Today's top sources: Slate Star Codex (https://slatestarcodex.com/), Slashdot (https://slashdot.org), Fipi Lele, Matthew Rimmer (https://twitter.com/DrRimmer).

Hugo nominators! My story "Unauthorized Bread" is eligible in the Novella category and you can read it free on Ars Technica: https://arstechnica.com/gaming/2020/01/unauthorized-bread-a-near-future-tale-of-refugees-and-sinister-iot-appliances/

Upcoming appearances:

Museums and the Web: March 31-April 4 2020, Los Angeles. https://mw20.museweb.net/

Currently writing: I'm rewriting a short story, "The Canadian Miracle," for MIT Tech Review. It's a story set in the world of my next novel, "The Lost Cause," a post-GND novel about truth and reconciliation. I'm also working on "Baby Twitter," a piece of design fiction also set in The Lost Cause's prehistory, for a British think-tank. I'm getting geared up to start work on the novel afterwards.

Currently reading: Just started Lauren Beukes's forthcoming Afterland: it's Y the Last Man plus plus, and two chapters in, it's amazeballs. Last month, I finished Andrea Bernstein's "American Oligarchs"; it's a magnificent history of the Kushner and Trump families, showing how they cheated, stole and lied their way into power. I'm getting really into Anna Weiner's memoir about tech, "Uncanny Valley." I just loaded Matt Stoller's "Goliath" onto my underwater MP3 player and I'm listening to it as I swim laps.

Latest podcast: A Lever Without a Fulcrum Is Just a Stick https://archive.org/download/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_330/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_330_-_A_Lever_Without_a_Fulcrum_Is_Just_a_Stick.mp3

Upcoming books: "Poesy the Monster Slayer" (Jul 2020), a picture book about monsters, bedtime, gender, and kicking ass. Pre-order here: https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781626723627?utm_source=socialmedia&utm_medium=socialpost&utm_term=na-poesycorypreorder&utm_content=na-preorder-buynow&utm_campaign=9781626723627

(we're having a launch for it in Burbank on July 11 at Dark Delicacies and you can get me AND Poesy to sign it and Dark Del will ship it to the monster kids in your life in time for the release date).

"Attack Surface": The third Little Brother book, Oct 20, 2020.

"Little Brother/Homeland": A reissue omnibus edition with a very special, s00per s33kr1t intro.

[illumynare]

Red vs Blue Fic: I’ll Tell You My Sins and You Can Sharpen Your Knife (2/4)

Summary: Locus understands why Kimball would want to keep him alive long enough to testify at Hargrove’s trial.

He doesn’t understand why the Reds and Blues would volunteer to protect him.

Parings: None. Warnings: Canon-typical language, tons of drippy angst.

Notes: Also available on AO3!

Yes, this is now a three-chapter story. BECAUSE LOCUS ANGST IS SO MUCH FUN.

Huge thanks to @littlefists for letting me use her pancakes headcanon!

In the days that follow, Locus finds a strange sort of peace.

It's like when he walked away from the Communications Temple. He was wrapped in the same sort of hazy numbness that came with bleeding out. After so long fighting the idea that he was a monster, it was a relief to finally accept it. To know there was nothing he could do to redeem himself.

It's like that now. It's the same lesson: he's a monster, a weapon, a suit of armor and a gun. He can't be anything else.

At least now he's going to be wielded by somebody better than Felix.

#

The Reds and Blues seem to understand they have broken him. Because the way they treat him changes.

It starts the morning after his nightmare. After Agent Washington releases him, Locus slinks back to his room, ashamed of his outburst. He wonders if he'll be told to sleep outside the base, where he can't disturb them. It would only be fair.

But at 7:02 AM, Caboose pounds on his door. When Locus staggers, bleary-eyed, to open it, Caboose grabs him by the arm and says, "IT IS TIME FOR BREAKFAST."

Too dazed to protest, Locus lets himself be dragged into the kitchen, where Tucker is making pancakes and Agent Carolina is frying bacon. Agent Washington is staring at the coffee pot as it bubbles, while Simmons carefully chops a pineapple into perfect squares, and Grif steals pieces.

Locus knows that the two teams have breakfast together regularly. He's never dared intrude before. But now Caboose shoves him into a chair, Tucker sets a plate of pancakes in front of him, and Agent Washington wordlessly pours a giant puddle of maple syrup onto the pancakes.

"Aw, man, did you have to ruin them?" Tucker grumbles.

"They're better that way," says Agent Washington.

"Who wants to share some whipped cream?" Donut calls from the pantry, and Simmons shrieks, "Donut! NO!"

Locus doesn't see the scuffle that ensues. He's eating the pancakes slowly, bite by bite. They're soft and fluffy, tangy with buttermilk and sweet with syrup. He hasn't had pancakes like this—or generous puddles of syrup like this—since before the army, before he was Locus, before—

Everything.

Later that day, Tucker—for the first time—demands to spar with him.

"Lemme see if you know how to do anything with that sword," he says. "Bow-chicka-bow-wow."

Locus stares at him, not sure what the final exclamation means.

"Ugh, you're so boring," says Tucker, and with a flick of his wrist, the glowing blade shimmers into being. "Let's do this."

Tucker is better than Locus expected. This is not saying much, and Locus soon disarms him. What's really a surprise, though, is that though Tucker whines and grumbles, he doesn't give up. He listens while Locus demonstrates the techniques he learned from the Sangheili who trained him, the movements he worked out for himself while trying to defend that colony of refugees.

Tucker listens, and he tries, and Locus is surprised at how quickly he learns.

"Heh, I guess you're not too bad at this," says Tucker, when they finally stop for a break.

Again, Locus stares at him. Because there's no malice in the words, no backhanded reminder that Tucker is better, more whole—

as Felix would have reminded him, always DID remind him

—even though it's true. Locus may be better at fighting with the sword, may have learned from the Sangheili how to wield it, but Tucker is the one who deserves it.

Tucker is the one who became a hero, and Locus is ashamed that while he was on his quest, he had started to think that he could be one too.

The strange kindness doesn't stop there. The next day, Donut reproaches him about his pores and demands to give him a facial. The thought of letting anyone touch his face like that make Locus feel sick, but he has no more right to refuse anything.

"Very well," he says.

Donut's fingers are surprisingly strong and gentle as he exfoliates Locus's face and then rubs lotion into it, thumbs pressing against his cheekbones as he works the youth-enhancing, spot-removing seaweed gel into Locus's skin.

"The first rule of facial scars is that you always moisturize," says Donut, and Locus—holding himself tense and still in the chair through sheer willpower—feels a strange fluttering in his chest.

Nobody has ever talked about his scar this way before: as it was normal. As if he hadn't ever been tied down and screaming while an Elite cut the pattern of his helmet into his face, as if he hadn't woken up after being rescued and known that he was—

broken, a weapon, a suit of armor and a gun

—forever marked by the war.

Donut is marked too. Locus hasn't asked what caused the spiderweb scar on his face, the drooping eyelid and ragged ear, but he'd guess it was a close encounter with a grenade.

Marked, but not broken.

The pressure on his face is no longer so alarming. Locus shuts his eyes, and doesn't protest when Donut finishes with his face and immediately moves to massaging his shoulders. The contact is strange and frightening and more than he deserves, but it's also comforting. Locus relaxes, and for once he doesn't think of Felix as he hums in contentment, as Donut laughs and says, "See, I knew my fingers could get you moaning."

And then, the next day.

The next day, Locus is sitting alone on the couch in the rec room when Agent Washington walks in.

At once, Locus gets up to leave. Ever since arriving, he's tried to avoid him; he knows his presence can't be welcome to the man he stalked and nearly killed. The cautious glances that Agent Washington gave him proved it.

"Uh, don't go," says Agent Washington, and Locus freezes.

It's the first direct order he's been given.

He sits back down. He feels the couch shift as Agent Washington sits down beside him, but he doesn't dare look up at him and meet his eyes.

He can't stop remembering the way he whimpered and shook like a frightened animal. The soothing pressure of Agent Washington's hands on his shoulders, and he hates the impulse that made him leave his room without armor this morning. He doesn't want anyone to see his face right now.

"So, uh." Agent Washington shifts awkwardly. "You sleeping okay?"

"Acceptably," says Locus, wishing he could flee the room.

He'd had another nightmare the night before, but it was just the normal kind: blood and the faces of his victims. He didn't scream when he woke, and he went back to sleep eventually.

There's another pause. Then he hears movement, and he tenses reflexively—

Agent Washington's hand presses against the back of his neck.

For a second, Locus can't breathe. This doesn't make sense. The pressure is too warm, too gentle, too kind. It's not necessary. He wasn't screaming, he doesn't need comfort—and he certainly doesn't deserve it.

But Agent Washington doesn't move his hand.

Locus reminds himself: this isn't real. Of course he doesn't deserve to be treated kindly. But none of the kindnesses shown him over the last few days have been real.

The Reds and Blues are better than Felix, are going to use him for better purposes, but they are still going to use him.

That's the only thing you can do with a weapon.

The thought should be a comfort. It certainly makes Locus feel less confused; it calms the panic that made him want to flee, and his shoulders finally relax.

But there's still a sick feeling at the pit of his stomach. Because this firm, relentless kindness that is not quite kindness—it's very familiar.

In the days after he killed the alien, his CO started calling him Locus. The whole team followed suit, calling him nothing but Locus, hey Locus, and the nickname hurt—but less each time he heard it, and sometimes there was a camaraderie that wasn't there before, as the other soldiers slapped his shoulders and compared kill-counts. They loathed his cowardice in wanting to spare the alien, but he had proved himself one of them when he killed it.

After he and Felix split from Siris—after they took their first mercenary contract—after they accepted Hargrove's offer—all those times, Felix was different with Locus. Not kind. But he rolled his eyes less, used the word broken less. He was more inclined to brush up against Locus, lean against Locus, heave a sigh and put a hand on his shoulder. Because Locus had proved himself. Had obeyed. Had chosen Felix.

It's like that now.

Locus chose the Reds and Blues, he obeyed them, and so they are rewarding him.

Those are the rules for taming a wild animal: a lure and then a reward for every act of obedience.

Some part of him still wishes that he could have been more. Could have been human. But Locus knows he has to live with his choices.

He closes his eyes and promises himself that when they give him orders, he will be ready.

#

But a week passes, and there are no orders.

None that really mean anything. Carolina says, "Spar with me," and he walks away with several bruises and an even greater respect for her. Caboose says, "I made you cookies," and Locus dutifully chokes down the charred lumps until Agent Washington storms into the kitchen and tells him to stop. Tucker says, "Hey, check these new photos," and Locus sits for an hour, wearily agreeing that every one of Tucker's children is "fucking awesome."

They don't need Locus for such trivialities. They must mean to use him for another purpose. And now their kindness is starting to make Locus feel an overwhelming dread.

Because they can't possibly be rewarding him any longer. He's definitely done nothing to earn this treatment. They can't be just waiting to use him after the trial. They have to know that once he's given testimony, he'll most likely be executed.

They must be preparing him. They must be trying to ensure that he is loyal enough, dependent enough, to do whatever they ask.

And what might they be planning to ask if they think he needs this much preparation?

One night, as he cleans Red Team's guns, Sarge grins at him and says, "Say, you ever think about how easy it would be to accidentally fire one of those at Grif while you're cleaning it?"

Locus freezes. Because there could be no accident: he's always careful to unload the guns before he cleans them. So what Sarge is suggesting, is maybe ordering—

hey I'm orange just like your last partner

—and he can't do this, Locus thinks numbly, he promised himself he would be obedient but Grif was the first and maybe only one of them to trust him, he can't do this.

He can't refuse either. He can't make himself say the words, question the order. He can't do anything.

For a few endless moments, Locus just stares at Sarge and thinks, no, no, please no.

Then Grif yells from the other room, "I HEARD THAT," and ambles in with a six-pack of beer, looking completely unconcerned.

"Hey, you want one?" he asks, holding out a can.

And Locus finally remembers that when he was pretending to work for the Federal Army, he'd heard Sarge say many times that he was going to shoot Grif as soon as he got him back, and he hoped those terrorist bastards didn't manage to kill him first.

It was a joke, Locus realizes, and the relief is so overwhelming that it takes him several moments to realize that Grif is still holding the can of beer in his face.

It was a joke. But there will come a command that isn't.

That evening, Locus can't sleep. He keeps remembering all the people he killed, and it was easy then to pull the trigger, swing the knife, but now the memories make his hands shake.

A long time ago, he thought that killing made him one of "the good guys." Then he thought it made him a soldier. Now he knows that it makes him a monster.

Locus will kill for the Reds and Blues. He knows this. He doesn't have it in him to refuse them. And he owes it to them, surely, to at least be a useful monster.

He still doesn't want to.

He wishes they would tell him what he's going to do, exactly what kind of monster he'll have to be. The wait is tearing his mind apart. He's never felt dread like this before—

Except he has, when Hargrove started hinting about a "delicate political situation." There was a moment, before Hargrove completely explained what their contract entailed, when Locus felt a sudden surge of dread. He'd already done all kinds of mercenary work, killed many people who didn't really deserve it, but there were still some lines he hadn't crossed.

Deep down, Locus had realized that Hargrove was going to ask him to cross those final lines. But he'd looked to Felix for reassurance, and Felix had nudged him and grinned and then said to Hargrove, "Yeah, we're interested."

Locus had snuffed out that last flicker of his conscience quickly enough. But it had been real. And it was the same dread he's feeling now: the fear of what will I become?

He presses his palms over his eyes.

It's not like that. The Reds and Blues are different, better, and whatever they ask him to do—even if it's horrible—will be right.

But he knows exactly what Felix would say if he were here:

It's exactly like that, partner. Everybody's got an agenda. And everybody needs a weapon. Good thing you've got that freaky obsession with orders, huh?

"I'm trying to do the right thing," Locus mutters.

Yeah, funny how for you the right thing is always doing what somebody says.

It's true. Locus can't deny it.

But back on Chorus, Agent Washington told Locus he was a monster. Whatever he's planning to make Locus do now, it has to be better somehow than the orders Hargrove gave him.

Locus clings to that thought through the following week, even as sleep becomes rare and he starts flinching whenever anyone says his name.He's tries to hide it, but the Reds and Blues notice anyway.

That has to be why they're suddenly always around him, always talking to him, always touching him. They see that he's afraid to follow orders, and they're trying to make sure of him. It's driving him mad, and just when he thinks he can't stand it anymore, Agent Carolina drags him away from the others, to the little hill outside their base.

"Take some time alone," she says. "You probably need it."

She turns her back on him, moving to guard his position. Locus stares at the back of her helmet and thinks that she's found a way to make even isolation a kindness. And he's grateful.

That evening there's another movie night, and this time Locus sits on the couch, Caboose on one side of him, Grif on the other. Locus sits rigidly between them, not eating the popcorn, not even trying to watch the screen.

He tells himself, again and again, that these people are not Hargrove. They are not Felix. He has to trust in them.

That has to be enough.

But it turns out all his fear was pointless. When he draws his sword and kills people a few days later, it's not because anyone gave him a direct order.

It's because Charon finally finds them.

[renaroo]

Double Time (10/24)

Disclaimer: Red vs Blue and related characters are the property of Rooster Teeth. Warnings: Language, Canon-typical violence Pairings: Tuckington, Chex Rating: T Synopsis: [Hero Time Sequel] After the events of Hero Time, the city and Blood Gulch are prepared for the true return of superheroes in a big way. But while Washington is attempting to adjust to a new relationship and a new living arrangement, the call of new heroes and a new mayor mean major changes for his professional life as well as his personal one. How will the balance of values fare when his new partners come to test everything he’s made of.

A/N: Who’s ready for things to get SAPPY in here? I am. I’m totally read for some more sap. Which is why I wrote it. ;P 

Special thanks to @analiarvb, @secretlystephaniebrown, @thepheonixqueen, @ashleystlawrence, @washingtonstub, @imagentmi, @a-taller-tale, @icefrozenover, @matt-you-got-this, @notatroll7, and Yin on AO3 and tumblr for the wonderful feed back! I truly appreciate it more than you know.

All On His Own

When Wash usually opened the door and was met by Church’s unimpressed expression, he was a swath of emotions ranging from mutually annoyed to exhaustedly accepting. 

On that rarest of nights, Wash was relieved and -- more than even that -- had been the one to call up the annoyed former super villain himself.

“I hate babysitting,” Church reported immediately, shoving past Washington without even bothering to shut the door behind him.

“I know,” Wash replied, taking the time to shut the door. 

“Junior hates me babysitting even more,” Church continued, turning and giving a level glare toward Wash. “Like, I’m pretty sure that little demon is big enough now that if I was organic in any way he’d just eat me and be done with it.”

Wash let the rant run its course and began gathering the rest of his gear and putting on his visor. Junior murmured angrily and chewed on the edge of the couch in agitation as he watched get ready to leave him. 

“Does Tucker know that you’re talking to me without him forcing you to?” Church asked testily, looking through the fridge for beer. “He might get jealous or something else disgusting.”

“Pretty sure he’d just consider it a breakthrough and annoy us both,” Wash replied dryly. He stopped by the couch where the supremely upset Junior leered at him. He offered an apologetic smile and then held out his fist for a bump.

With a small chatter, Junior complied, apparently willing to allow all transgressions to melt away so long as his hero worship could continue.

“I don’t get why you’re doing this,” Church said, leaning against the kitchen island with his beer. Like he always did despite his inability to drink with nothing but a robotic gullet. “I mean, I’d personally quit the hero business after getting my ass handed to me on national television by a single dude with a shitty costume.”

“Black’s intimidating,” Wash replied, looking toward Church with a raised brow. “I guess you’d have been more impressed if he was wearing a florescent wig and bought the rest of his gear from Hot Topic.”

Church had the gall to look offended and waved to his chest and the Ursula sweatshirt that Wash was just about sick of seeing. “This is official Disney merchandise!” 

“Right,” Wash replied. “In any case, getting my ass kicked, as you say, is exactly why I’m going out tonight. I need to make some adjustments to my plans for the future. Need to restrategize--”

Letting out an annoyed groan Church held up his hands and shook his head. “And I made the mistake of making you think I actually cared. My mistake. Please get your dumb face out of here before I’m further annoyed. Too late. Now get out of here before I’m further annoyed. I’ll even say please. Since you cornballs love that bullshit.”

With a long sigh, Washington ignored Church and made his way instead over to the far more annoyed and far more curious Junior who was standing on the couch seat and leaned up against the back, trying to watch Wash more carefully.

“Sorry to be in such a rush, and for the unexpected babysitting, kiddo,” Wash said to the hybrid child. “I’ll be home before you know it, though.”

“Yeah, you’ve done a bang up job of keeping promises lately,” Church mocked.

Screwing his eyes shut, Washington let out a long grunt of aggravation. “Church.”

The robot crossed his arms and tilted his head. “Yeah? Church what?”

“Nevermind, just... watch Junior and try not to kill each other,” Wash said, heading for the stairwell. “Surely that won’t be too difficult for you to manage.”

“I’ll manage the shit out of it just to spite you,” Church snapped nonsensically.

Washington didn’t even bother responding to that notion, merely shaking his head as he headed up the stairs and got to the roof. He kept telling himself that arguing with his boyfriend’s best friend was really not the best use of his time. 

On the roof, though, away from wandering eyes of the strange community he had built out of his once very quiet and lonesome apartment, Washington was able to regress to nearly pure muscle memory. 

His motorcycle was maybe his favorite piece of equipment to use for obvious reasons, but his natural abilities and the training he had underwent through the sidekick program at Freelancer was truly most fulfilled by traveling across the rooftops of Blood Gulch. 

Racing forward one step at a time, one leap at a time, Washington felt everything fro the cool winds working against hi to the vibrations of the loud sounds of the city. 

Even before Tucker, even before being tied by mind, body, and soul to the strange Blood Gulch community, Washington had been letting the connection withe the city and its winds 

Which was a good thing because reaching destinations like Sarge’s falling apart house could otherwise easily discourage any veteran superhero who had ambitions of bettering the world.

Especially when the front door flew open and Sarge stood patiently with a gun trained between his eyes. 

“You’re’a trespassing, Scumbag!” Sarge called out without even taking the time to see that it was Washington on the other side of the gun.

“Guns are not legal inside city limits,” Washington reminded him dully.”And I have friends in high places these days.”

“Oh, right,” Sarge responded, putting his muzzle of his gun down. “But you should know, as a retired officer of the law, I have a conceal and carry! So, as the great Reds before me have said: Naner naner nah hoo!”

"I still don’t believe a word of any of that,” Wash replied, lowering his hands with some amount of confidence that Sarge wouldn’t shoot him at that point. No matter how earned or unearned that feeling might have been. 

“Hmph,” Sarge muttered. “Good thing I don’t care much for the opinion of someone who got their butt handed to them in front of national television.” He gave an appraising look over Washington. “Look pretty good now, though. Only bruised your ego?”

“Not nearly as much as the fact that everyone else keeps bringing it up for some reason,” Wash remarked. “But somehow I think I’ll manage. What I need to know is if Blood Gulch is still going to have some form of superheroes supporting it even without my oversight.”

Sarge tilted his head. “After that performance, you really think the only thing keeping the Red Dead Blood Gulch Gang on the current path is fealty to someone who can’t hold his own against someone in a terrible costume?”

“I really don’t think anyone who was a villain in this neighborhood has any right to judge other costumes, and I refuse to resort to complimenting someone who tried to kill me, but there was definitely a good sense of style with the Locus guy.”

“Please, he wore green,” Sarge snorted. “That’s almost as bad as you -- going around, showing off your physique in a costume that’s blue. Disgusting and foolish.”

“Blue is heroic,” Wash argued before he could catch himself. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh my god, what am I doing? I’m arguing with a madman who thinks painting street signs is a productive use of his time.”

“You’ve never seen what a menace those street signs could have been before I taught them what’s what!” Sarge argued. He chuckled. “Ah, those were the days. Before you came along and tried to make everyone go straight! Which is fairly ironic all things considering.”

“Oh, shut up,” Wash snapped. “This isn’t what I’m here for.”

“What are you here for, Washington?” Sarge asked suspiciously. “This is my home.”

“I came here because I faced my own mortality and I need to make sure that in the event of my death, that you -- as the leader of your little delinquent group of poker buddies -- can be relied on to still take care of the neighborhood,” Wash explained simply. “And that Tucker and Junior are going to be provided for.”

Sarge stared at him for a curiously long amount of time, his expression mostly unredable. 

“Yeah, sure,” Sarge replied with a casual shrug. “Why not? The boys seem to like them even before you came along. In fact, I think we may like them in spite of you coming along.”

Perhaps a bit in spite of himself as well, Washington let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. “Thank you, Sarge. That’s actually a comforting thing to hear.”

“It is? Damn it all, that wasn’t what I wanted at all,” Sarge muttered to himself. “Well, fine, whatever. I suppose I’ll admit to comforting you inadvertently someday. When forced under extreme interrogation or even torture.”

“Hm, and comfort is rapidly being lost,” Wash said to somewhat comfort the old, grouchy man.”

“Heh heh Bingo. Still got it,” Sarge chuckled. “But seriously, Kitty-cat, Blood Gulch belonged to the Reds long before you came along and proved to make a good hood ornament of nearly every type of vehicle one could imagine.”

“My humor is being drained rapidly,” Wash warned.

“I’m just telling ya not to sweat it,” Sarge said. “We’ll do what we always do in Blood Gulch. Rage against the establishment, fortify ourselves against mild annoyances. And stubbornly refuse to take care of the rest of the world. Even if it’s only three streets away from our neighborhood.”

“Okay I’m appreciating this conversation less and less the longer I stand here, so I’m going to make my leave. Somewhat dramatically,” Wash said, heading toward the other side of the street. “Pretty sure I saw a fire escape I could climb over here.”

“If you were my friend instead of acting like a parole officer for me and my movement, I would offer letting you use the second floor of my house! But you’ve not lost enough clothes on strip poker night for me to even call us acquainted!” Sarge continued to mock, shouting to make his point as Wash crossed the street. 

“I’m honestly ignoring you!” Wash called back as he reached the other side of the street and quickly made his way to the rooftops on the very fire escape he had been mentioning. 

Once again, he let his instincts run supreme. With the arrangement with the Reds no longer a concern, he could truly let loose and concentrate on a more average patrol. Specifically one that included taking out as many small time muggers and thieves as possible. 

Those plans for his evening, however, did not get him far when he was tackled by an invisible, but recognizable force and sent rolling onto the rooftop. 

“Tex!” he growled as he looked up and saw his fellow hero appear.

“Stay down,” she ordered, looking around warily before turning invisible again and slinking to his side, close enough he could feel her shoulder brushing his own. 

“Tex,” he whispered. “What are you doing?”

"Do you not have some kind of cat sense or something?” her disembodied voice asked testily. “Something useful in that repertoire of stupid you call your super powers?”

“I see very well in the dark,” Wash replied flatly.

“God you’re lame,” she muttered back. 

Squinting at her general area in annoyance, Wash pushed himself slightly off the pavement. “You sure you and Church can’t work... whatever it is out? It seems like you were made for each other. You definitely hold the same opinions of me.”

“Don’t offend me, I’m trying to save your life,” Tex said testily.

“From what?” he demanded. 

“There’s something that was watching you from a few rooftops over. Again. And I’m not convinced it doesn’t have something to do with the asshole who kicked your sorry feline butt on public access,” she explained. After allowing a moment to lapse into silence, she reappeared where she stood and scowled toward the buildings across the road. “Damn. Got away again.”

Officially annoyed, Wash leaped to his feet and glared at Tex. “Okay, start explaining stuff to me, and maybe start with why you didn’t help me the other day if you were seeing me get my feline butt handed to me.”

Tex turned and gave him a particularly daunting look. 

Flinching back Wash felt that swelling of boldness die a bit in his chest before he shrugged. “Please?”

She then shook her head. “No. I’m still looking into it.”

“Into what?” Wash demanded. “And what do you know about this Felix character that apparently saved my life? He seeps like... like...”

“A jackass?” Tex questioned.

“That’s putting it mildly. But... he saved my life,” Wash grunted out almost reluctantly. “And Tucker seemed to trust him.”

“Well, no shit, he saved the thing Tucker’s currently fucking. He’s lucky Tucker didn’t make moves on him,” Tex snorted.

“That thing is me, though,” Wash snapped.

“Which I’ve saved before, too. But Tucker knows better than to make moves on me. I would so kick his ass without thinking twice,” Tex chuckled. “But that’s beyond the point.”

Throwing up his hands, Wash was just about done with the circles they were running in. “What is the point, Tex? What the hell is going on?”

"I’m not in the business of giving straight answers,” Tex replied simply. “And for the record, I’m also not in the business of working with partners. Every time I do, I get disappointed. And I like you too much at a distance to really ruin that right now, so there’s your answer for earlier.”

Washington scowled at her. “You really believe I’m going to accept that as the final answer there. Tex, I can tell you know there’s more going on. And to be honest, as someone else who is pretty dedicated to a solo career, I’m not thrilled with needing to rely on you being truthful with me.”

“Solo career?” Tex laughed, looking back at him. “Wash, fuck off. You think you’re solo? You’re the furthest thing from it. Your problem is that you haven’t figured out yet when you’re relying on people too much and when they are or aren’t the right people to be relying on.” She looked off, a frown tugging at her lips. “Guess that was a lesson CT hadn’t gotten to yet.”

Thrown off at first, Wash let his jaw hang open. It quickly snapped shut however and he glared at his former teammate. “You don’t get to evoke Connie on the fly like that. She was my mentor. And she taught me everything I know.”

“Same,” Tex said. “In a less professional sense. Not that it matters in the end.” She turned away from Wash. “CT trusted me to help her with her suspicions. And because of that I know something about what’s going on right now, Wash. Can you trust me enough to take my advice blindly?”

“I don’t know,” Wash said honestly. “Maybe I have to remind you that Connie ended up dead by the end of all that. And I still haven’t gotten any answers for it.”

Tex hummed rather than fire back with a similarly damning remark, but Wash didn’t miss the way her eyes flickered with her glare. “Go home, Wash,” she said instead. “You might’ve come out of that fight physically intact, but you shouldn’t be out superheroing with any wounds. That includes your pride.”

“One to talk,” Wash said back. “You better keep me updated on whatever this mysterious thing that’s watching me is.”

“Maybe I will,” Tex responded before disappearing. 

Wash waited for a moment, until every sense he had told him he was alone. Then he reluctantly took Tex’s advice and started the journey back home. He hadn’t been able to keep track of his request to Tex like he had Sarge, but he figured she had been looking out for Tucker, Junior, and the rest of the Blood Gulch gang longer than Wash had ever been in the picture. 

He wouldn’t have to ask the same morbid line of questions of her. 

There were only three buildings between him and home when he recognized an outline standing on his roof. 

Encouraged and intrigued, Wash sped up, getting to the rooftop in record time, expecting to be met with the smells of a meal from the diner waiting on him along with Tucker. 

He wasn’t.

Once Tucker heard him coming, he turned and gave Wash something of a distant look, almost like he was struggling with what expression to pull. It wasn’t the most inviting reception Wash had has. 

“No leftovers from the diner tonight?” Wash asked as he landed on the roof. “I almost feel forgotten.”

“You went out tonight,” Tucker stated plainly. “One night after that thing with Locus and you went out again.”

“I’m fully healed,” Wash responded quickly, tilting his head. “You didn’t mind when I saved you and your son just two nights after being hit by a car.”

“Your son,” Tucker repeated again, the hint of anger in his voice not at all lost on Wash.

“We need to talk?” Washington asked worriedly.

“We need to talk,” Tucker confirmed, crossing his arms. “But I’m not really sure what either of us can say?”

“What does that mean?” Wash asked.

“I really don’t know,” Tucker said. “I feel like we’re stuck but we barely have even gotten started.”

“This stuff,” Wash said, waving to his suit and to the skyline of the city. “Tucker, it’s going to be a routine for me. And for you.”

“And this,” Tucker said, pointing at himself and to the door down to the apartment where Junior was no doubt eavesdropping eagerly. “This is going to be a routine for us, too. But only if we both want it to be.”

Taken aback, Wash tilted up his chin. “You think I don’t want it to be?”

“I think we need to work together to figure out how this is going to work. Especially where Junior is involved,” Tucker pressed. “Because I’m fine with babysitters if I know ahead of time.”

Suddenly, relief took over Wash’s body and he sighed with relief. “Church drank all the beer.”

“Yes!” Tucker shouted throwing up his arms. “Wash, you know we have to hide it! He completely wastes it! He can’t even get drunk.”

“You’re right,” Wash laughed. “My mistake.”

“You better believe it is,” Tucker said, poking Wash’s chest. “And mister superhero, I think I’m allowed to request one night off from you after near death experiences.It’s only fair.”

“You’re right,” Wash laughed. “But I had to put some things in order. Had to make sure plans were in place for bad scenarios. That I’m trusting all the right people.”

Tucker raised an eyebrow. “Are you trusting all the right people?” he asked curiously.

“I’m trusting you,” Wash responded lightly. “That’s more than enough for me. Now, c’mon. Let’s eat some Dinfast.”

“Dinfast?” Tucker asked, swinging an arm around Wash’s shoulders and guiding him toward the stairwell. “What the hell’s that.”

“Dinner-breakfast,” Wash retorted. “What? You’ve never heard of it? Who’s never heard of Dinfast?”