#merging our awful ships

[bnesszai]

jouzairan! jouzairan!

They would be so nasty! Jouno would call them "genius assholes who never shut up" and then would melt when they both kiss his cheeks at the same time. Dazai would always be stripped bare because they both can see right through him. Ranpo would be spoiled rotten but also get teased/put in his place like he so very much deserves.

Ranpo would be the one to just randomly bite. Jouno would be the one to push one or both of the others against the wall. Dazai would be the one to say things to get their way (aka to pester them into kissing them go stfu).

They would be constantly getting kicked out of public establishments, much to Jouno's frustration and embarrassment. Jouno would try to act just, Dazai would push all his buttons, and Ranpo would tell them both to get off their high horses cuz it doesn't matter, they'll never be as great as him anyways.

They would--

*gets shot and dragged off stage*

[melishade]

Attack on Prime New Age Anthology: Reminiscing

Main Story

Return to that Sick Mind II

Return to that Sick Mind III

Return to that Sick Mind IV

The TFP Kids and the Survey Corps share memories about Optimus.

"You know," Jack began, "I don't think we've ever seen Optimus that expressive before."

Armin was lying down on the bed, looking up at the blank ceiling. He turned his head to face Jack, and the older gentleman was leaning against the space where the glass and wall merged.

"He got angry at you guys for coming out to fight," Jack explained, "The idea of Optimus panicking seems surreal. And then...the screaming over the comm. link system."

Armin sighed at that, knowing what Jack was referring to. The moments right after the power of the titans had ended.

"We know it's Optimus now, but...he just seems so different," Jack confessed.

"...How did Optimus use to act when he was leader of the Autobots?" Armin asked.

"Stoic, assured, never really wore his emotions out on his sleeves," Jack explained, "One time I asked him if he wanted to see something funny, but he just said 'no' so bluntly. It didn't mean he didn't care about us or anything. I think it was just a lot of responsibility."

"I did ask him one time if I could come to the Arctic with him and see snow," Rafael chimed in, tying away on his laptop, "He said no, but he promised he would bring me back a snowball. That didn't happen because we had a scraplet infestation, but I did get to see the Arctic later."

"We get snow on the island," Armin explained, "And we had to rent out a place for Optimus to stay in because he didn't want to use all the resources on the neutral ship or make the trips at all. We even made him a large blanket for him to use and keep warm."

"Really?" Rafael asked in surprise.

"Aw, that's sweet," Miko cooed, lying on her back perpendicular to her bed.

"Yeah, Optimus doesn't like winter time," Hanji snickered, knocking their knuckles against the floor to try and find a loose panel.

"Did he wear the blanket like a cape?" Miko asked.

"He did!" Hanji exclaimed with excitement.

"Damn it! I want pictures!" Miko shouted.

"I don't like winter, but Optimus made it just a little bit bearable," Sasha proclaimed, "He told us a lot of his battles on Earth, managed to draw in a whole crowd of people with his story telling."

"Gotta be a good speaker to be a good leader," Jack declared.

"Yeah, we also got into a snowball fight with him," Sasha added.

Miko shot up from the bed while Jack and Rafael snapped their heads at her.

"Optimus Prime? 'Primes don't party'? Was in a snowball fight?!" Miko screeched.

"I concede, some of it was my fault." Hanji raised their hand.

"How the hell do you get Optimus to participate in a snowball fight?!" Jack demanded.

"Well, they asked." Hanji pointed to Armin's cell next to them, "And the minute I phrased it as a 'training exercise', he started annihilating the 104th left and right."

"Sounds about right," Rafael commented.

"Did you know that he lost!" Sasha screeched in anger.

"HE LOST?!" They all screamed.

"Yeah, somehow Armin managed to get him in the back! Which I'm still pressed about!" Sasha shouted.

"Yeah, I guess I got lucky." Armin rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Yeah, some luck! I want to join in on the snowball fight next time!" Miko declared.

"Miko, he's probably not-!"

"He's not escaping this!" Miko cut Rafael off.

"That's insane. Optimus never participated in any recreational activities. Now he's out here having snowball fights," Jack said in disbelief.

"Optimus was still quite reserved when we first met him," Hanji explained, "It did take a lot of talks and coaxing to really get him out of his shell."

"I mean, you guys did a pretty great job," Jack praised.

"I think part of it was that initially, Optimus was considered a threat among our people," Hanji explained.

"Really?" Miko deadpanned.

"Optimus is a giant, metal, titan and we thought humanity was extinct by man-eating titans. How do you think that'll make the population feel?" Hanji pressed their ear against the floor, "He wasn't exalted or worship as a Prime. He was feared. Then many of us started seeing him as an ally and equal. One of the big things Optimus did to gain Levi's trust was prepare the bodies of his former squad for a funeral."

"That's really thoughtful," Miko declared.

"It...definitely helped a lot of us with the grieving process," Hanji admitted.

"Wait, what do you mean worshipped?" Willy asked, awakened by the conversation at hand.

"According to Ratchet, being a Prime is the highest honor a Cybertronian can receive," Rafael explained, "It's like being ordained by god."

"...you're kidding, right?" Colt asked.

"He literally went down to the core of their planet, which has his god Primus, and he gave Optimus the Matrix," Rafael explained, "Not to mention all the cool stuff he can access with it."

"The Forge of Solus Prime, which made anything with a swing. It's broken now. The Star Saber. You guys saw it cut up the Colossal Titans," Miko listed, "Hey Jack, do you still have the Key to Vector Sigma?"

"The what?" Armin asked in confusion.

Jack dug into his pockets and pulled out a glowing rectangular metal sheet. "Managed to snag it before the rest of my clothes got taken from me."

"What does that do?" Onyankopon asked, exiting from the makeshift bathroom.

"We had to use it to download Optimus' memories when he got amnesia," Jack answered.

"Amnesia?!" Gabi sounded panicked, "When did Optimus get amnesia?!"

"There was a world ending event we had on Earth," Jack explained, "Optimus and the Autobots went to stop it, and Optimus had to use the Matrix in his chest to stop the event from happening and the Earth from getting destroyed. It caused his memories to get wiped and for him to revert back to Orion Pax."

"And then Buckethead kidnapped him," Miko seethed.

"Wow, Megatron, it just gets worse for you," Hanji muttered under their breath.

"Optimus gave me the key and told me it was for the groundbridge power supply," Jack explained, "I ended up going to Cybertron with Arcee to download his memories."

"Wow, Optimus lied to you and you didn't notice?" Hanji raised their head from the floor.

"Hey, things were pretty tense," Jack retorted.

"Optimus is a shit liar!" Hanji exclaimed.

"Look, he probably gave it to me and lied about it because he knew the others would try to stop him," Jack assumed, "Optimus...let me keep it after we got him back."

"...Optimus never let us keep any important relics," Hanji muttered.

"Didn't he start teaching you how to read their language?" Armin recalled.

"Whoa, you can read Cybertronian?" Rafael asked in surprise.

"The older language. The Golden Age Text." Hanji waved off.

"Still, that's impressive," Rafael praised.

"Thanks." Hanji rubbed the back of their head.

"...Hey how did Optimus handle the war being over?" Miko couldn't help but ask, "The Bots handled it differently, but Boss Bot was away from Cybertron."

"Yeah...Optimus was sad about it," Armin explained.

"Really?" Jack asked with concern.

"I think he was sad about the fact that he couldn't go back home," Armin explained, "The neutral ship was mainly used for spare parts. We couldn't use it for communications or transportation. Arcee and Wheeljack weren't there at the time, and Megatron said he got thrown through a spacebridge, so he didn't remember the way back. Optimus was stranded on another world, and...majority of that world hated him and wanted him gone."

Gabi felt her stomach drop at Armin's explanation, and she covered her mouth and curled up into a ball to hide her tears. Willy darted his eyes in guilt while Colt stared in pity.

"But that doesn't mean we didn't do something nice for him!" Hanji declared, "We scavenged for every single book on the walls and a few from Marley and got him a library to keep, since he used to be an archivist and all!"

"You guys made Optimus a library?" Jack couldn't help but smile.

"Why not?" Hanji smiled back, "We care about Optimus. He's our ally and friend."

Jack looked down at the key card and smiled. "Thanks."

"For what?" Armin asked.

"For watching out for Optimus and taking care of him," Jack elaborated, "Sounds like you guys really made Optimus happy."

"We tried our best." Hanji shrugged, "Although, can't say I've made it easier for him. One time, he told us about Halloween, and I threatened to wipe some information from the neutral ship if he didn't tell us more scary stories."

"He told you scary stories?!" Miko exclaimed.

"Yeah, and we made a betting pool on it!" Hanji cackled, "And then Buckethead ruined the whole thing with a Cybertronian horror story!"

"Who won the pot?!" Miko asked.

"Mikasa!" Hanji grinned, "She wouldn't crack until Megatron told his story! Oh, and he also told us about a holiday called 'Day of the Dead'-!"

"He told you about Dia de Los Muertos?" Rafael asked in surprise and excitement, "He still remembered what I told him?"

"We couldn't do a massive festival, but we did have a toast in the cemetery where our comrades were buried," Armin explained, "It was nice."

Rafael set his laptop down and stood up. "We we're done, I'm taking everyone to a proper festival! We'll make altars and we'll eat concha bread and dance!"

"What's concha bread?!" Sasha asked with excitement.

Jack watched with a small smile as the conversation continued. The spy felt something vibrate in his pocket and pulled out his phone. He opened his text messages and read the most recent one.

Inquire about Eren Jaeger.

Jack started typing back. They don't want to talk about him yet.

We looked into Megatron's mind with the cortical psychic patch.

Jack typed furiously. Whoa! What?!

We've learned information about Eren Jaeger, but Megatron has confessed that he has a negative bias towards him.

I thought the patch didn't alter memories.

We still need more information on Eren. There is information that is missing. We need a different perspective.

Jack sighed to himself before standing up. "Gotta go to the bathroom." He walked over to the back and opened the door to the makeshift bathroom. He locked the door and took a deep breath before texting Ultra Magnus once more.

What did you find?

Jack waited. He saw the bubbles, waiting for the message to be sent. Jack was confused when he got a video. He played the video and closed the lid of the toilet before sitting down on it.

“Wait! Eren, please! Please listen to me!” Jack heard Optimus' voice, “Don’t activate the Colossal Titans within the wall! I understand your fear of Marley and the rest of the humans on this world! But this is not the way to handle the situation! You have the titan power; you have weakened Marley! That alone should be enough!”

Jack took noticed of Eren, the same armored titan that showed up in the feed. He looked like he was nervous, hesitating.

 “This violence; this lust for vengeance will only lead to more destruction and devastation!” Optimus declared, “Listen to reason, Eren! Stand down now, and let us come with a better solution!”

Eren growled as he threatened to scream, but Optimus continued. “Listen to me, Eren! If you activate the rumbling, you will not only be destroying the entire world but the island as well! The people you wish to protect: Historia, Mikasa, Armin, the Survey Corps will be affected! Innocent humans, both Marleyan and Eldian who had nothing to do with attacks against the island, will be killed in the ensuing chaos! The entire world will be devastated, and the only ones that have survived will only see this action as a tasteless once! Creating a new world on mountains of bodies and rivers of blood is not justified! If you do this, you will only be seen as a monster, regardless of your motivation!”

“Eren, I know this isn’t the path that you want, and if you stand down now we can find another solution! This isn’t the path to peace! Think for one second about the weight of your actions! If you do this, you will cause humanity’s extinction! That will be with you for the rest of your life! Do you really wish to be the one?! Do you really wish to be the cause of the death and destruction of all of mankind?!”

Jack leaned forward as he saw Optimus take slow steps towards Eren.

“That’s enough, Eren,” Optimus whispered, holding out his servo, “Please, come home.”

Jack knew what came next. This guy made up his mind. He witnessed that decision, but he still grew ridged when he heard the titan speak. He didn't understand what he said because of the lack of lips, but it caused Optimus to scream his name and reach out for him. Jack covered his mouth in shock as something shot his head off, but then a centipede emerged from the spine and reconnected with the head. Jack had stopped the video once he saw the walls beginning to fall. He took deep and heavy breaths, trying to calm his nerves. He never felt so sick, and Jack was now left with one raging question in his mind.

How the hell does someone get pushed so far into believing that genocide is the only option?

(Okay, so for reference:

Halloween Anthology: Optimus tells scary stories from Earth to the Survey Corps in honor of the Halloween Spirit. Bonus: Dia de Los Muertos: Optimus and the Survey Corps honor the ones that they have lost. Winter Anthology:  Optimus and the Survey Corps navigate the every changing twists and turns of the weather as the seasons change from fall to spring.

Like these are canon to the AOP story. Just as a reminder.)

[bluebellwrenwrites]

— The Numbers Game [Black Ops Novelization]: Prologue

AO3 LINK | RATING: M | CHAPTER MASTERLIST [COMING SOON]

SYNOPSIS:

During the Bay of Pigs invasion in 1961, CIA field officers Alex Mason, Frank Woods, Russell Adler, and Joseph Bowman were tasked with assassinating Castro as part of a team codenamed Operation 40. Instead, they found a body double and intelligence reports speaking of a mysterious Soviet operative trying to split off from the KGB. During their escape, Mason would sacrifice himself to ensure the others could get away, falling into the hands of rogue operatives reporting to the enigmatic man that would come to be codenamed 'Perseus'. Two years later, he manages escape from the Vorkuta prison camp and return to the States, only to be plagued with near constant migraines, seizures, hallucinations, blackouts, and numbers he can't stop hearing. As tensions rise in Vietnam and his life falls apart back home, Mason is assigned to a MACV-SOG team to track down KGB operatives and suspected collaborators of 'Perseus' aiding the Viet Cong. Unbeknownst to him, he's become Perseus' greatest weapon against his own country. And the key to saving it.

CATEGORIES: Gen, F/M (eventual)

WORD COUNT: 9.1k

WARNINGS: Canon-typical violence, explicit language, military inaccuracies/liberties, government inaccuracies, some historical inaccuracies/liberties, depictions of brainwashing and torture, depictions of warfare, and a healthy dose of canon non-compliance and original characters (however rest assured the author has played the CoD campaigns multiple times. An unhealthy amount, in fact. I know the lore before I break it or whatever the heck.)

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Well, guess who doesn't need another multi-chapter monstrosity but has awful impulse control sometimes? This one has been cooking for a while and this is just the beginning. Not just a multi-chapter monstrosity, but a multi-fic saga...because I have brainrot bad and I've been itching to do a fanfic reboot of the Black Ops series so that it fits in with the canon established in Cold War and BO6...basically trying to tie it all together into a big overarching narrative. And kind of properly merge it with MW's universe as well. But with my own twists and headcanons included because I cater to myself and what I wanted from these stories first and foremost. I was going to start at the very beginning and tie all of the World War II games together (WaW/WW2/Vanguard) and have that as a precursor to the Black Ops series, but that's going to take some time...I'm having a very hard time getting through World at War. But Black Ops? The first game was okay. It was good, but not as great as I was promised. BO2? Couldn't stand it. Hate it with a passion. But BOCW? Cold War made me obsessed. I loved the soft reboot, and it got me itching to go back and make the first game line up with it. Expect a lot of headcanons and creative liberties. I've spent just about every waking moment for the last few months stringing together canon and my own headcanons and changes. A few big things: I'm going with the more fleshed out Cold War iterations of Woods and Mason and pretty much everyone else because they're actually interesting characters (and also, since I like having Opinions, because their new VAs can actually act) rather than them simply being Generic Action Character 1 and 2. Perseus will be the threat from start to finish, because I feel like Cold War and BO6 did it best with fictional bad guys with real world history taking a back seat while our characters did stuff behind the scenes (they tried with BO2, but that was Not Good, so that doesn't count but I digress) and since Perseus was supposed to have been around since the 40s, I figure having him be the bad guy from the get-go makes sense. I'm fleshing out the behind the scenes like I always do in these fics, so expect lots of character bonding, development, and some eventual ships as well, but that last point will be on the side, mostly. There will be lots of intrigue, action, good ol' spy/thriller stuff, and many, many more things...or at least my best attempt at those things. Suffice to say, we're in for a wild ride, so buckle up. I'm still going to be working on my other projects, such as my Ghosts novelization and my AC fics, but I wanted to get this out there because it has had me in a chokehold for ages now. Hope y'all enjoy!

SEPTEMBER 12, 1960 Bethesda, Maryland, United States

Rain pattered on the asphalt and the crowd of neighbors that had gathered on the sidewalk as the police cordoned off the area in front of one of the many townhouses lining the street. The gaggle of spectators stood murmuring to one another and craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the aftermath of what was—to the general public—a simple home invasion gone wrong. They were unbothered by the rain and the faint chill in the air that was muted by the lingering summer heat and humidity, having thrown on their rain jackets over their pajamas to hurry to the site. The puddles and damp asphalt sparkled with red and blue from the police lights instead of the dull brown and orange they would normally be, and trees rustled with the humid, only somewhat cool breeze. Tomorrow they’d gossip to the neighbors that missed the show and spent the evening minding their own business, and in the following days the headlines would tell of an unknown perpetrator, the couple’s government jobs, and the daughter that they left behind...

The daughter that was currently seated on the curb in her rain soaked pajamas, in shock, unresponsive to the attempts by the officers to console her and get an account of the incident from her. She was despondent, some of her clothes speckled with blood and when asked if it was hers by the officers she simply shook her head ‘no.’ Already there were looks of shock and pity, whispers of “oh, that poor girl,” and other pointless sympathies they’d repeat as they passed the story along from neighbor to neighbor. A few of the people were questioned along with the girl, no doubt the ones that had called in the disturbance, but none of them seemed to have anything helpful. By far the girl’s account would be far more valuable, but it was clear she wasn’t in a place to talk about it. One of the officers draped his raincoat over her shoulders before he left her alone and moved to confer with the others on the scene, while she stared numbly at the street below.

As far as everyone was concerned, this was just another tragedy; armed break-ins were hardly unheard of, even in upper middle class neighborhoods like this one. There were a few things that might raise a few eyebrows: how did some random vandal with a gun hold his own against two people with decades of experience and training? Why was nothing stolen? Why was the girl unharmed? Why were there no fingerprints? How did no one see so much as a shadow, before or after the attack? Questions that people would ask but shrug off without explanation before it ended up in a pile with every other cold case. They’d accept the story, the police would shelve the case without a lead, and if the girl ever offered them anything it probably wouldn’t be enough if it was believed at all. But to the well-informed—those in the right circles with the right clearance—the story wasn’t quite so simple. This incident was far from another statistic you read about in the paper, but unfortunately the nature of it meant that no one would ever know the truth of it all.

Across the street, appearing as no more than another pair of onlookers that stopped to ogle (if anyone noticed them at all), nothing more than shadows lingering by a lamppost, Svetlana stood with her arms crossed, nails digging into her arm as she and her partner, Mikhail, observed the scene. They were both young—at least young as far as the average undercover KGB field operative—but not inexperienced. In fact, they’d been in this line of work for much longer than their colleagues, if you measured based entirely on the percentage of their life spent in training and in service of their country. Impressive backgrounds with wholly unimpressive exteriors. Two ordinary, blue-blooded Americans incapable of minding their own business…the truth of it was that they were there for work. This scene was textbook. A mystery assailant, a home invasion, nothing taken except the lives of the occupants…it wasn’t new to them, per se, but it left a sour taste in Svetlana’s mouth.

Their assignments varied across the years, but their goal remained the same: foreign intelligence. And largely that consisted of two things: putting on a show and making connections. They were actors on the grand stage that was counterintelligence and shadow operations, and a carefully cultivated upbringing meant they could perfect whatever role they needed to fill, and more often than not they played the role of a neighbor. A friend. A fellow patriot. They forged friendships to gain access to otherwise inaccessible locations and information, but these transactional relationships rarely ended on a positive note…and this particular one ended with both of their contacts dead. And their contacts’ daughter orphaned.

Their already muted feelings of guilt and uncertainty were drowned out by disappointment at their own failures.

Svetlana shifted from one foot to the other and counted the officers and civilians out of habit. She sighed. “That’s months of work down the drain.”

“The KGB loses contacts every day,” Mikhail said. He started digging into his pockets for a cigarette, more indifferent to the situation than she was. “You knew there was a chance it would end like this.”

“I didn’t think it would,” Svetlana argued, turning to face him. “We did everything by the book!”

“And sometimes minor slip-ups happen regardless,” Mikhail said with a sigh of his own. “Investigating their own people was risky—especially so given the state of the world. They must have made a mistake somewhere. Forgotten to cover their tracks…something to tip someone off.”

“Do we have any idea who was involved in the hit?” Svetlana asked him.

“No.” Mikhail took another drag. “And without them…there’s no way we can know. Not without someone else on the inside.”

Svetlana went quiet. It had taken them the better part of a year to form the connections they had with the couple. John and Lorraine Harrow were dedicated CIA agents and as patriotic Americans one would think they were the very last people the KGB could find a use for, but considering the fact they had a child they wanted to build a future for and they were getting a bit uncomfortable with the secret keeping and shadow operations in recent years, offering up a common enemy was exactly what they needed to convince them to work on the inside. The KGB was hesitant to infiltrate government agencies themselves, so this was the compromise. Unfortunately for them, the man they were after had no such qualms.

“Do you think it was one of his agents?” Svetlana turned back to the crime scene.

“You think one of his insiders tipped them off?”

“That’s what they were looking for. If they got too close then it’s entirely possible one of them revealed them to the CIA,” Svetlana said, shoving her hands into the pockets of her coat. It was still warm in the D.C. metro area this early in September, but this rain had come down from the north and brought a chilly wind with it. That along with the situation made her shiver. “I don’t think the CIA knew what they were doing.”

“I suppose it’s likely. If that was the case, then their deaths would confirm he’s infiltrated the CIA,” Mikhail said. He pulled a cigarette from his pack and then searched for his lighter, muttering a curse under his breath when he couldn’t find his. Svetlana wordlessly reached into her own pocket to produce the lighter she kept for him and anyone else she knew that smoked, not much for the habit herself. He gave her a grateful look and obliged when she lit the flame for him. He took a long drag before he pulled it from his lips, blowing out the smoke slowly. Svetlana had to suppress a cough. “The files they obtained more or less confirmed that already…or at least were heavily pointing in that direction.” He tapped his cigarette, flicking some ash from it. “Unfortunately, we can’t know for certain.”

“I don’t see how carrying out operations in this manner benefits anyone,” Svetlana said, partially changing the subject. “By going behind the CIA’s backs, we put a target on theirs.” She nodded in the direction of the crime scene. “If the CIA ever finds out about our man they’re going to have the same goal we do. It would be in everyone’s best interest to work together.” “But they won’t,” Mikhail reminded her. “He may be an extremist, but the West is going to see him as one of us. To have the network he does…they won’t believe he’s built this himself.” He took another drag. “And even if the powers that be were interested in setting aside their differences, there isn’t any way of knowing who’s been compromised, both within their ranks and ours. No doubt they have a very long list of possible double agents, and the Harrows made the top of it, but they’re looking in the wrong places…they’re not looking for him yet. They’re just looking for anyone they can label a communist.”

“I wouldn’t say their concerns are unfounded,” Svetlana said. “As patriotic as the Harrows’ intentions may have been, they still betrayed their country by working with us.” She let out a soft, humorless laugh. “And let’s not forget how many of us have infiltrated their country, whatever our job here may be. They’re surrounded by traitors, both Russian and American…I can’t blame them for being paranoid.”

“No. Neither can I.”

If anyone knew how well-founded the suspicions of Americans about Soviet spies living among them was, it was the two of them. They’d been trained from a very young age to be perfect soldiers, assassins, spies, and most importantly ordinary Americans. They’d been taught English from the start. Trained in the cultures from region to region. They learned the ins and outs of every facet of American history. And then they were sent to private universities, where some of their seniors had already been working as professors for some time. This entire operation had been in the making for decades, all of it carefully constructed, and Svetlana and Mikhail’s jobs were to make sure that none of it fell apart. And that meant eliminating any threat to that. The man they were after was one such threat.

“They’ll expect an explanation for all of this,” Svetlana said after a brief moment of silence. “And I’m sure they’ll want a solution to this…potential problem.”

“There’s nothing to be traced back to us,” Mikhail said. “All the CIA has are two dead Americans. This will be swept under the rug, and no one will ever know we existed.” He blew out a huff of smoke. “No one will care.”

Svetlana bit her tongue, glancing back at the Harrows’ daughter. She still sat catatonic, numb to the world around her. Their daughter cared. And Svetlana did, too, even if she was trained not to. “Maybe not. But it’s still a mistake we made and we need to correct it,” she said instead, not about to correct him and certainly not about to voice that thought out loud. Instead, she played the part of the sensible tactician…that’s what she was trained to do. “If this becomes a regular occurrence then it could be traced back to us. The blood is on our hands regardless, and sooner or later someone’s going to notice.”

“If we aren’t careful, then yes,” Mikhail said. “But this was our first mistake, and I—for one—don’t intend to repeat it.”

“Well, we’re running out of options,” Svetlana said. “Not to mention time.”

“And what do you suggest?” Mikhail asked.

“We need this done quickly and we need it done right,” Svetlana said, taking a deep breath. “It takes time to build connections with people on the inside, time that we don’t have…we might as well handle it ourselves.”

“No. Absolutely not.” Mikhail tossed his cigarette to the wet pavement and crushed it under his heel for good measure before he rounded on her. He didn’t need her to tell him exactly what she was thinking, he could already figure that out. They’d been working together for over a decade, after all. He was practically her brother at this point. “Do you realize what you’re suggesting? The Kremlin has spent the last two decades getting us to where we are now. On the outside we have allies to help us and mitigate the fallout if things go wrong, but on the inside…we would be entirely on our own.”

“As opposed to what? The way things are now?” Svetlana asked. They had handlers and superiors they reported back to, but for the most part they were given freedom to operate as necessary. They were given a target or a goal and so long as they kept quiet and got the job done the means to the end didn’t matter all that much. “For all intents and purposes, we’re always on our own. A few people around to yank our leash doesn’t mean much when we’re allowed to operate independently. What good is that freedom if we never take advantage of it?”

“But infiltrating the CIA?” Mikhail asked, lowering his voice as he glanced around, as if anyone cared what they were talking about when there was a murder scene across the street. He leaned in close. “If we’re discovered there won’t be any mercy from any side. The CIA will off you and our superiors won’t lift a finger to stop it. We’d be disavowed and discarded.”

“We won’t be discovered,” Svetlana said firmly. “Everything about us has been carefully crafted and put in place by the Kremlin since the day we were recruited. Our entire life story is a lie, and it’s an undetectable one at that. We’re practically ghosts...and this way, every step of this process is monitored by us. It’s all in our control.” She took a step back, both of their attention drawn back to the crime scene as onlookers were ushered away and the girl was distracted as they wheeled the bodies of the Harrows to the ambulance out front. Svetlana sighed. “What else do we have to lose?”

“Nearly two decades of tireless work to create and maintain our covers, our nation’s protection and faith, our lives…” Mikhail rattled of the list, but she knew him well enough by now to know that his heart wasn’t in this fight. Rational and dutiful as he was, neither of them had ever had the heart for this war, but it was just the way their lives had gone, and there was nothing either of them could do about it. They both knew better, but they’d gotten attached to their assets anyway, and it was through that attachment that they realized that things needed to change. He knew that as well as she did. So he relented without much convincing at all. “Where do you suggest we begin?”

Svetlana blinked, taking a deep breath. Now came the hard part.

—

MAY 25, 1968 CIA Headquarters, Virginia, United States

“This is a fine mess you’ve fucked yourself into, Hudson.”

Although Emerson Black liked to keep the image of a cool-headed superior, Hudson could tell from the bite in his handler’s words that he was more nervous than he was letting on. Not that he could blame him.

The CIA existed to operate outside of their country, away from the safety of their home; they traveled abroad, gathering intelligence and chasing down potential threats to their national security, foreign or otherwise, all to keep the people back home safe and secure. That was the idea behind them, at least, and anything else was a matter of contention among many. But now the tables were turned on them…there was a very real, very imminent threat on their own soil, and they’d failed in their duty.

To say they were on edge was an understatement. They’d crossed over into DEFCON 2 as soon as their last target had been shot and killed, by one of their own no less (but he wasn’t in his right mind, as Hudson had been trying to argue to Black), and now they had to prepare for the very worst.

Langley—normally no different from any other government office, with slow, monotonous days and office gossip among those not overseas on assignment—had devolved into disarray. Everyone had a job to do, and they all kept their conversations short as they briskly made their way through the halls. The runners, for the first time in their career, were actually living up to their title and took off sprinting from office to office with updates on the situation to the relevant departments. Fluorescent lights buzzed, reflecting on windows as the sky darkened and all that remained of the sunset was a faint line of fire towards the horizon. Somewhere out there, their families and most of the country—save for government and military personnel—were completely unaware anything was amiss.

But here, there was a very clear understanding that everything they held dear was on the line. And Hudson was gambling with it all.

The rest of the team from Rebirth Island had all but crashed through the doors with their unconscious and compromised ally, Mason, and dragged him to the nearest interrogation room. Unfortunately for them, they picked up more than a few stragglers along the way. The department’s psychologist, Dr. Anderson? Fine. She knew Mason’s head better than most, after all. Weaver’s analyst friend, Ms. Scott? Acceptable. She’d handled almost all of their intel at that point, not to mention she was the only one close to cracking the code they were dealing with…even if they only had a fraction of the information. However, the third straggler was the unwelcome one. The CIA’s chief analyst, Ryan Jackson…who for the last five years had been campaigning against Mason in every report he’d filed. And right now he was looming off to the side, pretending not to listen while the rest of Hudson’s fucked up little gang argued inside the interrogation room.

The only person on his side out here was Scott. Black had pulled Hudson aside, which left Weaver and Adler to drag Mason into the interrogation room while Anderson trailed after, yammering against drug induced psychosis or something or other. The last thing he’d heard before the door shut was her barking orders to restrain him and fetch her a syringe. Scott had nothing but information to offer and was otherwise a bystander, so she paced the width of the hallway behind him, biting her nails.

Black continued his tirade. “And you’ve dragged the rest of us down with you.”

“I know.” Hudson bit back his annoyance, too busy in his own head, working out strategies. He stared at nothing but the space behind his supervisor before he ran a hand over his face, glancing over his shoulder at the locked door behind him. The placard across the door read ‘Interrogation Theater 9’ in plain lettering, and the tiny light on the keypad emitted a red glow. He needed to get back in there. Not waste time out here, essentially arguing with a brick wall. “I just need a little more time.”

“And I’ve given you the last five years,” Black said through gritted teeth. He started to raise his voice, but a quick glance around made him think better of it. His nostrils flared as he took a shaky breath, running a hand through his slicked back, graying hair before he fixed his bloodshot, sunken brown eyes on Hudson again, lifting a finger as if he was talking down to a child. “You fumbled the ball. Even with everything that was at stake, you were too soft, too kind, and too patient.”

‘Soft,’ ‘kind,’ and ‘patient’ were not things Hudson was known to be. And judging from the slip in Jackson’s mask, he wasn’t the only one that thought that. He swallowed the knot in his throat. “Up until now I never had any reason not to trust him. He’s been nothing but loyal this entire time,” Hudson responded. “I’m not going to kill one of our own without a damn good reason.”

“The Russians fucked with his head!” Black said. “What more of a reason do you need?”

“Were that the case I’d say he’s a pretty insignificant threat,” Hudson snapped back. “Before this point was he ever a threat to any of our operations? Well?” As he raised his voice a bit, Black hesitated, looking away with a tic in his jaw. “I didn’t think so.”

“Clearly things have changed,” Black said firmly, making eye contact again. “Don’t you get what we’re up against? We’re on the verge of an all out nuclear war as well as facing the release of a biological weapon that could wipe out half the population overnight, and you want to bet millions of lives on a basket case?”

Hudson didn’t back down. He knew better than anyone what was at stake, and he wasn’t about to be talked down to. There was a method to his madness, no matter what his superiors believed. His reputation, experience, and skills should have spoken to that. “He’s a good man, and a good soldier, and more importantly he’s one of us,” he said, keeping his voice just as firm but level. “His head is screwed up, but he wouldn’t betray his country. Not knowingly.”

“He killed our last lead in cold blood,” Black snapped back. He jabbed a finger towards the door behind Hudson. “Our national security and the lives of our families are on the line because of him!”

“He has the answers to solving this, we know that he does. We’ve suspected it for ages,” Hudson said, doing his best not to fall for the bait and end up in a shouting match. “It’s all there, somewhere in his head. We just have to find the key.” Black opened his mouth, but Hudson cut him off. “He can’t help us unfuck this if he’s dead.”

Black stared him down for a moment, nostrils flaring and eyes wide like a wild animal. Then he finally took a breath, lowering his voice. “And if you fail?”

“Then at least we know we tried everything we could,” Hudson said. He knew he was asking a lot, and he knew this was a massive risk…a gamble if there ever was one. But he had to try. Mason was his responsibility. Rebirth Island had been his responsibility. Maybe part of the reason he was so invested in Mason pulling through was his own pride and refusal to admit defeat, but there was a part of him that did care. He didn’t want to see a good man die. Not like this. Not as a traitor…not without a chance. His arms hung at his side as he brushed his thumb over the ring on his left hand. Right about now Jenny was probably making dinner, but he’d already called and told her he had to work late…she wouldn’t expect him home anytime soon. She understood his work was top secret. She didn’t know he was risking his life right now, and hers, and every other person’s in this country…he didn’t care what happened to him, but there were too many innocent lives on the line, and if they killed Mason they killed their only key to saving them. He had to do something. He didn’t regret much, but he knew he’d regret this if he didn’t stand by his convictions. “The blood is on our hands either way, Emerson. What do we have to lose?”

Black drew in a breath, looking away, out the window. His stern expression faltered for just a second before he looked back to Hudson, his expression hardening again in an instant. “You have four hours. Four. No more, no less,” he said, taking a step forward and lowering his voice. “We need to be ready to move in half that time. So you better have some goddamned results for me, or I swear to God, Jason, I’ll put a bullet in his head myself.”

“Four hours,” he confirmed with a stiff nod, keeping his cool exterior. He felt hope and anxiety twisting knots in his stomach. “I’ll get it done.”

“You better. Because if you can’t…” Black trailed off. For just a second, it looked like his mask slipped again, but he shook it off. “God help us all.” He sighed, turning and setting off down the hall. As he left, he coldly reminded him, “Four hours, Hudson. No loose ends.”

As Black departed, Jackson stepped away from where he’d been lurking against the wall. He fixed his eyes on Scott and almost snapped her name out, but she ignored her senior’s presence entirely, not even sparing him a glance. By now she had stopped her pacing and nail biting and at some point moved to stand off to Hudson’s side. She had her arms tightly crossed, clutching at her ribcage, her posture rigid. But she straightened up when Jackson tried to intimidate her back into line.

She stepped towards Hudson, as if Jackson wasn’t even there. “I can try and buy you and Weaver some time,” she said to him. Her usually sleek hair had a few flyaways, giving away her dishevelment following the extra workload she’d been facing. She normally looked every bit the part of a proper government officer, down to the polished, professional looks and posture. But like everyone else over the last few days, she’d been put through the wringer. She kept her voice low, a light, rural Virginian accent lining every word. “We got…something. It isn’t much, but it’s a starting point.”

“I’ll take anything at this point,” Hudson said with a sigh. “Hit me with it.”

“‘Rusalka,’” she said. “Ring any bells, aside from Russian folklore?”

Hudson furrowed his brow. “No,” he admitted. “But I’m sure it might for Mason. You get anything else?”

“Another string of numbers we picked up, but from the pieces we deciphered…nothing that makes any sense,” Scott said with a shake of her head. She glanced at Jackson. “We’re still working on it. We need time, too.” She reached into her pocket, pulling out a folded over index card. “This is all we’ve got from the last transmission we got hold of. Some names—codewords, probably—but no context clues. And a series of numbers that don’t seem to mean anything. I mean, I’m sure they do, but every solution that worked for the others doesn’t seem to fit this one.”

“So no closer to finding out where they’re transmitting from?” Hudson asked.

“We thought we were onto something, but…” Scott sighed. “It’s not much, but combine that with even just a fraction of whatever is in Mason’s head and we might be able to save the country. And him. We just need the other half of the puzzle.”

“Well, the challenge is getting him to remember it,” Hudson said. He motioned with the paper, holding it up between his index and middle finger. “We can try to work with this.”

“I just wish I had more to give you,” Scott said, guilt and disappointment clear on her face. She glanced over at Jackson, who was now watching them with a clenched jaw. She’d basically just given him the finger by handing over the information, but it’s not like Hudson wasn’t entitled and cleared for it. She then looked at the shut door and back at Hudson. “I should get back to work. Good luck with Mason…whatever your plan is, I hope it works.”

“You and I both,” Hudson said. “We’ll figure this mess out.”

We have to.

Scott gave him a smile, casting one last look over her shoulder at the door before she set off down the hall. No doubt she was worried about Weaver. He’d taken a bullet from Mason back at the island and while he seemed to have bounced back physically, mentally he was visibly shaken by the whole thing. The two of them were friends—so the two of them claimed—so it made sense she’d want to check on him. There just wasn’t time. So she left.

Hudson watched her brush past Jackson at a brisk pace, who had opened his mouth to say something before snapping it shut again. He watched her go with a sour look on his face. She wasn’t normally so outwardly defiant, but she’d grown a backbone lately. She probably figured there were more pressing matters than chewing her out over a piece of paper, and she would’ve been right. Jackson probably knew the exact same thing, and that was probably the only reason he let her go without shouting at her and chasing her down. Still, he cast a steely, emotionless stare Hudson’s way before he stalked off after his co-workers, leaving Hudson alone in the hallway. Even if he did chase her down to dress her down, Hudson wasn’t worried. Scott could handle herself.

Right now he had to worry about what was waiting for him on the other side of that door.

He shoved the paper into his pocket and spun towards the door, crossing the length that remained of the hallway in a few long strides. He punched in the code, pushing his way inside the tiny room as the door buzzed and the keypad flashed green to announce it was unlocked.

Inside, things were quiet. The theater itself was fairly small. Linoleum floors, dull, beige walls, and bright fluorescent lighting that made everything a depressing, sterile gray just like the rest of the building. It almost resembled the theater in a hospital, overlooking an OR. The only difference was that instead of rows of chairs there were only four swivel chairs, seated along a row of work stations along the window that looked out into the room below. Down there, it was dimly lit. There were cabinets on either side, a mobile tray of various medical instruments, and an IV drip that almost completed the hospital look and matched the set of instruments in the interrogation room below, but the various television sets and wires stacked on top of each other and angled towards the chair where their current key to saving the world was restrained by his wrists and ankles, sweat-soaked and hunched over himself, his head hanging limply.

Each desk was lined with various instruments and gadgets. Anything and everything, from a polygraph, EEG, and EKG to a computer and an intercom microphone to allow them to communicate with anyone in the room down below. Slumped over in the chair by the intercom was Weaver, with his hands clasped together like he was praying, his forehead propped against them as he nervously bounced his leg. An eyepatch over his missing, scarred left eye kept him blind to Hudson, but his lack of a reaction didn’t mean that he didn’t know he was there. Hudson could see him tense when the door opened, then relax as he continued his leg bouncing. He’d made his feelings about this situation very clear, but he was stuck here by his own volition, but that didn’t make him any less antsy.

Adler stood beside him, arms crossed, staring down at the room below as Anderson fiddled around with the leads and medical equipment attached to Mason. They were safe from her fury so long as she was down there, but that would only keep her busy for so long, but Adler seemed entirely unbothered by the situation. His scarred face betrayed no emotion, his expression entirely blank. It barely shifted as Hudson entered the room and he glanced over his shoulder to see who was interrupting. He returned his attention back to Mason and Anderson a second later.

Hudson didn’t waste any time getting right to work, his own patience hanging by a fraying thread. “Talk to me,” he said, moving to stand between Adler and Weaver. “Where are we at right now?”

“Heart rate and blood pressure have gone up, but he’s still out like a light. They should have started with a lower dose of sedatives on the flight home,” Weaver said in the faintest of Russian accents. After over twenty years in the States, he was as American as Hudson was, but his voice still betrayed his birthplace. He took a deep breath, running his hands over his face before he tilted his head over his shoulder, towards where Hudson, straining to see them with his good eye. “Pistol-whipping him didn’t help much.”

“It was either that or taking a bullet like you,” Hudson said plainly as he moved to Weaver’s right side, making it easier on both of them. Weaver shifted back accordingly. He risked straying off topic a bit. “How’s your shoulder?”

“Hurts like hell,” Weaver said with a grunt, and winced as he tried to roll said shoulder for emphasis. He’d been lucky. It had gone through the hazmat suit they’d had to wear during the raid at Rebirth and the body armor underneath caught the bullet, but that itself was no joke. He’d have a nasty looking bruise for a month or so. That didn’t keep him from jumping right back into work. “But I’m fine.” He took a breath, pushing himself from the desk to look between him and Adler. “Did you buy us some time?”

“Four hours.” Hudson leaned over the desk, knuckles bracing him. He looked over at Weaver, who had resumed his leg bouncing. “If we’re doing this, I need you all in.”

“I am all in.”

“You don’t have to stay,” Hudson said. “You said it yourself: what happened in Baikonur was a long time ago. There’s no shame in backing out.”

Weaver’s leg stopped, and his good eye glanced between the two of them, at the floor, and then down at the room below, where Mason was strapped to a chair as Anderson adjusted the wrist restraints. Weaver turned his blind side to Hudson again. “No,” he said after a short pause, shaking his head stiffly. “This was my op, too. I should finish what I started…I owe him that much, at least.”

Hudson nodded. He glanced at Adler. “How about you?”

“Just tell me what you need from me,” Adler said. He took a breath. “But I’m starting to think this is a lost cause. He’s not going to break easy.”

“We’re running out of options,” Hudson said simply, not in the mood for pessimism. He was having a hard enough time fighting off his own doubts, even after pleading his and Mason’s case to Black. Between optimism and pessimism, he staunchly preferred the middle ground between them, and the middle ground was that regardless of whether it was hopeful or not they still had to do something. He pulled the piece of paper Scott gave him from his pocket. “Scott pulled through for us, at least. We’re not starting completely from scratch.”

Weaver perked up but said nothing, while Adler took the paper and gave it a once over. “New intel?”

“A few things they got from the last few transmissions they picked up,” Hudson said. “It’ll at least give us a starting point, see if we can stir anything in his memory.” As Adler returned the paper, Hudson asked him, “Did you manage to get anything out of that…operative you interrogated on Rebirth Island?”

“Not a damn thing,” Adler said with a shake of his head. “I even gave him a parting gift on Weaver’s behalf. But he didn’t break, either.” He clenched his jaw. “Besides…I doubt whatever he knew would help Mason any. What we needed from him was info on Nova 6.”

“Well…either way, even with what we have…” Hudson took in a deep breath. “It looks like we’re doing this the hard way.”

Adler looked like he was about to respond, opening his mouth, but as if on a cue the door leading down into the room below slammed shut and everyone’s attention was drawn to the source of the noise. Adler saw her first and there was a brief, visible change in his expression. There they were met with the stern expression of Dr. Anderson—the neuropsychologist that had replaced Dr. Smith after she was let go—brown eyes practically burning with righteous fury. She was normally very relaxed and light-hearted, with the patience of Job. But it seemed her patience had run out with their luck and everything else. She wasted no time inserting herself into the conversation. “Like hell you are.”

Hudson sighed, glancing at Adler. Not surprisingly, his expression remained blank and unreadable. Hudson took a step forward. “Anderson—”

“I told you—Dr. Smith told you, for God’s sake—that he wasn’t ready to go back in the field. We told everyone along the chain of command barring the goddamned President,” Anderson said, ignoring him. She didn’t raise her voice. She wasn’t shouting at all. And that’s what made her anger all the more apparent and fierce. She jabbed her finger towards the plexiglass window as she took a few steps forward, using the gesture to emphasize every word. “Weaver told you, Adler told you, Woods told you, I told you…everyone and their dog that worked in the field with him said he needed more counseling, and instead of listening to us and to your gut you just followed your orders. And look where that got you.”

“I don’t have time to argue about what should have been done back then. It’s in the past. We fucked up. What matters is what we do now,” Hudson said, keeping his voice level but matching her tone. She wasn’t exactly wrong, but he couldn’t keep going in circles with people over this. “He’s alive and he’s our last hope. Now, we can do this with or without you, but we’re doing it either way.”

“I’m not going to help you torture my patient,” Anderson said, dropping her arm to her side.

“Then we’re doing it without you,” Hudson said.

Anderson practically balked at the comment. “You do this without me and you could kill him! You don’t even know what half of those drugs do.”

“It doesn’t matter. At this point, anything goes,” Hudson said. He’d gotten too involved in this, even though none of them could afford attachments with so much on the line, but he had to force himself to set that aside for now. “Mason took an oath to defend this country with his life. So did everyone else in this room. If this is how he does it, so be it.”

“This isn’t a choice he’s made. You’ve knocked him out and strapped him to a chair. He didn’t ask to be your test subject,” Anderson argued. “And he can’t talk if he’s dead.”

“I’m well aware of that, but right now we don’t have the luxury of being choosy with our methods. We’ve tried things your way, it didn’t work,” Hudson responded. He took a step forward. “Do you think I’m enjoying this any more than you are? He was compromised in Vorkuta. You were all right about that. You can get your ‘told you so’s out later, but right now we’ve run out of options. There are millions of lives at stake and I have four hours to fix this. I don’t have a choice. One way or another, we’re getting that information out of him tonight. We’re finding out what happened to him and what he knows. I don’t care how we break him, but it’s happening, one way or another.” Hudson took a look around the room as Anderson continued to stare him down. “Look, we’re on the same side here, Anderson. We both want him alive. So are you in or are you out?”

Anderson kept eye contact with him for another second or two before she glanced over at Adler. Weaver was keeping his head down, his eye on Mason, but Hudson figured he was listening in. With the way Anderson’s nostrils were flaring as she kept her temper under control, Hudson half expected her to slap the shit out of him and storm off, but she kept her anger quiet as usual. Her eyes flicked to the window and at Mason’s slumped figure and dug her nails into her arm, quiet. But after a second she conceded, lowering her voice and speaking through gritted teeth. “What do you need from me?”

“You know his head better than any of us do. I need that knowledge. Everything you think can get us into his brain…anything we can latch onto to get through to him. Whatever you’ve got,” Hudson said. He turned to Adler. “I need you to come up with…something. Anything. We need all hands on deck, in case we screw up here. Help Scott, keep Jackson off her back if you can, come up with a contingency…see if you can buy us some extra time or a head start or…something.”

“You’ve got it,” Adler said with a firm nod. He straightened up, shifting, glancing over at Anderson. She gave him the same hard look she’d given Hudson, but her expression shifted and softened for just a second. Adler looked like he was going to say something, then thought better of it, since he cleared his throat and put on a tightlipped expression as he looked between her and Hudson and Weaver. “I’ll check in when I can…keep Scott and I posted. Good luck.”

Adler took off with another nod their way and Hudson watched him go. Anderson watched him go, too, a complicated look on her face. Once the door shut she turned her attention back on Mason in the room down below. Her expression seemed…uncertain. Maybe even guilty. And it was enough to make Hudson wonder if everyone was right. With Woods gone she was probably the only person in the agency that knew what was going on in Mason’s head, and if even she wasn’t sure about this…

He wrestled the doubts down, glancing up at the wall and then to his watch before he reached for the pack of cigarettes in his breast pocket. He pulled one out, along with his lighter, lit one, and took a long drag before he tossed the pack to the desk in case Weaver wanted one. Smoke filled the room and Anderson shifted and stifled a cough. He ignored her, blowing out the smoke in a plume of white. He sighed. Now or never, no more procrastinating. They didn’t have that kind of time to waste. He cleared his throat, taking another drag as his focus was drawn down to Mason’s unconscious form. “All right. Wake him up.”

—

Alex came to with a jolt, flashes of white and red light around him sending a searing pain through his sleep heavy eyes. His mouth was dry, and his body felt light and heavy at once. Like he was going to pass out. Blearily, he gasped for air, his heart pounding in his chest and his blood ringing in his ears.

All at once, his senses were assaulted. Pain rushed through his body, from a splitting migraine to a deep stinging ache in his chest and abdomen, fatigue keeping him heavy. Light made his eyes and the throbbing in his head worse. His neck was killing him. He had to fight to keep his eyes open. The smell of alcohol wipes and bleach mingled and further exacerbated his migraine. He could taste blood from a busted lip, the salt from his own sweat, and traces of some kind of medication, if he had to guess. Something that you didn’t want to taste.

Before he could get his bearings, a distorted voice cut through the silence. “Wake up.” Still too dazed to say anything, almost too dazed to realize he was conscious and someone was talking, his lack of response prompted the speaker to repeat himself more firmly than before. “Wake up.”

“Where—” Out of breath, he took a gasp and swallowed. It was like he’d woken up in a panic, only with more sleep and less adrenaline. That was rare. He tried to move in his seat and get his bearings, blinking and glancing around. It took him only a second to realize he was in a chair, in what looked like an operating room or a lab, and he was restrained by his wrists and ankles. He clenched his fists and began to wriggle his wrists, already fabricating an escape. Wherever he was, nothing good came from stuff like this. He just hoped he had the physical strength for it. “Where am I…?” He looked around. TVs, medical equipment…he was alone. His adrenaline finally kicked in. “Where’s Reznov?”

“There’s no time for that. Right now, the only thing we’re focused on you,” the voice said, but it seemed different this time. He guessed that had something to do with the three silhouettes he could make out in the room above him, probably taking turns talking. So he had an audience. This was an interrogation. One shadow sat, the second stood, and the third paced. The voice spoke again, once again different, through a distorted and stilted accent. “You will answer our questions. Do you understand?”

Alex’s attention snapped to each figure, blinking to try and see through the blinding bluish white glow from behind the window. Tried to figure out who they were. Russians, maybe…? Someone upset about him and Reznov offing Steiner? No, why would they interrogate him? Why not kill him? And why did only one of them have any kind of accent? None of this made any sense. He kept looking between them, trying to make sense of the figures. Trying to make sense of any this. “Who the hell are you?”

“That’s not important,” snapped the voice, and this time it sounded like the first time he heard it. He couldn’t actually tell if all three of these people were speaking to him, or if whatever medications they were pumping him full of were distorting everything around him. Considering the fact that objects in his peripheral vision were wobbling, and he felt like the world was spinning whenever he moved his head, the latter was a very good possibility. Whichever one of them was talking, they certainly were antsy. “What’s important is who you are.”

“The hell do you mean…?” Alex muttered, but if they heard him then they ignored him.

“What is your name?”

Years of military and then CIA training had drilled him with a hundred different protocols. The general rule of thumb for POWs was their name, rank, date of birth, and their service number. Usually their brothers in arms would do everything in their power to negotiate or force their release. But for a CIA operative, everything got a little trickier. The government wouldn’t get involved, his existence would be denied, all other operatives would be withdrawn from the field, and the operation would be scrubbed…he didn’t actually know if they went looking for them or not, but he doubted it. It was just the nature of things. But the protocol was pretty much the same for the prisoner in this situation. No information given that would compromise your allies or your country’s safety. But sometimes regulations just didn’t cut it.

“Fuck you,” Alex said, slow and pointed, stressing each word.

They didn’t miss a beat. “When and where were you born?”

He wasn’t about to give them what they wanted. Although it hurt like hell, he jerked his head up and raised his voice. “Kiss my ass!”

Searing hot pain spread from his chest and rippled through his body, sending jumbled, sharp threads of hot white and red across his field of vision as he squeezed his eyes shut, his throat raw as he yelled in pain. It drowned out the pain from his migraine. It stung. It was sharp and it numbed his fingertips and tingled up along his limbs and down his spine, jerking his body backwards involuntarily. The heat and the pain ceased, but his muscles twitched as his heart rate began to spike irregularly on the monitor behind him…one of those newer, high-tech ones. The steady, slow beep turned into an erratic tempo that drowned out the ringing in his ears.

He swallowed, just as dazed as before, uselessly rolling his head back up and letting it hang again as he gasped for breath. He felt…odd. Like someone was running their fingers along his head and down his back, and he could barely move. A seizure, maybe. They weren’t common for him, not these days anyway. He’d only had a few over the years, and not in a long while now. He’d almost been cured of the worst his neurological issues, but they’d returned full force since his last year in Vietnam…something told him these fuckers had a pretty good idea of that.

As he glared up at the shadows as he regained some control of his body again, one of them continued speaking. “Your name is Alex Mason. You were born in Fairbanks, Alaska on June 3rd, 1940. In 1961 you served in a CIA assassination team known as Operation 40. Is that correct?”

He swallowed, eyes flicking up for a second. They had all the answers. No need for him to say anything.

Unfortunately, not answering them was a mistake. He felt another jolt, crying out with pain as red and harsh whites and grays took over his vision, but it stopped as soon as it started. He gritted his teeth, able to hear his own breathing becoming rough and labored. The interrogators repeated their question, stressing the words as the one that was pacing stopped to lean over the shoulder of the one sitting. “Is that correct?”

He took a breath, forcing himself upright. He wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction. “You…” Alex struggled, squeezing his eyes shut as his pain started to settle. “You tell me…”

The shadow that had been pacing seemed to reel in his anger, pulling back from the desk his friend was sitting at and beginning to pace once more as he ran a hand over his head. They kept talking after a beat or two, though Alex was pretty sure it was more like fifty beats for him, if he was timing it based on his pulse. They swiftly moved onto a different topic. “Where’s the broadcast station?”

“Wh…What?” Alex swallowed, furrowing his brow in spite of his migraine. “The…what?”

“The broadcast station,” they repeated, but it could have been one of the others. When they spoke again, they were a bit more subdued. “The numbers. We know that you hear numbers. Where are they broadcast from?”

“I don’t…” Alex felt a stab of pain down one side of his face, his migraine worsening as the screens in front of him turned on and a series of numbers were read out, flickering across the screens. They were disjointed. No pattern that he could pick out. He fought against the restraints, trying to wrench his arm free, an instinctive move to try and ease the pain. When he couldn’t he gritted his teeth, twisting his head, trying to escape it. His thoughts stopped making sense, too clouded and jumbled from the pain, red numbers seemingly stabbing their way in his head, flickering across his eyelids as he squeezed them shut. He spat, his annoyance rising and his breathing picking up as he jerked his head back up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“The numbers, Mason! Think!” The pacing one stopped again and leaned over once more.

“I don’t know anything about any numbers!” Frustration and confusion took over, the pain in his head spiking and his agitation rising, knowing full well that he was lying through his teeth. Goddammit, he wanted so badly to slam his fist onto something. Wrestling the pain, he wracked his brain for a lifeline. Something to latch onto and keep him grounded on the there and now. “Listen, who the hell are you people?!”

“None of that matters right now,” the voice came again, repeating what he’d said before. A pause, and now the one that had stood off to the side moved closer. Once again, more subdued than the other two, but still distorted and unfamiliar. “We’re not your enemy. Just tell us what we need and we’ll guarantee your safety.” Alex couldn’t even answer before the voice spoke again, just as firm and decisive as before. “Let’s start at the beginning. Bay of Pigs. We know you were there.”

His training and stubbornness kicked in. He shook his head, forcing himself to talk slowly and not let his voice waver. As far as anyone would ever be concerned, Operation 40 didn’t exist. He’d never been there. And even if he didn’t give a damn about the definition of the word ‘classified,’ he sure as hell wasn’t about to give these pricks the satisfaction of an answer. “No—”

If not for the glass between them, Alex was pretty sure he’d have heard a fist slam onto the desk. The sitting and standing shadows seemed to pause as the pacing one raised a fist and slammed it down in a motion that was completely deafened for him, but no doubt startling for the other two. The voice was on the verge of shouting, and although he expected it he still heard his heart rate spiking on the monitor once again. “Do not FUCK with me, Mason!” Alex squinted as the shadow harshly jabbed a finger in some vague direction behind him. “I know when you’re lying!” The voice came again, the one that sounded like it had an accent, and repeated the question. “’61. Bay of Pigs. What happened?”

Alex gritted his teeth, letting out a tired chuckle. “We all got killed.”

“We know you went in with Woods, Bowman, and Adler,” the voice came again, ignoring him.

“Woods…and Bowman…” Fatigue was taking over, his pain making him nauseous. He squeezed his eyes shut. God, he couldn’t even lie and say that he didn’t remember any of this because he did. All of that and more. Woods and Bowman were gone now. And nobody outside of the CIA and their families would ever know they existed. “Fuck, who are you guys?” He winced, wishing whoever they were they would give him an aspirin for his head. “The hell do you wanna know?”

“Everything.” Clearly whoever this was was out of their mind. “Starting with Cuba. Do you remember why you were there?”

Swallowing, his head pounding, he leaned his head back against the chair, the migraine not easing. He felt as though he was overheating. “Castro,” he managed to get out, squeezing his eyes shut. He felt his body go slack. “We went in to kill Castro.”

[thethirdromana]

What little-known book spoke to your SOUL when you were a teen?

I think I first read it when I was 17 or so, so relatively late on in my teens, but the first answer that comes to mind for me on this is Sherston's Progress by Siegfried Sassoon.

I find it baffling how little-known it is, because obviously Sassoon is famous, and it's the third part in a series where the first and second parts - Memoirs of a Fox-Hunting Man and Memoirs of an Infantry Officer - are treated as classics. You can get them in half a dozen different editions, they're on school and university reading lists, etc. Meanwhile, I'm not sure Sherston's Progress is even in print on its own.

Presumably that's because of the part of Sassoon's life that it narrates. Memoirs of a Fox-Hunting Man is about his fun, innocent pre-war life; Memoirs of an Infantry Officer is about his experience of WW1 and his anti-war protest. Sherston's Progress, on the other hand, is about his slow recovery from shell-shock in hospital, his return to war, and his love and hero-worship for the psychologist who treated him, WHR Rivers. It's about him working through his complex feelings about war and protest, and the extent to which he's changed his mind from being the eager young man who signed up to fight as soon as he could in 1914.

What really spoke to me about it is how charming and likeable Sassoon is throughout. I think reading it was the first time I'd read a historical figure, in their own words, and found them relatable. I read it and wanted to be Sassoon's friend. And the sheer amount of yearning that he directs towards Rivers also felt very familiar to me as a teenager.

Here's a passage I utterly loved:

The sea is rather like a Royal Academy picture and the officer-conversations dull beyond description. I don't feel much sympathy for them. (I've felt pretty rotten, though, since Sunday.) But they seem so self-satisfied, with their card-playing and singing "Chu-Chin-Chow", etc. Outside the saloon door one passes from cheap cigarette smoke to what Conrad calls "the brilliant evidence of the awful loneliness of our globe lost in the splendid revelation of a glittering soulless universe". (A bit over-written surely! Must avoid that sort of thing myself.) The Gulf of Taranto was a level steel-blue plain. Low on the horizon, the mountainous coast was like a soft rain-cloud on the sea - a ragged receding line of hills extending to dim capes and shoals which merged themselves in the hazy romance of sunset. This was the last I saw of Italy. On the other side of the ship it was already night, with a full moon dancing on the waves. That was written by me (not Conrad) on Monday evening. But I really must try not to be so bloody serious.

[discar]

HZD Terraforming Base-001 Text Communications Network

Chapter 41 | Prev chapter | Next chapter Chapter Index

FlameHairSavior: WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE NOT READY.

Icarus: An unexpected glitch occurred with the shield breaker device. Such failures are a sad fact of life, as I am sure that you are aware.

FlameHairSavior: You have been

FlameHairSavior: COMPLAINING

FlameHairSavior: about how slow the rest of us are

FlameHairSavior: FOR DAYS.

FlameHairSavior: And now you need more time!?

Icarus: Yes, that is an adequate summary of the situation.

ADMIN [Zo]: I think I can hear her screaming from here.

FlameHairSavior: I'm fine.

FlameHairSavior: I'm just going to find a herd of shell-walkers and pound on them for a bit.

Icarus: Setbacks happen. You simply cannot control every variable. It's something you have to accept.

SilverVixen: It's a common problem with new project leads. They think they have everything under control until they don't.

HIMBO: OH YEAH, I'VE SEEN THAT BEFORE. I THINK IT'S WHY A LOT OF TINKERS WORK ALONE.

SilverVixen: That typically doesn't help.

HIMBO: YEAH, BUT THEY'RE ANTISOCIAL TYPES, SO IT MAKES THEM FEEL BETTER.

ADMIN [Zo]: You do realize you are talking to a woman who hid in a world of her own making for approximately a thousand years.

SilverVixen: The sad part is that I was one of the more social Zeniths. I was no Stanley Chen, but at least I talked to people.

FlameHairSavior: I will kill you all.

DIVINER: You literally can't, though??

FlameHairSavior: Sorry, talking to the shell-walkers.

HIMBO:  SURE YOU WERE.

MARSHAL Kotallo: I am choosing to take this time to review our maps on the Zenith base. We need to be prepared for the worst-case scenario.

DIVINER: Um...

DIVINER: Aren't there like, six worst-case scenarios??

ADMIN [Zo]: I can think of four.

HIMBO: WAIT, I CAN ONLY THINK OF TWO. IF BETA IS ALREADY DEAD THAT'S FIVE KINDS OF AWFUL BEFORE WE EVEN GET TO HOW IT WOULD RUIN THE PLAN. AND WE'RE ALSO SCREWED IF THE SHIELD-BREAKER DOESN'T WORK.

Icarus: Which is why I am working on it now.

ADMIN [Zo]: There's also the possibility that the Zeniths have already fled, or that HEPHAESTUS took over GAIA during the merge.

SilverVixen: We would have noticed the ship leaving.

ADMIN [Zo]: True, but it could still leave before we get there.

SilverVixen: Fair enough.

DIVINER: I'm not AS good as Beta, but I do know something about programming!

DIVINER: I THINK they shouldn't be anywhere close to finishing up HEPHAESTUS and GAIA by the time we get there! And it... PROBABLY isn't possible for it to backfire like that??

DIVINER: [ChidiPainedSmile.gif]

MARSHAL Kotallo: The point is that we need to plan for every eventuality. What do we do if we fail to take down the Zenith shields?

FlameHairSavior: Distract and separate, try to complete the rest of the mission.

Icarus: If I could get to the machine printers, I might be able to fix the problem on-site.

MARSHAL Kotallo: An excellent start.

SilverVixen: Fine, I'll entertain this foolishness. What do we do if Beta is dead?

HIMBO: HEY, HAVE A HEART.

SilverVixen: I'm simply going over the worst-case scenarios, as suggested.

FlameHairSavior: If Beta is dead, then I stop playing nice.

DIVINER: What, uh...

DIVINER: What does that mean in this context??

FlameHairSavior: It means we give Erend and Sylens full access to the printers and see how many weapons they can build.

Icarus: YES!

HIMBO: ...

ADMIN [Zo]: ...

MARSHAL Kotallo: Was that Sylens shouting?

SilverVixen: I heard that from my room.

Icarus: Ahem. I mean...

Icarus: Yes, that seems like a fine backup plan.

FlameHairSavior: Okay... never thought I'd need to tell Erend to make sure someone else didn't blow too much stuff up, but here we are.

MARSHAL Kotallo: And what do we do if the ship leaves before we gain control?

SilverVixen: The only way they could leave this early is if they rushed. That means they should have to leave all their printers and equipment behind.

SilverVixen: Though I suppose they could leave a virus that junks everything so no one else could use it.

FlameHairSavior: Worst-case scenarios. What happens if the Zeniths leave with GAIA and all their equipment?

SilverVixen: We'll have to start over. My home has some minor printers and computers, but nothing compared to even one of GAIA's manufactuaring plants, much less the Zenith printers.

FlameHairSavior: Still, that's something to keep in mind. We can fall back to Tilda's mansion, try to get everything under control from there.

ADMIN [Zo]: Do you think that has any chance of working?

FlameHairSavior: No.

HIMBO: WELL THIS GOT DEPRESSING FAST.

MARSHAL Kotallo: Our last worst-case scenario: What do we do if HEPHAESTUS has managed to take over GAIA?

DIVINER: That will probably be Zo's job!

ADMIN [Zo]: What? Why?

DIVINER: Because you're the only one with experience worshiping a machine intelligence!

SilverVixen: Oh God, that's what it would come down to, wouldn't it? Bow down to the omnipotent AI and hope it doesn't kill us?

SilverVixen: It doesn't work.

DIVINER: Well, my other plan was to yell logical fallacies until it shuts down!

SilverVixen: You watch too much science fiction.

DIVINER: There's no such thing!

Chapter 41 | Prev chapter | Next chapter Chapter Index

[ghostriderslade]

Adventures in the Crab Crotch Nebula Chapter 22 - "A Grand Finale".

Princess O-Mahma Pa-Jhama had merged with the Sun Saphire and was transformed into the living embodiment of light and hope for her homeworld of Saphira. As one, her all-female Space Siren Squad fell to the ground and prostrated themselves in homage to their newly risen queen.

"Gosh," Captain Boomer Thrice said in sheer awe and admiration. "You're as pretty as the newly risen Sun."

"Flatterer." The Space Princess gave an embarrassed smile even as she lit up the entire palace with the soft blue and pink light that radiated from her perfect body.

"We have to get back to the ships and complete the mission." Princess O-Mhama said reminding herself of their stated mission to the home planet of the Crabs.

"Already ahead of you." Boomer spoke into his wrist Space Communicator. "Jimmy, me and some very lovely ladies need a ride. Can you pick us up? Tell the Princesses ship that she is safe with me and she has what they sought. Tell them to start slathering the planet with the Secret Anti-Crabs Space Sauce."

Boomer, Princess Pa-Jhama and the sexy Space Sirens ran from the palace of King Crab Chachaka. The evil crab had slipped away, but he would get soon get his comeuppance with a steady stream of white bacterial ointment squirted from the heads of the twin alliance rockets.

As the group raced on, their path was suddenly blocked by the most horrific giant crab crotch monster they had encountered yet.

"Let 'em have it, ladies." Boomer said, and the Space Sirens began blasting the beast to pieces with their space laser guns. The princess of Saphira and Captain Boomer of Earth heroically joined in the fight. The crab monster was vanquished without any losses.

Boomer led the Princess and the women to the spot where his best friend and first officer, Jimmy Kricut had set their space rocket down.

"All aboard," Jimmy called out as the beautiful ladies jumped onto his open gang plank. Then, when he saw Princess Pa-Jhama in her new celestial form, he nearly fainted. "I've never seen anything as beautiful as you."

"Isn't she something, Jimmy? Nothing like her back in Muenster, Wisconsin."

When everyone was aboard the Secret Space Force Rocket, Jimmy quickly blasted off and got the ship into orbit. The ship struggled to break free of the crab planet's atmosphere.

"Captain." Lieutenant Jimmy called out. "I've got some drag. There's something attached to the main shaft of our rocket."

"Pull up external view cameras, Jimmy. There! Look it's that puss-filled leech, the Crab King himself. But he's grown to giant size and is clinging to our shaft like a tick!"

"Shall I squirt him, sir?"

"By Uranus' hairy eyeball, give him both cylinders, Jimmy!"

Everyone aboard Boomer's rocket cheered with joy and excitement as a giant glob of sticky, white goo shot out of the rocket's ports and splattered all over the King of the Crabs. The crew could almost hear the Crab King scream "nooooooo!" as he was swept off the smooth red rocket and into the cold vacuum of space.

The twin ships from Saphira and Earth joined together and began shooting their collective anti-crab loads all over the planet's atmosphere. Their mission would end the Universal crab infestation and a trillion men and women from a thousand planets would be free of crabs at last.

----

Doctor Spector met Captain Boomer at a little cafe outside the main headquarters of Space Force.

"You did good, son. You saved Earth and the galaxy one again. Are you sure I can't sweet talk you into staying one for one more adventure?"

A stunning young lady, perhaps the most beautiful woman Doctor Spector had ever seen, looked up and smiled at them.

"Eyes over here, Doc." Boomer laughed. "That's my girl. You'll have to get your own."

"Oh ..." Doctor Spector looked back and forth and then whispered, "Princess Pa-Jhama?"

"Shhhhh, Doctor," she smiled again as she came over and took Boomer's offered arm. "Even celestial space princesses need a vacation with their best guy sometimes."

"Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle." Spector whistled. "You kids do deserve some time away."

Boomer tipped his hat as the very handsome couple began to walk away.

Then he stopped and turned and walked back, "ummm, about that other little thing, Doc?"

"All taken care of, Captain." Spector returned the whisper, reassuring his number one asset. "You are not a crab baby daddy. The Crab Queen was lying. She wasn't pregnant."

After Boomer and Princess Pa-Jhama had departed, Spector flipped open his space wrist communicator. "Have the human/ crab hybrid babies ready. I'll be there in 15 minutes. Amazing! The first known examples of two alien species being able to procreate."

Someone spoke back to the Space Force Commander. Spector shook his head.

"No, Captain Boomer need never know about this. Space Force will keep this secret to ourselves. No one one will ever believe such a thing to be real anyway. They would have to be a ridiculous conspiracy nut to even suggest such a thing to the public. No worries. We can experiment in blissful secrecy and build a grand hybrid army. Doctor Spector out."

[autistic-crypt1d]

Warehouse 13 Live Blogging:

Season 2

Ahhh such a cliffhanger!!

S1

Updates:

- Time Will Tell

- that's H.G. isn't it? Or does she get thawed out later?

- seriously Pete?

- "take a whiff" "fudge" XD

- "devil child" PFFFT

- :(

- H.G. is such a cool character

- Mild-Mannered

- Jennifer Keller?!?!?!

- where tf is his partner? Don't they all need to have partners?

- isn't it coffee shop guy?

- yeeeaaaah

- SUPER MYKAAAAA

- WHOLESOME

- Beyond Our Control

- the way Claudia and Artie argue like father and daughter is so fucking funny I love it

- "you're gonna audit me aren't you" "maybe" XD

- "oh god, what'd I do now"

- I don't understand how that's any better. It's still small, it's on a weird surface, and the projector is huge!

- they're so found family AHHHHH

- Age Before Beauty

- Myka is so adorable I love her

- ahhhhhh Claudia's date is PAINFULLLL

- poor girl

- good LORD this woman is dramatic. Stopping and starting wars? Really?

- the fact that the writers managed to write Pete's whole speech completely platonically and so fucking sweet is just AHHHHH

- PFFFFT "wait I came here to talk you out of this, Myka!" XD

- 13.10

- it's the Warehouse 13 / Eureka crossover on the warehouse side!

- nice Job Fargo

- I remember this episode a bit

- he uploaded part of his brain into the computer if I remember right

- those jackets are so cool!!

- PFFFFT HER KICK

- WOO! 2 KICKS!

- Claudia, you have a problem

- :(

- Around The Bend

- aw man this is gonna be a rough episode for Pete isn't it

- "I don't have time for this" XD

- poor Pete :(

- Claudia is such a goober

- Pete is hallucinating hard-core if I remember correctly, I'm guessing because of something he touched in that museum, it would have to be because he "saw" Mrs. Frederic right after

- yeah :(

- For The Team

- Claudia XD

- mood honestly

- oh yeah Artie and this woman like eachother don't they!

- I ship H.G. and Myka so much

- ah yeah totally don't move out of the way, use a grappling hook!

- also, gay

- "keep it. You can owe me" THAT'S FLIRTING NO ONE CANE TELL ME OTHERWISE

- ok you cannot parallel 2 couples with Myka and the note from H.G. and expect me not to ship them

- Merge With Caution

- ooooooh it's shape-shifting not turning invisible isn't it

- body switching? But delayed? Idk I don't remember

- ahhh yeah it is the body swap episode!

- I'm sorry but I really don't like Kelly 😭

- Vendetta

- I forgot Dickinson dies ow ow ow 😭 and like that

- Todd is in Witsec right?

- THEY'RE SO GAY FOR EACHOTHERRRR

- Claudia and Todd both fumbling for their weapons is so funny

- NOOO I HATE CLAUDIA ALMOST CRYING

- Myka was literally about to cry when she thought H.G. was bronze again AHHHH

- Where and When

- ahhhh I remember this episode!!! They lose their memory because Pete and Myka take over their bodies I think!!

- waaaait I think I remember now!! It's the wife killing them isn't it!!

- 😭

- Buried

- "many of my lovers were men" SHE IS GAY!!!

- ahhh I remember a bit about this episode!! H.G. goes full Laura Croft

- that glowy effect they do when the characters are in front of a greenscreen is so silly

- THAT LOOK!!! SHE IS SMITTEN!!!

- ya know, I don't remember if this is the case or not, but I'm thinking that maybe because of this bond, as long as the warehouse is active, the caretaker is kinda immortal. In the sense of not aging at least. That or she was affected permanently by an artifact

- wait... does H.G. die in this??? I don't think she dies but I'm not sure and it's making me anxious

- I'm pretty sure it's Valda who dies though

- if I'm wrong I will cry

- yeah it is :(

- she thinks there's something in there that can bring her daughter back doesn't she :(

- Reset

- my notes got deleted 😭

-my point was, Pete and Mika both lost the person they loved and Myka wasn’t fooled because of her abilities, she fell in love and wanted to believe the best of her!!!

- Secret Santa

- this really takes the momentum out of the last episode

- PFFFT

- Claudia is insane and love her and I live for James's reactions

- "Artie he's dying" "oh for the love of god!" XD

- it's so cheesy but my god I'm tearing up 😭

- cooties XD

- so wholesome I love it

Season 3

[importerofrecord]

How IOR and Amazon Cloud Services are Transforming Storage and Hosting for Data Centers

Introduction of Services Provided by Amazon Cloud

Parallel to the Importer of Record (IOR)'s crucial role, Amazon Web Services (AWS) has completely changed how data centers run and handle their hosting and storage requirements. AWS offers an extensive range of cloud computing services with unmatched efficiency, flexibility, and scalability.

Definition and Responsibilities of Importers

An importer is a person or organization responsible for bringing items into a country from overseas. This process is specifically managed by an Importer of Record, who takes care of the financial and legal obligations related to the import.  including handling necessary paperwork, liaising with customs brokers, and ensuring compliance with various import laws.

What Is Meant By Importer?

Essentially, the importer represents the company in the importing country as its official representative. They ensure that all customs and regulatory requirements are met, which may involve understanding and using the correct ECCN (Export Control Classification Numbers) and HTS codes (Harmonized Tariff Schedule codes) for precise tariff classifications and compliance.

The Role of One Union Solutions

At One Union Solutions, our specialty is offering comprehensive IOR services to expedite the importation process. Our expertise includes managing every facet of global logistics, from overseeing customs brokerage to ensuring compliance with import regulations. By taking on the role of the Importer of Record we streamline the importation procedure by handling customs duties, addressing any issues related to demurrage and drayage, and ensuring all required paperwork is completed. Our services are designed to lower risks, streamline the import process, and guarantee the seamless transfer of your goods across international borders.

Effect on Data Centers

The incorporation of AWS into data centers has revolutionized traditional hosting and storage paradigms by providing increased efficiency and flexibility. Nowadays, data centers can leverage cloud resources to reduce expenses related to physical infrastructure, optimize performance, and rapidly scale operations. Moreover, data is safeguarded and managed by the highest standards, thanks to AWS's secure and compliant environment.

Benefits of Scalability and Flexibility with AWS for Data Centers

Scalability is arguably one of AWS's greatest benefits. Services like Elastic Compute Cloud (EC2) and Simple Storage Service (S3) allow data centers to quickly adapt their compute and storage resources based on demand.

EC2: Provides scalable virtual servers, enabling data centers to adjust their computing capacity on-demand without investing heavily in physical hardware.

S3: Offers highly scalable storage options for managing and storing large amounts of data, from complex analytics to routine backups.

IOR and AWS: A Powerful Combination

The combination of Amazon Cloud Services and IOR services is a powerful tool for optimizing supply chain management. By integrating AWS's reliable cloud infrastructure with our IOR expertise, businesses can achieve unprecedented levels of efficiency and visibility.

Compliance and data security are crucial in today’s digital environment. One Union Solutions ensures adherence to industry standards and robust security measures to protect your sensitive data. By utilizing AWS's advanced security features, we safeguard your data while adhering to stringent legal requirements.

The revolutionary impact of this collaboration is evident through successful engagements between AWS and IOR providers. By merging AWS's scalable technologies with our in-depth supply chain expertise, we offer tailored solutions that accelerate business growth.

Adherence to International Transportation and Logistics Terms

International shipping and logistics agreements align seamlessly with AWS's security and compliance measures. AWS provides a secure and compliant environment that supports global operations for companies needing to adhere to laws related to DDP shipping (Delivered Duty Paid) and understand DAP Incoterms (Delivered at Place). This alignment ensures smoother international transactions by guaranteeing that data handling and storage practices meet global standards.

IOR and Compliance with Customs

Mastering customs procedures is vital for navigating international trade complexities. One Union Solutions excels in offering comprehensive IOR services that ensure smooth customs clearance. Our expertise in managing HTS codes and collaborating with reliable customs brokers guarantees precise product classification and streamlined import procedures.

As the importer of record, we assume full responsibility for adhering to customs regulations. Our understanding of DDP shipping and DAP Incoterms enables us to manage import shipments efficiently, reducing costs and delays.

Amazon Web Services and Optimizing Data Centers

Modernizing data center operations requires leveraging the full potential of Amazon Cloud Services. One Union Solutions assists companies with seamless cloud migration processes, recognizing the importance of an effective data center infrastructure.

By utilizing AWS's capabilities, organizations can unlock the full potential of cloud computing and storage. AWS solutions provide unmatched scalability, flexibility, and cost-efficiency, enabling businesses to enhance their data center operations and focus on their core competencies.

In terms of managing data storage and hosting, the integration of AWS with Importer of Record (IOR) services marks a significant advancement. One Union Solutions plays a crucial role in this shift by providing complete IOR services, including customs brokerage, compliance management, and handling complex import processes.

Conclusion

In conclusion, the integration of IOR services and Amazon Cloud Services offers a compelling proposition for businesses seeking to optimize their supply chain and data center operations. By harnessing the power of both, organizations can enhance efficiency, reduce costs, and mitigate risks.One Union Solutions is committed to delivering exceptional IOR and logistics services. Contact us today for a comprehensive assessment of your business needs and to receive a customized freight quote. Let us help you unlock the full potential of your global operations.

[laurenlavianafamer]

Blog Post #5: Airing My Doubts about Children of Men

The Children of Men is an interesting title, one emphasizing not the role of women but rather the role of men.  It is a film about a world in which infertility has become the world-wide norm—there are no children being born, and the one miraculous child who is born is born not to a man (of course) but to a woman.  The one who will save all of humankind from collapse is not a man wielding weapons, but a woman using the power of birth, the power of the womb, a distinctly female power.  Is this a feminist statement about the idea that women will be saviors of humanity?  Or, is this another iteration of the deeply misogynist idea that women are valuable only, or at least mostly, because of their ability to reproduce?  To be honest, in this film, I see both. And, if the latter interpretation is accurate, then the fact that Kee is a Black woman beings to take on a darker tone, as it recalls the many centuries of oppression that Black women endured being raped, their bodies used for breeding, their bodies considered property, and I worry that the future for Kee and her daughter might not be all that different – The Tomorrow might very well look an awful lot like our past.

Children of Men could be the first chapter of a new rebirth for humankind, one that sees women elevated and one that undoes gender hierarchies of the past.  On the other hand, it is also quite possible that Children of Men is the first chapter of a new world that looks a lot like The Handmaid’s Tale.  What exactly will happen on The Human Project ship the Tomorrow?  Will Kee and her daughter become freer than they were before?  The film assumes so; the audience is asked to assume so too.  But I have my doubts.  Does the power to reproduce give women more political power, or will it end up giving them less of it?  These questions are not really fully answered at the end of Children of Men, but that title…the conspicuous use of the word “Men”…it makes me think that ultimately the answer may very well be the darker, misogynistic one.  Consider that, in the original book Children of Men, it is men who have the infertility problem, not women; but in the film, that is switched…now it is women who are infertile, and there is something problematic to me in that shift, in putting the burden of the world’s infertility onto women.  A world in which a woman’s heroism and value to society comes essentially from her biological fertility is not, to me at least, any great promise of equality at all, in fact, it is quite the opposite—it has all the makings of a patriarchal State in which women’s bodies are owned, controlled, and used, and there are no guarantees that the Human Project will be any different from the oppression and dehumanization Kee is trying to escape.  I know that many see this film as one about hope and faith in the face of apathy and despair; they think it is a film about the possibility of love, faith, and courage in a world so devoid of those very human traits.  Perhaps it is.  But I see a very typical action film merged with a neo-Nativity story (Theo is Joseph and Kee is Mary, she even jokes at one point that she is a virgin) that has its roots deeply set in patriarchal norms and there is no reason to think that any of that will change on the Tomorrow which is, after all, a research facility for infertility.  The film might to some be saying that women are the future; that women are the ones who will provide hope and a future for humanity (it’s feminist message), but to me it is a film saying that in the future, as in the past, women will be valued for their bodies, for their reproductive abilities, and heroism belongs to the men like Theo who ensure the survival of humans with functioning wombs.

[xasha777]

The interstellar cruiser Elysium glided silently through the void of space, a silver bullet traversing the darkness between the stars. Onboard, Captain Lyra Voss stood at the observation deck, her emerald eyes fixed on the glowing expanse of the nebula ahead. Her blonde hair cascaded in soft waves around her shoulders, appearing almost aflame in the dim light of the ship's controls.

Lyra was a legend among the interplanetary colonies. Known for her fearless leadership and unyielding determination, she had guided countless missions through the perils of space. Yet, the journey to the mysterious planet Elysia, rumored to hold the secrets of eternal life, was her most ambitious endeavor yet.

The planet's atmosphere was thick with an exotic element known as Pyronium, which emitted a radiant, fiery glow. It was said that those who harnessed its power could transcend the limitations of mortal flesh, achieving immortality. Lyra had felt the pull of Elysia for years, a deep, unspoken call she could no longer ignore.

As Elysium entered the orbit of Elysia, the crew's excitement was palpable. The planet's surface shimmered with an ethereal light, casting dancing shadows within the ship. Lyra's second-in-command, Dr. Kai Reynolds, approached her, his voice a mix of awe and apprehension.

"Captain, the scans show unprecedented energy readings. The Pyronium deposits are far more concentrated than we anticipated."

Lyra nodded, her gaze unwavering. "Prepare the landing party, Dr. Reynolds. We need to explore the surface and secure a sample."

Descending through the fiery atmosphere, the landing craft touched down on a plateau surrounded by towering spires of glowing Pyronium. As Lyra stepped onto the surface, she felt a surge of energy course through her, as if the planet itself recognized her presence.

The landscape was otherworldly, with rivers of molten light weaving between crystalline formations. The air crackled with energy, and every breath Lyra took seemed to ignite her very soul. She led the team forward, her determination guiding them towards the heart of the Pyronium field.

As they ventured deeper, they encountered an ancient structure, partially buried beneath the glowing surface. The architecture was unlike anything they had seen, with intricate patterns that seemed to pulse with life. Lyra approached the entrance, her fingers tracing the symbols etched into the stone.

Dr. Reynolds scanned the structure, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Captain, this is a repository of knowledge. The data here could revolutionize our understanding of the universe."

But Lyra was focused on something else. A chamber within the structure beckoned her, its door sealed with an energy barrier. As she placed her hand on the barrier, it dissolved, granting her access. Inside, a pedestal held a single, crystalline shard of Pyronium, its light pulsating in harmony with her heartbeat.

She reached out, and as her fingers closed around the shard, a wave of fire erupted, engulfing her in a brilliant blaze. Yet, she felt no pain. Instead, the flames seemed to merge with her, infusing her with a power beyond comprehension.

Emerging from the chamber, Lyra stood transformed. Her hair flowed like molten gold, and her eyes blazed with an inner fire. The crew stared in awe, recognizing that their captain had become something more than human.

"Captain," Dr. Reynolds whispered, "what have you become?"

Lyra smiled, feeling the energy of Elysia coursing through her veins. "I am the flame of Elysium, the guardian of its secrets. With this power, we will transcend the boundaries of space and time."

As the crew prepared to return to Elysium, Lyra knew that their journey was far from over. With the power of the Pyronium, they would unlock the mysteries of the cosmos, forging a new destiny for humanity among the stars.

[jorjacrafts]

One day Project

In the midst of our current brief, we were given a mini project to complete called the One Day Project. This was proposed to determine our speed and capability to produce ideas. This was to test our ability to work under a tight schedule and aid practises for potential clients. We were only asked to work on this no longer than a day and we were given a specific article to redesign. This was from a journalist site called SuperCluster.com which holds a range of very interesting articles so I felt very challenged when given this specific article. 'Organ Transplants and Sushi Deliveries From Anywhere On Earth' This project defiantly stretched my imagination and tested my procrastination habits. We were also told to consider the rate/ value of our work in the 10 hour deadline. It's important to consider and imagine how much as a designer to charge a client. If this is a 10hour piece, we should consider our value of time and the value of the work projected against our chosen hourly rate.

This was my initial design, which actually took around 3 hours to conclude, which is awful time management. When looking at the article, I was struggling to produce ideas out of the existing article on the site. I liked the imagery which are designed by David Kramer and Elias Grau. The glitches are and interesting electronic take to aid the story well and I felt like the article was fine as it was. It took me a long time to get the ball rolling but when I did, this was my first result. I merged 3 images of the said ship and used a textured image to filter over the images. I thought it would be interesting to modular the images and use cut out shapes of the design and spread across the whole editorial spread. Looking back at this design, alongside the existing one I had redesigned, they feel complexity the same as the article. Which is why I had scrapped this idea. The problem began when I because more focused on the visual goal than to start with my visual narrative. When redesigning, I began to think about my aims for the article reader and how I want them to interpret the piece. This helped me design a new piece of work a little more appropriate to my style of work.

[caprindo]

2. The Warp is, in essence, hell. The most helpful analogy I can make is that it’s an awful lot like the minecraft nether, in that it’s an unearthly landscape that’s great for faster travel between points but requires significant infrastructure to use and has all sorts of pit falls. From a more in-universe perspective, the warp is the psychic manifestation of the collective unconscious of all currently living and previously living beings within the galaxy, that loosely correlates to the material realm without necessarily being 1:1. That is, points in the warp loosely correlate to points in real space, you can consistently enter the warp from a location and navigate to a different point an expect to be loosely in the same place as the last time you made the journey. In past times, the warp was relatively “calm,” meaning that travel through it and interaction with it was broadly safe and easy. A few historical events, most recently the destruction of Cadia, and most importantly the birth of Slaanesh, have caused the warp to “breach” into realspace, merging the two realms together in a way that very much favors the warp. This is the most common way for chaos to invade the mortal realm, literally coming through holes in the walls of reality. The big, permanent breaches tend to be due to planetary or interplanetary rituals that are intended to bring the warp here, typically to allow daemonic reinforcements to assist mortal chaos forces. Smaller breaches can be caused by unskilled or unlucky psykers, the will of chaos gods, or random chance. Now, when I say “psychic manifestation of the collective unconscious,” it’s worth digging into what exactly I mean. Being a psychic manifestation means that while the warp is a literal place, you can stand in it, it’s also a reality more informed by emotion and metaphor than physical law. It’s not uncommon for a ship to leave the warp a year before it entered it, or for the same voyage between two systems to take 10 times longer than it did before. Navigating through the warp, even with the aid of technology, takes an incredible amount of will, and it’s considered a superhuman feat to even be able to consider some of the truths of the place. Being a manifestation of the collective unconscious means that it is largely informed by the grand scale emotions and impulses of the universe. So, if you get a whole bunch of really sad people together, that triggers a mirror effect in the warp like mass triggers gravity in our dimension. In the abstract, this holds true for every emotion and impulse. Healthy sexuality and competition should be as powerful as depravity and bloodlust. However, two factors have converged to make the warp a largely negative place.

One, although the warp mirrors our reality, it doesn’t just do that. Powerful negative emotions leave an imprint - like a ghost - even after the person stops feeling them or dies. That imprint can gain a limited sort of sentience, and become a warp entity. Powerful enough warp entities can become almost like a self-sustaining weather system, separating from the event that formed them and manipulating realspace and those sensitive to the warp to empower them. One theory for the origin of Khorne, the god of mindless bloodlust, is that he was formed from the murder of Abel by Cain, and became sentient during the bloodshed of the middle ages. Whether or not that’s true is hard to say, and other theories posit that he came around during the War in Heaven between necrons and Eldar. Because warp entities can act of their own volition, but according to their origin, negative warp entities like rage and fear tend to consume positive warp entities like hope and generosity, because rage is inherently more aggressive and hope has fewer defenses (in setting, anyways). This has created a tendency for the biggest powers (gods) in the warp to also be the baddest (bloodshed, despair, excess, conspiracy).

Two, reality fucking sucks in WH40k. Most humans believe that the only reason they’re alive is because their god is eternally torturing himself on a makeshift contraption that was supposed to lift the species into the next golden age, and in order to do that he needs to be surrounded by the slim amount of humans who can channel the warp, being tortured. The grand empire before theirs, the Eldar, fell so hard it awakened a god that will devour all of their souls when they die, and now all of them either have to torture living souls in order to survive or live like monks to avoid having their soul sucked out of them. The defining historical event for the modern setting is half of the surviving god-like supersoldiers who were genetically created to serve humanity deciding that, actually, the four mega-satans are the superior moral authority, and a good number of fans agree with them. So the collective unconscious of all living beings is usually somewhere between actively suicidal and hyperactively homicidal.  All of this is to say, the warp is a ridiculously bad place that not just reflects every unspeakable impulsive thought you and every ancestor of yours has, but it actively encourages you to do them. Also, it’s the only reliable way for humanity to get food to your planet, and at any time, someone’s head could explode and stain reality with whatever they were thinking about at the time. Which leads me to psykers. In the groundbreaking “hole suck theory” put forward by one of the most popular lore podcasts about the setting, psykers are described as being able to stick a straw from our reality into the bottom of the ocean that is the warp. The problem is, that’s a lot of pressure, so even a small hole has the risk of letting all sorts of water with nasty shit in. The more “powerful” a psyker is, the bigger a hole they can open up. But the bigger a hole they open up, the more likely something like a whole ass shark, or a magic shark that makes everyone catch polio, slips through. A well trained psyker, however, can suck harder. Sucking harder means they can get more “oomph” out of a smaller hole, so it’s less risky. Not completely risk free, just less. Certain things can predispose someone to sucking harder, like being an elf or thinking the emperor is cool, which is why Space Marine psykers are slightly more reliable, and chaos sorcerers are always on about special artifacts. Further Reading: Chaos Gods Realms of Chaos Chaos Undivided Horus Ruins Thanksgiving Top Ten Reasons You Should Let Humanity into The Webway (Number 9 will surprise you!) Why the Thousand Sons Deserved Better

Hey, you seem to know about warhammer 40k right? I have a simple question about it. What are the basic factions? I want to get into the lore, but I don't even know of anything other than the imperium of man. Could you please help me? (This is an invitation to infodump btw)

Oh my god someone ASKING me to infodump??? This website is amazing ok so

The Imperium of Man is the biggest one, and the one most people know. A whole lot of humans who worship an emperor who may or may not be alive as a god, most live in huge hive cities on planets loosely held together by nightmarish bureaucracy and fascist cruelty. Space marines, Sisters of Battle, The Inquisition, all them. They’re led by a council of lords from earth, and as a rule genocidally hostile to anything that isn’t an emperor worshipping human. Tied to the Imperium is the Adeptus Mechanicum, an allied faction obsessed with ancient technology based out of mars. They worship a machine god and try to replace their own body parts with implants as much as possible, in addition to maintaining colossal war robots called titans.

The Chaos Gods or Ruinous Powers are 4 warp beings so powerful they have become able to spread their influence into real space, and have become immensely influential by doing so. Their societies are generally made up of corrupted humans and demons (manifestations of tiny fragments of a particular god) and exist primarily to spread the power of the warp. The four are Khorne, god of war/violence (and the blood god of skull throne fame), Nurgle, god of life in the bacterial sense, Slaanesh, god of excess, and Tzeentch, god of ambition. They were the Imperiums main threat for a long time and caused the state of decay it is now in.

The Eldar or Aeldari are space elves. They live a long time, control warp magic better, and some of them can see the future. They were once the dominant power in the galaxy, but their society was corrupted by excess in post-scarcity and they gave birth to slaanesh, killing most and destroying their home worlds. The three surviving groups were those who avoided the disaster - the Craftworld Eldar who had flown away on huge ships, preserving their way of life through discipline, the Dark Eldar or Dhrukari who escaped into pocket dimensions and preserved their way of life through torture orgies, and the Exodites, who had already fled to custom planets populated with beautiful nature and dinosaurs.

There are the Tyranids, an impossibly vast galactic invader hive mind that just wants to consume everything it finds. Mostly just Zerg type space bugs, but they do have “gene stealers” that infiltrate human planets and create cults designed to destabilize before an invasion.

The Necron were once the most powerful beings in the galaxy, slept for 60 million years on tomb worlds, and are just now waking up to recreate their empire. They are soulless killing machine robots for the most part bc of some ancient mythological trickery, but the few nobles with personalities are typically pretty funny.

The T’au are a relatively minor faction that get a lot of attention because they are so unique - they are technologically advancing, which is rare, and tolerant of other species in their society, which is UNHEARD OF. They aren’t very big, but they get a lot of fanfare because (they’re cool) they figh alongside humans and other alien species as the only diplomats in the galaxy.

The Leagues of Votann are space dwarves - they’re also very new, and have not been well established. They are led by ancient AI that knew everything but is now going senile, and have a grudge book they hold forever.

There are also thousands of rogues, one of planets, strange ancient enemies, etc. these are just the big ones.

Feel free to ask if you have specific questions :)

I love talking about this shit

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Merging multiple species into society

( Don’t forget to come see my on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord )

Across the landing field the ground crews were in frantic motion. Landing pads that had been used as temporary supply dumps were cleared, refugees and civilians were moved up for transport off world, and for the first time in seven months the Galaxian base commander braided his face tentacles.

From his office overlooking the entire compound, Commander Zavar kept watch of the progress from the corner of his eye while his main focus was on the mirror in front of him. Carefully observing his reflection he intertwined the several dozen chest length tentacles that grew just beneath his jaw into elegant patterns.

He hadn’t bothered to for the last few months as the braiding of tentacles was meant to show a sign of respect. A Galaxian with unbraided tentacles was essentially stating that whomever they spoke with they held them in low regard. Zavar hadn’t braided them for some time as he felt no need to show signs of respect to anyone under his command.

It had been months since the landing base was established with the intent to use it as a jumping off point in new offensives. When Zavar had been given command he felt that he would be helping bring an end to this bloody conflict by maintaining such a crucial facility. Yet just as the offensive was about to begin their enemies decided to launch a massive counter offensive on an entirely different continent. In short order the manpower which had been set aside for the Galaxian offensive was pulled away to mount a rapid defense and halt this no enemy offensive.  

One by one troop ships stopped coming to his base and requested materials became increasingly diverted to other theaters of the war until finally this once crucial launching point became nothing more than a gas station for passing supply ships.

He grimaced as he made a wrong twist while braiding remembering his degrading morale and the effect it had on those under him. The drive that had once fueled Zavar was sapped away by months of repetitive supply transfers and paperwork, and this soon turned to ever laxening of base discipline among the work crews. When Zavar’s second in command came to him with information that several of the crews had taken an abandoned storage building and had turned it into an entertainment club of sorts, all he did at the time was put on his military cap and take a walk over to it for a drink himself.

That had all changed last night when in the middle of darkness moon Zavar had received an offworld communication from central command. After weeks of careful negotiation the human government they had agreed to join the war effort on the Galaxian side. A substantial force of at least four of their divisions had already arrived in system and would be sending down a battalion of 500 soldiers to further secure and expand Zavar’s base.

Within moment of the calls end Zavar had ordered all of his crews to standby and began issuing orders with renewed fire. As Zavar finished braiding his tentacles and looked out across his base he saw all of the landing pads had been cleared, and with moments to spare.

A loud rumbling could be heard and Zavar could feel the room slowly vibrating as he looked to the clouded skies.

Breaching through the murky grey clouds that had covered the sky for weeks Zavar saw a human landing craft. It was a bulky black mass of metal with a design reminiscent of an overweight bird Zavar thought as it slowly descended towards the base. He was slightly disappointed in the lacking design aesthetics of the human craft, but he had remembered that these transports were designed for carrying large amounts of troops to safe areas rather than enemy held landings. Zavar watched it for a few moments more before leaving his office and making for the landing pads.

It was a short ride from his office to landing pad three were Zavar met his second in command already waiting with a small detachment of honor guard. He exited the vehicle just as the landing craft set down sending gusts of wind out from the engines as they slowly died down.

As Zavar took his place at the head of the honor guard the loading door of the transport popped open with a loud thud and began to lower.

He had heard stories of humans before, how they were great warriors of the highest caliber, that their reflexes were heightened to such a level in the heat of battle they could see an enemy from miles away, that they could lose limbs and heal after a period of time only to forge new ones and return for more combat; truly these beings would bring a swift end to this war.

The ramp finally touched the surface of the landing pad and Zavar could finally see inside of the transport. What he saw rather surprised him however…..

At the top of the ramp stood several ranks of human soldiers dressed in combat gear, but at the head of them was a uniformed Kliptec; their serpent body draped across the decking of the craft.

Zavar cast a side long glance at his second who looked as dumb founded as Zavar was feeling before looking back at the Kliptec. Their upper body was humanoid in shape, yet they bore more hallmarks of a reptile. Scaled skin, slit like eyes, sharpened fingers, and in place of feet was a roughly six foot long tail.

As the Kliptec slithered down the ramp towards Zavar and the front ranks of humans followed Zavar was greeted by further confusion. Mixed in with the humans soldiers Zavar noted several other species not native to the human worlds.

A Draxic casually stomped forward with the ranks appearing to carry some form of heavy weapon casually over their shoulder, a Flinchestet with a communication device glided across the decking as if its limbs could not be bothered to touch the floor, a Valmorian with a red cross painted across their helmet stood alongside a Combra whose face had been ritually scared for the coming battles; but most surprising of all was the towering figure at the very back of the transport.

A hive warrior drone draped in the uniform of humanity. It held no weapon between its claws but Zavar was positive it would have no need of such a device to rip through the lot of them. Some of the honor guard made let out whimper of fear and one even went so far as to start to bring their weapon to bear.

With only a look Zavar’s second command was at the guard’s side and snatched the weapon from his hands in a single motion.

“Be. Calm.” Those two words were all he said to the guard before returning to his place next to Zavar, the weapon he had taken from the guard clutched at his side.

His men looked at their commander with silent awe as they saw Zavar look unphased at the sudden turn of events. Instead of humanity’s reinforcements they appeared to have been given a cavalcade of species that had once fought against humanity. In truth Zavar was deeply concerned about this development, but the one thing keeping him from panicking was his observations of the actual human soldiers present.

Their eyes lacked a sense of fear one would normally experience when coming upon something, or someone, so unnatural to themselves. They were alert and disciplined which was all that Zavar needed to know to reassure him that things were as they should be.

The Kliptec finally slithered in front of Zavar and gave a crisp salute which Zavar returned with a bow of comradery.

“Lt. Colonel Reginal Seth of the 17th Engineer battalion.” the Kliptec said.

“Base Commander Zavar Hatsval,” Zavar replied as he motion to his second, “and my second Xixvil Nog, of the Galaxian expeditionary force.”

“I must admit,” Zavar began as the column of forces began marching past the trio, “when I heard we were getting human reinforcements I was not expecting this.”

Reginal’s sighed and rolled his eyes as if he had heard that same statement a thousand times before.

“Our military allows anyone to enlist so long as they were born within our borders.” he stated as he turned to see his soldiers march by to the storage facilities. “It is an efficient system to use every natural resource available to your advantage, so why limit to a single species military?”

“We do not ask others to fight in our stead.” Xixvil spoke as he watched several humans walk by.

“And how has that turned out for you here?” Reginal said as his serpent mouth twisted to a half grin. “Because from where I am it looks like we’re here to fight in your stead.”

Xixvil’s mouth dropped open in shock before morphing into one of anger while Reginal continued smirking. Zavar thought he was about to see his second lash out when the hive drone he had seen before marched over to them.

It stood easily twice as high as a Galaxian and three times as high as the human soldiers around it. Its collection of eyes were constantly darting around randomly as if trying to observe everything at once while it hovered over the trio. It slowly opened its mouth to reveal rows of sharpened teeth as it surprised Zavar once again.  

“Dro…..go…..where?”

In all of his life in the Galaxian military he had never heard of a hive drone capable of speech. In the past the Galaxian’s had fought several wars with the Hive and at every encounter the drone warrior caste was found to be near mindless killing machines without a queen’s control. To hear one speak in a language he could understand, let alone in broken sentences was enough to end the careers of several Galaxian biologists.

“Report to Sgt Morris, Dro.” Reginal said as if the tower beast of flesh and chitin before him was just another average soldier.

The drone’s eyes stopped twitching for a moment as if concentrating before continuing “Morris…..yes…find…Morris….going….now…sir.” It tilted a blade like appendage which took a moment for Zavar to realize it was saluting Reginal which the Kliptec swiftly returned.

“Carry on Dro.”

With that the drone shambled off after the majority of humans who had left the landing zone leaving only a few behind to begin unloading the battalion’s equipment. Reginal turned to them and handed them a data pad. “Once our gear is unloaded we will begin expanding the landing fields by three additional pads. After that we’ll start reinforcing the outer perimeter walls and compound infrastructure.”

Zavar took the data pad and began going over the details while Xixvil continued to watch Dro walk away.

“I do not mean to be rude, but why did you call that drone “Dro”?” Xixvil asked once the drone was far enough away.

Reginal shrugged, an oddly human gesture for such an alien being, before answering “That’s his name; Dro Harris.”

“It was my understanding that hive drones lacked the capacity to develop individuality.” Xixvil continued as he watched the drone in the distance stop in front of a humanoid looking figure before following them into a storage bay.

“Normally they aren’t able to, but humans have this strange ability to impart personalities into beings should they stay around them long enough.”

Both Zavar and Xixvil looked at Reginal dumbfounded.

“Are you serious?” they asked, to which Reginal simply nodded.

“One of his parents fought in the human hive wars and took an egg back as a trophy. Turns out it hatched and they decided to raise him as their son.”

“I can’t imagine humans reacted well to a hive drone in their midst.”

To their surprised Reginal shook his head. “From what he’s told me he used to be a successful actor before he enlisted; he was popular in fast food commercials.”

“Now I know you are making things up.” Zavar cut in, unable to believe what he was hearing.

“Humans do weird things like this all the time,” Reginal said, “they act distant at first but once they warm up to you the majority of them will welcome you with open arms and treat you like kin.”

He stretched out his arms so Zavar and Xixvil could get a good look at him.

“People assume humans are barbaric isolationist xenophiles, and while it is true there are some of them out there they do not make up the entirety of humanity.”

“There are humans that will sit down with complete strangers and within an hour be closer than brothers with them, humans that will drop everything to come help you even when there is no benefit to themselves, humans that will check up on you just to see if you are alright.”

“It’s weird but at times it’s almost as if humanity has been sick of just knowing only humans and will throw themselves at anything different just so they can experience something new, something exotic and exciting.”

Reginal looked at the two Galaxians as they took in what he had to say and shook his head. He gave a quick salute and then slithered after his men as the heavy equipment began rolling off the transport leaving the Galaxians in the dust.  

[leianaberrie]

You know im all for an irredeemable villain. I just feel like Kai was the wrong character to do that with. I just can’t comprehend the lack of logic that went into giving him feelings and remorse and a sad childhood only to be like “nah actually he’s irredeemable piece of trash and you’re crazy if you fell for our multi-episode redemption arc.”

It would’ve been more acceptable if he had came from a loving home that he grew up to slaughter anyway.

And if after he merged he only got more thirsty for power and violently vengeful against his coven. And did everything he can to keep Bonnie trapped cause he was threatened by her release.

But like instead they make it clear he comes from an abusive coven. And unloving parents. Instead they make him play a pivotal role in Bonnie’s escape from 1994. Then make him desperate to apologize to her.

Like these writing choices are baffling to me. To write that for a character who’s always meant to be this irredeemable awful person. Makes no sense.

And i still believe Containment had fuck all to do with that. I think Plec didn’t like Kai getting so popular. She barely wrote episodes that season and was focused more on TheOriginals during that time. She saw him getting very popular and heavily shipped with Bonnie and sealed Kai’s fate. Yes I believe that’s what really happened.

And I will die on that hill.

Everything you said in this post is 100%.

Kai was the wrong villain to push the Irredeemable Archetype because the narrative gave him a sympathetic back-story. And... insanely ... kept giving him that same back-story when he returned in season 8.

It's just funny because the villain that was built up to be irredeemable despite relatively happy/privileged circumstances was Damon. And the show had to walk back on all his established back-story to make him out as a victim.

[siremasterlawrence]

Multiverse Of Master Lawrence - Conclusion

Part 1

Superman took the sky on my command he is soaring through space.

His air bubble blows apart as he speeds our

furthermore.

He stops in the middle space coming in to contact with a spaceship.

He uses his palm to place a hold on it stop it from moving anywhere past him.

He uses his eyes to create a hole with his eyes.

Flying in to space ship he shoots up break in from the floor to the ceiling.

“Who dares to cross and enter my ship?”

“My name is Superman”

“What do you desire?”

“I claim you in the name of The Court of Lawrence.”

“Get off my name ship now”

“You are coming with me”

One hand in grasp he takes off holding The Captain Kirk by the collar.

I can feel his mental waves connect to me as my body falls in to slumber.

I wake up in space with ability to breath due to my magic abilities.

I snap my fingers creating a trace of a blue print expanding.

The construction takes flight bringing the concept to reality,

A ship is born we hope on heading to the nether reaches.

“Black Bolt King of Inhumans”

“Great! Nice to meet you”

“Will you follow or fight?”

“Stare in my eyes”

“Sleep”

“Can’t fight me”

The Black Bolt knees in total surrender to me with orders.

He stood up standing next to me awaiting my orders as expected.

I par his back with a smile as he hold me even tighter.

“Kill them”

“Save us”

“Decimate”

Back in my realm on earth a beacon alert alarm system rings.

I am off my throne to see a portal opening up in front of me.

Out walks Reed Richards white hair in all with this face.

Johnny Storm exist by his side leaning on him in jest.

“Enough you too”

“We are here to put a end to your reigns”

“You kill my sister”

“Boo hoo boo”

“What?”

Part 2

- Snap -

I clap my hands in a symphonic wave that will cause the floor to light up.

“Chris”

“Take a dive”

“In to the water”

“Why?”

“For your present”

“Drop him”

“Yes Master”

“Aaaahhhhh”

Chris falls through the water in to the new dimension soaking wet.

A long shadow of a man stares down the alley way he drops.

He rose to his feet meeting him face to face with love.

“Who are you?”

“Josh Dallas”

“No I am “

Chris touches his shoulders forcing his mind in to his.

Josh attempts to fight him only for the gate to open.

Chris feels the flood of memories merge with his.

A fan of his new show Josh willingly accepts his new programming.

He wakes up in awe of his king knees down under him.

“Prince Philip of Sweden is here”

“What really?”

“Yes Master”

“Introduce me”

“Hell my Name is “

“Prince Philip”

“I know”

“I am Chris”

“Lovely to meet you”

“Take my hand”

“Yyyyeeeessss”

“Who am I?”

“My Prince”

“What can I do for you?”

“How may I serve you?”

“Get me these two guys”

A day later Adam Charlton is mindless and empty.

He is being cart wheeled in to the main room of the venue.

“I am here to obey”

Kirill Khudaev is super hot bodybuilder type in to submission.

“Do you like it?”

“Submit to me”

“Do as I say “

“You will obey “

“As you wish”

The end