#then cross Another 5 lanes of high speed traffic

[thateclecticbitch]

[lauratheghost]

My trip to Montreal

& the Sleep Token show

(long post below)

The Trip:

I went with my sister, who did the driving. The drive there was awesome. We left at 5:30 a.m. and there was no traffic at all. The border took five minutes. We laughed at the "warning Canada ahead" sign (that was like five feet in front of the border 😂)

It was like an hour of driving through massive farms before we reached the city? Idk why but I didn't expect the farms.

Driving in Montreal was another story. It was terrifying 😭 I have car anxiety in general but it was so stressful. It made traffic in Boston not seem so bad. The way the lanes were marked was confusing to us, and some of the signs were also confusing. We hit a speed bump going crazy fast because we had no idea what the sign meant and the actual bump on the ground wasn't yellow (now it seems obvious though, ok 🤷🏼‍♀️😂) and the buses drive crazy fast and one cut us off and almost hit us.

Our phones didn't work as soon as we crossed the border. We tried to add a global package to our plans but it still didn't work. This was only a major problem because we needed GPS. If we missed a turn we would have to find a Harvey's or Starbucks or something to get their wifi and reroute. It took us a long time to get to Laval 😂

Once we got to the hotel we parked the car and didn't use it again until we left. But we took taxis and that was cool! I don't think I've ever taken a taxi before and the drivers were really nice.

We loved our hotel and we could see Place Bell from our window. The area was so nice, and very clean for a city. It feels like Laval is an up-and-coming city because of all the construction we saw, and our hotel was also new apparently.

Everything was so cheap? The lattes I bought were like $6 CAD so $4.40 USD. In my hometown, lattes are double that. All the food and snacks were such a good deal. I stopped obsessively checking my bank account after a while because everything seemed so inexpensive 😂 (Also, I'm a cheap person so this is saying something lol)

It was more of a culture shock than I expected. I knew it was going to be a lot of French but I guess I didn't grasp the reality of that until I was there. Thank God I took french in high school. I could not really hold a conversation, but I could read some signs and menus and kind've get the jist of what people were saying to me.

Everyone was so kind and helpful. We asked a lot of strangers questions and they were all very nice. I only had two small experiences with rude people (and I laughed about it)

Crosswalks were also a bit scary lol. It was weird that some cars still go when the crosswalk button goes off. In my area, all directions of traffic stop while people cross.

My hotel was 50 % people with Sleep Token shirts and 50 % hockey players 😂

We LOVE Tim Hortons 😍 Their iced mocha latte was amazing. I wish I had one in my town now.

Three days went by so fast! It felt like one day.

We went to Mount Royal Park, the Cosmodome, the Biosphere, and La Rhonde. I rode the ferris wheel even though I'm scared of heights. I think my heart stopped for a second but the view was beautiful. 😂🥰

Some random things we noticed- nobody really wears jeans or Crocs 🤷🏼‍♀️😂 everyone dresses a bit nicer. And we didn't see any cops besides event security the entire time we were there, which is unheard of in Massachusetts, I see cops drive by twenty times a day everyday probably. There were lilacs everywhere which I loved. So many people biked- it made me want to be more healthy and active. Public transport seemed very available and I'm jealous of that because public transport where I am is trash.

Can you drink in public? Idk, but we saw a guy drinking a twisted tea while casually crossing the road lol.

The Show:

People were lined up starting around 7 pm the night before 👀

At 5:30 a.m. there was maybe ten or fifteen people camped out with tents and everything. I applaud their dedication, but I could never 😭

I kept an eye on the line and once the merch stand opened I went over and bought a shirt beforehand. I got a t-shirt with the tour dates on it 🖤

The line system seemed really unorganized. Nobody knew what line went where. Besides that, getting inside was easy and I liked the venue.

Our seats had a good view, but we were so high up it made me a bit anxious. It was a little hard to see III because of the fog/lights, and Espera was kind've blocked by a light fixture, but I had a great view of IV and II which made me really happy 🥰

ESB's opening set: So, they are not exactly my cup of tea BUT I don't think they deserve the hate they've been getting. My only problem was that the singers scream sounded the same over and over. I wasn't sure if he was saying the same phrase or not, but it made every song sound the same. They did have some good moments though! There was a moment where he screamed lower/more gutteral and I liked that more. There was also a moment where the guitar and instruments sounded really cool but I can't explain it. I was glad to see they had a little mosh pit going too.

Sleep Token was amazing as expected. I'm forever in awe of how good Vessel sounds live. I was so happy I could see II good too, I loved watching his little dances and hand gestures. I saw III do his little swimming motion and he did get a pit! A pretty big one too from what I saw. I didn't expect them to hand out drumsticks and stuff so early, because they didn't play TMBTE or Euclid yet- but they were just doing that fake-out encore thing I guess. 😂

I love the diversity of the fans at their shows- all types of people and all ages and it's so nice to see 🖤 The guy sitting beside me did not look like someone I would expect to listen to Sleep Token, but he was singing every word and recording all the same parts of their songs as me 😂

After the show I got to meet @shatterthefragments !!! It was so great, and they made awesome ST keychains- I will treasure mine forever 🖤

I still haven't really processed any of this yet because after the show I was constantly busy- between packing up and doing the few last things we wanted to do in the city, and then driving five hours back home. There's videos and pictures from this weekend that I haven't even looked at yet. I will definitely post some videos or photos here soon though

Overall, I give this trip a 9/10

I'm so glad I impulsively bought tickets and got my passport renewed. It was so fun and it makes me wanna travel more in the future. 🖤

[cheryfan]

Why The Chery Tiggo 8 Pro 1.6L SUV Is An Exceptional Drive

12 Reasons It Delivers The Safest And Most Stress-Free Drive

One of the most crucial aspects in the car-buying decision is safety—especially at a time when people are revenge-travelling and going back to face-to-face work and school.

And we’re not talking about your basic seatbelts, airbags, ABS, and crumple zones. We’re talking about features that will actively protect you and your loved ones by helping avoid or eliminate the risks that can lead to accidents. These are state-of-the-art smart features that will not only help prevent accidents before they happen, they actually help direct you away from situations that can lead to an accident.

This is why Chery has loaded its 7-seater midsized SUV for sale, the Tiggo 8 Pro 1.6 Turbo, with no less than 12 Advanced Driver Assist Systems (ADAS).

1. Rear Cross-Traffic Assist —RCTA alerts you when another vehicle is approaching you just as you reverse out of a parking space

2. Blind Spot Detection—BSD notifies you if a vehicle is approaching your blind spots on either side of your car

3. Autonomous Emergency Braking­—AEB automatically activates the brakes once it detects an obstacle and doesn’t receive any braking inputs from the driver

4. Door Opening Warning—When DOW detects an oncoming car from behind as you or your passengers are about to go down from the car, the DOW automatically issues an alert

5. Forward Collision Warning—FCW detects objects ahead and alerts the driver for potential collisions

6. Adaptive Cruise Control—ACC automatically adjusts your vehicle’s speed depending on the speed and distance of the vehicle in front

7. Lane Keeping Assist—LKA helps the driver remain inside the marked lanes, which comes in handy during drives with low visibility or when temporarily blinded by other cars’ high beams

8. Traffic Jam Assist—TJA serves as an extension of cruise control, but works in slow-moving traffic for enhanced comfort in gridlock situations. It will autonomously accelerate and brake the vehicle in traffic.

9. Integrated Cruise Assist—ICA constantly measures the distance to the vehicle in front of you in real-time and automatically maintains a safe distance

10. Intelligent High-Beam Control—IHBC automatically adjusts the headlights to maximize vision even on poorly lit roads

11. Lane Departure Warning—LDW alerts you via an audible alert and force feedback when your vehicle inadvertently drifts to another lane—very helpful when the driver’s alertness is impaired due to fatigue or other factors

12. Traffic Sign Recognition—TSR alerts you when your speed exceeds that of posted speed limits

Over and above these 12 Advanced Driver Assist Systems, this Chery Tiggo 8 for sale offers an Anti-lock Braking System (ABS), Electronic Brakeforce Distribution (EBD), Electronic Stability Program (ESP), Traction Control System (TCS), Hill Assist Control (HAC), Hill Descent Control (HDC), Tire Pressure Monitoring System (TPMS), and ISOFIX child-seat tethers, among others.

With all these smart safety features and Advanced Driver Assist Systems (ADAS), the new Chery Tiggo 8 Pro 1.6 Turbo for sale is convincingly one of the safest automobiles on the market.

The Tiggo 8 PRO 1.6T is made even more irresistible with the brand’s industry-leading Chery Premium Preserv consisting of a 7-year engine warranty, 7-year bumper-to-bumper general vehicle warranty, FREE 3-year preventive maintenance service (PMS), and FREE 3-year roadside assistance.

The Chery Tiggo 8 PRO 1.6T has been a recipient of numerous awards and accolades globally and was recently lauded as the Best Midsize Crossover by the respected C! Magazine.

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Info compiled by https://www.manilastandard.net/

[whereareroo]

IN A JAM

WF UPDATE (1/14/23).

Nobody likes traffic jams. What a headache.

I grew up on Long Island, and then lived in Connecticut for 30 years. The traffic in both places was a nightmare. You had to plan your life around the daily traffic jams. I struggled with traffic jams for many years.

On our biking adventure, we’re getting closer to Key West. We get there tomorrow. Last night we stayed on Knight’s Key. We biked 20 miles to Little Torch Key, where we’ll spend the night. Tomorrow, our ride to Key West is 28 miles.

On our journey today, we encountered a wonderful traffic jam. It was a total joy. Let me explain.

We’ve been following the path of U.S. Route 1, which in The Keys is called the Overseas Highway. For much of the 106 miles, there is a bike path alongside the road. If there isn’t a bike path, there is frequently a designated “bike lane” on the shoulder of the road. In some spots, there’s no path or bike lane and you just ride on the shoulder of the road. Get it?

What’s it like to ride on the shoulder of the road? It depends on the width of the shoulder. If the shoulder is five or six feet wide, which is usually the case, it’s not a problem. After all, a bike only needs about 18 inches. If the shoulder is only 2 or 3 feet wide, the joy of the ride is diminished by the noise of passing vehicles and the need to be focused at all times.

Today, in the area of Big Pine Key, about 5 miles of the ride is on a narrow shoulder that is only about 30 inches wide. We’ve biked that segment before and it isn’t that enjoyable. It’s probably our least favorite section on the whole ride.

Today, we were blessed with a traffic jam that clogged 100% of the problematic 5 miles. The whole distance, traffic was crawling or completely stopped. That’s a nightmare for drivers but a blessing for bikers. We happily cruised along the shoulder. There wasn’t any noise. We didn’t have to pay attention to vehicles approaching from behind at high speeds. We were the King and the Queen of the road. For the first time in my life, I thoroughly enjoyed a traffic jam. It was wonderful.

The cause of the traffic jam was wonderful too. It turns out that there was a big boat show towards the southern end of Big Pine Key. The attendees had to walk across Route 1 to get to the show. State Troopers were stopping the traffic to let folks cross. Luckily for us, the situation created a major traffic mess. Of course, we went to the boat show. We had a good time. A few miles later, we stopped at a local flea market that only operates on Saturdays. That was an interesting scene too.

What are the odds that I’ll enjoy another traffic jam during my lifetime? Probably zero. Today was like winning the lottery, and I don’t feel a bit sorry for the folks who were stuck in traffic. I’ve paid my dues. I’m still giggling as I write this. Is that wrong? Doesn’t everybody deserve at least one wonderful traffic jam?

[swati2329]

How to Avoid an Accident on a Two-Wheeler? 5 Tips to Avoid it!

Two-wheelers are the most preferred mode of transportation in India. However, due to traffic and congested roads, two-wheelers are more prone to road accidents. Despite all this, two-wheeler sales are increasing daily, and so is the risk of road accidents.

It is always necessary for you to keep certain things in mind while riding a new or used bike to avoid any accident. Obeying traffic rules while riding a motorcycle is key to your safety.

Here are five tips to avoid being misshapen while riding a two-wheeler.

Tip #1 Wear a helmet.

We must have been told to wear a helmet 100 times before. Many people don't wear helmets, even though this can save their lives. In India, it is a punishable offense not to wear a helmet. And this could determine whether you live or die in a road accident.

Riders and passengers must wear double helmets in metropolitan cities like Bangalore and Delhi. Make sure to always wear a lightweight, hard-shelled helmet. If an accident occurs, it will shield you from suffering a head injury.

Tip 2# Wear safety gear

Always wear a long-sleeve shirt and full pants while riding a bike. Additionally, it would help if you put on gloves that give you knuckle protection. Wear sunglasses to protect your eyes from dust and wind. When the weather is cold outside, you must wear woolen clothes.

Tip #3 Always be alert 

Be aware of other vehicles crossing the road, no matter how difficult. You must be very careful at certain moments and react accordingly.

Due to the lack of a sufficient separator and the possibility that a car coming in the opposite direction may enter your lane and wind up just in front of you, two-way roads are particularly challenging. Always be alert and cautious in such circumstances.

Tip #4 Ride at a decent speed like 40-50 in the congested city. 

Never speed up your bike on an empty road, either. Fix your specific speed limit and ride at that pace only. Accidents are caused mainly by high speeds and the rider's inability to avoid collisions.

Tip #5 Use the Indicator and the Rare Mirror

The use of indicators and rearview mirrors frequently goes hand in hand. You should always utilize the indicators when changing lanes and making a left or right turn at an intersection. To avoid confusing other drivers and giving them the impression that you might be planning to turn or change lanes, avoid using them when there is no reason to.

Do not remove the rear view mirrors from your new or second-hand bike just for looks. It would help if you always used your rearview mirrors because they give you a continuous picture of who is behind you. They can stop you from unexpectedly pulling out in front of another car that is approaching from behind, preventing the other car from braking immediately.

Lastly, I would like to advise you not to drink and drive. An active mind always gives you a solution to escape any significant issues, but an idle mind can't. While riding your new or second hand bike, be calm and safe. Follow these tips and ride safely as your near and dear one is waiting for you.

[thiscitylife]

Changing how we talk about cars hitting pedestrians and cyclists

Excerpt from a CTV news article published on Jan 21, 2022:

Several pedestrians are in hospital with life-threatening injuries as a result of three collisions in Metro Vancouver.

The first happened in West Vancouver.

An elderly woman was struck by a truck as she crossed 13th Street at a marked crosswalk before 1:30 p.m. Wednesday.

"The driver remained on scene and is co-operating with police," Mounties said in their statement.

At the time, drivers were warned traffic would be disrupted for several hours and were asked to avoid the area.

This news article is a text book example of the formula that media use when reporting on collisions involving drivers hitting pedestrians or cyclists. It goes like this:

1.) Always frame the collision* in the passive voice, putting the focus on the pedestrian being hit by a vehicle (never on the driver who hit them).

2.) Barely mention the driver who caused the collision, except to say whether they remained on the scene. If they did, use positive language about how they are "cooperating" with police.

3.) Finally, even if someone has died or suffered life threatening injuries, state if the collision is causing traffic delays and inconvenience to other drivers.

When we constantly read these news reports, we are led to believe that car crashes involving pedestrians and cyclists are an unavoidable fact of life in our cities and communities. This is wrong. These tragedies can be prevented, we just aren't doing enough to examine how.

In her new book, There are No Accidents, journalist Jessie Singer argues that this predisposition to blame human error and accept the old adage that "accidents happen" is not only misguided, but insidious. It covers up the systems that enable accidents.

Singer's book includes a tragic personal account of how in 2006, her best friend, Eric, was hit by a drunk driver while riding on a bike path in New York City. The driver was convicted of DUI and vehicular manslaughter. Nine years later, another drunk driver killed a cyclist on that path. Two years after that, in 2017, a truck driver deliberately plowed into the spot where Eric died, murdering 8 people and injuring 12.

According to a review in Washington Monthly, after Eric’s death, Singer was livid that some accident inspectors focused on his not wearing a helmet. But she pointed out that Eric was hit by a car going 50 miles (80km) per hour. As a result, donning a helmet would not have mattered. Multiple deaths on that same path proves the weakness is in the design.

Pedestrian and cyclist fatalities are at an all-time high. They are also the leading cause of death for children in Canada. Most are preventable, and yet these media reports never examine how to hold governments accountable for measures like lowering speed limits, increasing pedestrian cross walks, deterring traffic through residential neighbourhoods, adding bollards and separated bike lanes, and reducing lane size so that neighbourhood roads look less like highways.

We place the onus on the victim to not get murdered by 3,500 lbs of steel. How often do police and local car insurance companies proudly launch pedestrian safety campaigns where they hand out reflective vests and flashlights and warn pedestrians to "make eye contact" with drivers. Tell that to a 5 year old, or to this crossing guard who got hit saving a child's life while a car barrelled through a cross walk without stopping.

This is what hero police officers do! North East Police Officer Annette Goodyear saved a student from harm’s way early this morning. pic.twitter.com/efpgjqucuO

Even this story focuses on the victim. Who was the driver? We rarely hear whether the driver was speeding, distracted, or even drunk. In most of these cases, it is highly likely that one or all of these is true, because your likelihood of seriously injuring a pedestrian or cyclist is pretty slim if you are obeying the rules of the road. And if that is not the case, there is something wrong with those rules and they need to be changed.

Either way, a person shouldn't die while out for a walk or a bike ride and have this accepted as an unpreventable accident. We need more cities and communities to get serious and invest heavily in Vision Zero policies and infrastructure. I fully agree with Singer’s hypothesis that every accident is preventable. And changing the narrative starts with how we frame car crashes in the media.

*Note - In this post, I initially referred to car crashes as “car accidents” and a thoughtful reader pointed out that they should be called “collisions” or “crashes.” Even I was predisposed to call them accidents. According to the US Department of Transportation: 

“Changing the way we think about events and the words we use to describe them affects the way we behave. Motor vehicle crashes occur "when a link or several links in the chain" are broken. Continued use of the word "accident" implies that these events are outside human influence or control. In reality, they are predictable results of specific actions.“

Photo credits: Joe Flood; City TV news clip.

[regional-horror]

This is not mine. This came from the "Maryland is a Cult. Not a state" group on Facebook. Credit for the text in this post goes to the OP Jennifer Eno-Clark. I now present to you:

DMV (Delaware, Maryland, and Virginia) Interstate Gothic

If you are from the DMV (mostly referring to the DC region) you'll understand these rules. If you are coming here, you'll learn these rules. If you are just going to visit, give up. Read, enjoy and then destroy them.

1) First, you must learn to call it by its rightful name. It is D.C., or "the District". Only tourists call it Washington.

2) Next, if your road map of Montgomery County is more than a few weeks old, throw it out and buy a new one. It's obsolete. If in Loudoun or Fairfax County and your map is one day old, it's already obsolete.

3) There is no such thing as a dangerous high-speed chase in D.C. It's just another chase, usually on the BW Parkway.

4) All directions start with "The Beltway"...which has no beginning and no end, just one continuous loop that locals believe is somehow clarified by an "inner" and 'outer loop' designation. This makes no sense to ANYONE outside the Beltway.

5) The morning rush hour is from 5 to 11 AM. The evening rush hour is from 1 to 8 PM. Friday's rush hour starts Thursday morning, especially during the summer on Route 50 eastbound.

6) If there is a ball game at the FedEx Field, there is no point in driving anywhere near PG County.

7) Tip: Never say PG County to anyone from Mitchellville, Upper Marlboro or Fort Washington. They'll blow a vessel in their neck and go into a seizure.

8) If you actually stop at a yellow light, you will be rear-ended and shot at. If you run the red light, be sure to smile for the $100 picture you will receive courtesy of DMV. (However, if you don't go as soon as the light turns green, you will get cussed out in 382 languages, none of

them English.)

9) Rain causes an immediate 50 point drop of IQ in drivers. Snow causes an immediate 100 point drop in IQ and a rush to the Giant for toilet paper and milk.

10) Construction on I-270 is a way of life and a permanent source of scorn and cynical entertainment. It's ironic that it's called an "Interstate" but runs only from Bethesda to Frederick. (Unless you consider Montgomery County another state, which some do). Opening in the 60's, it has been torn up and under reconstruction ever since. Also, it has a "Spur" section which is even more confusing.

11) All unexplained sights are explained by the phrase, "Oh, we're in Takoma Park or Greenbelt".

12) If someone actually has their turn signal on, they are by definition, a tourist. Car horns are actually "Road Rage" indicators. Heed the warning.

13) All old ladies in Buicks have the right of way in the area of Leisure World.

14) Many roads mysteriously change their names as you cross intersections. Don't ask why, no one knows.

15) I removed since it was outdated lingo. I apologize if any offense. Jen

16) If you stop to ask directions in Southeast... well, just don't.

17) A taxi ride across town will cost you $12.50. A taxi ride two blocks will cost you $16.75. (It's a zone thing, you wouldn't understand) (Oh, and if you are in DC and want to go to MD, don't tell them until you get in the car...they won't take you otherwise)

18) Traveling south out of DC on Interstate 395/95 is the most dangerous, scariest thing you will ever do and when you hit it, you will wonder why the section of this road called "the Mixing Bowl" is so named. After all there is no mixing there, heck, there is no movement at all.

19) There is nothing more comforting than seven lanes of traffic cruising along at 85 mph, BUMPER TO BUMPER!!!

20) The minimum acceptable speed on the Beltway is 85. Anything less is considered downright sissy.

21) The Beltway is our daily version of a NASCAR reality show. Strap up and collect points as you go.

22) The open lane for passing on all Maryland interstates is the far right lane because no self-respecting Marylander would ever be caught driving in the "slow" lane. Unofficially, both shoulders are fair game also.

23) The far left lanes on all Maryland interstates are official "chat" lanes reserved for drivers who wish to talk on their cell phones. Note: All mini-vans have priority clearance to use the far left at whatever speed the driver feels most comfortable multi-tasking in.

24) If it's 10 degrees, it's Orioles' opening day. If it's 110 degrees, it's the Skins opening day.

25) If the humidity is 90+ and the temperature is 90+, then it's May, June, July, August and sometimes September.

[jeremyfromearth]

Day Two: Bratislava to Győr

After getting sufficiently caffeinated at Republika Východu, I left Bratislava, for the Hungarian city of Győr at about 9:30AM. The weather was totally perfect for a long day in the saddle and I was feeling pretty much completely recovered from the ride two days prior.

Getting back on the EuroVelo is as simple as crossing the Most SNP bridge and following the sign. Just be careful to not cross back over the Donau a little ways up the road, as the path does connect to another bridge. It's at this juncture that you'll quickly exit the city and soon be met with trails lined with lush foliage and nice rolling farmlands.

☝🏻Here is some footage I shot along this portion of the trail. Note the excellent maintenance of the pathways. Overall, I've been really impressed with how well the trails are maintained. On this leg of the journey the entire route was paved and often separated into two lanes by a dividing line. In this video you can see how the path separates and rejoins from time to time.

A swan nesting along the EV 6

After several kilometers of this peaceful ride, the paved trail abruptly makes a hard right and loose gravel continues straight. Thankfully there is an EV 6 sign here, otherwise it would be confusing.

At this same spot, there is a large abandoned house, which makes for a nice landmark (48.018558, 17.208028) After making this turn you are taken through lush forests where you will, for the first time ride with cars. This is a pretty remote area though and I think while I was riding only one car passed me.

A nice scene, just before entering the forest.

Soon after this you enter the charming town of Rajka. Once there you are gently guided through the town on some really cute red brick bike lanes, by a near glut of EV 6 signage. I should have captured some video of these winding little paths, but I think I was too busy enjoying the experience to even think about it.

Once outside of Rajka, you align with a major highway. This was a great stretch to really pick up the pace and cover a lot of ground in a short duration. It's basically a straight stretch to the city of Mosonmagyaróvár.

In Mosonmagyaróvár, the EuroVelo signs seem to completely vanish and stay gone for pretty much the rest of the journey. Despite having bikemap.net open on my phone, I ended up taking a wrong turn here. I caught the error after only 5 minutes or so and didn't lose too much time.

After Mosonmagyaróvár, the road becomes more winding and there are several small towns that you will need to ride through and often with traffic in a dedicated shoulder.

In my experience, I felt relatively safe in these situations. The drivers seem to be very aware of cyclists and tend to give a lot of room as they pass. That said, I've ridden along some pretty harsh highways in the U.S, so maybe my tolerance is high due to riding with massive logging trucks speeding by at 60+ MPH spitting dust and gravel in my face. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Overall this was an excellent leg of the journey. The total distance traveled was about 80km and it took about 4.5 hours The terrain is completely flat, it's entirely paved and I never felt unsafe in those rare moments where I had to ride with cars. Looks like I've reached the limit of photos I can add in one post, so at some later point, I'll work on an additional photos only post! That's it for now, I'm going to enjoy a rest day in this interesting little city of Győr.

[libermachinae]

Someone to Trust

Also on AO3! Tags: Teen And Up Audiences, No Archive Warnings Apply, M/M, Jazz/Prowl, Decepticon!Jazz, Espionage, Secrets Word Count: 14598 Summary:  Prowl chases Jazz through Petrex. They share the same goal, and therein lies the problem.

A @secretsolenoid gift for jabberish!

---

Prowl was driving blind. Citation. He was also speeding without emergency sirens. Another citation. Pursuing a fleeing suspect without call for backup. Citation. Each infraction lined up in a queue, data sorting itself for quick upload to the reporting station back at a headquarters he no longer had access to, and eventually he gave up dismissing them to focus on driving. One of these days, he would remember to uninstall these last remnants of his enforcer protocols.

Unfortunately, right now, it was taking most of his processing power to track the way Jazz was dipping in and out of traffic, nudging himself into spaces that should have been just shy his size. Prowl followed as close as he could, signalling before abrupt lane changes, though he still ended up with plenty of time to react when Jazz peeled aside, diving down an alley where once had stood a small bank of questionable reputation. Prowl’s GPS bellowed at him as he blasted through what it assumed to be several exterior walls before it gave up, shutting down from the humility of knowing it was being ignored.

Between the high-walled corridors of buildings, the alley cut across several thoroughfares; Prowl had already broken through before he registered where Jazz had taken them, and then he was swerving out of the way of traffic, swinging to the left to save himself from getting clipped by an irate cement mixer. A gap in traffic opened the way to the next segment of the alley and he dove in, following the blue taillights that were 5% smaller in his visual feed than they had been on the last straightaway.

They crossed two more busy streets, the distance between them growing. Prowl lost visual after the second, screeching to a stop only after flying past Jazz’s turn. Rather than waste seconds reversing, he transformed (citation) and spun around, landing on the side street back in vehicle mode. Taunting revs encouraged him on, Jazz patronizingly visible once more. Prowl gunned it all the same, never one to reject an advantage.

His pursuit brought him through a tunnel, across an uncontrolled intersection, and swerving around the next corner…

And almost into a dead-end wall.

Prowl’s brakes made an almighty squeal as he forced himself to a stop, just enough to save him from smashing his bumper against the rear-facing wall of a commercial property. He transformed, glancing around and taking image captures of the area, picking out a few identifying marks (the dumpster with an orange rhomboid stencil sprayed on, the chipping finish of the central door in a pattern vaguely reminiscent of Wheeljack’s face) and noting his coordinates in the global tracking system, which nonetheless asserted that he was now standing in the middle of an open pedestrian square.

The dead-end was less an alleyway itself than an incidental space that had formed between the three buildings erected around it, the gaps between them designed for small-framed maintenance workers rather than the larger laborer classes who frequented this part of the city. The only other access to the main street would have been through the buildings themselves, though the doors to two out of three were plated over, accompanied by warnings regarding trespassing on foreclosed property. The third also appeared plated, except that it took just a nudge to push the façade away and reveal the door behind.

Prowl ran his scans. Nothing out of the ordinary so far. He tested the handle and, feeling nothing give on the other side, eased it open.

The interior was a gloom of shadow and dust, the gutted-out business leaving no more than a few out-of-place walls and a forgotten tin of empty bobbins. The large front windows that once would have displayed its contents had been shuttered for so long rust had started to creep from the hinges to the slats, and it was only the open door and the window above it that lent light to the hollowed-out husk.

“Cybertron to Prowl,” Jazz said as he rolled into view from behind a support beam. “Get in here. And flip the bolt behind you. Squatters don’t normally come this way, but 4 th precinct’s been cracking down on loitering and it’s making ‘em desperate.”

Prowl did as he was told, replacing the panel outside before shutting the door, the entire time with his back to Jazz in a minor display of trust. His sensor panels were still active, monitoring the air flow and sounds of the room, but it took a nanoklik longer to parse that data than his visual centers, which they both knew was all the time Jazz needed to gain an edge. He did not take advantage of it, though, which Prowl was glad for, and not just for his continued survival.

With the outside world shut out, Prowl pinged him the handshake codes, a separate set from what he had used to announce his arrival in Petrex. Jazz sent his response as his frame relaxed, weapons systems whining into standby; he grinned.

“Frag, mech, it’s been a while. How you been? How’s Iacon?” He produced a small knife that he spun between his fingers, like the toys that littered his desk back at base. “Is Ratch still—no, actually, save the gossip. How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Prowl said. Standing with his arms at his sides and sensor panels erect was more of a challenge than usual; such was the effect Jazz had on people. “There has been an incident. Several field agents are being pulled, you among them.” Not a lie: Mirage and Beachcomber’s extractions were taking place at that moment.

Jazz whistled and held the knife up, illuminating it with the glow of his visor.

“Must be bad, if you’re here to get me ‘stead of Bee.”

“Temporary reassignment,” Prowl said. Bumblebee had argued that he should be the one to carry out this mission, that his rapport with Jazz would be necessary to get through its most challenging phase. He had spoken persuasively, but in the end it was Prowl’s pursuit training that had made the decision.

“He’s busy?” Jazz asked.

“Of course.”

“Good for him. Kid’s going places, can’t be stuck with me forever.” He tossed the knife up, spinning it twice through the air before catching it by the hilt. “So, standard extraction procedures? Two cycles to wrap things up?”

Prowl’s sensors were failing to pick up whatever else Jazz was carrying on his person, so his optics focused on the knife, the way Jazz seemed to manipulate it without a touch.

“We’re working on an abbreviated timeline,” he said. “One cycle, the shorter the better. I have contacts in Petrex we can call if you need additional resources. Your goal should be no story: ideal outcome is we have you back before anyone realizes you’ve left.” It would be a helmache later if this went sideways, but it was a worthwhile price to pay to build the story that this was a temporary transfer.

With a final flick, the knife vanished, and Jazz pushed off from the support beam, strolling forward. Prowl held his position.

“This thing’s got you spooked,” Jazz said, stopping just short the length of a sensor panel. It was hard to tell whether it was an intentional distance: he had gotten accidentally whacked enough times to learn that Prowl, for reasons beyond personal comfort, needed space.

“It’s a serious matter,” Prowl said. “Your orders, though, come from command.” Not Prowl, though he could not say he would have done much different had he been in Red Alert’s place.

“Optimus?” Jazz asked before, catching Prowl’s frown, he waved it off, backing away. “Never mind, classified, I gotcha. He alright? Asked about me?”

“He’s fine,” Prowl said. At that moment, Optimus was stationed at Tyger Pax, leading the defense against the latest Decepticon assault, doing everything he excelled at: finding miraculous solutions, encouraging soldiers halfway to despair, and fighting Decepticons. Just before he had cut off communications, Prowl had caught the first lines of that morning’s rallying speech, and it spoke to Optimus’ strength as an orator that even headed out on this mission, Prowl had felt himself moved.

“He respects the confidentiality of your assignments,” he went on. “He trusts he will be updated if any significant developments take place.” Trust that Prowl was currently breaking, but this was a fragile situation, one that could not be salvaged with sparkfelt words. Optimus’ strengths were many, but his was not the most delicate touch, and he had long ago agreed there were times Special Operations needed to function outside his periphery.

“So, the big boss didn’t send you and doesn’t know you’re here,” Jazz said. He caught the support beam again and spun around it, just skimming the floor with the tips of his pedes. “It is bad.”

“I need a breakdown of what you will require for a clean extraction,” Prowl said. “I’ve formatted a joor-by-joor schedule based on your reports, but I need you to—”

“Is he alright?” Jazz repeated. Still holding the beam, the grin he flashed lacked the charm Prowl knew him to be capable of. “C’mon, don’t give me that look. Prime’s a friend and it’s been a while.”

“You will be fully brief on the situation once we reach Iacon.”

“You’re kinda freaking me out, mech.”

Prowl doubted that, knowing the sorts of missions Jazz regularly volunteered and was recommended for, but maybe it was different imagining someone else potentially in trouble. He weighed the risk of divulging Optimus’ status to the reward of presenting Jazz a further act of trust.

“He’s well,” Prowl said. “Overworked, as we all are, but in good spirits. Optimistic.”

Jazz laughed and released his grip, spinning two steps to regain his balance.

“What’s that mean in Prowl speak? Short-sighted?”

“Your plan, Jazz,” Prowl reminded him.

“My plan. Right. Yeah.”

And then he was behind Prowl.

Prowl whipped around, searching for Jazz’s hands. They were empty, but he kept moving, arrhythmic and unpredictable, difficult to track even with Prowl’s tactical computer.

“Gonna go drop by the chip store, first, let old Bricabrac know I’m gonna have to hold off on my last order. Maybe grab a crossword for the road. Then, swing by a couple pals and make sure they’ll be fine while I’m gone. Want to meet up at the station?”

Prowl got a lock on Jazz’s pattern and sidestepped him, just managing to wedge himself into the space between Jazz and the door. He twisted his right leg and pulled his doorwings down, securing his position.

Jazz froze, pulling his hand back from where it had started to reach for the handle.

“So, that’s how it is,” he said, stepping back so the space opened up between them again. “Maybe now try telling me what’s really going on, Prowl?”

Prowl held steady. Their biolights reflected off each other, Prowl’s liquid gleam in stark contrast to Jazz’s carefully crafted dinge. Everything about Jazz was a decision: the way he stood, the spaces he moved into. He drew back, tensing his servos in preparation, and Prowl knew he could either stand by as Jazz took matters into his own hands or try one last time to gain control over the situation.

He decided.

“There was an attack,” he said. “A supply party running from Protihex to Tyger Pax was ambushed: six Autobots captured and the route compromised.” At that moment, Bumblebee and a handful of other minibots were driving through the neutral dead zone between the cities, scouting a new supply route, while Optimus headed off the attack on Tyger Pax that had sprung in the wake of the ambush. Mirage and Hound, when they returned, would be leading the operation to rescue the captured ‘Bots.

And Prowl was here. Jazz no longer looked prepared to spring, but his expression was empty of the teasing warmth he had greeted Prowl with. He nodded for Prowl to continue.

“The circumstances behind the attack are being investigated,” Prowl said.

Jazz sucked in a vent and smiled again, his expression all eyes and teeth.

“Here to put me on the case?” he asked.

“You will be fully briefed when we reach Iacon,” Prowl repeated. Another point Bumblebee had argued for: he could lie.

Jazz tilted his head as he stepped back.

“Right,” he said. Then he leapt.

Prowl had been anticipating an attack, so he wasted a nanoklik preparing to defend while Jazz was already propelling himself up the wall. In the time it took Prowl to spin around, Jazz had forced the window open, and he had only just started to open his mouth when Jazz tossed him a two-fingered salute.

“Sounds good, Commander! I’ll get my things squared away here and meet up with you when I’m done. You can see yourself out, right? Great! Catch ya on the flipside!”

And then he slipped through like electricity along a wire. Prowl wasted another moment unlocking the door, and by the time he got outside the alley was empty, not even a shadow against the sky to tell him which way Jazz had fled. Beyond the copse of buildings the sound of Petrex droned on, an orderly racket so unlike the world he was trying to keep at bay.

~

Jazz knew this city. He had memorized the skyline and charted the sewers, mapped every pothole like they were pieces in a Hex game. Command had wanted an extra optic in one of the last Autobot cities off the front lines, and Jazz had done his part, inserting himself into every seam and rusted hinge he could find. To get from one point to another, he could have three routes mapped in under a klik, ETA and obstacle risks included.

That did not stop him from nearly tripping over himself as he pelted across the rooftops, trying to filter through the crash of data on his HUD while maneuvering over alleyways and skidding across fire escapes. Style and grace were out; keeping himself from plummeting to unfortunate, debilitating injury was in.

He reached Con185, the semi-official border between midtown and the lower levels. Petrex was built in a series of concentric circles cut with radial alleys that increased in frequency only slightly as one ventured out from the center, city hall. The ‘centrics could be small residential streets or raised highways, like 185, from which Jazz took a shortcut to the ground via lamppost. The six-lane ongoing was raised, putting it at optic-level with some sorry folks’ apartments, with tunnels underneath to allow daily traffic between the neighborhoods.

Jazz stole into one designated for nonessential pedestrian access and used the temporary shelter to disable the last of his broadcast array. Just before reaching the exit, he slowed to an easy walk and flipped on his internal speakers, bobbing along to one of the old Tarpaulin classics as he emerged back into the light of the city.

He marked his entrance with an exaggerated look to the left and the right, the standard lower levels intro to check no one had clocked his shortcut. He had made it mid-shift, when traffic was at its lowest, so surveillance was mostly remote. The camera on the corner of Con186 and 305.4R should have been monitoring this area, but it had been busted since before Jazz’s arrival and in the repair queue was somewhere below the fritzing turbines the next block over.

Jazz strolled through his neighborhood, adding a bounce to his step as the song started to pick up. He skipped past buildings just this side of standing and the usual remnants of busy lives. Some neighbors waved and he shot them his greetings—Crash, sitting on his stoop while the sun further faded his old racer’s paint, and Platen, who had been staying in Galeforce’s apartment ever since rolling in from Rodion—and stopped to give Winch a hand after he dropped several of the tools he carried with him to his job at the munitions plant.

“Thanks, Ricochet,” Winch said as he straightened up again. “Come by later? Hosting a couple rounds of Scrap ‘Em.”

“Aw, sorry, mech,” Jazz said as he stepped back. “Already got plans. Hold my seat for Rotary and Roundabout, maybe.”

Winch agreed he would talk to the twins as he walked off. Jazz continued down the street, stopping to chat with folks where he could. So many factory workers already out for the day meant he could not get in all the goodbyes he wanted, which was a shame. It turned out there were good folks in this part of the world.

No time for disappointment, though. He put a couple blocks between himself and familiar faces before he stole onto a side street and looped back around to Crash’s building. The decline was more prominent back here, where a storm years ago had worn holes in the outer paneling and the windows were more tarp than glass. Though not the first time he had come this way during the day, he did practice standard caution for once, running a legitimate surroundings check and timing the traffic on 305.6R to determine his window. Scaling the back wall and latching onto the fire escape was rote, at least, giving Jazz a bit of processor space to work on his emigration plan.

Okay, that was going to take more than a little CPU. He popped open a window and dropped inside.

He felt the prickly wash of EM fields as he waded into his next of computers and terminals, turning off his music so he could sink into the familiar buzz of constantly active electronics. The smell of something overheating hung in the air, and he took a moment to shove some trash away from the in-house generator, even knowing it would soon be pointless.

He went through all his checks: crystals on the windowsill in place, door stuffed with soundproofing, and tampering programs showing no flags. The floor panel in front of the central terminal, the one he had not mentioned in any reports, was still pried up a few millimeters, slipping soundlessly back into place as he stepped up to the console.

He put in his credentials and his hub opened up, surveillance feeds from around Petrex and beyond piling in their findings. Comm logs, usage reports, internal memos: stellar-cycles’ worth of analysis work at his disposal, enough information to run the world if one knew what to do with it.

Nothing for it, though. He pulled up every file he had on the recent attack, from the grapevined emergency deployment orders that had alerted him, to the preceding cycles’ surveillance footage he had managed to scour in the aftermath. Maybe it was all junk, maybe this much digging would be his undoing, but there was no time now to sort through and figure it out. He packaged whatever seemed worthwhile and jacked into the terminal to download it, using the extra time to chip away at his next moves.

Had to get out of the apartment; that was a given. Had to stay ahead of Prowl. He had an advantage on the open road up until Prowl called in assistance from his old precinct, and then he was just a robo-minnow in the solvent stream. He could try to catch a flier on their way out, but he ran into the same problem if Prowl got the city to activate its air shield; no one invested in keeping their plating was getting through that. After those little snags, at least the rest was easy: make for neutral territory, get back into Staniz if they would take him. The Autobots would assume he had hopped ship, giving him a couple cycles at least to get this mess sorted out.

First, though. He finished downloading the files, unplugged, and spooled his cable. Then, with a few memorized, unrehearsed button taps, he input the failsafe code. For one sparkstopping moment, the computer froze, before it came back with a single line of text: “Failsafe initiated.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Jazz said with a grin as he stepped back. The smell grew more pungent, buzzing morphing into a stinging whine. Of all the holes command had shoved him in, he would miss this one a little more than most. The glitchmice were a problem and he would have to relearn how to recharge on a real berth if he ever made it back to Iacon, but it was about the character of the place. Up in the middle of the night, sorting data while grooving along to his tunes, he had been right where he thought he should be.

A curl of smoke rose from the bed of cables.

~

“Blast heard in 3rd sector, reports of smoke issuing from rear of building on 305.4R. Coordinates incoming. Request for backup from Enforcer—”

His radio transceiver stayed on, but Prowl stopped listening to it as he stowed his lockpicking tools and spun around, tires spinning when they hit the ground. He had been going down the list of Jazz’s known boltholes and stashes, which meant he recognized the street immediately. Combined with the fact that the nearest enforcer hub was in midtown, up to half a joor away depending on personnel, he might have enough time to get in without interruption, though he would need to make every klik count. Now would be the worst time for Petrex to learn of the Autobot spy that had been combing their city.

He transformed in front of the building from which a cloud of smoke rose like a flagpole and used his momentum to shove through the crowd who had gathered in the street.

“Emergency services!” he barked, squeezing past the bot who had been standing, stricken, in the front door. “Make way!”

He made it up the stairs but was stopped outside Jazz’s door, met with a cluster of neighbors who grew stiff and cast glances to each other as he approached. One was working on the door, a tool in his hand that disappeared when another tapped his elbow, and it was only Prowl’s reminder that more enforcers were on the way that convinced them to disperse. Prowl waited until they were all out of view before he stepped back, braced himself, and rammed the door with his shoulder.

Even with Jazz’s upgrades, the building’s general state of disrepair meant it only took two attempts to shatter the doorframe and force his way inside. The smell of burnt circuitry hit him first, so powerful that he initially recoiled and had to force himself not to flee the apartment.

The appearance of the studio was only marginally better than its smell. Through the smoke, Prowl could just make out the whirlwind of charred, shattered electronics, outrageously expensive equipment reduced to slag and dust. There was barely time to take it in, though, as movement at the window caught his attention and he spotted Jazz hanging halfway out. His visor met Prowl’s optics and brightened, his lips parting only for him to tumble out before any words could form.

With a surge of alarm, Prowl bolted forward, shuffling the wreckage of the apartment to the back of his priority queue. One of Prime’s people could handle the diplomatic cleanup. His only concern was preventing a suspect from escaping, though some of his urgency rushed out of him when he leaned out the open window to find himself looking down at Jazz, his highly trained, deadly agent, sprawled out on the fire escape.

“Prowl?” Jazz said, raising a hand over his visor. “Wha—hey!”

Prowl went for his hands, snapping the stasis cuffs around one wrist while he used his lower body to pin Jazz in place. Grabbing the other was a great deal more challenging as Jazz figured out what was going on and started to thrash, and it was only by catching Jazz’s hand as it went for Prowl’s optics that was successfully able to lock on the other half of the cuffs. It was likely he was only successful because Jazz was still dazed; the tac comp generated 14 simulations in which Jazz could have broken free, even with the stipulation that Prowl sustained only minor damage.

He did not believe Jazz wanted to kill him. Had that been the case, he would not have made it out of their meeting.

Jazz continued to buck and kick, but his movements were blunted by the cuffs, slow and sloppy strikes that, even when they met their targets, did little more than ring against Prowl’s plating. His visor was flashing rapidly, and his fans were going full bore, despite having already filtered out most of the smoke.

He was panicking. Jazz was panicking.

“Jazz—Jazz, calm down,” Prowl said, which was as effective as yelling at a caged cyber-cougar. Jazz struggled harder, rocking side to side now with the apparent intent to roll himself and Prowl off their platform. Prowl grappled him back into place.

“Yeah, no, I’m—thanks for the save.” Jazz started to go for his hands, scrabbling to try to pry them off. “I’m good now! All good, so if you’ll let me go I can—”

“Petrex enforcers are en route,” Prowl said. “We need to leave before they arrive. Jazz.”

“Yeah, sounds like we’re on the same page, Prowl, what do you think I’m trying to do?”

Prowl heard sirens in the distance and his tac comp helpfully informed him he was out of time. He had wanted to avoid this maneuver for the strain it put on his backstrut, but parts were easier to fix than public relations. Bending low, he rolled Jazz up and across his shoulders, using his sensor panels to stabilize and hold Jazz in place. Then he rose again, his legs shaking slightly under their combined weight, and took measured steps toward the end of the fire escape.

“Wait!” Jazz said, kicking with just enough force to make Prowl stumble. “Wait, wait, wait, you know what? I changed my mind. I wanna cooperate. Let’s—”

Prowl did not jump so much as he stepped off the end of the landing, plummeting a distance that felt longer than it had looked into the unfortunate dumpster below. At least his calculations had been correct that it would absorb the impact. In fact, it did its job almost too well, collapsing entirely under Prowl’s weight and causing him to lose his grip on Jazz, who flew out into the alley. Prowl needed a moment to recalibrate his gyros before he could sit up, shaking out the twinge of pain in his panels.

Jazz, wobbly though he was from the stasis cuffs, stood nevertheless upright, backing away with his visor locked onto Prowl.

“Jazz—”

“No. I know what it looks like, Prowl, I do. I swear on my name,” the tac comp flagged Jazz’s choice of words, “if I could do this any other way, I would. But I didn’t do what you think I did, and I can’t prove it the way you want me to.”

The wail of sirens was coming from the other side of the building now. Prowl pushed himself out of the wreckage of the dumpster and followed Jazz as he started to back away from the scene. He would not risk rushing Jazz and panicking him again, but maintaining their distance provided the best chance he would have to talk to his old friend.

“I don’t think you did it,” Prowl said. “I know information was leaked to the Decepticons, and I know initial investigations yielded your name. Given those facts and your claims on the record, the logical course of action will be for you to accompany me peacefully back to Iacon.”

Raised voices inside the building, not all of which Prowl recognized. Jazz broke his stare for a nanoklik, glancing to something behind Prowl’s back.

“Bunch of nice words,” Jazz said. “Pit of a lot better than what the old system would’ve churned out. But you think it’s really that simple? You think Counterintell is gonna hold due process for a former ‘Con?”

The space between them widened by a single step.

“What—”

There was a click and the stasis cuffs fell from Jazz’s wrists. In an instant, he was up on the ledge of a nearby building, using it as a springboard to launch himself to the roof.

“Jazz!” Prowl tried to give chase, following Jazz’s path from one level below, but his training had been in horizontal pursuit; Jazz added a dimension that changed the rules of the game.

“Sorry, Prowl, but I signed on to do the right thing, and justice ain’t always about that.”

Before he could disappear entirely, Jazz stopped and turned to look down on Prowl.

“I can’t go back to Iacon,” he said. “I’ve got things to do, which means I don’t have time to be sitting in a cell while folks debate the most ethical way to crack open my processor. I—” He stopped, though, and shook his head, and before Prowl could think of a single word to reassure him, he was gone.

~

Reviewing data on the move was never the most efficient way to do either of those things, but every moment Jazz spent with unknowns sitting in his databanks was a moment as good as wasted. It was that same logic that had him digging through his contacts: Ferrit (working), Ferrotype (getting over a case of sensor burn), Ferrule… well, now there was a friendly bot, always good for a quick chat. Jazz swung around a pole and hopped back a few blocks in the other direction.

He stopped on a familiar rooftop and went for the access hatch. Normally, he would have jacked in and input the security code for courtesy’s sake, but for once he gave into his impatience and hacked his way in, tossing the door open before the bolts had settled. He landed in a dimly lit hallway, glancing up just in time to see a lithe bot with only his right arm putting away a pistol.

“Hi, Ricochet,” Ferrule greeted in his usual monotone.

“Ferrule, my mech,” Jazz said with an effortless grin as he straightened. “What’s good?”

Ferrule just nodded in answer, his own way of saying, “Same old.”

“How’s your fuel level?” he asked.

“Just fine,” Jazz said. “If you’ve got more of those little goodies, though, the crunchy ones…”

Ferrule tilted his head, the closest the ex-enforcer ever came to a smile, and led the way down the hall to a well-lit front room. Jazz had never asked where he got the credits to afford his own unit, and Ferrule had never said, the same way he never talked about his time on the force. That suited Jazz fine: the here and now were much more relevant to his interests, and Ferrule’s stretches of perceived unemployment left ample time for him to practice his refinery skills.

They installed themselves at Ferrule’s mismatched pair of chairs, Jazz gravitating as always to the spinner. The goodies were in a bowl on the small table between them; Jazz helped himself as he kicked back, one leg dangling over the arm of the chair.

“Primus, mech. I’d ask you for a recipe if I had any chance of following it.”

“It’s not so hard,” Ferrule said, which meant this batch had only taken him a cycle. He had been known to spend up to three times that keeping vigil over a brew, adjusting pressure and temperature by minute degrees according to signs only he would recognize. “What brings you by, Ricochet?”

“What, a bot can’t just swing around for a chat anymore?” Jazz said, leaning his head back as he crunched a goodie between his dentae. “What kinda world are we living in?”

“One a lot of people aren’t interested in anymore,” Ferrule said. He sat with his back straight, hand balled in the center of his lap. That was, Jazz had learned over time, how Ferrule relaxed. “Heavy traffic headed toward Staniz; lots of ships going without many coming back. Heard one story about someone waiting a whole decacycle just to get told the cargo bay was all out of room.” Which could have meant people were folding up to wait out the long voyages, or that a sorry upper-class bot had learned his private shuttle exceeded carry-on restrictions. Ferrule trusted Jazz with these stories because the latter knew better than to take them at face-value.

“That right?” Jazz asked as he let his head roll back. Another thing he would miss: all his contacts had the best furniture. “Who’s got the shanix for offworlding right now?”

“Usual suspects,” Ferrule said, “plus a few more. Neutrals coming in from all over. Probably some of the others, too, just going by the numbers, but they’re not really flashing their badges on the way in.”

Jazz added that information to his folder of things to purge in the event of capture.

“What’s up with that? We watching the next exodus?” he asked. He didn't bother to add the lilt of a half-joke; Ferrule would answer the same way regardless.

“Not those kinds of numbers,” he said. “No word on what set them off. Probably a rumor that stoked some old plans.”

“You’re not saying you’re having thoughts, are you? Didn’t come here for any goodbyes.” No chat with Ferrule was complete without a brazen lie or two.

Ferrule shook his head.

“No, no, I’m here. Not going anywhere. Petrex and I’ve got our differences, but it’s the only place for me.” Though his spinal strut stayed rigid, his fenders fluttered, more active than Prowl’s sensor panels and harder to follow.

Jazz went for another goodie.

“So, you know I’m a sucker for rumors.”

~

Stopping at the Central Petrex Enforcer Headquarters was not the most efficient use of Prowl’s time, but it was the only place he could think to go that wouldn't spook Jazz into making a run for it while his tac comp worked through its backlog of calculations. Though it had been vorn since he last came by, many of the bots at the station recognized him, which meant that after he was installed in the breakroom with a cube of energon, he was left alone with his thoughts.

Jazz had confessed to being a Decepticon. Not currently, and not under oath, but even as a potential diversion the implications consumed him. Prowl had run through every conversation they had shared between that moment and the attack, and nowhere could he identify a point at which he might have hinted at the root of his investigation. Either Jazz had made a lucky guess—which, to be fair, he had a penchant for, though even that now had to be viewed through a lens of suspicion—or he knew there existed evidence that pointed toward espionage.

An accusation from Red Alert was not an indictment, but neither was it a matter that would be brushed aside as paranoia; Red’s careful perception had saved countless Autobot lives in the past, and Prowl personally knew how low his chances getting out of Corcapsia would have been had it not been for the extra steps Red Alert had taken in establishing their escape route. When he had approached Prowl with his collection of evidence, minute details that seemed irrelevant in isolation, Prowl’s initial question had been for clarification.

“Which was your initial observation?” What had Prowl missed that could have tipped him off?

“His name,” Red Alert had said. “I stumbled across pre-war construction logs. Still searching for the truth, but I guarantee there is no Jazz of Staniz forged 3rd cycle 274.”

Evidence, but not proof, and Prowl had been prepared to dig for every scrap he could find, regardless of what it revealed. And then an unprovoked confession had tripped his tac comp enough to land him here, staring at a wall and looping through questions of why with no satisfying answer.

“Pleasant cycle, Prowl.” His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of his old captain—Prowl had forgotten his name—whose offered handshake was stiffer than it had been when Prowl was an enforcer under his command. “Apologies for the wait, we are dealing with a situation. What do the Autobots need?”

“Your security feeds,” Prowl said, standing with his cube still full and forgotten on the chair. “And your discretion.”

They installed him in the temporary office they kept for visiting Autobot personnel and left him to it. He started with a general sweep for any sign of Jazz but was unsurprised when his efforts came up fruitless: Jazz had been selected for this mission for his skill in avoiding detection. Next was working through those of Jazz’s contacts they had been able to verify and track down, though this too yielded nothing pertaining to the ongoing investigation. Though he was able to track the movements of a few of them, there was nothing that led to Jazz. If he had a few cycles to let his tac comp review the footage, he might have found the pattern, but Jazz could be all the way to Darkmount by then.

Assuming that was where he was headed. Assuming he was lying about only previously working with the Decepticons. Assuming that Jazz was responsible for the first information leak.

Prowl switched tracks, shutting down every feed he had open and starting from scratch. No record of Jazz’s movements, but he was not the only Autobot to have come through Petrex. It was a convenient stop for anyone on their way to Staniz, with its readily available supplies and formidable defense systems. It was also the last Autobot city on the edge of a neutral zone, with the others either on the front, like Tyger Pax and Protihex, or secured deep in Autobot territory, like Iacon. If an agent wanted to meet their handler outside the chaos of active combat, the stretch between here and Staniz was riddled with unmonitored pockets.

He started in the official records, tracking Autobot movements through the city as far back as when the route from Protihex to Tyger Pax had first been scouted. From there, the list could be pared down based on what they already knew about the perpetrator and those results run through surveillance programs while Prowl reviewed each individual’s file.

Piece by piece, he teased out the pattern.

~

Jazz tapped his foot, swaying his hips in time with his music as he dug through the filing cabinet. He pulled the whole stack of datapads forward, checking to see if there was a secret compartment at the back of the drawer. No luck yet, but with folks like this, it was just a matter of patience and diligence.

It was a cozy apartment, just slightly larger than Jazz’s place but with a view that carved out most of its owner’s salary. Decorations were sparse: almost everything inside served a function, from the berth with its limited range of recharge programs to the energon dispenser in the front room, designed to dispense a single standard ration. It was the kind of place that would have been depressing if it were meant to be lived in. Jazz had done it a favor by leaving the mess in his wake, scattered objects leaving an easy guide of the places he had already searched. The fact that nearly all of the apartment was in some state of disarray by now was a little concerning, but Jazz did not believe in disappointment. Something in here would give.

He pulled a random datapad and turned it over in his hands. Standard manufacture, no evidence of post-production modification. From his wrist compartment, he produced his favorite multitool and started to fiddle with it, unscrewing the back panel while listening for any clicks that would alert him to abort mission.

He heard nothing like that, but as the last screw popped out, he picked up another noise: footsteps, stopping just in front of the apartment door. Silence, and then the tell-tale snikt of a cable unspooling.

Still holding the datapad, Jazz stepped into the front room with felinoid care and turned the only chair in the room so it faced the door. He climbed on sideways, legs draped over the arm, and discarded the back of the datapad so he could lean close to inspect its internals as the locking mechanism beeped and the door slid aside.

Prowl froze with one pede across the threshold. Jazz glanced at him, grinned, and returned to his work, bouncing a leg in time with his music to dispel the energy building in his lines, while Prowl glanced around the apartment

“Are you going to run?” he asked once he had completed whatever checks he had deemed necessary.

Jazz shrugged.

“Would you chase me?”

Prowl did not move. Jazz glanced at him a second time, his details hard to make out against the harsh backlight of the complex hallway.

“Not a trick question, Prowl.” He returned to the datapad, using his fingers now to gently pry out the battery.

He still saw at the edge of his vision the moment Prowl stepped into the room, letting the door close behind him.

“No,” he said. “It would be a waste of time.”

“A waste?” Jazz’s visor flashed back to Prowl, projecting his mock hurt. Prowl just canted his helm, optics locked on Jazz while his sensor panels fluttered with more thorough scans.

“I could catch you eventually, but it would require time and resources the Autobots cannot expend right now,” he said. “The potential damage you could cause were you to go free is similar to that which we would incur were key operatives removed to assist with your capture.”

“You don’t know what I know,” Jazz said. He popped the battery free and tossed it behind him, listening for the clatter before he started to poke at the pad’s more delicate components. “I’ve had a lot of private chats with Optimus when his guards thought he was alone in his quarters. You’ve unofficially declassified things just for me.” Jazz had been trying not to think about the trust they had shared before. Even if he could prove he was innocent of this most recent crime, he would still have to contend with the secrets he had kept from Prowl.

“Do you intend to go back to the Decepticons?” Prowl asked.

Straightforward, then. Jazz went for the pad’s storage drive.

“Does it matter what I say?” he asked.

Prowl considered it. Jazz successfully removed two screws before he realized the chip had been soldered in as well.

“No,” Prowl said.

Whatever. Jazz wedged the blunt end of the multitool under the drive and twisted, cracking it and freeing the loosed shards.

“Regardless of your answer, I do not believe you are a traitor to the Autobots,” Prowl went on. “Now can you stop testing me so we can focus on the matter of hand?”

Jazz shook his head.

“Not done yet,” he said. “Why?”

“What are you even—" Prowl had stepped forward to inspect the ruined device in Jazz’s hands but stopped when Jazz automatically flinched away. He had movement programs lined up to fling himself over the back of the chair and out the window he had come through, but to both of their benefits Prowl relented and stepped back. “The evidence we have connecting you to the attack is entirely circumstantial, inferences made in absence of a more likely suspect. I have found someone I believe more closely matches the profile we are looking for.”

“Who?”

Prowl narrowed his optics at Jazz.

“Maybe you could tell me,” he said. “You are in the process of destroying his property.”

Jazz looked down at the pad, mouth opening like he was just seeing it for the first time.

“Aw, slag, I do that? My bad. I get fiddly during interrogations.”

Prowl put a hand to his face.

“This isn’t—where did you get Verve’s address?”

“Mutual acquaintance.” Jazz dropped the datapad and leveraged himself up and over the back of the chair, landing on his pedes on the other side. “Told me a story about a surprise Autobot visit a little while back, slick guy back in town to say hi to his old enforcer buddies. Gave me directions.” City hall sanitation was one of several gigs Ferrule would pick up whenever an opportunity opened; the salary wasn't worth the work (fair wages would risk implying that Petrex officials were any less than perfectly tidy), but he always managed to pull something more valuable than credits out of it.

“Anything else?” Prowl asked.

“Yeah.” Jazz gestured to the window behind him. “Folks with their mics to the ground are splitting. Word is there’s been sightings of bots who don’t belong sneaking around places they shouldn’t. Some are saying the war’s on its way.”

Jazz saw Prowl flinch at that and did have a moment of sympathy for the bot. Most of the population had already gone through the grief of hearing that their home city had been subsumed into the conflict, but they yet remained among the lucky few who had not experienced it. The anxiety of knowing it could happen at any moment was the price they paid.

“Your turn,” Jazz said. “What’d official channels fish out for you?”

Prowl’s sensor panels twitched and he glanced away for a nanoklik; Jazz gasped.

“Prowl, you didn’t!”

“My loyalty is to the Autobots first,” Prowl said, locking himself into a posture that was likely meant to seem strong but instead came across as defensive. “Given the delicate nature of the situation, I could not risk adding additional factors by bringing Petrex’s enforcers into my investigation. They are aware that they rendered aid, but not the nature or cause for it.”

“I’ll take it,” Jazz said with a grin. He could remember back to their days in Security Services, when Prowl had been known as the bot unable to begin an informal meeting until proper handshake and briefing procedures had been satisfied. “So, what’d you get out of the enforcers?”

“Verve of Petrex, fourth division Autobot analyst, entered Petrex 6th cycle 105, a decacycle prior to the attack. He performed routine checks on Petrex’s munitions factories and spent significant time in Petrex’s enforcer stations, where he was previously employed.”

Jazz tilted his helm as he leaned against the doorframe to the back room.

“That’s… huh.” He had expected more from Prowl.

“It is reported that Verve was there primarily to socialize with his former coworkers. However, only a quarter of his reported time off can be accounted for on security feeds, and from my personal observations, Verve had no friends.”

Jazz barked a laugh.

“Harsh, Prowl.”

“A statement of fact,” Prowl retorted. His frame had relaxed again, sensor panels settling into a more natural position, though he made no move to collapse the space between them. “Verve applied for frame exception to transfer to pursuit.”

“And?” Jazz jabbed a thumb at himself. “I had frame exception for a little while, while I was working as a musician. Didn’t get shunned for it.” It had, in fact, been among the happiest periods of Jazz’s life, constantly among musicians and music lovers.

“In Staniz,” Prowl pointed out. “Petrex is far more conservative in that regard. Verve’s attempt to change his function was likely taken among his peers to mean that he considered himself above them; pursuit was a coveted department for the prestige awarded to high-profile captures. There was also a… social benefit to the position.”

Jazz smirked and took a step closer to Prowl, disguising it as passive interest in the contents of an overturned wastebasket.

“Not your scene?” he asked.

“No,” Prowl said. “Attending the post-shift outings would have meant sacrificing requisite recharge joors.” Rich, coming from a bot who had been known to work for cycles without break, but Jazz didn't comment.

“Okay,” Jazz said. “So, we’ve got a bot who started in the Petrex enforcers, didn’t like where he was and got alienated for it, then signed onto the Autobots—”

“He transferred to Security Services first, under Sentinel,” Prowl corrected. “He transferred before I did.”

“Alright. Any hints when he could’ve gotten in contact with the Decepticons?”

“I assume it would have to have been after Optimus’ rise to the Primacy,” Prowl said. “I can’t imagine how a Decepticon agent could have slipped by Sentinel’s scrutiny.”

“I did.”

Prowl locked up again. Jazz froze, too, not risking edging any closer to the nervous ex-enforcer. He had assumed that information exchange to this degree meant they were on their way back to trusting each other, but maybe that detail was still too new. He felt a brush of disappointment but didn't waste time feeding it.

“I was a Decepticon ‘fore I was an Autobot,” he said, because Prowl thrived off information. “Got recruited in Staniz after the Clampdown tanked the local music scene. Most of my friends went into shipbuilding, but I’d already been in that life once and knew I couldn’t do another round. Soundwave picked me out while I was busking.”

Prowl’s gaze was steady, the look he adopted when he was copying and analyzing data as it was coming to him. Jazz pushed down his instinct to break for the open window.

“I was assigned to spec ops, but they were calling it recon back then. Lots of rumors around about Sentinel’s plans, but no one really knew what the Functionists were packing, so Soundwave sent me into Kaon to find out.”

Prowl nodded. Already, his frame was relaxing again; bot did not like having unanswered questions lying around. “Is that the point at which you changed your name?”

“My—no? When did that—aw, slag.” Jazz felt the energon drain from his face. “Is that what gave me away?”

“Red Alert found it,” Prowl said. “He opened a case and discovered further inconsistencies within your profile, but yes, that was the catalyst.”

The laugh came unbidden, harsh and a bit unkind, though only towards himself. Jazz had to lean against the chair to keep his balance. Prowl’s optics flared and he stepped forward, offering support, but Jazz waved him off.

“Frag, mech, that’s—I didn’t change my name for the Decepticons. I picked it up to get into the music scene; was remaking myself and the old one had never really fit. I wasn’t—slag, I probably could’ve gotten away with it, couldn’t I?” He put a hand to his mouth, trying to stifle further laughter. He knew he had a reputation for being impulsive, but now he was wondering if it was better earned than he had realized.

“There was other evidence,” Prowl said, tone quiet with what Jazz realized was supposed to be reassurance.

This time, he didn't refuse Prowl’s help when the laughter bubbled up again, even leaning into the warm grip on his elbow.

“Wow. If Prime ever forgives me for this one, you better make sure I’m in a different room when you tell him that part. Don’t think my ego could take it.”

“Optimus will forgive you,” Prowl said.

Jazz’s smile blunted at the edges.

“We’ll see,” he said. What he wouldn’t have given to have Optimus there right now. “But enough about me. For real. Where’s all the stuff pointing to this Verve bot?”

“Here,” Prowl said, releasing Jazz’s arm to retrieve a datapad. “This contains everything I was able to pull from his file and his movements through Petrex.” He finished unlocking it but hesitated in handing it over. “I’ve made backups of everything, so it will do you no good to destroy it. As a professional courtesy, I ask that you do not.”

Jazz grinned at Prowl as he plucked the datapad from his grip.

“I told you, I only get fiddly when I’m nervous.”

~

The sun was setting and Petrex was moving into the first shift of the night cycle. The main ‘centrics were packed with bots heading to and coming from work, while down below the pedestrian radials lit up with those who could afford off-hours. Given the momentum of the last several cycles, Prowl felt like he should be among the workers up above, moving into position for the next stage of the operation.

Instead, he was down here with Jazz, standing off to the side of a public square while trying to look unremarkable. Bots milled around in front of them, often in pairs or groups, so engrossed in their own lives they paid no attention to the loiterers drinking in the evening air. The few times someone did make optic contact with Prowl, they were quick to look away again, uninterested in drawing the attention of an enforcer.

It left him in an unfamiliar state of being. Downtime, some would have called it. With the tac comp’s endless queue of problems, he had thought himself immune to it, but now he had it on standby to conserve power and did not know what to do with all the space left in his processor. This was what some people looked forward to?

“Okay, what do you normally do to relax?” Jazz asked, who was doing a much better job with this. Leaned back against the wall, visor dimmed to a comfortable glow, he looked like just another living fixture of the city.

Prowl considered the question. Apparently, he considered it too thoroughly, because Jazz started to get twitchy.

“Strategy games? Math puzzles?” he suggested.

Prowl grimaced and shook his helm.

“Most are newforge play,” he said.

“I’ve got some helm-scratchers,” Jazz offered, but still Prowl refused.

“Thank you, but I don’t think I would enjoy that, either. If a problem takes me too long, I start to feel… deficient.” Perhaps that was too personal to have shared so readily. Prowl scrambled for something else. “I listen to music,” he said.

Jazz cocked his head as he grinned.

“Really? No way. You?” Prowl did not know what his expression did, but it caused Jazz to laugh. “No offense, mech. Just trying to understand how I didn’t know that about you.”

“I’m not very knowledgeable on the subject,” Prowl said. Already, he was wondering if he was out of his depth. Jazz had been a professional musician; he just had a short playlist he would turn to when fulfilling the less critical aspects of functioning, like refueling and maintenance.

“It’s all good. We can work with this.” Jazz had pushed himself from the wall and, when Prowl failed to follow, reached back to gently guide him forward. “Come on. This joor, the bands are just getting warmed up, but I know a couple spots we can hit.”

Prowl was not sure how it happened, but their hands ended up linked together as Jazz led them through the city, backtracking and looping so their presence on security feeds would look just like two bots enjoying a pleasant evening together. That the cover was not far from reality nagged at the back of Prowl’s processor, but he dismissed it as unimportant.

“Oh, hear that?” Jazz asked as they stopped again, this time before a squat building with warm yellow lights buzzing above its doors, which themselves rose far taller than either Jazz or Prowl. The windows revealed a bar rippling with activity, manual class frames so tightly packed it was impossible to see the performance they were turned to. Prowl perked his sensor panels and was just able to catch it, a lovely, haunting bass that caused his spinal strut to shiver.

“That’s Synco they’ve got up right now, which means we should be getting Treble on keyboard real soon,” Jazz said. “Never met a bot who could run a smoother swing.”

“You know him personally?” Prowl asked, checking against Jazz’s reports.

“Nah,” Jazz said. “Just bumped into each other a couple times, usually while I was tailing someone else.” He leaned back, head bobbing lightly in time with the bassline rolling out of the bar.

“If we’re trying to go unnoticed, though, perhaps we should proceed with caution,” Prowl said. He glanced to the crowded windows again. Jazz could find a way out of anything, but if something went wrong, Prowl would be trapped. Unless he pulled his old enforcer badge, a misdemeanor.

“We will,” Jazz said, and then he was pulling Prowl away from the front doors.

“Jazz?” Prowl asked, to which Jazz responded with a grin cast over his shoulder.

“We’re taking the VIP entrance,” he said.

This turned out to entail breaking into the adjoining building (a feat made significantly easier and less suspicious by the fact Jazz already had the security code; Prowl logged his questions for later) and taking the stairs to the fourth floor, which put them above the roof of the bar next door. The window at the end of the hall should have been sealed shut, per building code, but Jazz was able to pull it in, just wide enough for both of them to slip through and drop to the building below. Jazz went first and turned help Prowl down, catching his hand again as he did so.

The roof was dominated by an orange-tinted skylight, from which leaked the plunky notes of a keyboardist warming up. The remaining paneling was so narrow, even standing at the edge of it risked being seen by the bots below, so the pair settled themselves quickly, sitting with their backs against the barrier surrounding the roof. On the opposite side of the skylight, a trine of biplanes appeared to have had the same idea, but aside from responding to Jazz’s friendly wave paid them no mind.

“When I was first getting settled in your city, places like this were my sparkscanner,” Jazz said without preamble. “Not the lifecord they used to be, since all the lower level clubs got shut down, but still a good place to feel for the sparkpulse of the city.”

Prowl leaned his helm back and let his visual feed dim to 50% capacity. With his sensor panels pressed to a part of the building, he could feel the music as much as hear it as it drifted up to them. The keyboardist had found his step and moved in line with the bass, playing a series of simple chords to follow the established rolling melody. The two musicians were playing right now: no competition yet, crafting harmonies that were easy to follow and repeat. Nothing spectacular, but nice.

“Are these establishments more comfortable for you than, say, a union meeting, since you used to be a musician?” he asked. It had occurred to him that even if potential lies were taken at face value, he knew little of Jazz’s past. For reasons not tied exclusively to his investigation, this struck him as deeply in need of correcting.

Jazz laughed, a sound that was somehow more appealing the more Prowl heard it.

“First of all, you think there’s a single union in this town that wouldn’t peg me for a cop and throw me out, folks might start mistaking you for an optimist.” Jazz shook his head, grin still on. “But otherwise, sure. I found myself in places like this. Creating something, connecting with bots, it’s all I ever wanted to do. Kinda figures that I found my way back here, even with a war on.” His smile turned slanted as he leaned forward. “But maybe I’m being optimistic now. Before this it was the revolution and the Clampdown, when everything was getting screwed sideways. Maybe it’s just easier to enjoy the moment when the moment lasts longer than a cycle.”

“I… think I can relate,” Prowl said, his surprise mirrored in the way Jazz glanced at him. “In my youth, I loved being an enforcer. I was maintaining a system that guaranteed every Cybertronian the opportunity to contribute to the functioning of the planet. When I realized the reality was not so straightforward, I felt like I lost a part of me. It turned out that the story I had been told about myself was a tool used against the people I thought I was protecting; once I saw it for what it was, I could never find fulfillment in my task.”

He had expressed such thoughts in fragments before, peppered in conversations between Jazz, Optimus, and on one occasion Jetfire, but this was the first time he had been able to coalesce them into a cohesive idea. Again, he wondered if this was oversharing, and found no evidence either way in Jazz’s gentle stare.

“So, you joined Security Services to try to make a difference from the inside,” Jazz said. The slight crackle of his vocalizer matched perfectly with the blunted sound of the band. “You know, for what it’s worth, I appreciated what you were trying to do.”

“You knew?” He had thought his moves were subtle, just persuasive enough to change Sentinel’s track without alerting anyone to his intentions. There was a growing queue of problems to reanalyze once he had his tac comp back, all of it related to his history with Jazz.

“Yup,” Jazz said. “Talked to Soundwave about recruiting you, even, but never had a good in. You’re a hard mech to get to know, Prowl.”

And there was that grin back; Jazz was joking with him. Prowl felt his sensor panels flutter, vibrating against the barrier.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” he said. “I would have reported you. Though I disagreed with Sentinel’s manner, the Decepticons were the antithesis to everything I believed.”

“Slag, Prowl, just say you didn’t like the poetry,” Jazz laughed. “But yeah. I get it. I do. It’s easier now, playing for a Prime I trust. Optimus is a rare one.”

Prowl nodded. The music was picking up tempo, the keyboard taking over the melody to run amok in a series of arpeggios as the bass dutifully followed along. He could see why this performer would appeal to Jazz.

“It’s a high probability that Optimus will pardon you,” he said. “If the evidence holds up and you repeat the story you have told me, there might be no need for an interrogation.” Red Alert would fight for it, but even he had to acquiesce to the Prime. And everyone could be convinced that this was a less than ideal place in the war to lose one of their best operatives.

Jazz, however, did not seem reassured by this idea. His smiled dropped and he turned his gaze up to the sky which now bore just a sliver of sunlight, his plating shuffling. Prowl felt the ghost of the tac comp pinging him that this behavior was highly irregular.

“Jazz?” he said. “Do you not want Optimus’ forgiveness?”

“What? No, you kidding?” Jazz’s bafflement was enough to break his staring contest with the rising moon. “Not have to give up the last few vorns of my life? That’d be frelling great..”

“But you hesitate at the thought of involving him.”

“I—Look. It’s not like I’m ashamed of the things I’ve done. The old gov left me without options and the Decepticons gave me something to do about it. And then I got to know Optimus and realized I liked what he was about, so I made this permanent. I’ve always been trying to do what’s right, and he gets that; he’s a good bot. It’s just…”

Jazz fell quiet again, giving Prowl a moment to parse his words. It took a few more nanokliks than it normally would have, but even without the tac comp’s precision, he knew his conclusion was an astonishingly low probability. And yet, in the context of everything Jazz had told him and what he had seen, it was the only one that made sense.

“Optimus already knows.”

The rest of the world seemed to retreat. Prowl could still feel the music thrumming through his frame, but its presence was at the back of his processor. Jazz took the fore, the way he froze in place halfway to a smile. He tensed, like a spring preparing to snap, and Prowl desperately catalogued possible escape routes (every direction).

But then with a sigh, Jazz relented, slumping back against the barrier so their shoulders brushed.

“He’s a good bot,” he repeated.

Prowl tried to keep his stare level, but it was hard with Jazz so close.

“I can help you if you tell me the truth,” Prowl said, “and I am going to find it regardless.”

“That a threat?” Jazz asked, his visor meeting Prowl’s optics in a challenge.

“No,” Prowl said. He did not back down.

Jazz sighed again and rocked his helm so he was looking back up at the sky.

“When Sentinel died and Optimus took over, I figured it’d be more of the same,” he said. “He was more approachable than Sentinel had been, which was great for me and my job; could go in with some smuggled high grade and come out with a new tactic or interfaction conflict to exploit. But the more we talked, the more I realized he was on to something. The Decepticons were angry. They couldn’t fix what was broken, so they just wanted to tear everything down. But Optimus wanted to build. He didn’t know the first thing about law or policy, but he has a way with bots. Same as Megatron, I guess, but different.”

“And that is what convinced you to change sides,” Prowl concluded, but Jazz shook his head.

“Nah, not exactly,” he said. “I was put on call to terminate, if needed.”

Prowl’s processor flared with warnings, but he carefully dismissed them, nodding slowly for Jazz to go on.

“Plan never came to fruition, but the Decepticons were in a tight spot and needed a quick out at the ready. The orders came in as a footnote on my usual pickup, and I realized I couldn’t do it. Optimus has got this vision for what Cybertron could be one day, and I didn’t have it in me to take that away from everyone else.” He shrugged, as though it were no big deal. “It’s not really that I chose to switch sides as I couldn’t follow my orders. So, I told Optimus what was up, and he helped me defect.”

“And he never told his security team that he’d been sharing drinks with a potential assassin.” It was, of course, just like Optimus, but Prowl groaned, nonetheless. Were it not for the bot’s sheer good luck (a factor Prowl gone to great pains to explain mathematically), this war would have been lost within the first decade.

“Hey,” Jazz said, and the tone of his voice caught Prowl’s attention. He looked over and found that Jazz was leaning closer, conspiratorially. “He’s got good bots looking out for him. Including me. That’s why I can’t go back to Iacon until we’ve plugged the leak.”

Prowl was slower to connect threads without his tac comp, but still able.

“He can’t publicly pardon you without revealing his own role in your deceit and defection,” he said, “thereby implicating himself in harboring a Decepticon spy.”

“Morale would tank and folks like your old buds in Petrex might lose their faith,” Jazz said. “And even if we warned him against it, he would still push for it, since it’s the ‘right thing’ or whatever slag. So, we’ve got to take care of this before it reaches his audials.”

Prowl rolled it over in his processor. In a perfect world, the most logical course of action would be to return to Iacon and present the evidence that Jazz was innocent of this most recent crime. However, Jazz was right: this was reality, where people did not always react logically. Though it was not guaranteed Optimus would refuse their advice, the probability was too high to risk while there were other options.

“If he had a decent team of advisors, he wouldn’t end up in situations like this,” he grumbled. The bots who currently held that role were the last holdovers from Sentinel’s reign, barely trusted nowadays with requisitions. The more he thought about it, the less Prowl was surprised Optimus had found refuge with a former ‘Con.

“Let’s get ourselves back to Iacon and maybe we can start to work on that,” Jazz said.

Their optics met: Prowl nodded; Jazz grinned. Then their attention turned forward as they settled back together, listening to music of a different world while waiting for the night to fall.

~

Hacking into the enforcer headquarters took longer than Jazz would have liked, but these were not codes that could be picked up off any corner. Prowl watched their surroundings, panels flicking in response to any sound, even the subtle clic of Jazz’s lockpicking rig. He was as certain as he could be that no one would come through this way, but with new personnel and changing protocol, they would both have to be on guard the whole time.

Luckily, Jazz was a maestro in suspicion and jumpiness.

He got the door open a crack, just wide enough to send in the blackout bug, a small drone programmed to target security cameras. A last resort tool that would be obvious on rewatch of the security feeds, it was the only way for them to get in and for Prowl to lead them to the employee breakroom on the ground floor, the last place Verve had appeared on camera before his abrupt disappearance.

In the video, Verve, after spending nearly a joor chatting with the bots coming through on their way to the energon dispenser, got up and disposed of his old cube, then exited through the rear door, which Prowl and Jazz now stood just to the side of. Walking normally, he should have reappeared on the camera on the left end of the hall, but he never did. Jazz would have chalked it up to hacking, but Prowl’s discovery of a shadow on the periphery of one camera further down suggested a more straightforward approach.

Now, Prowl and Jazz had themselves squished into that first blindspot, Prowl trying to be aware of everything except Jazz’s plating pressed against his own while Jazz searched for their path between the cameras. They kept their movements slow and methodical, never rushing unless they heard someone approaching. This was the most coveted off-shift, usually saved for those who had connections in admin. The ones who were left tended to be more reserved and most stuck to their workstations, giving Prowl and Jazz mostly empty corridors to work with as they made their way deeper into the headquarters.

Jazz knew they had reached a landmark when they found themselves at a dead end, two floors down from where they had started. The door at the end of the corridor was closed, though there was light on the other side. There were a few doors branching off into storage and maintenance areas but getting within arm’s length of any of them would have put Jazz in view of a camera. He felt Prowl’s optics on him as he inspected the narrow blindspot they had wedged themselves into.

Jazz shot him a grin, aiming for cocksure. Delightfully, Prowl’s sensor panels fluttered, though Jazz was unfortunately distracted from them by the sound they made trembling against the wall. The long echo of a cavity on the other side.

Projecting his movements as he maneuvered in their tight space, he turned around and started to fiddle with the panel. Prowl caught on to his intentions and helped where he could, though he could not turn for risk of dipping his sensor panels into a camera’s sightline. With minimal shuffling, though, they found the trick to pry it up, and then Jazz was slipping inside, hesitating just long enough to be sure there was no one standing immediately past the threshold with a gun in their hand.

His luck held up, though, and the space he stepped into was empty. He had to stoop just to fit in it and turning back would undoubtedly prove a challenge. but he had built his reputation crawling through spots much tighter than this.

Prowl, on the other hand, did not have that experience, and Jazz heard him huff with annoyance as he followed inside.

“What is this, a maintenance shaft?” Jazz asked, following the exposed and dangling cables that seemed to sprout from every surface. He was relying on his visor to see; once Prowl had replaced the wall panel, they had been pitched into darkness, interrupted only occasionally by fluorescent markers in the walls.

“Unlikely,” Prowl said. “It’s not included in the blueprints, and there would be no reason to keep such a structure secret.”

Once they were past the initial jungle of cables, the tunnel became smooth, if patchy. Missing panels revealed the inner structures that kept the space upright underneath the heavy layers above them (although the further they went, the more certain Jazz became they were no longer underneath the station) and sounds of live electronics followed them as they moved. Prowl had his sensor panels perpendicular to his back to keep from knocking into the walls, which meant Jazz did not have as much warning as he would have liked when they reached the end.

“We’re coming up on something,” Prowl whispered right as Jazz’s visual feed picked up the wall panel. “Heavy electromagnetic interference.”

“Anything alive?” Jazz asked. He tapped the panel, earning the same hollow ding he had gotten on the other side.

“Doubtful,” Prowl said. “There could be someone linked into the system, though, so proceed with caution.”

Not that Jazz had been planning anything else, but he nodded, feeling around the edge of the panel for the trick that had gotten them through the first one. Thoughts that had been swirling in his processor for a while now pushed to the fore, and he had to divide his attention between steadying his hands and his voice.

“You should stay here,” he said. “We don’t know what’s on the other side of this, and if it turns out to all be legit, we don’t need you getting in trouble with your old precinct.”

“My—what?”

Jazz stole a glance at Prowl. Hunched over and plating pulled in tight, he already looked uncomfortable, but there was a slant to his expression that suggested it was more than physical.

“I mean, I know you’re not their biggest fan, but you’ve still got a thing with them, right?” Jazz asked, turning back to the panel.

“There is some… tactical advantage to maintaining my connections,” Prowl said. “But their loyalty first is to the Prime, and Optimus is more than capable of smoothing over relations if we take this too far. My larger strategic concern is returning you to Iacon alive. Chances of success increase dramatically if we stay together.”

Jazz felt his spark warm and he hastened his efforts, slipping only once before he popped the panel out of its frame.

It was a small room they stepped into, almost a storage closet and as dark except for the bank of computer screens on the far wall, filling the corners with their steady cyan light. There was a door to Jazz’s left, sealed, and a security camera to his right, offline according to his sensors. The computer (it appeared to be a single system, despite the dozen or so screens) was in the process of shutting down.

“Geographically speaking, where would you pin us?” Jazz asked as he stepped up to the expansive console. Prowl was at his side, examining the device but letting Jazz handle manipulation.

“Leaving central Petrex,” Prowl said. “In proximity of Con30, the border highway to midtown.”

“The station extends that far?” Jazz asked.

“No,” Prowl said, though he kept glancing around like he was uncertain. “I had heard rumors that certain institutions were linked together by submetallic networks, but never had reason to investigate further. I suppose this could be a part of one.”

Jazz halted shutdown and loaded the terminal’s directory. A cursory search revealed high storage capabilities and limited network connectivity, currently disabled. Likely a holding spot for old data where it would not be slowing down vital systems without the finality of deleting it entirely. The contents of the files would have put mileage toward figuring out what had brought Verve this way but trying to open any of them delivered a prompt for credentials.

“Let me,” Prowl said after Jazz was refused access for a third time. His hands hovered over Jazz’s on the keyboard, but Jazz hesitated to move. Prowl’s sensor panels flapped. “I still have access to enforcer systems. If this is something Petrex enforcers are involved in, I should be able to get in, in which case it is even more important we know what is going on.”

Jazz relented, stepping aside. It felt like a long wait as Prowl input his password, most of which Jazz spent watching Prowl’s hands as they fluttered across the keyboard. His attention was only brought back up by the computer opening a new screen, a viewing program, and he was only distracted briefly by the curse he heard Prowl whisper.

“These are Petrex’s defenses,” he said. “This, here,” he pointed to the screen, “it’s security rotation from 3rd cycle 037. And this one,” he opened a random file from the list, “is from 8th cycle 243.”

“Just schedules, or…?” Jazz knew he need not have bothered asking, though, by the way Prowl started to comb through the list more frantically.

“Invoice for bullets from Tarn. Clampdown regulations from Sentinel.” Prowl named the contents as he opened them, barely giving himself time to review one before he was moving on to the next. “The original proposal for the anti-air defense shield. What is all this doing here, unsecured?”

He froze, fans billowing hot air. With careful movements, Jazz stepped back into the space before the console, inspecting the files Prowl had opened.

“Do you recognize the architecture?” he asked. Prowl’s wings flicked in acknowledgement, but it still took him several nanokliks to answer.

“Of course,” he said. “It’s the bureaucratic standard for—”

“Not the computer, the room,” Jazz said, gesturing around them with his free hand. “You said we’re near Con30. Any specific building?”

“I don’t know,” Prowl said, optics traveling around the room without seeing it.

“Could we be in the foundations of the highway?”

Prowl focused on Jazz. He shrugged.

“From what I heard, the ‘centrics were walls before they were roads. After apartheid, maybe they turned obsolete structures into storage for obsolete intel.” He pointed to one date embedded in a header. “That’s from before you were constructed, isn’t it? It’s all out-of-date.”

“It’s data,” Prowl snapped. “What isn’t included can be inferred.” But he was not disagreeing with Jazz’s main point, which Jazz knew was the most he could hope for when Prowl was in this state.

He glanced back through the files. Even amongst the few they had accessed, there were hints toward larger vulnerabilities that, with enough time and resources, could be widened into something much more destructive. Decepticons currently had access to plenty of both.

“Petrex’s leadership needs to know about this,” Prowl said, taking over again to start closing files and shutting down programs. “Even if Verve somehow isn’t involved, a security breach of this magnitude could have the city under Decepticon control within a cycle.”

“And then Staniz would be surrounded,” Jazz filled in. “They’d have the spaceport.”

“And Petrex’s munitions and cold construction facilities.” Prowl’s sensor panels were static as he finished with the computer, optics locked to it as it shut down. “We need to inform the captain immediately, get a city-wide search going while raising the defenses for potential imminent invasion. Given that the terminal was accessed recently, there might still be time to—”

Jazz had hung back, waiting for the moment Prowl noticed and interrupted himself to turn around.

“Well?”

Jazz smiled, rueful, as he started to inch back toward the closed door.

“Sorry, Prowl,” he said, “but I think this is the part where I give you the slip.”

“What?” Prowl’s optics flared and he straightened, secret passageway momentarily forgotten.

“No matter what angle the Decepticons come from, if they show up, the lower level’s gonna get hit hard,” Jazz said. “I’ve got connections down there. Folks with a lot of life left to live who didn’t get a say in whether we had a war.” He thought of Rotary and Roundabout crowded together at Winch’s table, of Ferrule keeping a tub of solvent just at the point of boiling. “If I go now and get the word out, there might be time to get them out of the way. And hey, maybe I can even pick up Verve’s trail while I’m out. I’m good at multitasking.” His grin cracked a bit brighter, though he could only hope Prowl could see it as more monitors shut off and the room dimmed to near blackness.

He bit his lip and tried not to overthink, especially not about what he was asking for. Prowl hesitated.

“Your friends,” he said. “Will they trust the enforcer evac teams, should it come to that?”

“No,” Jazz said. “But I trust you. If you decide that’s what needs to happen, I’ll find ‘em a way out.” He knew routes through this city even the most veteran pursuit vehicle had never considered.

Prowl nodded and stood at attention, as though addressing an officer.

“Alright,” he said. “By Primus’ light.”

There was no time for it. But Jazz stepped forward anyway, grasping Prowl’s hand so the joints of their fingers ground together.

“Catch ya on the flipside,” he promised.

Neither waited to watch the other leave. They spun and took off at the same time, Prowl up the tunnel and Jazz toward the door, both in a mad dash back up to the city.

~

Verve was captured on Con184, running from the gate at 62.6R where a fluke of city planning meant there was regularly a space of 10 kliks between the departure of one guard rotation and the arrival of the next. Prowl had been in time to warn the enforcers of the potential escapee and, with the city on heightened alert, Verve’s window to leave had closed shut.

“I get why they rejected him for pursuit,” Jazz said later as he reclined on Prowl’s desk in Iacon, optics roving across the window, taking in old familiar sights. “Running’s not so much his strong suit.”

“No,” Prowl said, “which is why he used your case as a distraction, I would guess. He was buying himself time.”

“Just didn’t realize he’d accidentally hit so close to the bullseye,” Jazz said. He grinned down at Prowl, though it was missed as the other bot continued to review the pile of datapads before him. “Knew an innocent bot would go straight back to Iacon to get the mess sorted.”

“Or even half innocent,” Prowl said, still without looking up. “Optimus is on his way from Tyger Pax, by the way. The Decepticon offensive has been pushed back for the time being. I am sure he will want to see you when he arrives.”

Jazz froze.

“Is someone gonna tell him—”

“I’ve scheduled a meeting with him ahead of his briefing with Red Alert,” Prowl said. “I will apprise him of the situation. With a more likely suspect in custody and your alibi already constructed, the probability is good we will be able to turn Red Alert’s attention to more pressing matters.”

And he relaxed again.

“So, I’m good?”

“I believe so.”

Prowl was frowning at his datapad, sensor panels stiff in thought. Jazz leaned closer so their helms almost bumped, catching Prowl’s attention.

“Something eatin’ ya?”

Prowl huffed and set down the datapad.

“One part of the puzzle remains elusive to me,” he said, “but I was hoping to find the solution on my own.”

“Aw, c’mon, Prowl,” Jazz said, bumping him now for real. “Weren’t you the one that said we’re a good team? Lemme help.”

Prowl’s panels twitched and he looked away, though he did not move out of Jazz’s space.

“I don’t understand why you told me the truth,” Prowl said. “It worked to focus me on the other facets of the case, but there were ways you could have done that without implicating yourself at all. Simply looking into the available evidence would have been enough for you to craft your alibi. Why say anything?”

Jazz shrugged as he leaned back, his gaze moving up to the ceiling. Prowl chanced a glance over, optics drawn to the way the move exposed Jazz’s neck cables.

“Been trying to figure that one out myself, actually,” he said. “Felt right in the moment.”

“Yes, but what was the motivation behind it?” Prowl pushed. “Your instincts tend toward a specific goal.” He was not expecting Jazz to laugh.

“Yeah, the ones I bother to mention in my reports,” he said as he shook his head, crossing one pede over the other. “You have any idea how much impulsive slag I keep out just to make the things legible?”

Prowl’s sensor panels arched.

“Your reports should—”

“I know,” Jazz said, waving him off. “I put in all the relevant stuff. I swear.” He tilted his helm then. Prowl was sure he was listening to music and was faintly curious what it was, though he did not want to offer Jazz a free distraction from what seemed to be a difficult conversation. “If I had to guess, I probably told you because I wanted to.”

That was not the answer Prowl had been expecting. He twisted his chair so he was facing Jazz fully, but when he tried to think of a response, nothing came to him, and Jazz was no longer meeting his optics.

“You’re spec ops; you know what it’s like to have secrets no one else can know about,” Jazz said. “I had Optimus, but he was part of it. Maybe I just wanted to have someone to trust who wasn’t directly involved.”

“I see,” Prowl said. “Does Optimus have someone like that?”

Jazz grinned.

“Not supposed to talk about that,” he said. “Conflict of interests and all.”

Poor Red Alert. How did he manage to give any thought to the Decepticons when there were so many secrets being held within his own faction? Prowl pushed the officer out of his processor, though, realizing that he had allowed himself to start getting distracted.

“Well, if you have further critical information regarding Autobot security, I am always here to listen,” he said with a nod.

Jazz smiled at him.

“That right?”

“Yes,” Prowl said, though immediately upon hearing himself realized how insufficient an answer it was. He knew what he was trying to say, and he had a suspicion of what Jazz was really asking, but working out the intricacies of a conversation was a far different task from analyzing the details of a case. He strung a few sentences together in his processor, all of which fell flat; unable to come up with words to convey his meaning, he instead reached up to clasp Jazz’s hand in a mimicry of the spy’s parting gesture.

He had little experience with this, gestures of physical support and affirmation. When Jazz twisted their hands so their fingers laced together, though, he felt some hope that he might figure it out.

[dlims-quetta]

Essay on Safe Driving | Safety | Traffic Education

August 12, 2021

Essay # 1. Meaning of Safe Driving:

Safety is one of the most essential factors that one should look at while driving a vehicle. When it comes to driving a vehicle, one could either be a good driver or someone who can’t drive. There is no in-between status for a driver. Now-a-days it’s becoming more and more common for road accidents to take up the headline space in a daily newspaper. Many people lose their lives in road accidents.

Dlims Quetta ..

One should pay full attention while driving a vehicle and completely avoid any distractions. It is also an automobile owner’s responsibility to keep his vehicle in the best condition so as to avoid any accident while driving on road. While driving a vehicle the responsibility for ones life and the life of others rests with the driver of the vehicle.

There are all types of drivers on the road, from teenagers to the elderly. Everyone on the road is supposed to be licensed. Unfortunately, a driver’s license does not always ensure common sense and responsibility on the road. Safe driving is crucial because things can happen behind the wheel in a fraction of second.

Year over year accidents increases even though infrastructure of nation is growing fast and providing better ways of driving on the roads especially highways. Previously there were single lane and now the double lane, four lanes and six lanes have come. But number of road accidents increased with the luxury transports and heavy vehicles. Government and many non-profit NGOs organize road safety weeks and create awareness about the road safety.

Essay # 2. Importance of Safe Driving:

Driving safety is something to be taken very seriously. Safe driving not only saves life but also provide other benefits that can save money.

Dlims Quetta...

The importance of safe driving can be seen from the following points:

a. Fuel efficiency is increased by safe driving i.e., by eliminating frequent stops and rapid acceleration.

b. Safe driving can help prevent accidents.

c. Driving defensively makes a person a more cautious driver, and his insurance premiums will lower as a result.

d. Because of safe driving, tyres will have a longer life as it involves gentle braking and acceleration.

e. Another importance of safe driving is that engine will not be strained during hard braking and fast accelerations.

f. Driving safely helps in avoiding hefty fines or imprisonment for traffic violations.

Essay # 3. Tips for Safe Driving:

It is required for an automobile driver to comply with all the rules and regulations laid down by the traffic department and also drive a vehicle keeping in mind the following tips which would most certainly make the driving experience more pleasurable and safe. One should take some precautionary measures while driving the vehicle (car, truck etc.) on the roads to prevent major accidents.

Dlims Quetta...

Some of the safety tips for driving are regarding:

1. Starting.

2. Turning.

3. Reversing.

4. Changing Lanes.

5. Overtaking.

6. Parking.

7. Speeding.

9. Driving on Wet Roads.

10. Driving on Hills.

11. Night Driving.

12. Driving Long Distance.

13. Road Signs.

14. Other Safety Tips.

1. Starting:

The dashboard panel has indicators, which shows oil, fuel and battery power status. Most persons who drive newer vehicles take these for granted, but it is a good habit to take a look at these indicators every time one starts driving.

2. Turning:

Use correct indications while turning. While turning left or right use the turning indicator lights. The person must ensure that he/she is in the correct lane so that one doesn’t have to cut across lanes. Something as simple as turning a car causes several accidents.

Right turns are more dangerous than turning to left, as one has to cross through oncoming traffic on the other side of the road. While taking a U-turn there is need to stop and watch for traffic from the left while giving way to the other vehicles behind.

3. Reversing:

While reversing watch out for pedestrians and other obstructions that may be on the road.

4. Changing Lanes:

The person should indicate his intention to the driver of the vehicle following him, a reasonable distance before an attempt is made to change lane.

5. Overtaking:

One should overtake only when he/she is absolute sure about safety. When one is driving at higher speed, perception of distances and speed can be distorted. Maximum numbers of road accidents occur while vehicles are trying to overtake. Always overtake from the right on straight roads. The driver should signal his intention of overtaking by blowing the horn or by flashing the headlights.

6. Parking:

Parking should be done in such a way, which do not obstruct or cause inconvenience to others. Park the vehicles only in places where it is permitted to park. Before parking makes sure that there is ‘no parking’ sign.

7. Speeding:

Drive the vehicles at a comfortable speed. One should drive at safer speed, suitable to the road conditions. Optimum fuel efficiency is achieved at 50 – 60 km/h speeds. At 80 km/h vehicle consumes an avoidable 30% extra fuel. At slower speeds one gets substantial time to react to unexpected actions of other drivers and pedestrians and to ever-changing factors like light, weather, road and traffic conditions.

8. Stopping:

A person should indicate his intention to stop. First slow down and then stop. Don’t stop vehicle by applying brakes abruptly unless it is absolutely nec­essary to do so. Most people fail the driving test because they do not know how to stop. Several accidents happen when a vehicle in front suddenly slows down or stops. While moving behind another vehicle one is required to maintain a safe distance from that vehicle.

9. Driving on Wet Roads:

Driving on wet roads require extra caution. Make sure that tyres, brakes and wipers are in good condition. Drivers are cautioned to be extra careful when the first rains fall. The road at this time is covered with dust and mud, which along with rainwater forms a film that reduces the grip of the tyre on the road. One can easily skid under such conditions.

10. Driving on Hills:

Driving on hills also requires extra caution. Check brakes of the vehicle before the start the journey. There is need to engage the correct gear before climbing up or descending a steep road. The driver should follow road traffic signs more carefully. Never turn off the engine or put the gear in neutral position while going downhill as it is very difficult to control a vehicle.

11. Night Driving:

While driving at night, check that headlights are properly adjusted for high and low beam. Keep windshield and windows clean. At night it is more difficult to judge speeds and distances as the visibility is poor. The glare of oncoming traffic can blind a driver making him lose concentration. Driving at a controlled speed helps in stopping the vehicle in time to avoid an accident.

12. Driving Long Distance:

Take breaks and get refreshed at intervals while driving for long distance. Long distance driving can make a person tired and causes fatigue, which can dull his reflexes and judgment. When person feels sleepy, don’t attempt to drive further.

13. Road Signs:

Observe the traffic signs on the sides of the road and follow them, like speed brake ahead, speed limit 20 km, school zone etc.

14. Other Safety Tips:

a. Always wear seatbelts.

b. Never use mobile phones while driving. Mobile phones increase the chance of a collision by nearly 400%.

c. Avoid drugs both before driving and while driving,

d. Don’t do practice driving in the highways.

e. Plan to arrive 10 minutes before the appointed time. Speeding does not increase ability to arrive on time; rather it only increases the chances of not arriving at all.

f. Avoid driving in “No-Zone” area.

Dlims Quetta...

Related Articles:

Social Responsibility towards the Injured | Road Accidents | Traffic Rules

Essay on Road Rage | Safety | Traffic Rules

Dlims Quetta...

[poisonedapples]

The Dark Side of Christmas

Summary: Christmas is known as the happiest, most welcoming time of year. But when you’re Roman, that’s not always the case.

TRIGGERS: Roman has PTSD but it’s not stated by name in the fic, fighting, swearing, mentions of past shootings, mention of a car accident/explosion, blood. panic, past death and grieving, mental health problems, anxiety, dissociation and flashbacks, Christmas, tell me if you notice any more, cause this one has a lot

Note: HAPPY LATE HOLIDAY! This was supposed to be done by Christmas, but this month has Sucked so I’m using that as my excuse. My friend @theultimatemomfriend was my secret santa for something I did in the Powerless server, so here is your gift mixed with my own self indulgence! Hope you like it <3

But also , thank you to @romansleftshoulderpad and @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 for saving me some time and editing it for me. I appreciate you two

He was driving in a car.

She was screaming at him at the top of her lungs, all about how he was a failure, couldn’t do simple things, is only a disappointment to everyone that’s ever known him. The screaming was like a concert speaker right next to his ear; loud, loud, loud.

He couldn’t steer in these conditions. Not with a rocky road that bent in so many directions, a skinny single lane on a cliff with traffic cones instead of a protective railing. His foot was all the way on the brake, yet the car was speeding down the road faster than he’s ever driven before. The tires were screeching. She was still yelling.

It’s so loud.

She jumped on top of him suddenly, grabbing a hold of his neck with her long nails digging into his throat. Everything burned, he couldn’t breathe, and no one was steering the car anymore.

It’s so loud.

High pitched screeching echoed from nowhere. She was still screaming in his ear while his neck fell asleep, desperately trying to pull away her hand in order to breathe.

You’re going to die.

The car fell down the cliff. Completely on its side, such a smooth yet loud fall, the car came crashing into the woods under it, fire consuming his sight and all of his brain, the loud crash coming to a complete, deafening silence after an overwhelming boom.

Roman’s body jerked awake.

He scrunched up his shoulders to immediately cover the tingling part of his neck where he was being strangled in his dream. His mind was foggy while his body felt ready to run a marathon, heart beating fast and every inch of his skin shaking violently. Roman curled into a ball trying to calm down in the pitch black room, to no avail.

Phone. Phone. Phone has light, where’s my phone-

Roman’s Rapunzel figure on his bedside table crashed to the floor from his lack of coordination, pretty stones meant for healing and love moving out of their places and into undusted territory. Roman dropped his phone on his chest once he grabbed it but was only grateful it didn’t hit the floor this time, turning on the bright screen and blinding his eyes.

It was better than the darkness.

5:48 AM, his clock said, the lock screen blurry-looking because of Roman’s unfocused eyes and the tears pricking out certainly not helping. But he could tell there were no notifications over the night.

It’s always weird when he has to delete the Instagram app. His phone doesn’t buzz nearly as much without it.

He unlocked his phone and opened up one of his word puzzle game apps. Although it pained him to admit that Logan was right, lighthearted thinking games helped him on nights like these. Where all he needed was to calm down, but no people were around to help him with that.

As the game loaded and he was wondering what words to make with the letters F, I, G, U, E, and R, Roman clung tightly to his giant stuffed animal Magic Bitch the Queen, a rainbow pegacorn that was perfect for squishing. The name only made it better. Weirdly more calming.

Things were calming down. He definitely won’t be able to go back to sleep tonight, but given the date it was a miracle he felt as calm as he did—

“Virgil, quiet down-”

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want!”

“Virgil!”

...Nevermind. 

Roman curled in on himself at the sound of the yelling. He hated fighting. He hated it with a burning passion, loud noises made him jump out of his skin and it was only worse when it was them yelling. They’re usually a lot more calm when Roman is around, but sometimes things just...got out of hand.

This was one of those times.

“This bitch thinks he can just walk in here and act like he owns the damn place! Well newsflash fucker, you’re not the only person who cares about Roman! Stop acting like you can fucking control him!”

“I’m not controlling him! Is it a crime for me to want to care about my own brother!? Last time I checked, you’re not family!”

“Remus-“

“Oh cram it, calculator watch!”

“Go fuck yourself, you walking STD!”

“Virgil Foster! If you end up waking Roman, I swear-”

Patton paused mid sentence when he saw the figure standing in the middle of the steps. Everyone looked over at Roman, his hand fiddling with the end of his sleeve and way too tired eyes. His posture a little too straight, smile so dead it was hardly a smile at all. “It’s alright, Pat. I was awake anyway.”

“I assume another nightmare?” Logan asked.

Roman went to the kitchen and grabbed a glass from the cupboard. Filling it with milk until it was overflowing, Roman smiled. “You know me so well.”

Patton’s face grew concerned while he chugged some of the milk, Remus crossing his arms and glaring at Virgil. “You wouldn’t be having these problems if you’d stayed at my place instead of this dump.”

“This dump is our home, trash panda. Watch your fucking mouth.”

“Ironic.” Remus towered over Virgil with his hands on his hips when he stepped closer, Virgil hissing when he got too close. “All I’m saying is that isn’t it better for Roman to be with family who can help, instead of stuck in the same place that caused all this in the first place? With people who don’t even understand?”

“You know that I’m here, right? That I can hear you talking about me? Cause I can hear you talking about me.”

“Or maybe he needs to be around family that actually cares instead of being around the same deadbeat bastard who only comes visit to be the same pile of dog shit he makes everyone step in!”

Patton sighed. “Virgil, please stop. Can we please just go back to bed? Without all the fighting?”

The looks on Remus’ face was too taunting. Blood boiled in Virgil’s veins from three weeks of dirty glares at each other while he watched his best friend curl around him for comfort instead of anyone else. The cockiness of him trying to take Roman off to Florida for the holiday, like he was the only one who cared. He hated his stupid gross smile and how Roman snickered at his dirty jokes, he hated how he was genuinely helping and how useless their help was.

How threatening this bitch actually made him feel. But Virgil refused to lose.

“I’ll go to bed when this bitch stops acting like he can walk into my fucking house and act like he owns the fucking place! Eat my food, use my water, and steal my fucking friend because apparently this human embodiment of the feeling you get right before you fucking projectile vomit is the reincarnation of Christ!”

“Virgil!”

“And I’ll go to bed when this ‘Roman’s my best friend’ wannabe stops getting in between my family because his self esteem’s so low in the ground that sharks can have sex on it!”

“Fuck you!”

“JUST SHUT UP!”

Everyone paused when Roman screamed, his hand too weak to hold onto his glass and his hands shaking too hard to fiddle with the end of his sleeve anymore. His eyes were glassy and his chest felt like it was caving in on itself, with evil butterflies chewing apart his ribs and leaving hollow discomfort. Patton’s eyes went soft as he slowly approached Roman, keeping a loose grip on his hand and saying something to him that Roman wasn’t listening to in order to calm him down. But he was just tired. So tired. Tired of the yelling and the fear and the everything that he just wanted to get away.

So he did.

“Roman?” It was all he’d heard from Pat even after all his talking, but Roman still decided to ignore it. He quickly slipped on some shoes and grabbed his coat from the closet, opening the front door without another word.

Patton’s eyes widened when he realized what was happening. “Roman, wait-“

But just like that, the door had slammed behind him and he was making his way down the street.

He could already see his therapist’s “I don’t get paid enough for the shit you put me through” face when he eventually talks about this, but that was future Roman’s problem.

...He still had no clue where he was going.

That was always the worst part about Roman’s “run away from your problems” habit. He never had any plan. He could end up three towns over, he could end up across the street. In one of the first incidents, he ended up at a McDonald’s right on the outskirts of the state and fell asleep in the bathroom stall. When he called Logan and told him where he was, it was an hour drive to come get him since they didn’t trust him to drive back in his state. That’s why they first started looking for a therapist for him.

He wished he had his car this time. Walking around in freezing weather with pajama pants is cold.

Roman made his way down the hill where the house was to head downtown, where a good handful of stores were open at every time of day. He needed the heat.

“Eileen, you will pay for making me lose my beauty sleep.”

“You’ll be okay. It wasn’t working for you anyway.”

“...Hey!”

...And the distraction.

It was at 11:30 when Ellie woke him up. Dragging him out of bed and making him help her “sneak” out—if you could call going through the front door sneaking—, they ended up in a supermarket at around midnight on Christmas Eve. 

“I got Remus this giant ass octopus stuffed animal that was literally like ninety dollars, but I need a gag gift for him. Something completely and utterly stupid, and I need you to help me look for it. So I can go home sooner.”

“A giant octopus isn’t a gag gift to you?”

“He’ll love it and you know it.”

“...Touche. Maybe just get him toilet paper?”

“Too enjoyable. Too useful. He’ll set the rolls on fire in the backyard or something.”

“...Nevermind then!”

The first store Roman found with its lights still on was a small convenience store next to a gas station. His legs were starting to get slow from the cold, teeth chattering slightly with his arms tucked close to his body like a penguin.

Roman went inside.

“Oh my God, Roman, it’s perfect.”

“What is it?”

“‘Maybe you touched your balls’ hand sanitizer. I’m getting five.”

Roman tried not to laugh too hard, especially when the store was so quiet at this hour, but he couldn’t help it. With slight sleep deprivation and the look on his sister’s face, Roman burst out a laugh and gave Ellie a lazy push. Ellie took five of the hand sanitizers and piled them in her hands, making their way toward the checkout.

Alone in a store on the night of Christmas Eve.

Roman didn’t want to think about it, but then again, he never did. And every time he focused on one thing, half of his brain was still on his sister.

His throat felt weird.

“I’m dreaming of a white...christmas…”

Ellie was basically skipping on her way to the checkout. She loved old Christmas songs, and not being able to resist the temptation to perform must be another “Sanders Siblings” thing.

Roman was staring at the chip aisle when his chest started to expand, his hands growing weak and absolute fear taking over. Why was breathing so hard? What is it now?

His eyes became glassy again, his vision becoming more distant and distorted until he couldn’t tell what he was looking at. But his ears seemed to focus on something else. Something so distant but close at the same time, ringing in his ears while he felt like he was looking through a TV screen.

“And since we’ve no place to go...let it snow, let it snow, let it snow…”

Fuck. Shit. Roman started fumbling in his pockets for earbuds, but in his haste to leave the house, they were forgotten in his room. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

He could hear the silence of the store, but in the back of his brain he could feel the sound of gunshots.

“He’s alive, but he’s been hit around five times. Get him in the ambulance.”

He knew there wasn’t hands on him. He knew there wasn’t any blood, his or otherwise, on the floor. But it sure as hell didn’t feel like it.

“Duck!”

There was no figure that caught Roman’s eye as they made their way to checkout. There was no moment of adrenaline as he tried to cover his sister, ducking for cover while people walking down the street also screamed. There was no glass breaking. There was no shots of pain as he realized the blood on the floor was his. There was no noise. No screaming. No sirens or commands being shouted or deafening silence that made Roman want to scream. It didn’t exist.

But it didn’t feel like it.

He didn’t know how to work his limbs, his body felt fake and his vision was just a TV screen looking at a world that felt anything but real. His ribs felt like they should be in pain for more than just his shaky breaths and his back should be cold from the hard floor instead of being supported by a cooler door.

What was the pattern again? Three things you can hear—wait, no, fuck, what was it? What was it?

There was blood going through his jacket and blood on his fingers. His thumb was cut from a piece of glass and he couldn’t move off the floor. As tight as he could, he kept a grip on his older sister. The hand sanitizers had sprawled out across the floor, the hands that were holding them now lied lifeless in Roman’s grip.

Roman heard something. More than the music, that stupid fucking music, but he could focus. He wanted to cough until he could breathe again, he wanted to be here, without a single doubt that history can't repeat itself. But trauma doesn’t work that way.

Shooting down on Taft Avenue. Four injured, one dead. 

“Roman, hey, it’s just me, it’s just Virgil—shit, hey, it’s alright, focus on me. Let me get you out of here, okay? God you’re heavy, okay-”

It’s Virgil. It’s just Virgil. No Ellie, Ellie’s dead, Ellie’s been dead, it’s just Virgil, he’s here. 

Thank God.

“Here, just listen to this for a bit. You’re the reason I have a Disney playlist, I hope you know that.”

They were in a car now. Roman could feel the pressure of Virgil’s bulky headphones on his ears, as well as the start up to Tiana’s “Almost There”, even if his hands he was staring at still didn’t feel like his own. The explosion in his chest lessened some, even if his breaths were still short and it was a miracle he wasn’t sobbing yet.

Virgil moved one of the ends of the headphones to the side. “Feeling a little better?”

Talking took so much energy, way too much energy, but he’d worried Virgil enough for one day. “...Yeah…”

“Do you need the volume turned down?”

“...Maybe.”

The music got a little quieter, and Roman felt his body relax a little more. He didn’t even realize it was overwhelming him.

“Alright...now, five things you can see?”

“Virge-“

“Five things you can see, fucker, let me help you.”

Roman let out a huff of a laugh, but looked around anyway. “Uh...you, carseat, wheel...um...the thing…”

“Thing?” Virgil looked around. “...You mean glove compartment?”

“...Yeah, that.”

“Okay, one more.”

“...Coat?”

“Alright, four things you can hear?”

“Music, heater, uh...I don’t know…”

“Can you hear me?”

“...Now I can.”

Virgil laughed. “That’s good enough, I’ll take three. Three things you can touch?”

“...Headphones, coat, seat.”

“Alright, good...two things to smell?”

Blood. “Pat’s air freshener, and the fact that you haven’t showered.”

Virgil lightly punched him in the arm, Roman letting out a small laugh through a shaky smile. “And I bet what you’re tasting is the fact that you haven’t brushed your teeth.”

“...I did not come here to get roasted.”

Virgil shook his head in amused disappointment at him, but started the car and put it in reverse. Roman sighed, looking out the window at the soft snowflakes and lights on houses that made his stomach curl. He hated this holiday. All it did was bring back bad memories, every corner surrounded in his triggers and nightmares increasing tenfold with the stress. He wanted to go home. He didn’t know where home was.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Roman looked over at Virgil, with his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel as he tapped nervously. Roman rubbed at his eyes. “Do you want to? I heard you and Remus.”

“This isn’t about me, it’s fine.”

“You’re my best friend and he’s my brother. It involves me too.”

Virgil didn’t answer. He kept his eyes on the road intently, and Roman wondered if he should just put the headphones back on his ear and let that be that. But he really didn’t want them to keep fighting, so it’s better to at least make an attempt, right?

Roman put the headphones around his neck. “We were buying his gift.”

“What?”

“The night Ellie died. Her and Remus had a little tradition of getting each other a gift and a gag gift. The older we got, the more inappropriate they became, which was very ‘them’, in all honesty. She had forgotten to get it earlier though, so she took me to the store at midnight on Christmas Eve so we could pick something out. And that’s when the shooting happened.

Virgil didn’t react, but Roman gave him a tired smile. “I’m fairly certain that’s why he gets so protective. He feels like he caused it somehow, so he tries to solve all my problems on his own. It’s sweet in its own way.”

Virgil hit the break roughly at a stop sign. “Well now I feel like an asshole.”

“...You were a little bit of a bitch. But I don’t blame you, since so was he.”

“I just wanna help you too, you know? I get it, he’s your brother and all that shit, but he’s not the only person who cares about you, so he can back the fuck off. Especially when he’s spending time in my fucking house.”

“You say that like three other people don’t pay rent.”

“It’s my house when it’s convienent to my argument, fuck off.”

Roman laughed, Virgil taking a turn to a stoplight and waiting. “I just want you two to work things out. We can talk once I go home, take my meds, and at least sleep for two hours.”

“Only two hours? You’re starting to become me, Princey.”

“It’s an anxiety disorder buddies thing.”

“Fuck yeah, anxiety disorder buddies. Who can’t wait for therapy to start up again.”

Roman pumped a fist up lazily. “Next thursday!”

“Next thursday mother fucker!”

They both started to laugh, the soft glow of the read light and the headlights of passing cars being strangely calming. Roman’s eyes felt so heavy, the glassy tears he still had sealing his eyelids together like glue. “Wake me up when we get there.” He mumbled.

“And if you have another nightmare?”

“We get there when we get there.”

Roman heard one last soft laugh before his body went still. He wasn’t completely peaceful, but at least he was sleeping. It would be enough for now.

Virgil didn’t wake him up when they got home. It took both him and Remus to be able to carry him inside, but they managed to do it without waking him up permanently. He moved, but at least he managed to sleep some.

When he wakes up, they’ll fuss at him for running away and Patton will hug him close for Roman’s comfort and his own. He’ll make Remus and Virgil talk peacefully about each other without too much complaining until they can at least stand to be in the same room as each other. Then when things are calm, the brothers will cry when they remember the date, and Patton will give them blankets and hugs while the other two stand around a little awkwardly until it’s lunch time. Neither of them will eat much, but leftovers exist for a reason. They’ll be taken care of.

But for now, Roman will sleep.

[withlovecyrine]

I watched Roxanne Barcelo’s latest vlog earlier where her mom recounts how she got pregnant of Roxanne. Her mom mentioned that she got in to a vehicular accident that almost killed her and the baby inside her.

And tonight, I am reminded again of how God saved mama from an accident when she was pregnant of me.

As per mama’s account, she was around 8-9 months pregnant when that happened. She was heading south in a jeepney and she was sitting at the front seat. And mind you, the jeepney had no doors sa front back in the day, just a barrier that also doubles as a hand rest. You know, typical sarao jeepneys back in the 80s with the plastic tassles and small silver horses sa front. That’s how brave mama was (and still is).

In the 80s to mid-00s daw, the south bound vehicles most of the time kay grabe kakusog ug padagan because no traffic and gamay pa ang gabyahe padulong didto.

I myself had my fair share of mini heart attacks from 3rd grade to 4th year high school because I had to commute from the city to my school which is in the southern side of Cebu. The jeepney drivers back then seemed like fully paid ilang insurance sa St. Peter’s Funeral Home and nag-tipid sa brake fluid tapos naay meeting permi sa kakusog magpadagan.

She had to meet a client in Carcar, Cebu that day. As expected ga-overspeed ang iyang gisakyan. They just crossed the San Fernando-Carcar boundary when all of a sudden, one of the jeepney’s back tires detached from the hub.

The area where it happened, according to the people who lived by the road, was accident prone. Daghan na daw namatay didto nga area due to vehicular accidents.

They have also witnessed the same accident a lot of times where a tire of an overspeeding vehicle separated from the hub, and then swerved and collided with another vehicle/s, either from the opposite lane or with the ones behind it. Many of the passengers usually get severely injured and some daw, unfortunately dies on the spot.

Thankfully and miraculously, on the day of the accident, walay lain sakyanan nag-sunod nila. And instead of turning upside down, the jeepney just did a sharp U turn and stopped. Amazing how the driver has still the presence of mind to step on the brake. Otherwise the people that were by the road and the people inside the houses by the road were injured.

The people who saw what happened came to them all at once to rescue the passengers. Thankfully, nobody was injuried despite the speed and the impact inside the vehicle when it suddenly stopped. Zero scartches and bruises, only hearts that were probably palpitating like crazy and brains trying to make sense what just happened. Hahaha!

The residents in that place agreed that it was for sure a miracle. It was the very first time that nobody died and everyone was shocked. They couldn’t believe that they just saw. Everybody believed that it was the hands of God who protected everyone.

When mama got off the vehicle, some old ladies cried and praised (mama) Mary when they saw that she was pregnant. Perhaps they where just overjoyed that nothing happened to her. Prolly a bit annoyed that they kept on praising Mary and not God, she told the old ladies, “ang Ginoo nag-luwas namo ‘nang, dili si Maria!” Hahahaha! (I got my sassy mouth from her, I think.)

Just imagine if the jeepney turned upside down with preggy mama in the front seat. She and the driver would be the first ones that would have been injured or died right on the spot. Or the jeepney swerved in the opposite lane, it got hit by another overspeeding vehicle city bound. Mama would definitely not survive.

After mama prayed and thank God that everyone was safe, she waited for another jeepney and left the scene kay busy daw sya. A client was waiting for her. Hahaha!

—————————————————————————

It always amazes me how even before I was born, I already was dodging death. When I was born, my pedia-cardio told my parents I only have 5 months to live due to a congenital cardiac condition. And here I am today, very much alive. And I still have a long list of incidents that almost killed me but that’s gonna be for another story time.

That incident probably is the reason why I am brave to face anything, even death. Why I am not scared to risk most of the time. I like to think that I also felt the adrenaline rush that mama experienced that day and until now, I still have it. Hahaha! Like ang level sa akong adrenaline kay napun-an sa adrenaline sa ako mama because of that event. Hahaha char mugna.

That incident as well —which by the way was repeated to me, soooo detailed, several times as kid that it seems like I also saw everything that happened that day —convinces me that my existence has a purpose each time I am reminded of it. Especially when I feel like dili ko sure sa direction sa akong life.

Oh, by the way. This month marks the 31st February, the month which everyone thought would be my last month alive. Kamatayan can choke!

[theparanormalperiodical]

The REAL Stories Behind Final Destination (2000) And The 10 Creepiest Times Celebrities Predicted Their Own Deaths

It must’ve happened sometime in the early 1980s.

‘81, or ‘82, perhaps.

Some 15 year old in the ass-end of Aberdeen, Washington, was stuck in the teen funk of wanting to ditch high school forever whilst simultaneously spray painting ‘god is gay’ on hick trucks.

But when he wasn’t pissin’ off the rednecks, he was telling his friends that he was pretty sure he’d become a famous rockstar, and end his life surrounded by fame and riches by committing suicide.

He was the emblem of the era. 

He would be the emblem for the next.

Kurt Cobain died on April 5th 1994 at the tender age of 27. He would not be the last person to have a premonition of his own death.  

In fact, the peculiar phenomenon of predicting one’s own death or sensing something foreboding is due isn’t just some forgotten urban legend. It’s been immortalised in a franchise that has achieved a cult status similar to Cobain’s band Nirvana:

Final Destination (2000).

The thing is, the 5 Final Destination films aren’t just based on this unexplained phenomenon of predicting one’s demise. They’re also based on several horrifying, infamous deaths that have haunted America for decades.

They’ve been mocked, marketed, and made out to be utter rubbish - but the luring call of the Grim Reaper might be more real than you think.

First, let’s recap the Final Destination franchise.

James Wong has made his name in horror. From the cutting-edge directing of Insidious, to his recapturing of the media-frenzy that was the caseload of Ed and Lorraine Warren, he has led the genre in a new direction that deals with supernatural phenomena which tend to be all too real.

His earlier work, Final Destination, was no different.

The Final Destination franchise consists of 5 movies and a couple limited edition comic books. It’s achieved cult status for its innovative plotline and Truman Show-like impact on the viewers. But the thing is, like most cult horror movies, it tends to be, well, trash.

And that’s what they were.

For 5 feature length movies we see the same plot play out:

(No, I’m not being cynical, it literally follows the same damn structure every damn time.)

A gaggle of high school or college aged friends head out on a trip. One of the crew has a mysterious premonition that they’re gon’ die in like a 4K-HD-put-your-3D-glasses-on-now-and-switch-off-your-mobile-phones worthy video clip.

That person then, understandably, flips out and somehow causes a fight. The group of friends then get asked to get off the plane, or aren’t allowed on the roller coaster, or are no longer partaking in the deadly activity.

The event that was seen in the premonition then takes place. For the rest of the movie we see a series of bizarre events that threaten and take the lives of those who cheated death.

A sixth instalment is in production and attempts to break the cycle by looking at EMT workers who face ‘death’ on a daily basis.

The following of this film can be traced back to a number of reasons: there’s the vibrant lives of the characters, there’s a lovable chemistry between the actors, and there’s that idea that fate might just have our lives set out for us.

But when the last unpopped kernels are left at the bottom of the bowl and the credits fade to black, we are left with only our faces to look at in the reflection of our laptop screens. From there, those laughable traps set by death themself don’t seem so hilarious.

They seem to be real.

Maybe we are fated to die at a certain time in a certain way? Maybe the Grim Reaper does exist? Maybe we have no control over our destiny?

Jeffrey Reddick, the writer of Final Destination, directly sought out to ask these questions. And he based the original film off a true story.

“[He] read a story about a woman who was on vacation and her mom called her and said, 'Don't take the flight tomorrow, I have a really bad feeling about it.'"

She switched flights, and the one she was supposed to be on crashed.

This urban legend taps into a haunting history of premonitions of death. For millennia humans have predicted the fates of themselves and those around them whether they boasted psychic powers or not.

(We will get to that.)

Unfortunately, this franchise is based on more than just an urban legend. Some of the most traumatic death traps left by the Grim Reaper are actually inspired by real life tragedies.

Many believe the original film featuring a flight fault and exploding plane was based on the TWA Flight 800 explosion - but this occurred 2 years after the original script (which was intended for 90s icon The X Files) was penned.

But there are 3 real-life events that inspired the franchise.

#1 - The 125 car pileup in Ringgold, Georgia

In 2002, approximately 120 cars and 20 tractor-trailers collided on the Interstate just south of Chattanooga as a result of the blanket of thick fog that Thursday morning. 4 were killed and 39 were injured.

It began when a tractor drove into the wall of fog and smashed into the back of another. It then crossed several lanes, and spread the wreckage. The visibility at the time of the collision was at most 15 feet.

Only an hour later, when the fog finally lifted, could the emergency services see the full extent of the disaster.

#2 - The Le Mans Motor Racing Disaster

It’s been labelled the most catastrophic crash in the history of motorsport. No CGI could do justice to what occurred.

On June 11th 1955, Jaguar driver Mike Hawthorn pulled to the right of the track and braked for a pit stop. Austin-Healey driver Lance Macklin was following closely behind and swerved out from behind the braking car into the path of another driver, Levegh. Levegh rear-ended Macklin, overriding Macklin’s car and launching his own into the air at 125mph.

The car collided with the spectator area several times and then disintegrated, throwing Levegh onto the track where he met his instant death.

The engine and bonnet was thrown into the crowd.

Levegh’s severely burnt body lay on the track until someone finally lay a sheet over it.

It is estimated that 84 died, and 178 were injured. We still don’t know the full extent of the death toll.

This tragedy - which was blamed on the nature of the course for cars of such a speed - caused Mercedes-Benz to withdraw from racing for 44 years.

#3 - The collapse of the Tacoma Narrows Bridge

4 months after the opening of the bridge to traffic, the Tacoma Narrows bridge collapsed as a result of an aeroelastic flutter initiated by a 42mph gust of wind.

Fortunately, there were no human fatalities, but the shocking collapse was caught on film. A dog named Tubby, however, did die from being abandoned in a car on the bridge.

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

So we know that the most iconic scenes from the franchise can be traced back to shocking disasters and tragedies. But there’s another side to the reality behind Final Destination:

The well laid plans of the Grim Reaper.

What are premonitions of death and what do they mean?

To many, having a niggling feeling about when one may pass away or even seeing it in a vision or a dream is a common part of life. And to many more, they will deem this as something as simple as anxiety making us believe we are due to die soon. However, from a spiritual standpoint, premonitions of death have much more meaning.

According to psychic mediums and spiritualists, the nagging feeling of impending death or dreams or visions of death are common - and can be real. They believe that souls can choose when they depart this world and thus signal to us when this is due.

Those with souls that are more evolved and have been reborn many times have greater ability to sense this.

Even souls that have connected together for many years  - and even many lifetimes - and have formed bonds can have death premonitions regarding each other.

Whether it’s a specific date or a certain age, foreseeing your own or another’s passing can be a terrifying concept. But on the same note, this premonition could refer to a symbolic death, a bit like the death card in a Tarot deck.

Perhaps a part of yourself is dying.

(This certainly won’t be as graphic as a Final Destination death cameo.)

History has a different version of events, however.

Many have had premonitions of their own death. And many have been correct. It’s time to talk about them.

Here’s the 9 other times celebrities predicted their own deaths to an uncomfortable degree.

#1 - Tupac Shakur

This rap icon’s death wasn’t just a tragedy. 

It was a mystery, too. 

Many still believe that the death was faked and that Shakur is very much alive and well, whether he’s hiding in Mexico, New Zealand, or South Africa.

But the mystery surrounding 2Pac starts long before the drive-by shooting that took place in 1996 that would kill him.

“I been shot and murdered, can tell you how it happened word for word” is a line from a hit song with Ritchie Rich.

Sure, the rap genre is closely with such themes that highlight gang crime and gun violence, and sure, Tupac had been involved with violent interactions and assaults before, but this eerily accurate lyric is bound to raise eyebrows.

That being said, if he did fake his own death he would know how it would take place, right? This may be less a premonition, and more an actual plan.

#2 - Bob Marley

Music icons don’t just have a knack for writing a catchy hook and a couple verses, too. Turns out they have this habit of predicting when they will die.

Kurt Cobain’s prediction of his own passing can quite easily be overlooked by the typicality of this death within the rockstar lifestyle. But Bob Marley didn’t actually predict how he would die - he told his friends when he would die.

Marley claimed he would die when he was 36. He was right.

But the coincidence doesn’t end there.

According to Allan Cole, one of his closest friends who was told this secret, Marley had psychic abilities that he would often flaunt to the locals where he grew up in Jamaica. He was even deemed a prophet to those close to them.

#3 - John Denver

“Cause I’m leavin’ on a jet plane,/ Don’t know when I’ll be back again”

This singer-songwriter wasn’t just a keen musician - he was also an amateur pilot. Unfortunately, his second pastime would eerily echo his first, and foreshadow his death.

28 years after he first released Leaving On A Jet Plane, he took off on his last flight where he would ultimately have a fatal crash.

#5 - Mark Twain

As the father of American literature, Twain was used to creating universes to engage readers with timeless classics like The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. But it's our own world that would provide as poetic an end to Twain’s own story as he would to his fictional characters.

Born shortly after the sighting of Halley’s Comet in 1835, Twain would often joke that he would go out with it.

“Now here are these two unaccountable freaks; they came in together, they must go out together.”

A day after the comet was sighted once again in 1910, Twain died of a heart attack.

#6 - Pete Maravich

He will go down in history as one of the greatest NBA players to ever hit the court - and he left it in a mysterious manner.

Having played in the world-famous league for 4 years, he claimed in an interview that  “I don’t want to play 10 years [in the NBA] and then die of a heart attack at the age of 40.”

An injury caused him to leave the NBA 6 years later, completing the first part of his prediction. He died from a heart attack at age 40.

Even more intriguing, however, is what caused him to die: Maravich claimed he had a missing heart valve and should’ve died at the tender age of 20. His ability to predict his death which according to doctors would’ve been a bold assumption for such a heart problem is fascinating (and freaky).

#7 - Jimi Hendrix

He might’ve passed 4 decades ago, but the death of this guitarist is still tinged with as much mystery as the other legendary musicians and athletes populating this list. Shortly before claiming this status in 1965, he recorded The Ballad of Jimi.

“Many things he would try/ For he knew soon he’d die./ Now Jimi’s gone, he’s not alone/ His memory still lives on/ Five years, this he said/ He’s not gone, he’s just dead”

Hendrix died September 18th 1970. It was 5 years exactly to the day that he recorded that song.

#8 - Buddy Holly

On one evening in January of 1959, Buddy Holly and wife Maria had bad dreams. In fact, they had exactly the same bad dreams. They both involved a farm, an airplane, and Holly leaving Maria.

Weeks later Holly would tour the Midwest in an attempt to raise money for his family. Unfortunately, one of the airplanes he chartered for the tour crashed shortly after taking off into a cornfield. He was instantly killed.

#9 - W T Stead

The Titanic has been associated with many unexplained circumstances. This is one of them.

In 1886, Stead wrote a tale of an ocean liner colliding with another ship. Many of the passengers on that fictional ship would go on to lose their lives as a result of the lack of lifeboats.

“This is exactly what might take place and will take place if liners are sent to sea short of boats”

He would then go on to write a different story featuring a ship crashing into an iceberg.

In 1912, Stead boarded the RMS Titanic. And we all know how that ended - with a lack of a lifeboats causing excess deaths. He drowned with the rest of the victims of the tragedy.

#9 - Rasputin

As a former history student, I can boldly put forth a critical opinion of the dying days of the Romanov dynasty: Rasputin was one dodgy bloke. But what made him really dodgy was his ability to predict not just his own death, but that of the Russian monarchy, too.

Shortly before he was assassinated, he wrote a letter to the Tsarina claiming he would be killed by New Years. He also mentioned that her own family would die within 2 years.

Two days before New Year’s, he was poisoned in a rather messy assassination (no, seriously, look it up).

Within 18 months the Romanovs were dead.

Well that was a bit deathy.

Want to read something a bit more spooky and a ‘lil less sad? Check out the rest of the weekly articles on the paranormal, and stay tuned for a new real ghost story everyday by following this blog!

Are you obsessed with the supernatural? Be a part of the ultimate online ghost story experience.

[lokis-lady-death]

Slither Pt 10

Loki x Reader

Reader is a museum curator that has been put in charge of a Viking/Norse exhibit at the Smithsonian Museum. While going through all the artifacts, she comes across a strange relic that seems to have a mind of it’s own. She accidentally stumbles into an ancient world of gods.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Recap:

As a museum curator, you have handled hundreds if not thousands of ancient artifacts for the Smithsonian Museum, yet none of them could have prepared you for the viking exibit’s newest attraction: the Chains of Sygn. Though they appeared to be just another trinket of a time long forgotten, the snake-like piece of jewelry sparked to life before your very eyes and transported you to the majestic kingdom of Asgard. 

That’s where you met Loki, the god of mischief. He certainly lived up to his title, his quick wit and ominous magic luring you in while his hidden agenda kept you on edge. After fighting some apprehension, as well as a possessed necklace with a mind of its own,there was finally a sense of trust building between the two of you. 

Perhaps even something a bit more. 

The only problem? Just you and Loki were beginning to see eye to eye, the original owner of the Chains of Sygn request their return, meaning you will be counting down the days until the god is no longer a part of your life. 

Facing an uncertain future with the god of mischief, you let yourself get talked into a night out with him along with your coworker Chris Evans and his friend, a handsome british actor whose motives are quite clear: Tom Hiddleston. 

Slither 10

Tom walked around the front of thee also  car, his eyes locked on yours while a playful smirk stayed on his face. After sliding in, he pulled up a menu on the touch screen built into the dashboard to enter in the club’s address. When he was finished, you heard the navigator’s calm, robotic tone confirm, “Setting your course.” 

Tightly wrapping your fingers around the steering wheel, once his seatbelt click into place, you shifted gears and laid down on the gas pedal. The tires spun excitedly under the Jaguar, Chris and Tom both grabbing hold of their seats as the car rushed out of the parking lot, while in the back seat a wild grin stretched across Loki’s face. 

You rolled out like a Nascar racer as AC/DC's Highway to Hell played through the stereo, the tires screeching down the road while the men had varying levels of eagerness and fear etched into their eyes. It wasn’t the sort of thing you would normally do, but something about tonight seemed to spark a fire in your belly. Perhaps it was the mystic allure and forbode of Loki, or the intensely attractive and flirtatious Tom, or even the hilarity of Chris’s horror. 

Whatever the cause, you knew this was going to be a night to remember. 

That is, until coming across one of the many intersections on your way down the main street. The light flashed from yellow to red before you could pass, making you slam to an abrupt halt and throw everyone forward with a thud.

“Those are some tight breaks,” you laughed innocently as the others recuperated from the jolt. 

Chris snapped from the back seat, “I’d like to get to the club in one piece, y/n!”

Rolling your eyes, you happened to see something that grabbed at your attention. “Oh, look, the zoo!” 

The street sign read overhead in large bold letters ZOO followed by a plethora of animal images stamped into the concrete wall along the walkway. The Smithsonian Zoo of Washington DC was always one of your favorite places to visit, though it was obviously closed at this time of night. 

"That's not where we're going." 

You cut your eyes at Chris in the rear view mirror. "Well, it would have been my choice. But that's fine, I'm enjoying driving anyway." 

“We’re doomed,” he groaned, sinking deeper into his seat. 

Loki leaned forward to see what you were referring to, taking a special interest in the banisters lining the light poles leading down the sidewalk. "Interesting. A place that houses animals in the middle of a city?"

You softly answered, “They’re not like out-out. It’s perfectly safe, they’re behind fences.” 

He huffed, “How disappointing.”

“What’ll be really disappointing is when y/n kills us and we don’t make it to the club,” Chris threw in. 

“She’s just having a bit of fun,” Tom argued weakly, his own voice holding a slight tremor. “Though as I’ve noticed driving through the city, there’s enough stops to keep speeding… Minimal.” 

“Oh, that doesn’t sound entertaining in the slightest,” Loki sighed, his hand coming up to your shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. He leaned up, whispering so only you could hear, “The lights need to be green for you to go,yes?” 

You nodded, feeling a flutter in your chest from the innocent touch. “Lights green for me, red for other lanes.” 

He gave a court nod and leaned back into his seat. Just before your light changed, you glanced at him in the rear view mirror, noticing a faint glow behind his gaze. 

And just like that, the light turned green and you were off. 

Tom and Chris stiffened as you gained speed, only having to move around someone a few times before the next light came. You were about to come up to a red light, but just before you pressed the brake, the light instantaneously flashed to green. Cars in oncoming lanes slammed brakes at the sudden light change as your lane received the right of way. 

You revved the engine and zoomed on through, ignoring the sideways glance from Tom. 

Every light in your way stayed green or changed just before you got to it, giving you a thrill that kept you slightly building speed. You knew Loki must be involved, though you couldn’t sort out just how he managed such a feat. Chris and Tom seemed just as entranced by it, neither commenting on the speed, rather staying wide eyed and agasped by the miraculous luck. The sound of the high powered engine mixed with the roar of tires and insane cackles from the others in the car as you zoomed down the street, turning when instructed, sending the car into a slight drift you managed to control. 

It felt like a scene out of a Fast and Furious movie, Loki sucking up the chaos like a psychotic sponge, Chris trembling in the back corner, and Tom sitting at your side with a mixture of enthusiasm and panic on his face until the saving words came out of the navigator once you settled into a parking space outside of the club. 

“You have arrived.”

“Oh thank god,” you heard Chris cry out while clinging to the back of Tom’s seat. Tom, on the other hand, calmly -though quite stiff- climbed out and lifted it up, letting Chris fall out to the safety of the ground. “That is NOT how I’m going back home!” 

You couldn’t help but ignore his pain, turning the car off and taking one last moment to run your fingers over the smooth leather of the steering wheel. 

That was possibly the most fun you had ever had driving a car, the rush of endorphins pushing you to go faster and faster was more invigorating than you had expected.

“You were quite magnificent,” Loki whispered to you just before brushing a hand down your arm and moving across the seat to get out. 

"It was a little reckless," you admitted, though you couldn't conceal how thrilled you had become. 

"Reckless looks good on you." 

Ignoring his comment and the rush of heat in your cheeks, you got out to Tom holding his hand to you for the keys. 

With a shrug of your shoulders you offered, “Guess it’s not too much car for me after all.” 

He narrowed his eyes while his smile grew. "It seems your godly friend has some tricks up his sleeves. Did you know he could do such a thing? Control traffic lights?" 

You glanced over to Loki as he was straightening his suit with Chris beside him still shaken from the drive. There was always denial: you could deny what was obvious to Tom like you had done before, or you could listen to your gut and realize it was a futile attempt. Chris might have been naive enough to think everything that happened was just extreme coincidences, but the quick witted brit seemed to immediately believe the unbelievable. After letting you nearly kill him in a borrowed Jaguar, you wondered if it was even worth bothering with anymore. 

"I didn't…" You finally got out, "He's just full of surprises."

For the briefest of moments, Tom's smile dissipated, leaving behind something much more serious that was quite recognizable. "Hopefully all his surprises will be that innocent."

Your brow furrowed at the comment, but you couldn't question it further as he waved an arm towards the brightly lit main entrance, announcing to everyone, “Our palace awaits!”

It was no Asgard, but for DC, it felt regal in its own right. The white stone walls of the club Ultrabar were brightly colored by the massive blue and white spotlights that beconned the young hip crowd to its doors. Dance music rang out every time the doors flew open, the sounds of a bass thumping to an irresistible dance beat echoing into an otherwise quiet night. Tom went on ahead, shimmying his hips as you all crossed over towards the sound, like he couldn’t contain his urge to move and was entranced by the tone. Loki came around to your other side, sliding a hand onto the small of your back and offering you a grin when you glanced up at him. 

“is this truly a palace? It's not exactly what I would have imagined… "

" No, Tom is just being theatrical. It's just a club." 

"And what does one do in this type of club?ust we join?” 

“No, ha, no. It's not that type of club, that's just a name for it. It's a bar with a dance floor. We’re going there,” you pointed across to the building you were all walking towards, “To do that,” you pointed to Tom who was now coercing Chris into side stepping with him. 

The god's nose wrinkled at the notion. “I don't believe I'll be doing… That.” 

You laughed, looping an arm around his and bringing him closer, much to his own surprise and pleasure. He relaxed under your touch and together the two of you followed the others up to the mass of people waiting to get inside. Once entrance fees were covered--all by courtesy of the ever gracious Tom- you went inside to the main dance floor. 

Despite the aged, elegant architect of the bar’s exterior, inside it was a stark modern style, mostly white marble with underglows of blue and white lights giving soft illumination under the bars and by the floor. Large glowing spheres lit up above the dance floor where several people were already moving against each other to the music the DJ pumped through the stereo system. 

It was so loud you could hardly hear yourself think, feeling a nerve pull inside of you at the mass amounts of bodies crashing into one another while they danced along to the techno beats. Chris and Tom moved on with ease while you and Loki stayed along the wall, watching as everyone else grooved along. It only took a second for them to disappear, leaving you and the god of mischief alone with hundreds of unsuspecting partiers. 

"Is this what Midgardians call dancing?" the god of mischief asked absurdly serious. "Because what they're doing is not dancing. They look to be possessed."

You chuckled to yourself, imagining how bizarre the latest bump and grind must look to someone who was most likely used to balls, waltzes, and etiquette. "Yeah, this is considered dancing. It's not all that bad…" 

His nose wrinkled in disgust as he watched a girl start to twerk on an unsuspecting victim, making you laugh even harder. "Is this something all Midgardians do?" 

"Ha, no, not all of us. This isn't exactly my scene." When Loki's brow raised at your verbiage, you elaborated, "What I mean is this is more of Chris's kind of fun. I personally don't care for partying."

"Partying," he echoed, the god turning back to gaze at the masses while his brow stayed furrowed deep in thought. 

He looked to be plotting something. 

Just as you went to break his concentration, Tom reappeared with drinks in each hand. 

"Oh, I don't really…" You started as Tom held a glass out to you, but his smile and raised brows pressed you to reach out to grab the cocktail. 

"Where did your friend go?" he asked, making you turn your head to find that, sure enough, Loki had disappeared just that quickly. Your head cut from side to side, certain he was there just a moment ago. 

"I don't know, he was just here!?"  

Taking a step forward, you were about to go search for him when Tom eased into your path to stop you. "Did the god already get bored with mortal dates?" You could hear a salty tone in his comment, but brushed it off, instead taking a large gulp of your overly strong, pineapple mixed drink before answering sharply. 

"First of all, this isn't a date. Second, he's less than impressed with your dance skills."

Tom scoffed, as if personally offended by the suggested notion. "Then perhaps we should show him real dancing."

The words hadn't the time to resonate over the still loud, thumping beats of the music that filled the now shrinking space between you. Tom took your free hand and started to lead you to the dance floor. 

"No, no, no, no, no!" you repeated, trying to pull against him without spilling your drunk. "I don't dance!"

"Everyone dances," Tom spoke in a low tone, bringing his mouth to your ear so you could hear him softly finish, "One just needs to find the right partner." 

At that you couldn't help but laugh, "And you think that's you?" 

"I don’t see why not," he answered slyly, turning his hand in yours so that your fingers laced. "If given a proper chance, who knows what I might could be to you. I’m certainly not going away anytime soon. If anything, I may could find a reason to stay here longer..." 

His blue eyes reflected you like the ocean, so calm and alluring. A small part of you was tempted to give into his charm and let him try to sweep you off your feet, yet a nagging feeling in the back of your mind kept you unswayed. 

"I need to find Loki," you reasoned, taking your hand from his. Though his disappointment was apparent, he offered a small smile and shrug as he went back onto the dance floor. 

You sipped your drink as you made your way along the outer edges of the crowd, imagining he wouldn't have wandered out into the chaos of dancers after his comment earlier. There was a pressure building in the back of your mind that build up just as you realized there was the real possibility that Loki was a momentary moment in your life. Knowing the Chains of Sygn were soon going to be out of your possession, it seemed that there was no real certainty to any relationship between you and the god of mischief. 

Not that there was a relationship, you reminded yourself, but all the same. 

The feelings beginning to form between you were apparent enough to a stranger like Tom, while the truth of the matter was this was all temporary. 

This wasn’t his world. 

He was only visiting. 

You had nearly circled back around when you found the restroom stalls and wondered if he had gone there. Setting your glass on the bartop, you wondered how long it could take to wait for he to just walk back out if he was in there. Looking around, it didn't seem like a bad idea at the time to just prop the door open and yell in. Pushing it just enough with your foot, you called out, "Hey, Loki? You in there? 

No answer. 

You were going to give up, but the nagging in the back of your mind wouldn't stop. Maybe he didn't hear you? Taking a tentative step in, you called out again.

From behind, a hand grabbed your shoulder, a smooth voice answering casually, "Yes?" You squealed, covered your mouth while turning on your heels to see Loki watching you with amusement. "Oh, pet, you look positively flustered. I didn't mean to startle you." 

You were about to shove him back out of the door when someone started to come in behind him. Panicked, you dragged him into an unoccupied stall and latched the door behind you. 

"Are we hiding?" Speaking in a whistler, he didn't sound confused, only curious. 

In a hushed tone, you quickly got out, "This is the men's bathroom! I'm not supposed to be in here!" 

"Then… Why are you?" 

Cutting your eyes up at him, disregarding the cramped quarters squishing the two of you together, you listened to the hurried footsteps of the bathroom patron as they used the urinal and then went back out to the door. Just when you thought you were in the clear, you heard the door open again to a new man coming in. 

"Dammit!" 

"If you're not supposed to be in here, then why are you and why have you dragged me into this ghastly place? I'm certain if this washroom is for men, I would be fine." To your horror, his hand went out to take the door latch. 

Narrowing your eyes, you poked him in the chest, arguing, "I'm in here because I was looking for you!" 

"Oh? Why is that?" he pressed, a mischievous smile curling at the edge of his lips. 

"Don't look at me like that, you disappeared and I was worried."

You knew by the widening of his grin that he was enjoying your anguish, even more so when another man came in. 

"Shit!" 

"I'm certain if we just walk out they won't be too concerned with what you were in here doing."

"I'm DEFINITELY not coming out of a bathroom stall at a club with a man I hardly know, no, no, no, that's not gonna happen, I am NOT a cliche, I didn't even get any, I'm not gonna be able to handle that level of embarrassment, I'm not even close to drunk enough for that," you rambled shaking your head, until Loki's finger pressed firmly against your lips to silence your sputtering. 

"I can get us out of here, but you'll need to calm down. It requires concentration and silence."

Your eyes widened at the sound of someone juggling the bathroom's latch, knowing you must have gotten too loud. "Yo, no shit, I think there's a girl in there," a man on the other side of the door loudly cackled. 

"Yes," you pleaded, turning to face him, "Get us out of here-" 

That was all he needed to hear, quickly wrapping his arms tightly around you to bring you close against his chest, the warmth of his body fulfilling a craving you had no idea you had. Without meaning to, you nuzzled into him at feeling the air being vacuumed out of your chest, but just that quickly returning to you like gasping after being iunder water. Your stomach, felt like it had undergone a series of loops in a rollercoaster when you felt Loki’s hands drop down to your sides. 

“Well?” he calmly announced, “We’re out of the bathroom. 

When you opened your eyes, it was immediately clear you were no longer in the bar. In fact, once you turned around, the sight it took your breath away. You both had reappeared on a cement pathway lined by vast greenery overlooking a small, cascading waterfall that twinkled in the moonlight. Bobbing up and down around the scene were several multicolored orbs of light that illuminated where you stood in different glows. Slightly twirling around to take a look at it all, you recognized exactly where he had brought you.. 

"Is this… the zoo?" 

It was so familiar and foreign at the same time, looking just as it had the many times you had come before, but at night with the added theatrics you could hardly recognize it as a place on earth. The orbs floated delicately in the air above your heads like illuminated soap bubbles. Loki watched as you took it all in, a childlike wonder in your eyes and a wide smile gracing your face with the enthusiasm you had shown his magic countless times. 

"You mentioned that the club wasn't in your taste. I thought since you mentioned it earlier, you'd prefer to be here instead." 

Moving out along the walkway, you could see the animal exhibits dimly lit by the moonlight, it's creatures of the day sleeping peacefully unaware of the zoo’s guests while the nocturnal beasts began to stir. 

"This...this is incredible, Loki," you spoke honestly, still taking in the reality of what he had done. "I can't believe you brought us here."

"Actually, that's not all I've done." His hand took yours and then he asked you to close your eyes. You did so, biting down on your lips to try and hide how eager you were when he led you a few steps away. There was a noticeable breeze and a warmth absorbed into your skin like rays of the sun burning through the night. Your heart thumped in your chest when his hands left you standing alone, still blind to the world. 

It was just another second until you felt him come from behind, his fingers gingerly wrapping around your hips as his body pressed against your back. He spoke slowly, his face beside yours when he instructed, "Alright, Lady y/n… I want you... to open your eyes."

Taking a deep breath, you followed his instruction, unsure of what exactly to expect.

Though it can be established that you certainly weren’t intending to encounter a large wild animal that looked to be sizing you up for it’s next dinner. 

The spots, the color, the build, all lit up by the lightning balls was enough to leave no question as to what you were looking at: a full grown cheetah, standing just a few feet away from you both. You were so stunned you couldn't even scream, instead leaning backwards into Loki to try and back away. 

He caught your shoulders and held you in place. 

"LOKI, THAT'S A CHEETAH!" you quietly yelled to him in panic, never taking your eyes off the hunter. 

"Yes, I read the name of the exhibit. Why are you so frightened, darling, she won't hurt you." Your heart was pounding in your chest while you tried to steady your breathing. "I wouldn't have brought you here if it wasn't safe, Lady y/n. I give you my word, you’re perfectly fine." 

His words did little to soothe your nerves, but looking over to the large cat, you realized she looked more complacent than ferocious. Feeling you start to relax, Loki took your hand in his and urged you down to your knees with him as he held your hand out. 

"No, no, no, no, no," you repeated, turning your face and trying to pull back your hand, "This is not a good idea." 

He never released his grip as he leaned you forward, "Lady y/n-" You felt a warm, moist nose press against your hand timidly, then pull back. Peaking up, you saw the cheetah had come much closer, walking past your hand to be nearly face to face with you. Feeling you tense, Loki wrapped his arms around you and brought you into his lap as he held out his own hand to the beast. You watched as the cheetah got even closer, her face barreling into Loki's hand to have him pet her. 

That's when you heard the steady pur come from the big cat's throat. Your jaw dropped and this time you offered no resistance when Loki urged your hand back onto her furry face. She nuzzled into your hand to have your fingers to dig behind her ear.

"I'm petting a cheetah."

"Yes, you are," he answered with a smile, watching you reach another hand out to stroke the spots along her back.

Glancing over your shoulder at him, there was no denying how comfortable you had been just laying across his lap on the ground. It was as if neither of you realized how intimate the moment had become, suddenly switching from the innocence of petting the cheetah only to be just now notice the feel of one another. His fingers traced down your arm only to intertwin his fingers with your own. You thought he would say something by the motion of his lips but just as quickly his mouth closed. Instead, Loki’s other hand came up to take your chin and slightly tilt your head up. 

“Y/n… There’s something I need to tell you...” His thumb slid over the very edge of your lip and you felt a quiver up your spine at the anticipation of what he could be about to say. 

Yet before he could go on, your eyes widened at the sight of something walking around behind him. 

An elephant was coming your way. 

“Loki!” It caused you to shift in your seat, innocently dragging your hand up the length of his thigh to turn your body around. The motion was awkward but you were too scared of being squished to care. Loki, in his normal unreasonably casual way, turned to see what had caused your uproar. “Darling, I told you, you’re perfectly safe.”

“You mean you knew the elephant was out walking around the zoo?” Saying it out loud, you felt a sour pit in your stomach. “Wait a minute, exactly what did you do?”

He shrugged, “I let a few of the animals out to wander a bit.” Before you could voice the unmistakable apprehension written all over your face, Loki hurried to his feet, holding a hand up to slow your thoughts. “Oh come now, surely you don’t think I would just release these creatures without any foresight?”

“Creatures? How many exactly-” 

“That’s irrelevant,” he cut you off, “The most consequential point is I enchanted the zoo so none may of them may leave the premises. They’ll all return to their cages by sun down.” 

“I’m much more concerned about something eating or trampling us!” His brow raised at your high pitched voice, making you add, “I guess that means you did an enchantment for that, too, huh?” 

Letting out a sigh, you glanced back out to where the elephant was, his trunk gently swaying as he wandered passed. A little further out you could make out a few zebra trotting passed a very bored lioness that lounged against the carousel. Just then, the lights of the grand carousel lit up, causing the animals to become alert. At the sound of the music beginning to play, the lioness scattered and the zebra hurried away. You smiled at the grandness of it, turning back to Loki in time to see his hand come out to you. One hand held yours out while the other was fixated to your lower back, him digging ever so slightly into the fabric of your dress.

You Inhaled sharply, trying to ignore the intense urges bubbling up from deep inside the pit of your stomach. It didn't help when he simultaneously pulled you against him, his lips briefly brushing across your fingers. 

“Lady y/n, may I have this dance?”

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[hearteyes-for-killmonger]

5. Two Choices

Ivy's expression twisted into one of pure irritation when Dr. Stevens left her side yet again to pull another tool. How many did he have back there? She could hear him moving things around. They clinked and thumped, the small sounds threatening and unfriendly to her ears. The more she listened to what sounded like indecision and hovering between equally frightening items, the more irate she became.

"Can we cut the games and get to it? I'm fuckin shakin and tired of being anxious."

"My bad, maybe you could help me choose."

Ivy waited as he came into view, hands behind his back. She rolled her eyes.

"Aight. So you have two choices."

Bringing one hand forward, he revealed a large blade causing Ivy's chest to sink.

"Option one's this bowie knife I picked up in Tijuana. It's about eight inches long, two inches broad, quarter of an inch thick." He tossed it up causing Ivy to flinch, before he caught it effortlessly, swinging it through the air for a flourish. "It's kinda rough, but as you've seen, I can be gentle."

Ivy frowned at his zeal. He obviously couldn't wait to use that thing. It looked like a pirate's knife, the thick blade sweeping and arching into a sharp point.

"Is option two a knife?"

He revealed yet another knife and she sighed feeling wetness form at the outer corners of her eyes.

"Option two is a skinning knife. Do I.. really need to explain this one?" He smirked.

She refused to break down in front on him, shaking her head as she swallowed her bottom lip. Breaking down would be what he wanted.

"Instead of choosing between knives.. Why don't you give me an option between what you plan to do with the knives?"

He hesitated, his small eyes narrowing on hers and Ivy could feel her heart beating in her chest.

"Okay.. Little Ivy. We'll do this your way." He lowered the knives, hands loose at his sides and his evil eyes gleamed. She felt another chill in her spine.

"Choose. Would you rather I peel back the skin on your fingers or should I split that little pink tongue of yours in half? You'd look sexy with a forked tongue."

Ivy was faced with an impossible decision and her mind swam with even worse responses. But what could she say or do to stop this?

"You have two whole assistants just chillin out there. Why you don't cut up one of them?"

"Tuh.. What makes you think I haven't?" His gaze dug into her and she stared back into the abyss that was his madness, judgement and confusion clear on her crinkled brow.

"DRAYA, ARAYA GET IN HERE," he yelled, still fixated on Ivy and her squinted eyes of judgement. She couldn't hide the fact that she was appalled by him and if she had to be mutilated, then she wouldn't hide it. She wanted him to see just how disgusted she was, despite his evil glare.

"Yes, Dr. Stevens," the voices chirped in unison from behind Ivy. She maintained the dentist's eye contact as he ordered them to stand together to her left.

"Take your clothes off. Show Ms. Stevens... my art."

Ivy heard the twins' movements and the light sounds of clothing shifting, twisting, pulling, and dropping to the ground. Erik's hand extended gesturing for Ivy to look to her left.

She gasped as she viewed the scarred and marred bodies of the twins. The patterns on their deep brown bodies nearly mirrored each other as though he'd done them simultaneously.

"See the name on their left asscheeks? It says Erik Stevens 2016. I always sign my work. Those were done with my branding iron .. I just liked how it looked. The flesh gets a little gummy when you use an iron though, so that was a two-time deal. I won't be branding you."

"So she gets the handwritten autograph!? Dr. Stevens, it's not fair," Saraya turned to pout, her small breasts perky and exposed. There was a heart that had been carved onto her chest between her boobs, but it was healed. "I want another design, now. Before she gets it. I want your name by your hand."

"Oh you swear you're the favorite," Draya sneered turning halfway to face her sister.

"I am the favorite. He did mine first."

"That doesn't m-"

"Ladies," Erik interrupted, "Turn around," he mouthed twirling his finger in a circular motion. The twins eyed each other in silent communication before returning to their original positions facing the computer and the wall.

Ivy gave a sarcastic smile.

"You can see I carved an image on their backs too and when they come together..," catching his drift, they inched closer together, pressing their arms and shoulders together, "It makes-"

"A cat," Ivy muttered.

"A jaguar." Erik frowned looking at the scars on the women's backs, his jaw going slack with his focus. "Does it really not look like a jaguar?"

Ivy looked at his face as he questioned his work, twisting a few of the hairs of his beard in his fingertips. Her eyes flashed between him and the two women and a reckless idea hit her.

"It really doesn't look like a jaguar, but I feel like it could if you put some spots on it or something. You see what I'm sayin," she squinted.

He stared at his work tilting his head to the side in assessment while Ivy heald her breath in attempt to appear calm.

"Actually.. if I could.. I'd like to help. I'm a pretty good artist. We could collab."

---

Erik's eyes met hers wondering what it was she had up her sleeve. She didn't seem to be into this form of art. She didn't appreciate it and suddenly she wanted to participate. She had an ulterior motive, that was obvious. She wanted to escape.

As much as he didn't want that, everytime he looked at the twins' scars, they looked wrong and he felt a strong urge to fix them. It couldn't be ignored.

"Wait, it's.. I though it was a bobcat," Araya frowned looking back. She reached back in attempt to feel the ridges.

"I told you that was stupid," Draya sneered. Erik was conflicted.

"You can make it look more like a jaguar," he asked Ivy directly. He needed to be sure. He'd trust her if she could do it.

"I can," her brows raised confidently. He gave her a long look wondering if she'd try to run, ultimately deciding to risk it for the sake of his art.

Using the bowie knife, he held it up closely to her face.

"Behave..," he mouthed making sure she understood. She nodded and he couldn't see anything particulary treacherous in her beautiful green mossy sunflower eyes.

The tip of his blade trailed from her cheek to her top and then bottom lip. He watched the indentation. If he pressed just a little more, he'd see her pretty red blood.

"Dr. Stevens, us first! We've been with you longer. I'm the number one." It was Araya again. She was always the needy one if anything.

"Fine," he sighed. He cut through the ropes that were holding Ivy's ankles. She didn't move a muscle so he went to her knees. Again, she didn't move. He cut her arms, shoulders, and waist free. She was no longer bound as the red rope fell to the floor. He handed her the bowie knife nodding toward the twins.

"Here she comes," Draya whispered in Araya's ear. She was excited and prepared, but Araya kissed her teeth.

"I don't want her, I want Dr. Stevens. She can tell him what to do, but I don't want this bitch-"

---

Before the girl could finish her sentence, Ivy had thrown her knife as hard, as quickly, as skillfully, and as unpredictably as she could. She didn't even look to see if it hit him, she ran as fast as she could go, booking to the front and with shaking fingers unlocked the door barreling it open. Without her keys and phone, she couldn't drive. She ran straight to the next business and when it was locked, she ran as fast as she could to get behind the building to avoid running pass the entrance of the dentist's office. She didn't need them to see her. She prayed hard to God that they didn't catch her when she ran behind the building back where she came from, slid down the tall grassy hill, and ran into traffic, gauging the speed of the cars. Having been on that road plenty of times, she knew the speed limit was 55. Luckily, she made it across, hopping the median to get across the other lanes with her short, thick body.

By the time she reached the nearly abandoned steakhouse on the opposite side of the road, her short legs felt like lead. She'd almost had a heat stroke.

"Dammit," she panted shielding her eyes with her hand to look back at the brick building. The sun was high and Erik standing out front with his arms crossed, watching her. Her heart still pounded and she was building a sweat, but she was in one piece.

Turning back to the steakhouse, she exhaled grabbing her knees and prayed that it was open.

"Please, please, oh please, oh please," she panted walking up the wooden ramp to try the double-door. She almost fell to the ground in despair when it wouldn't open. The tears that threatened the outer corners of her eyes finally decided to fall and then she did sink to the ground. She didn't have the strength in her legs to run anywhere else, but she couldn't stay there. She had to hitchhike.. something.. and fast.

"SHIT," she flinched, her heart nearly exploding as she saw the pale face through the glass door. She dropped her arms and the side of the door she hadn't pulled popped open with the jingle of a bell.

"Hello, Miss, you okay?" It was a middle aged Asian man and he seemed very concerned that she was on the ground crying at the door. "You need something?"

Her jaw dropped and she looked at him as though he were an angel, rushing to her feet and grabbing his arms.

"Miss, I call police for you." Pushing her off of himself, he gave her a look that said she was insane before he walked away gesturing for her to wait.

When she looked around, there was a young white couple sitting at a table eating fried rice and sushi. Two more white women sat at a different table and for the first time... Ivy felt safer in a room with no black people.

@honey-poooh @missshae @raysunshine78 @destinio1 @marvelmaree @honeytoffee @thickemadame @heykillmongerluhme @ghostfacekill-monger @killmongersmistress

[driftwork]

dinner at 8 - a representation of pure corruption...

There was a slight break in the monotony of driving southwards along the motorway, only the high speed of the drive creating difference , until she drives round the long downward curve that gives meaning to the drive and transforms it into joy. It is hardly surprising that when she goes around a long curve she lets out a sigh of joy and accelerates still faster as they begin to travel along the upward curve, accelerating towards the unreachable heavens. She remembers being affronted by New York, wishing for water to rise and flood the city, annoyed by the rigid chess board of lines and squares without a single curve. The line she was driving was extravagant which reduced the prosaic moment so that she felt able to speak about her day, transforming the moment as they approached the airport and drive under the runway, a plane taxiing across the motorway, the drive like a dance in the growing dusk. Anti-photons falling, beginning to hide the  countryside. She accelerated into the dusk crossing the flow of traffic into the outside lane only then the following cars melted away.  The growling noise of the engine. She told him she was thinking of buying a car tomorrow afternoon. She slows down on a long curve to the right as the traffic from another motorway merges from the left. Drifting over a lane to slow down. They talk about how much money she has,  she confesses that the long phone call she'd had during the afternoon with the bank, had left her much richer than she'd thought. Telling him she had thought they knew about the account but they obviously didn't. She explained it was in addition to the money they'd gifted her in exile. That she'd be moving some of it into local banks, they'll be sending bank officials, a director tomorrow with dna and finger print authorization and testing kits. She likes the way he doesn't care about the value or the amount of the money. She slows down as they drive onto the sliproad, keeping to the northbound carriageway and as the southbound carriageway bifurcates away to the right she accelerates onto the dark road to the north. He asks if its safe to keep the money. We can symbolically gift it if we ever need to negotiate with them. The pleasures of love are in its curves, its chaotic meandering, without which it would little more than instinctual drives, the movement of soft fleshy pistons, they were endlessly involved in the loops and strings of seduction, red threads of cotton tie them together. The dress fluttering in the evening breeze, a leather jacket lined with kelvar gracefully removed and hung on a chair. The gentle distractions of a bare shoulder, an eye looking at you from a tattoo, the deceptively soft muscles of her forearm.  The long straight towards the city, main beams on, 110 miles an hour, transitory things, allowing his eyes to watch the light reflecting from the glass and the intense focus of her face as the roads streams by. As she slows down on the flyover drifting down towords the legal limit,  she wonders if the people following them will find them [...]

Their destination is a double fronted three story white mansion, with brick walls around the garden and a carriage drive, she parks by the lawn, there are three other cars in the curved carriage drive. The house is 25 metres back from the road. The drive is lit by lamps set 3 metres apart along the top of the walls. There are manicured bushes, trees trained against the old brick walls, other shrubs and bushes set in the green lawn of the island. One of the brick walls is being maintained, some bricks are being replaced by matching antique soft red bricks. The rest of the wall is being repointed. There is movable scaffolding to enable the work to be done carefully and safely. A sign announcing who the company and workers are.  They get out of the car, their feet crunching on the gravel of the drive. They are observed by cameras, images recorded and transmitted.

The front door opens before they press the doorbell. His boss invites them in and takes them into her office. She sits them down on the sofa, another man, a colleague of his comes in and sits in a chair next to her [...] She looked at the two of them, the woman in black dress, leggings and black ankle boots, a multicolored necklace in pastel shades from pink and yellow through to blues and purple. Her skin and tattoos glow in the soft golden light, he is sitting next to her. She realizes that what is bothering her about him is that he seems happy though recognizes he is stressed. She takes the photographs out of the brown envelope on the table and places them in a row in front of them. They are photos of Park holding a gun shooting at someone who is out of frame, he is behind her off to her left a bag hanging off him. His face clearly recognizable. She taps the photograph with her finger "what is this ?" She is about to speak but he leans forward and puts his hand on her arm.  He asks in reply "What it is?" She explains they have video of you killing people. Wait she says her hand palm out towards them. Tell me why they don't want you back Sam and Park. He looks at the photo and then explains that he is very sorry but that things just got out of hand and... she looks at him, feeling slightly amused because of the way Park is looking at him. Park explains  that she has been sent into exile. She asks for a reason why she shouldn't send her back. They are both looking pale and unwell. "Boss" She heard the hidden pleading in his voice. Park shuddered. If I return to Japan or the locality, they will kill me and under the terms of the sacrifice agreement they will kill him. She put her hand on him. She explains that she cannot have that. Why?. Because my being here is conditional, if I had stayed they would have killed him as a sacrifice,  I can never go back.  The police there know this, they will never ask for us because of the exile contract. Why happened? Politics, turned into a war internal to the council. One seat of which is the police. Two or three factions targeted me, he saved me. We ran, were chased, we escaped, people died. The cost was exile or sacrifice. Sacrifice was unbearable so we came into exile.  That's it he said taking her hand, it's us. Fuck, the other man said. What do you think frank? He sighs, the noise almost echoing in the silent room. The sound of other people talking in the kitchen can just be heard. He picks up the photos and drops them back into the envelope.  Terrible definition. I don't know who these people are, any facial recognition software would fail to  to recognize them even after the upgrade. True, useless software. Your back at work on Monday. You be good. Whilst your here, nothing illegal Park and I mean nothing. She looked relieved. Thankyou... Jean, call me Jean. They have to call me boss. I think you and I can do better. Thankyou Jean. Can I ask how many died ? Best not he said, we are police and the Tokyo people are council. She nodded accepting his logic. Lets join my husband and Frank's wife for something to eat. Frank dropped the envelope with the photos and the and the video into the waste bin. You look like you need a drink Sam. I do. Frank smiled. This conversation never happened, there is no video and will be no photographs,  however silence will cost you 2 nights off or perhaps 3 nights of babysitting. We'll do babysitting Park said with a smile. i like babysitting, i used to have a niece... They looked at her. You have a deal Park. So on Monday... Frank looked at them thinking that had gone well. You are working on a long term smuggling ring and a financial fraud, both of which have been running for months and they are not getting anywhere. Frank is taking over some murders. I am ?. Yes, one of which is a particularly unpleasant serial killer. Blame it on Park... My department just got much bigger and you guys need to sort out some of the detritus so I can make it work. Your both getting promoted. Park follows her into the kitchen whilst they begin to talk to her husband and his wife. Can I help ?  She thanks her for looking after him for me.  She looked at Park surprised but beginning to see why he was happy.  He's my friend as well as working for me. I'm pleased you brought him back in one piece. Two pieces I'm guessing. Yes it's we... Her husband brought the tray of vegetables to the table. She could sense his amusement and recognized that the two of them were the cause. He handed the bottle of Chablis to frank who was looking conspiratorially at abigail. "Oh stop it." she said feeling irritated. They laughed. "I'lll brief you on the new roles and departmental changes... Ï'll show it to you tomorrow. There was a major restructuring going on whilst you were there. Incidentally Tokyo asked us to check some financial outflows. Really what sort of money ? Park asked.  She liked the way she looked at him. Some 3 to 5 hundred million vanished and they are trying to trace it. Park looked amused, well we haven't got it... Abigail asked her about the dress. We went shopping yesterday and I bought this and some other clothes. Since we are staying here I thought I had better buy a wardrobe.  It's a lovely dress. How could you afford it ? She looked embarrassed after asking. Park smiled at her,  it's OK. I'm quite rich. Since I've moved here permanently I brought some money with me. I have to work out what to do with it.  Park shifted in her seat slightly towards him. He dropped the glass, she caught it spilling a little white wine onto her dress.  She hands the glass and what remains of its contents back to him. Not even aware of the surprise, perhaps even shock at the reaction they witnessed. We have the bank coming round in the morning. She says answering Jean and her husbands unspoken question. She turned back towards Abigail, conscious that they are all looking at her. Thinking this is a good time to confess that she is now becoming part of the reason, ideology of the bourgeois project.  I also own part of a company, Kawabarti, through a holding company. Now that I'm here, will have to get involved in running it.  Kawabarti, aren't they going IPO soon ? They were. I'll stop that until I know they have done nothing which is illegal, I don't want anyone to arrest me because I've been a silent investor, now that I live here. I suppose I shouldn't say that because I'm at a table with police. But its supposed to be absolutely legal and now that I live here with you, he was still looking pale, drink she said, her hand on his arm,  its ok.  I have to make sure it is... I thought I was going to faint with shock just then.  I don't want to complicate the experiment better to get all the trivial problematics out in public. Fair, i think the amount of money is a bit of a shock he said.  Experiment ? Jean asked, fascinated by the way they were being. He looked at Park. She nodded, Go ahead.  We committed to a year to see if we could live together. We thought we could run it as an experiment, I am very hopeful, though this bit of chaos. I would have told you today anyway about this.

Out there the enemy awaits them as they circle round during the sorties, perhaps they are paying a distant homage to earlier dogfights, the bend in the nights landscape,  the engine growling in the black night, three digits on the speedometer, in the distance a storm flashes, forks heading down towards the ground. Not caught unawares they race towards the motorway junction that will take them north, lightening flashes. The junction lit by a flash of lightening on its far side like a flash from a giants  camera. The lights are off at the junction. They follow the curve of the slip road, slower now as they run into a wall of rain. The road shimmers in the rain, water washing away the day. The better to make them feel, the the caress of his had stroking and holding her leg, a page turns as we read a book in the domestic space, is the caress erotic? She doesn't know. She lacks knowledge of such things she thinks, having spent too much time killing people to know. Later, in the not to distant future he will say to her that reactionaries cannot understand a thing like a caress because for them its always about power. But in the here and now as she accelerates up the hill onto the orbital she has no goal but the pleasure of the hand on her thigh and a successfully navigated bend,  and here she smiles as we have avoided another violent ending. Nothing beyond the  smile it brings to her lips,  one that he thinks resembles happiness. If we could live our lives likes this, successfully negotiating curves we could be happy...

[ ...well that was interesting her husband said. Jean looked at him quizzically.  He'll never cheat on her. Pouring vodka shots into crystal glasses. She'd probably kill him if he did. The four of them laughed. More seriously if we betrayed him after this, she'd kill us as well Frank said, i do like her [...] they talked about them sipping the vodka and drinking tea and espresso into the middle of the night [...] They sent a sealed file from her yesterday,  it was sensibly passed to me unread, it's heavily redacted but enough to know who and what she is, it makes interesting reading. He probably doesn't know, nor even care based on this evening,  Abigail interjected. They have asked us keep tabs on her and him. I think they are frightened in case she goes back. Thank you she said to her, I needed someone else's opinion.  Her husband wondered how much money she'd brought with her. This was the only way I could think of to stop them running. I will destroy the file, thank them for it and tell them we will deal with it...]