#until he landed with the cia and worked several operations with them.

[nonsupe-a]

thinking about shiloh outside of the boys verse is still kind of sad because he still doesn’t know how to stop or rest.      he doesn’t give himself a break.

[kramlabs]

Why was Fletcher Prouty on his way back from Antarctica when JFK was killed?

May 26 1985

Victor H. Krulak

3665 Carleton Street

San Diego, CA

92106

Dear General,

Your good letter of 15 March 85 arrived while I was on a trip. This trip entailed a surge of work that has continued until now and, as I was working on this letter, I got another call and had to leave for a quick trip to Portland, OR. That led to more work. These interruptions certainly don't give an indication of my deep interest in your letter. As you can imagine, the information you provided is most important.

I shall look up "First to Fight' and "Organization for National Security" and read them as soon as I can. The brief review of your activities since we both left SACSA was most welcome; and your notes concerning the pictures I had sent to you are remarkable. I feel as though we have come across a barren bit of ground and that together we have found it to be more fertile than either of us, singly, had thought it would be. To have your confirmation of my belief that our mutual friend (Lansdale) was there at that time means quite a lot. I join with you in the question, What in the world was he doing there?

Somewhere I have the name of the photographer, and I'll get it. He was a regular commercial photographer who had run around and shot a lot of pictures that day. These pictures, this most unusual series, were - he thought - going to be important. Later, when few if any newspapers seemed interested in them, he wondered what had happened to the "tramps" whom those "policemen" had delivered to the Dallas County Sheriff's office.

This led to the discovery that the "tramps" had not even been booked in the Sheriff's office where they had been taken so conspicuously, and that there were no records of or by the police. Attempts have been made through the years to identify the "tramps" and the "police". Many have said one of the tramps was Howard Hunt. It looks like him.

To my knowledge no one has ever given any thought to the extra man, our friend. He has been accepted as a simple, uncomplicated pedestrian.

Not too long after the appearance of this set of pictures, they were referred to me on the chance I might recognize a CIA associate of some kind. I studied them carefully, concealing the fact that I was startled to see Ed Lansdale in the pictures. I had spotted him immediately.

This was years ago, in the Sixties, and I was much closer to EGL then. As a matter of fact I used to see him rather frequently during the Sixties. I was VP of a bank that was across the street from a CIA-leased building in Arlington, and he would pop up now and then from that building.

This is an unusual person. I used to fly into the Philippines during l952-1954 rather frequently. I would always stay at Clark where I had several friends. From time to time I'd hear stories about this "Air Force" officer who was working with Capt. Magsaysay. We flew to Saigon and Bangkok also on trips back and forth out of Tokyo. In 1953 I became Commander of that MATS outfit and my regular business included Clark-Saigon-Bangkok, among others... out of Tokyo. On several trips between Clark and Saigon I had groups of officials (USAFilipino6-CHINATS) who were with EGL. He had become a kingmaker by getting Ramon Magsaysay "elected" President of the Philippines.

After the fall of Dienbienphu, he was called back to the USA to discuss a similar "Robin Hood" operation in SVN. Allen Dulles dispatched him to Saigon as head of the Saigon Military Mission (a CIA cover) with orders to create a leader out of Ngo Dinh Diem. They became fast friends, and much of the early activity in SVN may be directly laid at his feet. He had full sway over the CIA there, and the CIA had operational control of the military as they were until the Marines landed in 1964. During this period, 1952-1954, I met EGL a few times there and got quite familiar with his Filipino and Vietnamese activities. For example: I flew a big Italian radar unit into Saigon for him in 1954.

I began my CIA-related work in Hq USAF in 1955 and was told to create an office for "The USAF support of the clandestine operations of the CIA". I wrote the procedures and got CofS:USAF (Gen. White) to approve it and then took it to Allen Dulles for his OK. Dulles sent me on a round-the-world trip to most of his overseas stations. That was my PhD.

Then EGL arrived in the Directorate of Plans on the Air Staff...a fish out of water. My office, "Team B" was there. We met again and we spent quite a bit of time together; but he could not get settled in with the Air Staff. Dulles and the "Big E" decided to help him; so in about 1959 he went to Erskine's office, the office of Special Operations: OSD. Shortly after he went down there I was ordered to that office where I reported in May 1960.

During this extended period of long association I learned that EGL was either liked or violently disliked. He was a great behind-the-scene, solo operator. He traveled quite a bit. My CIA friends used to tell me about how many CIA men, and especially French Intelligence men, would gladly have shot him.

Then in early 1960 be got rather close to Nixon and they got approval for the operation that became the "Bay of Pigs". He remained actively interested in Laos and SVN. He was somehow involved in Algeria. He wanted to be the Ambassador to Saigon and talked with me about this dream frequently. Achieving this depended on the election of Richard Nixon. The JFK victory jolted his plans, and he took off on a long trip to SVN right after the election - Nov 1960.

As he was planning this trip he had me go in town "to buy the grandest present I could find for Diem", I went to Callamer's and ordered the biggest desk set you ever saw. When it was delivered EGL liked it and told me to rush back in town to get a big brass plaque to put on it. He dictated the words "Ngo Dinh Diem: The Father of His Country". I was out over $700 and it was a long time before he got the paperwork arranged to pay me back. Diem died with that thing still on his desk.

EGL was disturbed when Erskine retired from OSD and McNamara abolished OSO/OSD. EGL had hoped to take over that job. That left him with a small, very nominal office by mid '61. At this time Earle Wheeler and McNamara called me in to tell me they were going to put my office in the JCS where I would cover all services and be placed within a new structure to be called: SACSA. There I had three bosses in quick succession: Craig (USA), Heintges (USA/CIA), Krulak (USMC).

During mid '63 was quite disturbed because of the worsening situation in Saigon and the growing disenchantment with Diem. Although he had always been a "Diem" supporter that does not mean he would have always been one to the end. I noted, in the behind-the-scenes action, it was a very close associate of his (Conien) who had been selected to be the contact man to the plotters against Diem, specifically to Big Minh. I do not know what EGL's role may have been then... if any. Of course you had been out there at that pivotal time, and you may have a much better idea of things than I. That was a crucial time for EGL because he lost Diem as leverage.

Then we all worked on the McNamara-Taylor Trip Report to JFK and that brought us up to the day of the loss of Diem and his brother. As I recall, the USA had provided air-travel for them to go to Europe, an Inter-Parliamentary Union meeting; but at the lest minute, unaccountably, both Diems backed away from the plane and returned to the Palace to find it empty. They ran through the tunnel to Cholon and were captured there.

Since the views expressed in the McNamara-Taylor Report were those of JFK and his closest advisors, coming from them via your own participation, I am sure - had JFK lived - that further USA activity in SVN would have been reduced considerably. I fully expected to see us out of SVN as soon as JFK had been re-elected. The "home by Christmas" element of the JFK plan was simply the start, and a cue to where he was going. I believe he had confided this to Mike Mansfield.

With the McNamara-Taylor Report work done I began to prepare for the trip to New Zealand and Antarctica. As you knows by that time I had been in the Pentagon, close to key positions, for 9 years, consecutively. I had many good friends and many reliable and perceptive sources. It was my belief that things in the Pentagon and in the White House were growing tense about the time I left for the Pacific.

After my visit to Antarctica we returned to New Zealand. A Congressman, Pete Abele, R-Ohio, and I got a Navy car and were driven to the N.Z. Alps, Mt Cook. It is a beautiful resort in a place called the Hermitage.

As I came down to breakfast the morning after we had arrived, I took a table and sipped coffee waiting for Pete to come. Outside, through huge picture windows, I could see snow-capped Mt Cook, and I could see a small, ski-wheel equipped Cessna leaving an air-strip to deposit skiers, 5 at a time, on a shoulder of the mountain above us.

The PA system was announcing the air-lift schedule for skiers in groups of five. Then the voice stopped. It came back with: "Ladies and Gentlemen, the BBC have announced that President Kennedy has been shot, dead, in Dallas." Total silence followed.

At that moment, Pete reached the table. His face was ashen. "did you hear what I just heard?" There was not another word of news. All around us the hundreds of New Zealand natives put down their coffee cups. Ladies wiped tears from their eyes. Outside in the beautiful springtime sunlight there was a tall flag-pole with the Union Jack flying in the breeze. Instinctively the entire group moved out around the flagpole. They recognized us as Americans and I told some of them that Pete was a Congressman. They gathered around him. Then a man from the hotel came out, untied the flag cord and lowered the British emblem to half-mast. I understand that was the first time that had ever been done, for an American.

We cut short out stay, and left that morning. There still was no news and the car had no radio. We arrived in Christchurch that PM and saw our first newspaper. It carried a Reuters story that the President had been hit by "rapid fire from automatic weapons". It also carried lengthy items about Lee Harvey Oswald.

Pete and I talked about the event, I recall saying that I had been trained in "Protection" (I had gone to Mexico City with the Eisenhower party in 1956). I felt something must have gone wrong in the Secret Service and their customary Army "Protection" services. There is no way, under protection tactics, that a lone gunman could have had access to an open and unobserved Sixth Floor window directly over the cavalcade. No way! Furthermore, the "lone gunman" did not agree with the "automatic weapons" of the on the spot Reuters account. Also, how could a paper in distant Christchurch have had so much news on Oswald so quickly?

I am fully aware of instantaneous transmission; what I mean is who could have researched and have had that all written for immediate transmission around the world?

As you will recall, the Dallas police did not even charge Oswald with the crime until after midnight...that is, on Nov 23rd. They had picked him up on the suspicion of having shot the police officer named Tippet, not JFK.

When I got back to Washington four or five days later, I listened to and read all I could about this unusual event. I was convinced it could not have happened as the story was being told.

Someone, in power or with access to the inside of power near the top, had been able to create a security vacuum in Dallas. The usual Army organization that augments the Secret Service, the 113th Group, had been told they would not be needed in Dallas. The Secret Service had been told they were needed in Ft Worth but only those riding in the cavalcade would go to Dallas and those in the cavalcade did absolutely nothing. There were no Secret Service, in place, in the vicinity of Dealey Plaza; yet the book says whenever the cavalcade is moving less than 44 mph there must be ground coverage.

Then VP Johnson was placed in a car two cars behind JFK. Since the origin of the Secret Service in 1860 this has been one of their ironclad rules...that the President and VP do not show up together. Former VP Nixon, despite his uncertain stories about his whereabouts to the contrary, was still in Dallas that afternoon where he had been with a meeting of Pepsi Cola officials.

These were all clever details. These two key men, LBJ and RMN, were trained indelibly by the sound and proximity of those shots. This tactic paid off in subsequent years.

It seems that the FBI were not in the scene either. Hoover met with LBJ shortly after Dallas and among other things, J. Edgar Hoover told LBJ:

a) Only three shots were fired: the first hit JFK, the second hit Connally, the third hit JFK. He added, "The President would have been hit three times except for the fact that Governor Connally turned after the first shot and was hit by the second."

b ) They were fired by one man in 3 seconds.

c) They were fired from the Fifth Floor.

As we know, these are all wrong. For the Director to be wrong on that date, Nov 29th (I have a copy of his letter) is strong evidence that he did not have people at the scene, and that his story was fabricated, even to LBJ. (He and LBJ had lived across the street from each other for 19 years.)

The three shots are doubtful. There were most likely four, or more: i.e. 2 to JFK, 1 to Connally and one miss. This miss hit a curb about 1 1/2 blocks away and a fragment of the curb or bullet hit a man named Tague. Tague's picture with blood running down his face is undeniable evidence. That is four shots.

As for Connally interfering with the second shot, this is wrong because the gunman Hoover had in mind (Oswald) was behind JFK and Connally was in front of JFK. No way a shot from behind JFK could have hit Connally, blocking for JFK. Either that or Hover has a gunman in front of JFK.

Hoover is wrong on the 3 seconds interval and that a man can fire that rifle three times in three seconds, and aim it too. The interval was just over 6 seconds.

He is all mixed up about the Fifth Floor. The entire scenario as entered in the Warren Commission report says that Oswald was on the Sixth Floor.

The only point of all the above, herein, is to show that there was a void, as there ought not to have been, at Dealey Plaza in Dallas. Almost no police: auto-borne Secret Service only: no "Protection" Army: no FBI nearby.

This took some kind of control. Only someone in a high position could have had the calls made that would have created this void without stirring up action.

Then on the scene there were many bogus Secret Service. These were men with some sort of Secret Service identification but on whom there is actually no record. And we have the strange police that you saw in those pictures with EGL.

There are in the CIA's assets colonies of stateless experts with all kinds of identities ready for any hit. It is easy, with the right authority, or the appearance of the right authority to have a team go anywhere, to hit anyone provided enough money is put up and an escape is arranged and guaranteed. EGL had used such a deal many times in many operations and knew how to trigger it. He was there, no doubt, to assure the escape that those "Dallas Police" were arranging right at that time when they were inadvertently spotted by that busy commercial photographer.

A major part of the scheme would involve the continuing cover-up. Again this can be relatively uncomplicated as long as the person at the top remains high enough up and can remain anonymous. So far this fits the role of EGL.

Today, he and many of his long-time associates form the inner core of the Reagan insurgency program around the world. As we see, they are taking on the old Khrushchev role of supporting the wars of national liberation and coming out from under the traditional cloak.

I thank you again for your letter, for your observations concerning those photographs and for your collaboration on the identity of the figure in one of those pictures, I am certain that we are on the right track; but where does it lead?

So much for now. I trust all is well with you and that I shall hear from you at your convenience. We are off soon on a visit to New England and then on to the Gaspe and Prince Edward Island...the place of my wife's mother's birth. All this as a welcome break after a busy springtime.

Sincerely,

L. Fletcher Prouty

.

.

[kdtheghostwriter]

Building A Better Protagonist

Yes, predictable I know. But it’s me after all. You should have expected no less. Jokes to the side, though, this fella is in the upper crust of main characters. Certainly of the main characters named ‘Jack.’

A good protagonist is the fuel of any narrative. A bit obvious when broken down like that but many do forget. The audience is more or less stuck with this character for the duration of the story - in some cases for years - so it’s important to give them a good reason to follow along.

There are several ways to do this. The most practiced and effective method is with a dynamic character arc that moves the protagonist both physically and tonally. The wider the arc, the more interesting the story (with other variables added of course).

I almost wrote a similar piece about Kylo Ren, but I don’t feel like tempting Stan Twitter today, so I’ll stick to more familiar waters.

Even in a fictional world, the first impression has to count. It’s different in this context because in real life, someone’s initial opinion of a person is often enough to shape their view of them going forward. When crafting a narrative, one has the advantage of steering that opinion, even changing it from scene to scene.

When we first see Jack, our impression of him is that of every Devil May Care action hero of the era. He’s a mile in the air, about to cross into hostile airspace, and is openly smoking a cigar with minutes left until his base jump. Further on, we get a close up of his shit-eating grin as he spots beehive hanging above an enemy soldier. Functionally, this is just the game directing you toward the easiest way to clear a path without engaging in combat. On top of that we get to see how different this Snake is from the established series protagonist, Solid Snake.

Naked Snake: Slapstick Comedy Enthusiast

Fast forward a bit (past the superhero landing and intro card) and we see something different entirely. Jack is speaking with his mentor for the first time in five years and his demeanor changes. No longer confident and aloof, he is pensive and anxious. Annoyed at the woman known as The Boss for leaving without a proper goodbye. We don’t know who this person is but we know what affect she has on our protagonist. Put a pin by this point.

 Jack’s mission is to retrieve a Russian scientist who defected to the States but was transferred back GBA style after the Bay of Pigs. You see, because Jack is a CIA agent during the Cold War. He is devoted completely to the cause of the US Government - observing his directive without protest. This is where his thematic journey starts, so to speak.

The Boss warns him that the Mission is all that matters in war. Your comrades today could be your enemies tomorrow [foreshadowing!!] so it really isn’t worth it getting attached to anyone in the field of battle. This is Jack’s first lesson and the first obstacle he must overcome as his teacher defects to Russia and throws him into a ravine.

(Quick aside here as this piece is about Big Boss and not The Joy and while I think her character is fascinating and complex in equal measure, it would also require another essay entirely. So, quick notes here. She didn’t actually defect. She was a double agent deep undercover trying to intercept a nuclear weapon. The mission went sideways so she had to defect for real to save her cover.)

This is a clear turning point, both in the story and in the character. The warning of The Boss has come true. Your beloved mentor is now the antagonist. Literally the Final Boss: the last person you fight on your journey. Jack spends much of the runtime processing this. He is also told by multiple people on his path (including Ocelot, a triple agent working for your CO) in basic layman’s terms that he has to kill The Boss. She’s an enemy of the State and directly opposes his objective. The bulk of the game is Jack building up the nerve to do this.

We’re a long way removed from the guy smiling and cracking one-liners. Over the course of the story we see him traverse the aforementioned arc. It’s more than just the superficial journey of Point A to Point B. We see Jack move emotionally, becoming more cynical and unsure of his mission. He physically changes, too. Losing an eye halfway through, he spends the rest of the game in the eyepatch he would later become famous for.

Movement of any sort is inherently dynamic. It’s well enough to simply have a character move from one end to another. To add texture to the narrative, though, there should be questions. How long will this journey take your protagonist? Where will it take them? Is the end of their arc the end of the story? Will the journey change them? If it doesn’t, why not? How will the other characters react to them? These are all minor things that add up over time as the audience keeps track of the different moving parts. In this example, it’s important to remember that Snake Eater was the third numbered installment in the Metal Gear franchise. Essentially, a look back in time to see the first steps of Big Boss and his descent from war hero to series villain. To do that, we have to ask questions.

Why did The Boss betray Jack and why does he care? As mentioned before, she had a mission that was compromised. As a double agent in enemy territory, there was no backup to speak of for her. In order to protect the US Government from being implicated in this very covert, very illegal operation she was forced to take the fall as an international terrorist and this is not even the saddest part of this story.

Jack is understandably distraught by this because in addition to being his mentor, it is heavily implied the two lived together for some time. His feelings for her are complicated, but they are obviously quite strong. Once it becomes clear what he has to do, his psyche begins to falter.

How does this change him? To answer that, we get to the real saddest part of this story. The Boss is true to her word from the beginning of the story. Devoted to the mission until the end. She tells the story of her child being born on the battlefield in WWII. She is still a US soldier, but in spirit only. In the interest of avoiding an international catastrophe, The Boss becomes a Russian asset and to make the Heel Turn more convincing, her best student is the one sent to stop her.

In killing her, Naked Snake becomes Big Boss and is so traumatized by the experience, he leaves the Green Berets, goes AWOL in South America and attempts to found a nation-state composed solely of mercenaries. But that’s another game entirely. I don’t need to say this, but Snake is fucked up for life by this. The naïve, bright-eyed soldier we start the game with is crushed by the system he swore to protect and it turns him against it full stop. Big Boss spends the rest of his life warring against it.

 Recall if you will what I said about “steering” opinion. We are sympathetic to Snake because we identify the shock and hurt of the betrayal; we want to follow him to victory because of his personal charisma. Then we discover the truth. Worse still, we see the truth through his eyes. That is, the eyes of someone who remembers the exact day they lost contact with their loved one. Five years separated from your favorite person, and you’re reunited in order to end their life. The Boss is no longer the mean woman that tried to kill you in the Act One finale. She’s a tragic figure, specifically because of how we view her through the lens of our main character.

It’s such a powerful weapon in prose. And so, it never fails to astound me to see paid professionals – people in charge of multi-million-dollar franchises – do little or even nothing to exploit this totally free, always effective method of storytelling.

 “This is the main character! Clap for them!”

“They’re not doing anything.”

“Clap pls!”

“They haven’t even said anything interesting.”

“They’re tall and have a chiseled jawline! That is worth one clap!”

 As the kids would say, make it make sense.

[willofhounds]

Bound to you ch1

A/N this is one of my crazy ideas. Please note this is the Bourne novels not the movies. It is also combined with the soulmate prompt from Tumblr. Will be Gellert/Newt dont like dont read.

Thank you for to @silverynight and @reina1505 for helping me with this fic. It is going to be a fun one to do.

Also the way POV's are written will change back and forth depending on the personality that is in control. I also have changed the date of when the CIA was founded to the earlier 1900s instead of 1947.

Newt's POV

His hands shook at the sight in front of him. The air cracked with his angry magical energy. Burning flesh scent filled the air. Its acidic scent burned his throat. Yet he did not move away or tear his eyes from the sight.

Burned corpses surrounded the barely of age wizard. Newt had only been in the war effort for three months. The entire time he had worked with and loved the dragons. Unlike the humans they didn't judge him.

The eldest dragon took to him as if he was her own. She didnt mind his presence or that he was curious about their behaviors. Every day he would spend his time with the dragons.

The first time his fellow soldiers found them in the pen they about had a heart attack. It wasn't until they saw how at ease the dragons were with him. They wanted him to teach them how to handle the dragons.

Two months it took but each of squad could handle a dragon each. When it came to the female elder only Newt was allowed near her. She trusted him in a way that she trusted no others.

Newt had only left camp for a few hours on a scouting mission. When he returned Ministry wizards were trying to scavenge scales from the dead bodies of his dragons. His fellow dragoniers were being held at wand point. Counting Newt there were only five of them and they were viciously outnumbered by the Ministry.

There wasn't even half a second for him to consider the consequences of his actions. He began a barrage of heavy explosive spells. They were sent with deadly accuracy.

Only one Ministry official was able to get a shield up in time. With the shield he was still sent back several feet. The others were thrown from across the camp unmoving as they landed.

Despite Newt never finishing his formal schooling he could duel with the best. Most people remember him as the strange man with the creatures. Only Professor Dumbledore knew that he had the innate talent for dueling. Under his guidance it was flourished.

In his fourth year Newt mastered the Patronus charm. It's corporeal form was that of a wolf. The surprise on Dumbledore's face would have been hilarious if anyone else had seen it. For Newt it was refreshing and made the boy smile. A rare thing seen by any other than his creatures.

Dueling practice had become tea time afterwards. Newt slowly became more comfortable with the older man.

It was on accident one day that during a duel that a cutting curse hit his robe over his right wrist. This revealed his soulmate mark. Newt wasn't ashamed of his mark; more confused by it. He recognized it from the the book Tales if Beatle and Bard.

At the time his parents had been thrilled. The Scammander family was neutral to dark as a whole. Theseus was on the lighter side of neutral by choice. Newt had been on the darker side of if. Like his parents he didn't care about whether it was dark or light. They taught him that it was all intention.

Dumbledore had gone paler than the ghosts. Immediately he warned Newt to never let anyone see it. That his soulmate was a dangerous man.

Newt took the advice as that, advice. He wasn't one of his classmates who went looking for his soulmate. All he wanted was to look after creatures.

When his parents died in his fourth year Dumbledore had been there for him. A friend where the rest of the world looked down upon him. Well him and Leta.

Leta Lestrange a Slytherin in his year was the only friend his age. She was unsure about him at first. Given that he felt the same about anyone he met then they made a good match to be friends. Outcasts no matter where they went.

Then he had been expelled because he stuck up for her. His only friend his age. It was only later did he find out that she didnt do the same for him. Not that it would have changed anything.

So with a year left to his schooling he was sent home. He was given a suitcase with an undetectable extension charm on it. Dumbledore gave it to him so that he could help creatures. Before he left he took the bowtruckles hiding in the Forbidden Forest with him. They had been tormented by students for long enough.

That's how he ended up on the war front. If he had not been expelled he would not have been eligible to join the army. Following Theseus's lead against his older brother's wishes he had joined. Newt never expected for this to happen.

His attention was brought back to the duel as a sickly yellow curse came at him. A quick wordless shield and it was blocked. Much like himself this man had no qualms about using dark spells.

The Ministry officials that had been blown off their feet were slowly getting up. They had wary looks in their eyes. It seemed they didn't want to try to their luck again.

They went to and from each using powerful spells. Newt could feel his magical reserves deplenishing. If this kept up he would be beaten.

As if sensing his thoughts the man man blocked another curse but did not return in kind. Both stood staring at each other.

The dark haired man began in a low rumble that echoed around them, "I did not know what was going to be done here today. I was only told of some new recruits for an operation I am putting together. It was one of wo things I came for today. The other was to find a Newton Fido Artemis Scammander. If I had known then I would have stopped them."

Newt didn't lower his wand but he was listening. There wasn't an ounce of deception in the other's voice. As far as he could tell the man was telling the truth.

Newt snapped back watching the man's wand for any indication of an attack, "I'm Newt Scammander. What do you want?"

The man replied with an honest look of regret, "I am Lieutenant Colonel David Abboyt from MACUSA's CIA branch. Two months ago one of my platoons went missing. An English platoon with Second Lieutenant Theseus Scammander went to rescue them two weeks ago. Information received suggests that they were captured and killed along with the original platoon. You have my sincerest condolences Corporal Scamander."

It was as if winter had set in three months early. Snow could have been falling with how cold he became.

Thee was dead? The only family he had left in the world was gone? His world was turned on itself. Without Theseus he was all alone in the world.

He was without kith or kin any longer. What was he supposed to do now?

For the first time in his life he felt truly lost. This wasn't even something he felt when he was expelled. Theseus had been there for him and helped. Now even he was gone.

The feeling of loss was quickly replaced by another feeling he was unfamiliar with; rage. If his anger had been a flame before it was a wildfire now. Never before had he felt the need to kill someone. Normally a gentle soul he felt no qualms about finding and killing those who killed his brother.

The members of his platoon began to move away. They wanted no part of the conversation that would ensue. Newt trusted them to take care of the bodies. Just like him they were attached to their dragons. A connection in them had died that night.

Then the word he had overlooked for his name hit him. He questioned, "What operation?"

Abbott's blue eyes sparked with interest. He replied, "You have the magical skill for it but would you be willing to learn to fight like muggle. Not just shooting a gun but hand to hand."

He paused eyeing Newt up and down. The younger man refused to say anything. He would not look weak. Not when he stood around the bodies of his precious dragons.

Abbott continued, "The operation will be known as Medusa. It is made up of the worst kinds of criminals. It will be men from all countries and origins. Training will be given. There would be a few such as yourself who aren't but not many. Remember they wont be your friends. If they get the chance they will kill you. This is not an official operation however. I am in control of it but if you speak to anyone outside of the group I'll deny it. If you get captured there will be no rescue. From the moment you are assigned a team you are apart of it. There will be no going back until the war is over."

There was no hesitation or requiring time to think about it, "If it means going after those that killed my brother then so be it."

Even if he had to become a monster.

[alexsmitposts]

The US is as much a threat to the world as Hitler's Third Reich WASHINGTON IS BUILDING A POLICY EXACTLY TO A TEE THE EXAMPLE OF NAZI GERMANY

I just finished reading "Berlin diary" by William Shirer. (It doesn't necessarily fascinate you, but that's what I'm getting at.) I first encountered this piece in high school. This, of course, is Shearer's description, then a correspondent in Germany, of the rise of the Nazis. Most of this is well known to educated people. The Nazis, who controlled the local press, convinced the German population that the poles threatened Germany — just as Guatemala threatened the United States. It was said that the poles committed atrocities against the Germans. Then the Reich without any reason, with absolute superiority in the air, attacked Poland, bombed unprotected cities and killed a huge number of people. This was the German pattern repeated several times. Many reporters spoke of the smell of rotting bodies, of refugees dying of hunger and thirst. Today, the Reich is endlessly remembered as a model of evil. Remembered. But how is Nazi Germany different from today's United States? The lie is the same. Washington insisted that Iraq was going to get nuclear and biological weapons, that it had poisonous gas. None of this was true. The government, without interference from the media, convinced more than half of the American population that Iraq was responsible for the " nine-eleven "(the events of September 11, 2001-S. D.). Now Washington says Iran is working to get nuclear weapons, and of course that " the Russians are coming." The American press, unofficially but strictly controlled, thoroughly disputes none of this. Having prepared the American public as the Nazis had prepared theirs, Washington launched a brutal attack on Iraq, deliberately destroying infrastructure, leaving the country without electricity and clean water. The slaughter was terrible. But, according to America, the war was supposed to rid the Iraqi people of the evil dictator, bring democracy, freedom and human rights. (Oil turned out to be a completely random thing. Oil is always a matter of chance.) Washington does not close its eyes, leading its campaigns to improve the lives of those people whose most ardent desire is for America to stop improving their lives. To give Afghans democracy, human rights, and American values, the U.S. has for eighteen years bombed, bombed, bombed a largely illiterate population in a country that America doesn't care about. It is a cowardly war in which war planes to exterminate the peasants, who do not have any protection at all. The pilots and drone operators who do this deserve contempt, as does the country that sends them. How many more years will this last? For what purpose? And what is the difference from the German Nazis? The German Gestapo carried out sickening tortures in secret cellars. America is doing the same, holding torture prisons around the world. In them men and, undoubtedly, women, for many days are suspended by wrists, keep naked in very cold rooms, do not allow to sleep and periodically subject to beatings. (The Nazis of any nationality are Nazis and there.) Photos of Iraqis tortured by the Americans in Abu Ghraib show nearly naked prisoners lying in pools of blood. Tell me, please, how does this differ from what was done by the Reich? (More Gory photos are no longer stored online. Many of the remaining ones seem to have been edited.) Gina Haspel, the sadistic CIA chief who tortured Muslim prisoners, resembles ILSA Koch, the notorious Nazi torturer who also worked in prisons. I suppose the victims are easy to find. President trump recently pardoned several American war criminals, saying he wanted to give American soldiers "confidence to fight." This is tantamount to full permission to commit atrocities. The goal of barbaric training aimed at eradicating human decency and mercy is obscene barbarism. Atrocities are what soldiers do. And will do so as long as wars continue, and fiercely denied by the government. (When I was covering the" work "of Force Recon-marine special forces-I saw their motto on the wall:" Smash their skulls and eat their faces.") Perhaps the most famous example of applied approval was Nixon's pardon of Lieutenant Kelly, who ordered the killing of Vietnamese villagers, for which he received three years of house arrest. The Germans wanted an Empire, lebensraum (German. living space-SD) and resources, in particular oil. The Americans want an Empire and an oil whose control allows them to control the world. They go to conquer it all by invasion and intimidation. So America wants to bring democracy and human rights to Iraq, Iran, Venezuela and Nigeria, which have a lot of oil, and the US has occupying forces in Saudi Arabia, Kuwait and other parts of the Middle East. What part of Syria does trump occupy? Surprise, surprise! The part where the oil is. Oil for the Americans, land for the Germans. As Shearer points out, the German public was not enthusiastic about the war until at least 1940 — nor is the American public today. But neither the one nor the other has expressed concerns about the horrors that her government brought to the world. What is the difference? The Parallels with the Reich do not end there. Washington is not trying to commit genocide against Jews, blacks or any other group within the country, content to kill those on whom its bombs fall. Trump is not comparable to Hitler. He lacks vision, backbone and, apparently, malice. Hitler was a very clever, very evil man who knew exactly what he was doing, at least politically. The same cannot be said of trump. Nevertheless, Hitler was — and trump is-surrounded by freaks of high militancy. Adolf had Goering, Goebbels, Himmler, Reinhardt Heydrich, Julius Streicher, Eichmann. Trump has John Bolton, as immoral and pathologically aggressive as any of the Fuhrer's entourage. Pompeo-a bloated toad-man-bears an uncanny resemblance to Goering. Both he and Pence are Christian Evangelical heretics who believe they are connected to God by broadband. O'brien sounds like Bolton. Everyone wants war with Iran and possibly with China and Russia.

Wikipedia: "US army Soldiers killed between 347 and 504 unarmed people ... among the victims were men, women, children and infants. Some women, like children as young as 12, were gang-raped and their bodies mutilated.» For this, Kelly received three years of house arrest — less than the sentence for a bag of methamphetamine-until he was pardoned by Nixon. Many Americans have said — and many still say-that he should not have been punished at all, that we should "take off the gloves" and let the troops fight. Again, that's what trump said. The German Nazis worshipped "blood and soil"**, the land of Germany and the Teutonic race, who, in their opinion, were genetically superior to all others. Americans can't easily worship race. Instead, they consider themselves "exceptional, "" irreplaceable," " shining hail on a hill," "the greatest civilization the world has ever known." The same narcissism and arrogance, a slightly different Foundation. Nazi Germany was, like Nazi America now, distinctly militaristic. The US has hundreds of bases around the world (China has one base outside the country — in Djibouti), they spend an outrageous amount on the armed forces, despite the absence of a clear enemy in the military sense of the word. The US is currently purchasing new missile submarines (Columbia class), aircraft carriers (Ford class), Intercontinental nuclear bombers (B21) and fighters (F-35). Nazi Germany attacked Poland, Norway, Belgium, France, Russia, America and England. America? Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya, Somalia, Syria. Supports the most brutal war against Yemen (Yemen is a serious threat to America!). Threatens Venezuela, China and Iran with attack, imposes embargo on Cuba. This is from the latter. Looking back a bit, we have Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam, Yugoslavia, the intervention in Panama, and so on. Millions and millions killed. The third Reich was-and America remains-a major threat to world peace, a real pariah state. Is that something to be proud of?

[ilovehighhats]

Reticulum, ch. 01

I’ve been sitting on this way too long...

John Brown wasn’t always John Brown.

For instance, he was born Ricardo Sanchez. Not too daunting a name. So, when he used to be a CIA operative he worked under several aliases: Tim Perkins, Paul Schwartz, Karim Sayif.

He considered himself a patriot. That’s why after Joker’s attacks on Gotham he felt the need to do more. Being one of the dozens of unimportant agents, stationed in an unimportant country, tracking as it ultimately turned out insignificant people… That wasn’t enough. He wanted to be someone who could do things really ensuring the safety of his compatriots - both domestic and abroad.

This is how he ended in DHS. The Department of Homeland Security, still shiny and new and building up its ranks. Brown fit right in, with other idealistic hotheads and solemn gruff men.

Bane’s siege of Gotham was the event that shook him to his core again. All those unimportant people he used to trace, suddenly were way more threatening than he could ever imagine. Led by one of the goons who, back in his CIA days, seemed trivial and inferior. Who names himself Bane? Is every third-country warlord or a mercenary worth the hassle of a laborious operation prepared to infiltrate his organisation? When there are coups, civil wars, genocides and other atrocities, all around?

James used to think of those people as lesser men. He read an account once, of a woman kidnapped, abused, tortured until she didn’t even resent her abductor and it only solidified this conclusion. Animals. There were exceptions, there were reasons and explanations, but ultimately he didn’t care. Not unless they were big names with prospects of big promotion attached to their file.

Bane was one of those unimportant meagre mercenaries to him.

That is, until League of shadows, under his command,  invaded his country.

He found all the faults and flaws of his understanding of the importance of marked targets. He learned how dangerous a mass of anonymous savages could be when led by a madman. The worst part was, he encountered Bane before and thought him ridiculous and inconsequential.

He was there for his colleagues whining over a witness who apparently suffered a bad case of Stockholm Syndrome. But neither them, nor their superiors felt the need to waste their time and resources on some hired gun working in forgotten parts of the world. After all, there were coups, civil wars, genocides and other atrocities to be taken care of...   

But then the forgotten came to their home and mangled its shiny city. Gotham was in ruins. Saved in the last minute by a vigilante, no less. The animals who Brown hunted down held the entire nation hostage and the government danced to their tune, scorned and shamed by the world. Their president, a figure of contempt between the leaders, thrust down from his pedestal of the leader of a free world.

Some leader, with a foreign terrorist cell right in the middle of his lands, occupying a city, gambling with millions of lives. For months. To all those atrocities that were happening beyond blown up bridges, the country sends only one group of operatives. And they were unsuccessful, their lifeless bodies hanging for all to see, displayed as yet another mockery, right in their face.

Batman’s rescue of Gotham was a fluke. Brown promised to himself he would never let a criminal seem too unimportant to catch.

And he’d start his penance with making sure his biggest mistake was really dead and buried.

oOo

There was no body.

Brown read through all of the reports on Bane and his activities during the siege. The last day he has seen people reported him fighting the police and Batman, an old-fashioned brawl on the steps of City Hall. Stupid. Bane was not a stupid animal, he was cunning, so why did he go along with that pitiful last stand of Gotham's finest? Why did he lose control of his city? Where did he go?

There weren’t many leads in his investigation, most of them have been thoroughly followed by his predecessors who took Bane more seriously. Like Bill. Until recently no one knew that Bane was the one responsible for Bill Wilson's death, that he orchestrated the crash of the plane in Uzbekistan, he faked Pavel’s death. The mercenary must have known of Wilson's obsession with him, and he used it to his advantage, killing two birds with one stone. Now, Brown was left with boxes of information that was carefully and systematically checked.

There was one nugget of possibility left, though.

The scribe, the one who was abducted by Bane and then left in a hospital in Armenian countryside. A very unusual thing to do for any kidnapper, and especially for someone as meticulous and organised as Bane. Brown read her files over and over again, and he saw all the blunders his fellow agents did. How they let her lie blatantly to their faces. How they misplaced tapes and left him only with copies of transcripts, old and faded. How they left big unanswered holes in her testimony. How no one followed up on the facts, she did provide.

He used up his vacation days to visit the hospital and the doctor who treated her. He found the monastery.

No leads were left there.

The doctor wasn’t eager to cooperate, and Brown did not have any means of making him talk. The monastery was inhabited by monks, and they didn’t let him walk around and check the rooms he read about.

This was a wild goose chase. The only foothold he had was the scribe. So he went to talk with the woman herself.

Norway was beautiful. He fell in love with deep sky over his head, the rolling clouds and tempestuous see in harmony even though they were ever changing. It was damn expensive though, and he wondered how a scribe could afford a stated of the art house out in the country, in what looked like a very prosperous place. Granted, the cottage wasn’t very big, but it was very obviously new and packed with all amenities, and to top it off designed by someone minimalistic and practical.

In other words, it must have cost a fortune, and not a small one.

He parked his car way down and had a nice stroll first on the tarmac road, and then up some steps. Broad wooden planks were first, then the path wound down to flat stones, and the entryway was hidden between a wall of natural rock and the glass panel of the house itself. Hidden from view, secluded and cosy.

He knocked and heard a faint woman's voice reply,

“Come in!”

The door opened easily, and he tentatively peeked inside.

“Mrs Wolf?”

There was a murmur of fabric somewhere to his left, and he stepped in to get a better look. His host was in bed, weirdly raised way above the level of the house, clearly waiting for someone else than him.

Awkward.

She had a coughing fit which let Brown look around the house undisturbed. It looked like she was alone.

“Who are you?” She wheezed out eventually. “I was actually waiting for a friend to pick me up, I don't have much time before my visit to the doctors.”

“I see. My name is Brown. I'm with Homeland Security.“ He tried to be as pleasant as possible. This was his only lead.

The woman scoffed.

“Homeland,“ she practically spat. “Wouldn’t it be easier to understand if you said you’re with US Government?”

“Perhaps,” he said to placate her. He read the reports by other agencies and knew that she could be openly hostile. “I was wondering if we could have a talk. When you get better, of course.”

“Concerning what?”

“Bane.”

He observed as her face solidified into a stagnant mask. Was this trauma of the abduction, or was she hiding something else?

“Why would you want to talk with me about a dead man?”

“A missing man,” he corrected.

“Why would you want to talk with me about a missing man then?”

This was too much to be just a reflexive reaction to having her peace disturbed. She was hiding something. She knew something.

“I think you are a person he might want to contact.” The try was a gamble. It was true, and he did think that Bane could contact her, however, he left his cards too exposed if she was a seasoned liar and manipulator.

“He didn't through last ten years. I'll let you know if he changes his mind. Leave a card on the stairs please.” The dismissal was plain to see.

He wanted to try one more time to placate her. He could work the information out.

But then the door at the front of the cottage opened, glass panels sliding without effort, and in came a tall man. Like he was at home here.

“Helena,“ he greeted the host but kept his eyes firmly on Brown.

He came through the terrace. Thick scarf peeked out from a navy blue jacket, jeans were tucked in big brown boots, messenger bag hanging off one shoulder. He looked harmless enough, especially when he moved, wobbling carefully closer, the pain of every step visible in a rigid way he held himself.

But there was something off. His eyes were too sharp. Too familiar.

“We should go soon,“ he said. Nodded at Brown. “Tony Dorrance.“

“John Brown.”

Neither offered a hand to shake, but they kept observing each other.

What was it about this guy?

“You better go,” Dorrance said. His voice had an edge to it, a glimmer of certainty and command that was not meshing well with the image of a tired scholar.

The woman had another coughing fit, so Brown just nodded and left.

He would try to contact the woman again, and until then he will be mulling over that man. Who was he exactly?

oOo

Anthony Dorrance was an interesting man.

He was the person Helena Wolf talked about when she rambled on to him about her precious friend left to die in Gotham. Did she really believe what she said? Was she delusional?

Did Dorrance was such masterful manipulator he could pretend to be two people at the same time?

Brown started the work on him the usual way. Databases had the most rudimentary info; DOB, education, some jobs, some things he wrote. But it got interesting when he got to the pictures. The scars hinted at life way more interesting than the one portrayed in his files.

So he started working the man backwards.

He was in Norway for only a few weeks. Arrived with a plane from London. Both cottages were his, acquired a few years prior, so that wasn't suspicious in the least. What was, however, was how he got them. It turned out that the guy was not only a talented physicist but also a historian. Dealing with antiquities; old books and manuscripts mostly.

Suspicious.

Brown tried to trace his moves before London, and there he struck gold. The guy appeared in Azores two months after Gotham. But prior to that? A big black mysterious hole. He was in Gotham until May the previous year, but there was no movement in the months leading to the occupation of the city.

Was he there?

His name was on the list of suspected victims, struck down when he reported back to the British consulate on San Miguel.

How did he get from a besieged city to an archipelago in the middle of the Atlantic? And no less than five weeks after the occupation was thwarted? Why? Why didn’t he report to the authorities in the USA? Why wasn’t there any mentions of him crossing the border before the Azores?

Very suspicious.

Brown tracked Dorrance’s history backwards all the way down to his birth, but it didn’t yield much good.

He turned back to the Gotham episode. He turned up the photos and compared.

Did his eyes resemble Bane’s?

oOo

Much to Brown’s dismay, the forensic facial comparison was a flop.

Bane’s face was hidden by the mask the only visible parts were his eyes and two lines extending over them up to the middle of his head. Not nearly enough for any comparison.

But his gut told him he was onto something.

He decided to approach this problem differently. He had a plethora of Bane’s pictures, so he gathered all the ones of Dorrance too and tried to see if there were any similarities. He found some, but not many. The slope of his shoulders, perhaps. His pointed stare, and the colour of his eyes.

Even to himself, all of that sounded pathetic.

Once, in the middle of the night working an entirely different case, he remembered a detail. Gotham’s police commissioner had a run in with Bane, just before the siege.

Brown went to interview Gordon, which turned out to be a bizarre experience.

“So you're saying kid, that he isn't dead?”

“He is presumed dead, and I would like to make sure of it. There was no body.”

“Yeah, like with Batman.”

“Exactly. Do you remember anything that could help identify him?”

Gordon scoffed, looking over the city. He invited Brown to the roof, which seemed odd at first. Even more so when the agent noticed brand new Bat-Signal waiting in the corner, the lamp pointed upwards, ready to call in a hero.

But he was dead. Wasn’t he?

“So many people focused on his bulk… I see what you're doing here, kid. You have good instincts.” The commissioner shook his head, trying to grasp faint wisps of recollection.

“Let me walk through what happened there. I went in pursuit down to the sewers. Two guys with me. Some idiot started shooting, and I don't know what blew up, but there was a big explosion. I was overwhelmed and got a nice hit to the head. If I were younger by twenty years then maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Well, they dragged me down the tunnels and brought to Bane.”

He stopped and frowned deeply.

“He was crouching, shirtless. There was a scar running the length of his spine, a nasty, ropey thing. No marks on his chest, as far as I could see. Some burns on his shoulders, but old and faded. I didn't get a long look at him, I was pretending to be dizzy. But what I remember the most is how enormous he seemed. Raw and brutal power radiating off him. Later, when I watched him on the television, he was still formidable, but I can't shake this dread that I felt then. Because he was terrifying even when relaxed.”

This was pure gold.

“Thank you. Thank you so much for sharing that with me.”

“You don’t think he’s dead, kid, do you?”

“I don't. There is a lead. A woman he might have wanted to contact.”

“What woman would be with a monster like that?”

“Maybe she’s a monster too.”

“Maybe.”

oOo

Armed with information from Gordon, Brown started working on Dorrance full time. He screened all of his accounts, all of his books, everything he could find on the man.

He was squeaky clean. Too clean to be genuine.

The fervour of righteousness burned in his chest, the elation propelling him forward.

His work suffered, but Brown was sure that finding Bane was imperative. Proving that Dorrance was him. That the terrorist who planned to kill millions with a bomb was alive and living peacefully, while all those families of thousands of his victims despaired.

And then he got a visit that stoked his conviction even more, that motivated him to try harder still.

He was looking at pictures of Dorrance, the scientist caught unawares shopping and walking around town. The last of the work Brown managed to squeeze while he still was in Norway.

Then someone brought a bag over his head and bound his wrist behind the chair. So fast he barely could comprehend what happened before he was panting quickly into the rough fabric scratching his nose. He couldn't see a thing but felt a presence shift beside him.

“You are investigating Bane,” the person said. It was a man, and he had some weird piece of tech that made his voice unrecognisable. Growling lowly, threateningly.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Batman,” the man said.

“Batman is dead.”

“As is Bane.”

“I have evidence that he may be alive.”

“I saw him die.”

“Did you check his body?”

“He was struck by a rocket, straight in the chest, then propelled ten feet away with a blast. He can’t be alive.”

“How are you not dead then?”

“A trick.”

“Are you the only person in the world capable of such tricks?”

There was no answer. He struggled against his bounds and found out that the knots were loosely tied. On purpose.

When he took the bag away, he was once again alone in the room.

Some of Bane’s pictures were missing.

oOo

The second visit to Norway was official. Brown showed his findings to his bosses and implored. He just needed to check. To make sure. What if it turned out that this guy was somehow connected to Bane? He didn’t tell them outright he thought Dorrance was the masked man, he had enough clarity of mind not to sabotage himself this way. But he plotted and schemed. The proof that tipped the scale was Dorrance’s scientific work.

Brown convinced his people that is was all coded messages to terrorists.

The antiquities were an obvious giveaway of laundering money too.

But before the bureaucratic machine was moved into action, he wondered whether to give Mrs Wolf one last chance at redemption.

[takadasaiko]

Breathe Again Beneath the Flames: Chapter Twenty

FFN II AO3

Summary: Liz and Tom follow their lead to Oleander.

Chapter Twenty

Oleander was an old Russian spy out of the Soviet Union. From what Cooper had uncovered there were potential ties back to a man named Dominic Wilkinson. The CIA had dropped the case against him decades earlier due to lack of evidence, but in Liz's experience that hardly proved him as innocent.

Tom had gotten the name Oleander during his search into the bones. He had followed the trail to Albert Dennison who had told him to find Oleander just after Reddington had shot the bound man at point blank range to silence yet another person that might have a link to his secret. The body count was building at this point. Sam, Kate, Dennison, and nearly Tom. Those were just the people she knew about. There were likely many more.

"Okay, I hear you, but that sounds like the opposite of under control."

Liz glanced over to the passenger seat of her vehicle where her husband sat, phone pressed to his ear and not bothering to keep the frustration from his voice. Whatever Scottie was saying on the other end didn't sound good.

"No, I get that the board would make it a spectacle, but Solomon's still benched isn't he? Nez can't take this in by herself. She-" Tom glanced over towards Liz and she slowed down, looking for a place to pull over. They couldn't risk tipping their hand with Oleander if they were about to have to turn around and go help with something else. She tried to keep the frustration from her expression. They were so close, but Tom wouldn't sound like he was about to offer to go in and backup Nez himself if it wasn't a dire situation. Liz met his gaze and he covered the mic on the phone. "Howard's been taken."

Liz found a place to pull over and listened.

"I know that that's what Grey Matters is there for," her husband said tightly. "But she needs a partner to have her back in the field." There was a pause and Liz saw him slouch in his seat, massaging at the bridge of his nose. "Okay. Okay, just let me know?" He barely pressed the end button before tossing the phone onto the dash and leaning back against the seat hard.

"Do we need to go help?" Liz asked hesitantly.

"No. She says she has it under control."

"Do you think she does?"

His dark blue gaze shifted to look at her. "Scottie's good. Even with odds against her she'll put something together. It's the fact that she called at all that had me questioning her. She just…. wanted to be open with me. Let me know about Howard."

Liz cracked the smallest of smiles, no mirth making its way into the tilt. "A little honesty makes you suspicious?"

"It's Scottie," he countered.

"I know. It's not like she has the best track record." She closed her eyes and reached over. Tom immediately took it and she squeezed his fingers. "It's your call. Say the word and we'll turn around and go help Scottie rescue Howard."

She watched the struggle play out on his face before he shook his head. "No. We need to find out what Oleander knows and we've lost too much time already."

Liz tightened her hold. "Maybe she really is trying, Tom."

He snorted and brought her hand to his lips, pressing a quick kiss to her fingers. "Maybe."

"It's probably too much to hope Katarina isn't going to be just as crazy and secretive, huh?" she asked, trying to lighten the mood and she didn't miss the smirk her husband shot her as she put the vehicle back into gear.

"Considering no one's willing to admit she's involved, yeah."

"Who would have thought we'd be the most normal ones?"

Tom snorted but didn't answer, his gaze turning to the road ahead of them. He had to be conflicted. Liz knew she would be, and as frustrating as the Hargraves were, they were his parents. They loved him, even if they didn't always express it well. Howard had been willing to do anything to save Tom's life. It was complicated, just like everything in their lives.

"I think I should go in alone," Liz said as she turned down the road that should lead down to the house.

"Liz-"

"It'll give you a chance to search the property."

They pulled into the long driveway. He didn't look convinced, but he nodded. "Alright. Just be careful, alright?"

"You too." She leaned over the console and he met her halfway, the kiss quick but it was a promise between them. She watched Tom open the passenger door, tucking his gun and phone away as he did, and start off for what looked like an old garage. She forced herself to look away and back to the house. He would be fine. She just needed to focus on her end and he would be alright.

Liz forced herself out of the SUV and towards the front door. She rapped her knuckles against the wood and waited until she saw an old man shuffling through the distorted glass. He pulled the door open and he certainly didn't look like a former KGB operative. "Dominic Wilkinson? I'm Special Agent Elizabeth Keen, FBI. I have a few questions for you."

Tom Keen was alive. Somehow against the odds, against everything he had known was true for over a year, Tom Keen had survived the brutal attack Garvey had leveled against him. Reddington had been there. He had seen the amount of blood the younger man had lost, seen the wounds. Harold Cooper had ID'd his body. Reddington had made sure. He had needed to be sure. It wasn't that he had felt any joy in telling Elizabeth that the man she had loved was dead, but Tom's death had meant at least a temporary reprieve from the looming possibility of Elizabeth learning his secret.

So he thought. If Tom was alive, if he was with Liz, that meant she knew. If she didn't, she would soon, and things had become much more complicated than before.

He hated moving into damage control. Reddington had mobilized a few options to help with that, including one that Katarina had presented to him. In return he had agreed to go to Dom personally to relocate him. Even if Elizabeth knew that he was not her father, Dom knew things about both Red and Katarina that needed to be left well enough alone. In return, Katarina had offered information to allow him to set up his next moves. They always had worked well together.

"Did you know she was alive?"

Dembe's soft question from the driver's seat drew Reddington's attention. "No. I… suspected from time to time, but I'd never found anything concrete."

"You never looked."

"No," Reddington admitted quietly.

"She will think you kept this from her."

"Perhaps. Tom certainly won't be the one to talk her out of that."

"This is not Tom's fault." There was a pause, and even though Dembe's gaze remained on the road, Reddington could feel it on him somehow. "You should have told her. It would have been better coming from you."

There were days that Reddington desperately wanted to ask whose side he was on, but even as the thought flittered across his mind he knew the answer. His. There was no one more loyal to him than Dembe, even when there was a difference of opinion. "Tom should have kept his nose out of it. It wasn't any of his business."

Dembe didn't answer and Reddington frowned as they turned towards Dom's home. Elizabeth's vehicle sat in the driveway. It was parked, the engine shut off and no one visible inside as they pulled in behind it, blocking the black SUV in. "Raymond."

Reddington followed the direction that Dembe had nodded and saw movement in the garage. It was impossible to tell who it was from their vantage point, even if he could make an educated guess. It was time to see where they landed in all of this and just how much damage Tom had managed to do before he had been found out.

The Concierge of Crime reached for the door with one hand and his hat that was resting on the bench seat with the other. He fit it into place and pulled lightly on the rim as Dembe moved around the car and to his side. He didn't say anything, and for that Reddington was eternally grateful. He needed to assess and see where they stood. Once he knew that he would know how much pressure needed to be applied to bring the situation to heel. He'd been fool enough to take his eyes off of Tom Keen before and he was paying the price now. He might not be able to take him out of the equation permanently, but he could control him. Soon he would have what he needed to do that. Elizabeth wouldn't like it, but if they were all going to make it out alive, they would need to trust him to do what he did best: control the board and come out on top.

The house was in the middle of nowhere, far from prying eyes and curious neighbors. He supposed that made sense for a retired KGB operative, or at least it would have if he had ever known an operative to make it to retirement. In his experience they never made it that far. He had tried. Several times he had tried, but something always pulled him back in. Teaching jobs falling through to keep them from moving, would-be fathers kidnapping them all and taking their daughter from them, or Reddington dragging him headlong into something. It usually came back to Reddington, and Tom would have loved to blame all their problems on the man, but he hadn't had anything to do with Howard pulling him into two months worth of investigation into Scottie. At least not as far as he knew. It was Reddington and he had his hands in everything. That was part of the problem.

Tom pushed a long breath out his nose as he surveyed the piles of junk stored away there. Whoever this Oleander was, he had somehow managed to live a life after he got out. There were drawings done by a child, board games, and old toys stored away. Tom pulled a smaller box that had been tucked away between two large game boxes and found a roll undeveloped film there. He moved over to the window and held it up to the light, catching shadows of what looked like a child and adult. He wasn't sure if time had damaged it too much, but between Dumont and Aram someone would be able to turn up something.

A sound drew his attention and he shoved the film back into the box as carefully as he could, slipping it into the inner pocket of his coat. Someone was coming.

Tom slipped around to use one of the shelves as a wall between him and the entry into the garage, pulling his gun from its holster. He waited, tense, and he could hear what sounded like two men making their way towards him. There was a long moment and the newcomers weren't trying to hide their presence. They knew someone was there, and they were blocking the one exit he had. So much for quietly investigating. He flexed his fingers against his gun, willing his hands to steady for him.

"Tom."

He felt a chill pass through him at the sound of his name from Raymond Reddington's lips. No, not Raymond Reddington. The man that had taken on his name and…. something of his life. How deep that went was still yet to be seen. Whoever he was was yet to be seen, but he knew Tom was alive somehow and he knew he was there.

Tom swung around and into the open, sliding his left hand under the butt of his weapon to keep it a little steadier. Dembe immediate drew on him and Reddington raised his hands a little, reaching to motion to Dembe. "No one needs to get hurt today, Tom."

Dark blue eyes shifted between the two men and Tom watched Dembe slowly lower his weapon, clearly uncomfortable with the way things were unfolding. Tom met Reddington's gaze and held it for a moment before finally lowering his own gun.

Reddington seemed to relax just a little at that. "Tom, what you think you know is-"

"You're done twisting her around," Tom bit out, his voice sharper than even he had expected. An old anger boiled up and he gripped the gun in his hand, every instinct developed over years of training demanding that he put the threat down before Reddington had a chance to do the same to him. He hadn't though, and as much as he might want to end this after everything, he wasn't going to kill him there. He jammed his gun back into its holster so he wouldn't be too tempted.

"You and I both know that the truth is rarely simple," Reddington said, taking a step towards him. "And I did warn you that this truth could only hurt her."

"Because you've been lying to her."

"Elizabeth is the one that has been determined to believe that I was her father. You didn't do anything to dissuade her by telling her that her father was alive a few years ago, but I have not once told her that I'm her father."

Tom rolled his eyes and shook his head. Every argument that wouldn't go anywhere flashed through his mind. How Reddington had descended on her life and how he had manipulated and controlled it. He had treated the world that she existed in like his own personal chess board, the people that she loved his chess pieces to move about and toss away whenever they became inconvenient. If he'd been her father maybe, maybe it would have at least made sense, but there wasn't even that. The bastard stood there after upending her life again with the damn bones and all he had were a few condescending words about how it was Liz's fault, not his. Tom was swinging before he gave himself permission to move.

His fist connected with enough force to whip Reddington's head around, making the other man stumble. Tom stood his ground, gaze fixed and he had to admit he was a little disappointed that Dembe caught Reddington before he went fully to the ground.

A rough, mirthless chuckle escaped Reddington as he wiped at his bloody nose and straightened. "Feel better?"

Tom's temper flared. "You think this is a joke for us?"

"I think that you're both acting like temperamental children who want something they can't have. The secret was not yours, Tom. It's not Elizabeth's. It's mine, and-"

He hadn't realized just how much pent up anger he held for the man, but the condescending tone was enough to break his temporary resolve that one punch was enough for now. Dembe must have seen the shift, though, because the larger man stepped between, solid and unmoving. Tom didn't give easily though. Dembe had the height and the weight on him, but Tom sidestepped and there was something satisfying in seeing a flash of worry across Reddington's features.

"I do not wish to hurt you, Tom," Dembe said pointedly.

"I'm not interested in hurting you either," Tom countered, "so get out of my way."

He didn't, not that Tom had really expected him to. Dembe blocked a kick and Tom dodged a swing aimed at his face. It felt good, somehow, to finally be exchanging blows with someone that wouldn't hold back and wasn't terrified of breaking him. He might not be at the level he once was, but he sure as hell wasn't fragile.

Tom bobbed, ducking the next blow and darted forward. He didn't make it there, though. Dembe caught hold of the back of his coat and dragged him backward. Tom didn't stop fighting, thinking that he could dodge again, but Dembe didn't let up. Instead Tom found himself being slammed down to the ground hard enough to drive the air out of him. He laid there for a moment, stunned and gasping and struggling to regain the ability to move.

"Stay down," Dembe warned. Tom really didn't have a choice in the matter. He was still fighting to drag air back into his lungs.

Reddington came into view, still wiping at the blood coming from his nose. Well, at least he had lost that smug look. That was something at least. He tilted his head, studying the younger man from above. "I think it's time we have a talk about what you've shared with Elizabeth."

Tom grimaced, but managed a glare up at the man that had started all of this. Reddington held that glare for a long moment before a voice sounded off behind him.

"Reddington!"

They must have made more racket than he had realized if it had brought Liz from the house. The only sign that it phased the older man at all was a small twitch of his lips.

"Step away from him," Liz shouted and Tom finally caught a glimpse of his wife at the garage opening. She had her gun drawn and aimed at the man she had thought was her father more than once. "I swear, Reddington, if you don't back away from him I will shoot you."

"I don't think you will," he answered calmly and the shot went off, echoing through the air and everyone froze in place. Tom watched from where he was still laid out on the ground as Reddington's fedora lurched from his head and fell, the bullet having sent it flying, and the man himself looked stunned as he finally straightened and turned to look at Liz.

"Get away from my husband or the next one does more than ruin one of your hats."

Reddington made a show of stepping back and Tom sat up slowly, still feeling the ache from the blow, even if he was starting to breathe normally again. Liz darted forward, but he was already waving her off as she stooped to the ground with him. "I'm okay."

"Tom-"

"I'm okay," he said again and he started the process of getting to his feet to prove it, risking a glance at Dembe to make sure they weren't about to go into round two. The other man didn't make a move, but was watching Liz with a mix of wonder and sadness.

"If everyone's done shooting up my garage now?"

Tom looked over to the huffy voice and found the man they believed to be Oleander standing where at the entrance. He was heavyset and gruff, his accent faded Russian. Surprisingly enough, his glare wasn't fixed on the woman who had taken the only shot, but on Reddington.

Liz whirled on him all the same. "I don't think you've been entirely honest with me, Mr Wilkinson."

He snorted a laugh. "My guess is that no one standing here has."

Reddington bent for his hat, straightening again and breaking his unusual silence. "Elizabeth, if I might have a word? Preferably without shots being taken?"

Tom offered her a tight smile when she turned to look at him again. "I'm okay," he said again. She didn't look entirely convinced as she reached her hand up, her fingers loosely holding his chin and easing him to meeting her gaze. He leaned into her touch. "Promise."

Liz pulled in a deep breath, tipped up in her toes, and kissed him. She didn't say anything more before turning to follow Reddington out of the garage. Tom watched, feeling his chest tighten again at the sight.

"You know that he won't hurt her," Dembe said and Tom turned a skeptical look on him.

"You want to tell me what he wants from her then?" He watched Dembe's expression close off immediately and Tom rolled his eyes. "Didn't think so."

"It is not as simple as you are trying to make it."

"I get that it's not simple. I never said it had to be, but you can't look me in the eye, after everything she's been through, and tell me that Liz doesn't deserve the truth."

Tom held the other man's gaze for a long moment before Dembe gave a small grimace, not able or not willing to agree with him. Instead his expression softened after just a moment. "I'm glad you are not dead."

That pulled a chuckle from him and Tom ran a hand through his short, dark hair. "Me too."

"Those two are going to be at it a while," Wilkinson said, pulling both men's attention over to him. "How about we wait inside? As long as you two don't plan to continue what you started earlier."

Tom gave a short nod of agreement and started after Wilkinson, but Dembe caught hold of his arm, the movement not nearly as aggressive as it had been earlier. Tom paused and turned, finding Dembe's expression tight and he spoke quietly so that only he could hear. "She will need you for what's ahead."

There was a beat of silence, the words heavy between them. He had played this game too long to ask him what was ahead. Dembe might care for Liz, but his first loyalty was to Reddington. This was likely as close as he could get. Tom's loyalty was, just as it had been for so long now, to Liz. "She has me," he swore before turning to follow Wilkinson towards the house.

She hadn't expected Reddington there that morning. His presence meant that there was a leak somewhere. Only a handful of people even knew that they were following this lead at all. "So who told you?" she demanded before he could get a word out.

Reddington stopped a moment, sniffing hard and mumbling an excuse as he pulled an already bloody handkerchief from his coat pocket. "I told you once that Tom was rash. It looks like that hasn't changed."

"I hope he broke it," Liz snapped. "Who told you we were here?"

"No one."

She resisted the urge to follow in her husband's footsteps and take a swing too. "Haven't you lied enough to me?"

Reddington's expression darkened. "I have neverlied to you, Elizabeth."

"But you'll certainly let me believe whatever is most convenient for you." She stopped, turning the words he had spoken over and picking my them apart. No one had told him they were there, but someone had told him something. Oleander must have known something then. Maybe even more than she had originally thought. She tilted her head just a little as she studied him. "Someone told you Tom is alive," she tried, her tone much less uncertain than she actually felt.

There it was though. It was small, but there was a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth that showed strain. "Okay," she said slowly.

"How long have you known?" he ventured.

"That he's alive or your secret that nearly got him killed?" She watched him stiffen and her smile was cold. "What? Did you think he'd keep that from me?"

"What did he tell you?"

"Everything," she said firmly.

"And what, exactly, is everything?"

She held his gaze. "You've taken so much from me. You've put my family in danger, you killed my father, and you've put a target on my back more times than I can count, but you've given me something too. You've taught me…. so much." She shook her head, a mirthless laugh escaping and she could see her breath in the mid-morning chill. "Including that information is power, and by the time we're done I'm going to know every secret that you've tried to bury."

Reddington stared at her for a long moment, tilting his head up. "My secrets and my reasons for holding them are my own. You willstop your investigation, Elizabeth." He stopped, movement towards the house caught his attention.

Dembe was walking to them and he held a phone up. "Morgan."

Liz watched him take the call, but he purposefully moved away from her and her gaze shifted to the house. Tom hadn't come out with Dembe, but she could see him through the window where he was chatting with Wilkinson. The man didn't seem to be afraid of Reddington, but if Liz was to place her bet they wouldn't get anything from him that he wasn't willing to part with.

"Thank you. We're on our way." Reddington flipped the phone closed and handed it back to Dembe, peering through his sunglasses at Liz. "You've misunderstood me, Agent Keen. I'm not asking you to drop this search in my past, I'm telling you to, and you will."

"I'm not afraid of you. You don't have anything to hold over me anymore."

His smile was almost sad. "Information may be power, but it's not its only form." He motioned and Dembe fell into step with him, both moving towards their vehicle. Liz watched. This wasn't over, but she would be ready for his next power play. They would be. It was time to decide exactly who they could trust in this once and for all.

Notes: Originally I had planned to write one chapter that switched between what happened here and what will happen in Wednesday's update with Scottie and Howard, but as I started really getting into everything that happened in this chapter I realized that just wasn't going to happen. This one turned out to be around 4.2K and if memory serves the next chapter is close to 4K as well, so I thought it'd be best to just split those. Timeline-wise, everything is happening at the same time.

This chapter is something I was waiting and waiting for. I knew that when Red found out that Kat was alive that it wouldn't be long until she was willing to tell him that Tom had survived Garvey's attack and that the Hargraves were hiding him away. Things are about to get wild with a lot of power players all trying to outsmart each other and get what they want in the end. As things escalate I've found myself having to go back through and really work through each chapter carefully to make sure that I'm hitting what I need to in order to keep all my threads straight and tied up nicely by the end. So far, mostly so good. I'd love to hear your thoughts though :D

Next Time: Solomon is given a choice between self preservation and loyalties, Scottie and Nez gear up to rescue Howard, and Reddington makes a power play.

[polarwandersea]

Enemies of the Clintons. P1

This is an informative text post on the enemies of the Clintons who have spread and been responsible for many of the right wing rumors since Arkansas. This way if you find a new rumor and you can link it to one of these people, then you instantly know it’s false. Some of this is repeated from of my previous text posts but I also wanted to add how all these people knew each other. I’m splitting this into two parts because there are a lot. 

1. Larry Nichols.

Background: Nichols had a grudge against Bill Clinton. This is due to the fact that in 1988, Nichols (who was from Conway Arkansas) had landed a new job as a marketing consultant for the Arkansas Development Finance Authority (ADFA), the state’s centralized public bonding agency.  Nichols was preoccupied with issues more global than the marketing of Arkansas bonds. He started telling other ADFA employees that he was a CIA operative working on behalf of Nicaraguan contras. The CIA part was false but the claim wasn’t altogether false because he had gotten involved with the Collation of Peace Through Strength, an organization headed by the retired general John Singlaub-one of marine lieutenant’s colonel Oliver North’s secret money conduits in the Iran-Contra affair. What ended up happening was that “for five months, Nichols devoted himself to the contra cause while drawing a state salary, until the Associated Press discovered he had taken his politics to work. In September 1988 the AP reported that since coming to ADFA, Nichols had placed 642 long-distance telephone calls, at state expense, to Contra leaders and politicians who supported them. “ Due to all this, Bill had to fire Nichols, and the man has a held a grudge against him ever since. 

Rumors he’s been involved in spreading: Gennifer Flowers and The Clinton Chronicles. 

Here’s a photo of Larry Nichols with Bill: 

2. Pat Matrisciana. 

Background: He was the producer of the film: The Clinton Chronicles. He was also the founder of the conservative group Citizens for Honest Government. The Citizens for Honest Government was registered with the IRS under section 501 © (3) of the tax code as a nonprofit educational organization, theoretically non-partisan, tax-exempt and free to solicit tax-deductible charitable contributions. In practice, the organization had two main purposes: to propagate the political and religious beliefs of the extreme religious right, with which its founder and sole proprietor Pat Matrisciana was closely allied.

Rumors he’s been involved in spreading: The Clinton Chronicles

3. Reverend Jerry Falwell. 

Background: He was an American Southern Baptist pastor, televangelist, and conservative activist. He also owned Falwell’s liberty alliance which helped produce shows and videos. Falwell was basically the caricature of what a bigoted right wing extremist christian would be like. Here are some of his quotes: “The idea that religion and politics don’t mix was invented by the Devil to keep Christians from running their own country.”     “ AIDS is not just God’s punishment for homosexuals; it is God’s punishment for the society that tolerates homosexuals.”

Rumors he’s been involved in spreading: The Clinton Chronicles

How do all these men know each other?: 

. Matrisciana and Nichols were introduced in late 1993 by a former NBC News cameraman named John Hillyer who had been hired by Matrisciana to scout Arkansas for anti-Clinton material.

Before The Clinton Chronicles, Matrisciana and Nichols’s first joint venture was a thirty-minute video called Circle of Power. Distributed nationwide by Falwell’s Liberty Alliance (this is how Reverend Jerry Falwell became  involved,) in early 1994, the video opens with Nichols earnestly telling of “countless people who mysteriously died” after running afoul of Clinton’s political ambition. Taking Vince  Foster’s death as a starting point, Circle of Power, tied President Clinton to a series of suicides, accidental deaths, and unsolved homicides.

They also all worked on The Clinton Chronicles together and helped produce the film. 

4. Lee Atwater

background: He was chairman of the Republican National Committee in 1989. Known as a ruthless campaigner and political animal. He was the mastermind of the Willie Horton Ad in 1988 in 1989 he became very interested in the upcoming race for governor. In Arkansas he was trying to deal with a problem that dwarfed any nitpicking about neutrality. Atwater was very blunt in his interest in the governor race: “You boys have to remember, I don’t give a fuck who the governor of Arkansas is. My only job as chairman of the Republican National Committee is to get George Bush reelected. The media’s full of talk about Mario Cuomo or Bill Bradley. We know how to paint them up as northeastern liberals like Dukakis. That’s easy! What scares me is a southern moderate or conservative democrat, and the scariest of them all because he’s the most talented of the bunch is Bill Clinton.” 

Rumors he’s been involved in spreading: All the rumors of drugs and women involving Bill started with Atwater. He even admitted it: “We’re going to take Tommy Robinson (the republican governor candidate he was supporting in 1989) and use him to throw everything we can think of at Clinton-drugs, women, whatever works. We may or may not win, but we’ll bust him up so bad he won’t be able to run again for years.”

5. Sheffield Nelson.

Background:  Nelson used to be an ally of Bill Clinton’s. In 1984, the governor had appointed him to head the Arkansas Industrial Development Commission. But by 1990, Nelson had grown impatient waiting in the shadows for Clinton to move on. He believed Clinton had reneged on a deal they had made in 1986, when Nelson first considered running for governor but didn’t in return for Clinton’s promise to step aside four years later. He had expected the governor either to make a presidential move in 1988 or to run for the U.S. senate in 1990. Clinton’s decision to run for reelection instead apparently triggered his abrupt switch to the Republican party. 

Here’s a link to Bill and Sheffield Nelson debating where Nelson brings up Bill’s supposed promise to not run for election: https://www.c-span.org/video/?14569-1/arkansas-gubernatorial-debate

6. Larry Case

Background: He was a private detective. He excavated tons of dirt on public figures in Arkansas, but his information varied on quality.He had gotten an audience with the Clinton campaign aides to offer dirt on Sheffield Nelson but nothing came of it. He came into a partnership with Larry Nichols.

How do all these Men know each other?

Larry Nichols also supported Tommy Robinson, the candidate which Lee Atwater preferred in 1989.

Though Sheffield Nelson also joined the race in 1989 and had to oppose Tommy Robinson in the Republican primaries they had in common that they were both previous democrats who had switched to being Republican and both would rather the other win and have Bill lose.

Sheffield Nelson found Larry Nichols useful in promoting the sex angle against Bill since Larry was responsible for the Gennifer Flowers rumor and other dirt, Nelson often met with Nichols to strategically plan against Bill.

Larry Nichols and Larry Case came into business together as well (often letting Nelson join in). Case and Nichols established ongoing relationships with several magazines and press including the Star, and the National enquirer.

Through Nichols’s extensive connections with Sheffield Nelson and the Arkansas Republican party (thanks to Atwater), Nichols and Case enjoyed jolly mutually beneficial ties with reporters and producers from the Los Angles Times and the Washington Post.

So as you can see all these enemies of the Clintons knew each other and came to work together with the common goal of stopping Bill Clinton’s political career. The Clinton Chronicles is still on Youtube today and a lot of their propaganda has unfortunately survived being as many comments on the video are modern and people praise it and take it as fact. 

Coming in Part 2: How Juanita Broddarick and Jim and Susan Mcdougal ( the couple involved in white-water) have ties to Nelson+more.

[tomorrowedblog]

Friday Releases for April 30

Friday is the busiest day of the week for new releases, so we've decided to collect them all in one place. Friday Releases for April 30 include Limbo, Yasuke, New Pokémon Snap, and more.

Limbo

Limbo, the new movie from Ben Sharrock, is out today.

Limbo is a wry and poignant observation of the refugee experience, set on a fictional remote Scottish island where a group of new arrivals await the results of their asylum claims. It centers on Omar (Amir El-Masry), a young Syrian musician who is burdened by his grandfather’s oud, which he has carried all the way from his homeland.

Without Remorse

Without Remorse, the new movie from Stefano Sollima, is out today.

In a war-torn region of Syria, an elite team of Navy SEALs led by Sr. Chief John Kelly (Michael B. Jordan) rescues a CIA operative taken hostage by ex-Russian military forces. Three months later, in apparent retaliation for his role in the mission, Kelly’s pregnant wife Pam (Lauren London) is murdered in the U.S. by a squad of masked Russian assassins. Despite being shot multiple times himself, Kelly manages to kill all but one of the attackers before being rushed to the hospital.

Meanwhile in Washington D.C., Kelly’s friend and former SEAL team member Lt. Commander Karen Greer (Jodie Turner-Smith) meets with CIA agent Robert Ritter (Jamie Bell) and Secretary of Defense Thomas Clay (Guy Pearce) to discuss their response options. Leaked news of Russia’s unprecedented attack on American soil has caused the already-strained relations between the two nations to sour further. If something isn’t done soon the result could be a full-scale war.

Healed from his injuries, a rogue Kelly tracks down the corrupt Russian diplomat who issued the passports to his wife’s murderers, and forces him at gunpoint to give up the name of the surviving assassin. Sent to prison for the crime, Kelly bargains his way out by revealing the escaped operative is one Victor Rykov (Brett Gelman), an ex-Special Forces officer currently hiding in Murmansk, Russia.

With Secretary Clay’s reluctant approval, Kelly joins Greer and Ritter on a top-secret mission to capture Rykov and bring him back to the U.S. to face justice. But en route to Murmansk, their plane is shot down by the Russian Air Force and plummets into the Bering Sea. Using their SEAL skills to survive the crash, they eventually make their way to Rykov’s location, only to discover that the murder of Kelly’s family was part of a vast international conspiracy orchestrated by powerful political figures. Torn between personal honor and loyalty to his country, and with the fate of nations hanging in the balance, Kelly has no choice but to expose the truth, no matter the cost.

About Endlessness

About Endlessness, the new movie from Roy Andersson, is out today.

ABOUT ENDLESSNESS is a reflection on human life in all its beauty and cruelty, its splendor and banality. We wander, dreamlike, gently guided by our Scheherazade-esque narrator. Inconsequential moments take on the same significance as historical events: a couple floats over a war-torn Cologne; on the way to a birthday party, a father stops to tie his daughter’s shoelaces in the pouring rain; teenage girls dance outside a cafe; a defeated army marches to a prisoner-of-war camp. Simultaneously an ode and a lament, ABOUT ENDLESSNESS presents a kaleidoscope of all that is eternally human, an infinite story of the vulnerability of existence.

The Outside Story

The Outside Story, the new movie from Casimir Nozkowski, is out today.

While on a tight deadline, an introverted editor (Brian Tyree Henry) is locked out of his apartment. In order to find his way back inside, he’s forced to interact with… his neighbors.

Four Good Days

Four Good Days, the new movie from Rodrigo García, is out today.

A long-estranged mother and daughter navigate the most difficult four days of their lives together in a heartbreaking and hopeful story based on real-life events.

The Mitchells vs. The Machines

The Mitchells vs. The Machines, the new movie from Michael Rianda and Jeff Rowe, is out today.

The Mitchells vs. The Machines is an original animated comedy about an everyday family’s struggle to relate while technology rises up around the world! When Katie Mitchell (voiced by Abbi Jacobson), a creative outsider, is accepted into the film school of her dreams, her plans to meet “her people” at college are upended when her nature-loving dad Rick (voiced by Danny McBride) determines the whole family should drive Katie to school together and bond as a family one last time.

The Virtuoso

The Virtuoso, the new movie from Nick Stagliano, is out today.

Danger, deception, and murder descend upon a sleepy country town when a professional assassin (Anson Mount) accepts a new assignment from his enigmatic mentor and boss (Oscar winner Anthony Hopkins). Given only where and when along with a cryptic clue, the methodical hit man must identify his mysterious mark from among several possible targets, including a local sheriff (David Morse). Meanwhile, a chance encounter with an alluring woman (Abbie Cornish) at the town’s rustic diner threatens to derail his mission in this noir-style cloak-and-dagger thriller.

The Disciple

The Disciple, the new movie from Chaitanya Tamhane, is out today.

A musician’s unadulterated devotion, a mirage-like quest for divinity, and the courage to fight your own mediocrity. The Disciple is the tale of an Indian classical vocalist, Sharad Nerulkar, searching for the traditional absolute in a contemporary city that never stops hustling.

Berlin Alexanderplatz

Berlin Alexanderplatz, the new movie from Burhan Qurbani, is out today.

An African immigrant struggles to make a new life for himself in the big city in writer-director Burhan Qurbani’s audacious, neon-lit reinterpretation of Alfred Döblin’s 1929 novel. After surviving his perilous journey, Francis vows to be a good man, but he soon realizes how difficult it is to be righteous while undocumented in Germany– without papers, without a nationality, and without a work permit. When he receives an enticing offer for easy money from the psychopathic gangster Reinhold, Francis initially resists temptation, but eventually he is sucked into Berlin’s underworld and his life spirals out of control.

Eat Wheaties!

Eat Wheaties!, the new movie from Scott Abramovitch, is out today.

Sid Straw (Tony Hale) leads a dull life until he accidentally stalks famous college friend, Elizabeth Banks, on social media. With each failed attempt to prove he knows her, he rediscovers more of himself and the true meaning of friendship.

The Innocent

The Innocent, the new TV series from Oriol Paulo, is out today.

An accidental killing leads a man down a dark hole of intrigue and murder. Just as he finds love and freedom, one phone call brings back the nightmare.

The Mosquito Coast

The Mosquito Coast, the new TV series from Neil Cross and Tom Bissell, is out today.

A brilliant rebel (Justin Theroux) and his wife (Melissa George) take their family on the run to protect them, but end up exposing them to more danger than ever. At every turn of their adventure, they encounter increasing threats and intensifying moral choices from which there’s no turning back.

Yasuke

Yasuke, the new TV series from LeSean Thomas, is out today.

In a war-torn feudal Japan filled with mechs and magic, the greatest ronin never known, Yasuke, struggles to maintain a peaceful existence after a past life of violence. But when a local village becomes the center of social upheaval between warring daimyo, Yasuke must take up his sword and transport a mysterious child who is the target of dark forces and bloodthirsty warlords.

Returnal

Returnal, the new game from Housemarque and Sony Interactive Entertainment, is out today.

After crash-landing on this shape-shifting world, Selene must search through the barren landscape of an ancient civilization for her escape. Isolated and alone, she finds herself fighting tooth and nail for survival. Again and again, she’s defeated – forced to restart her journey every time she dies.

New Pokémon Snap

New Pokémon Snap, the new game from Nintendo, is out today.

Welcome to the Lental region, whose islands hold everything from dense jungles to vast deserts! New Pokémon Snap is an all-new game inspired by the 1999 Nintendo 64 game Pokémon Snap. This Nintendo Switch adventure will take you from island to island on an ecological survey, photographing Pokémon and building your own Pokémon Photodex!

Parallel World

Parallel World, the new album from Cadence Weapon, is out today.

[shatteredskies042]

Betrayal-Part Two

“Step forward,” Michael ordered. “I do not wish to shoot you.”

The bearded man stepped towards him, and Michael knew what was running through his head. He would have done the exact same. “Stop.” He ordered next, “turn around.”

Once the Agency operator did, a bit reluctantly, Michael drew the lead pipe from his pocket. He took aim, and hurled it at the back of the other American’s head. The sound of the impact was sickening, a dull thud and splat, and another as he toppled forward. Michael stepped forward, and made sure the operator was out, but alive. A check of his pulse and breathing revealed he was fine, and would wake up with one hell of a concussion. Dragging him behind the dumpsters, he sprinkled a pair of vodka bottles he had found around the trash bin. Michael lifted the wallet and passport from his pockets, and a nice SOG folding knife, then stole off into the Siberian night. Michael flagged down a taxi, and stated his destination was the docks.

He rifled through the wallet, a rather nice Coach leather wallet. His haul contained a passport, a fistful of rubles and euros, and a handful of gift cards to universal chains like Starbucks and McDonalds. Not a bad outcome. He had to use them fast, before the real owner woke up and reported his missing credentials to the Agency.

At his destination, Michael paid out the rubles to the taximan, withholding a tip and stepping back out to where his journey had started in earnest. There were gates and fences here, and he strode away from the single guard and camera watching the entry. He did not have to walk far, the razor wire crowned fence had several gaps, made by unsavory actors to access the docks. Following their footsteps, Michael slipped through the chainlink fence, lowering his aching body and stepping through the snow. He aimed for the largest building he saw, hoping it was an administration building. There were a few cameras visible in the low light, nothing he could not overcome. A backdoor was visible, guarded by a fixed camera. As he stalked towards the building, Michael ran through his options again.

He could simply force entry, let the camera see him, and get out before the police responded. Or, find a way to obscure the camera and make entry. He decided on the latter, eying a snow pile a distance away. Tracking over there, he picked up a fair bit of hardened white ice, and shuffled back towards his ingress point. He lifted the white chunk, and threw it at the camera. It made a satisfying crunch, and the camera dropped from its mount. While it wasn’t perfect, it was good enough for the soldier. He pushed up to the door, testing and jiggling the doorknob, finding it locked. He turned away, until he heard the snick of the lock.

Michael turned back, drawing his pistol from his waistband and charging the door, slamming it back into the face of the portly Russian guard. The guard fell and Michael came down on top of the man, putting him into a sleeper hold until his breathing slowed.

Dumping the guard in a nearby broom and shovel closet, Michael took his keyring and stalked through the building until he found the security office. He tried the keys until one unlocked the door, before he swept inside. The room was only lit by a bank of old CRT TVs, and he quickly went to work on manipulating the camera displays with the old, tan keyboard coated in food residue on the desk. He quickly acquired the dock where he had started his mission, and played back until the ship entered. Three trucks came off the ship, fitting the descriptions of the same trucks he had helped ambush, down to the bullet holes riddling the front windows. They drove through the port until they disappeared into a long row of cargo containers. Shortly thereafter, two of the containers were lifted onto the British flagged cargo ship MV Summer Lotus. Michael crossed the dim room to an old flat screen computer monitor, and did his best to dig up information on the cargo ship. It ran a route from his current location to Sweden, Denmark, then back into the UK. Even the three small nuclear weapons that had been stolen could still kill tens of millions in the tightly packed continent.

Michael decided to call it good enough. He had the next stop for his target, and knew what cargo container to look for. He had a fair bit of time before the ship made it to Sweden, so as he wiped his prints from the keyboards and made his escape, he formulated a plan: He needed to get to Germany, to access a safehouse that would have all the tools he needed to create a new identity. He would not get too far using a stolen CIA agent’s identity, not with the Agency looking for his head on a pike. He could also access the weapons and acquire some money to finish his mission, and then...

No, he could not think that far ahead. He was still on mission, and he had to stay that way. Even as the Russian cold bit into his exposed skin. He needed to change his clothes, he’d look odd hopping on a flight in arctic camouflage pants, and the dried blood caking his injuries went out of fashion decades ago. Hailing a late night cab, he told the cabbie to drive him to the airport. Michael relaxed in the uncomfortable backseat of the Soviet era car, closing his eyes for a blissful moment of respite. He lost track of time in that moment, the last time he had slept of his own accord was on the flight from Hereford to Russia. The only other rest he had gotten was from being passed out due to injuries. He woke when he heard a whistle from the cabbie, opening his eyes to look down the barrel of a small pistol. “Give me your wallet,” the driver demanded in Russian.

Sighing deeply, Michael raised his hands to show he meant no threat. He was upset at himself for letting his guard down, but he knew he could get out of the situation. He urged the man to relax, slowly reaching his right hand towards his back pocket, where most men carried a wallet. Instead, his hand went to the hidden grip of his handgun. Moving as fast as his injured body allowed, he snapped his body to the left and drove his left hand into the gun hand of the Russian. A sharp crack filled the cabin, but Michael had already pinned his hand and the small handgun he held to the door.

He aimed his own .45 above his bicep and leveled it at the head of the driver: “drop it,” he commanded in Russian. It took a moment for the man to relax and release the small pistol, but once he did, Michael ordered him to step out. The soldier slipped out behind the Russian, eyeing him up and holding him at gunpoint. “Strip, I am taking your clothes,” he stated.

The Russian replied furiously, refusing to let his dignity be stolen. However, the cold stare and the massive front end of the USP were shrewd negotiators that refused to take no for an answer. Michael told the Russian he was lucky to escape with his life. He threw the clothes on the hood of the car, before Michael ordered the man to start walking.

“Why? So you may shoot me in the back?” the cab driver asked.

Michael did not reply as he took the clothes, stepped down into the old car and backed away, quickly learning the poorly maintained vehicle’s quirks. The Soviets never really knew how to build things for the civilian sector, apart from infrastructure. He regained his bearings, and made his way to the small airport. The car constantly pulled towards the drivers’ side, and he had to fight it the whole way. No wonder they had lost the Cold War, not even the strength of the Russian people could carry such a poorly run regime. He ditched the car in the corner of a poorly lit, snow clogged parking lot, putting on the clothes of his previous enemy and abandoning his bloodstained ones. He was able to keep his base layers as they would not attract too much attention.

The terminal was decently lit and smelled of floor cleaner, a handful of the fluorescent rods flickering intermittently and drawing his eye. He looked around the small area quickly, then went to a bank of old computers to check on travel information. From the readerboard above the ticket counter he could see a handful of red eye flights would be taking off in the next hour to destinations throughout Russia. He decided on a flight to Saint Petersburg, then a connecting flight to Berlin. Hopefully his stolen passport would hold up until then, but he would not know until he came down in the German capital.

He pushed out of the uncomfortable felt over steel chair and strode to the counter, requesting a seat in expert Russian. For domestic flights he merely needed to flash his passport as identification, not that the clerk behind the counter paid much attention to the document. Receiving his ticket, he made his way towards the security checkpoint. A metal detector and security checkpoint laid dangerously undermanned between the unsecure terminal entrance and the supposedly secure boarding area. Without walking through a metal detector, being wanded, or even being given a cursory glance by security, Michael Haghn traveled into a secure zone with his handgun concealed in the small of his back. He found a spot on a row of plastic and cloth seats to wait for the Saint Petersburg flight to arrive. The Aeroflot flight landed ahead of schedule, which spoke to him about air currents in the dark skies above. He joined the almost dozen other passengers when the flight was called, striding down slippery metal stairs onto the tarmac. It was a similar sight to him, but typically he was not boarding a passenger jet with strangers.

The seats were far from comfortable, but the stewardesses allowed them to sit anywhere, so he took the emergency door seating. It gave him space to stretch out, able to adjust his pistol to sit more comfortably. He had a few hours in flight once their takeoff roll was complete.

[sgreffenius]

New Year’s message about conspiracy theories

Hi there and Happy New Year to all,

We should cashier the word theory altogether. A conspiracy involves any plan that involves two or more people. Some plans are more secret than others. Fisk and Gould plotted in secret, but gradually the number of people in the know increased. Some wanted to profit from the scheme, others wanted to stop it. To me the word theory as it's normally used - that is, a well-developed hypothesis - just isn't relevant to this situation.

Then you want to ask, how big does a project have to be, before we don't call it a conspiracy anymore. D-Day plans involved a lot of people, and allied planners kept their plans secret. They succeeded, in that Germany did not know exactly when or where landings would occur. Would you call an invasion on that scale a conspiracy?

Overthrow of Mossadegh lies in the middle - many more than two planners, many fewer than Operation Overlord. CIA and MI6 were happy to keep their involvement a secret before the coup, and they did not broadcast their involvement afterward. Neither did they seem to care that much if countries in the region, including Iran, knew what they had done. A secondary purpose of a conspiracy, after all, is to make people understand how ruthlessly you use your power.

When Putin reaches out to assassinate yet another person who has crossed him, why do you suppose it is so easy to trace the murder back to him? It's not because his security services are incompetent. He's happy if his rivals know what he's willing to do to them, how he can reach his enemies wherever they may be. You don't have to theorize about who is responsible for the murder, and the conspiracy is secret only until you have a corpse. After the first death, you might develop one or more hypotheses about who the killers are. After several more exotic murders, or attempted murders, you don't need conjectures to identify the assassins.

Having come this far, I have to compile this quick list of books:

JFK and the Unspeakable: Why He Died and Why It Matters, by James Douglass Brothers: The Hidden History of the Kennedy Years, by David Talbot                                 The Devil's Chessboard, also by David Talbot (I could not finish this book about Allen Dulles)

Infamy, by Steven Greffenius

Infamy adopts an unusual starting point: let's say James Douglass is correct about November 22, and let's say David Ray Griffin is correct about September 11. Both researchers carry a large burden of proof. So what do their arguments tell us about how to assemble and evaluate evidence when we try to solve political crimes? I found myself more interested in social psychology as I thought about these questions, as you cannot separate social and psychological matters from our judgments about what actually happened. How we use political language to tell one side of a story or another drew my interest as well.

I have recommended Douglass's book more often than any other book I have read. Douglass is a Catholic theologian and advocate of non-violence. His research on Kennedy is superior to any other work I have seen, and I can tell you, he has a lot of competitors.

Enough for tonight,

/Steve

[tylerhoechlin]

Dylan O’Brien Says Making Movies Again Was a ‘Really Scary Experience’

The star of American Assassin and the upcoming Death Cure on his new movies and coming back from his 2016 injuries.

After breaking out as Stiles on MTV’s Teen Wolf -- the first major role of his career -- Dylan O’Brien seemed poised to launch into a rocketing film career when he landed the lead role in the young adult sci-fi film franchise The Maze Runner. But while filming the third and final entry in the series, The Death Cure, in March 2016, O’Brien was seriously injured after he was thrown from one vehicle and hit by another during an action sequence. Suffering from severe -- but fortunately not life-threatening -- wounds around his head and upper body, O’Brien needed close to six months to recover.

But recover he did, restarting his film work with a role in last year’s Deepwater Horizon and taking the lead in the new American Assassin, based on the popular series of books by the late Vince Flynn (who died of cancer in 2013) revolving around CIA counter-terrorism agent Mitch Rapp. Although American Assassin was the 11th novel in the series, it provides an origin story for Rapp that also works as a starting point for the series on film and for O’Brien as the character. When the personal aftermath of a terrorist attack leads Rapp to enlist with the CIA, he finds himself training with black ops specialist Stan Hurley (Michael Keaton) and tracking a rogue terrorist who’s intent on starting a world war.

Although filming on The Death Cure was pushed back by nearly a year to allow O’Brien time to heal, he did also return to complete that franchise as well, with the movie now scheduled to arrive in January 2018. Den of Geek had a chance to sit down with O’Brien during the press day for American Assassin, where he spoke about playing the popular Rapp, working with Michael Keaton, coming back from his trauma and finishing The Death Cure.

Den of Geek: What did you know about this series, this character? Were you familiar with it at all?

Dylan O'Brien: I wasn't, no. Not until it was put in front of me. The script was the first thing I'd read of the story basically. But then I obviously did my research and looked up the books, looked up Vince and saw that this was the 11th installment, I think. It was a prequel that he had then put out as an origin story and that's where they were starting the franchise from. That was the first time I became familiar at all with it.

What kind of books do you like to read normally, when you read?

Typically baseball books. But no, anything anyone recommends me. My dad reads a lot and he'll always recommend me a good one. I'll always be reading a good book. I don't have like specific genre tastes or anything or things that I kind of get hooked on, reading genre books or anything like that. It's just really anything anyone kind of recommends or is going around or I hear is good.

Did you know that Flynn had passed away a few years ago?

Oh yeah, that was awful, too, when I found that out. It was really sad to hear and it was so recent too and he was so young. I was both really happy and honored to be doing something like that for him and his family. Also, incredibly nervous, too. You hope that if he were around he'd absolutely approve of what you did. I've gotten to know his wife well on this project, too. She's been a part of things and she's been amazing. She's an incredible person. I can only imagine what a great guy he was.

It makes me really happy that his project was finally able to get on its feet as a movie. I'm really happy to be a part of that and I just hope his wife Lisa likes it.

By doing the origin story, you have a chance to kind of form the character on screen. Did you worry about preconceptions or how he's supposed to be in the other books?

For me it was all about just tapping into this origin. That was one of my favorite things about the project, when I first heard about it and read it. I really liked the idea of getting to finally seeing one of these operatives and these assassins and where they came from. I just don't think we see that a lot. Also, where he came from was also really compelling to me, and really emotional and really strong. I thought that was something interesting too that we haven't necessarily seen, and also something that's pretty current right now too, with the unfortunate terror that we're sort of dealing with universally, all over the world, right now.

The idea that this story could stem from something current and something so emotional, and see a guy kind of get set on this path from this inciting incident -- I just think there's something really powerful about that, and also real. You find out that a lot of these guys, when you meet or talk them, are driven to do that by something in their lives, some kind of trauma or tragedy. So, I thought that was like ... It became more of an important story to tell, in my mind.

Did you talk to a lot of CIA guys?

A couple of them. We had one primary advisor on the film who was ex-CIA, ex-Navy Seal. He's an incredible dude, he's been doing it for years and he's retired now. I picked his brain about everything, you know, and the stories that he's told me, the things he's been through, the things he's been involved with, I mean, he just ... You'd be blown away. It's just amazing the life that this guy lived, you know, and the things that he's seen.

It really makes it all real for you, makes you at the end of the day want to do more justice to it then you ever could, really, with the film. You want to honor them, these guys, as much as you can, be as authentic as you can. You know, at the end of the day it's still a movie and you couldn't always do that but you want to be able to pay them as much respect as you can because these guys are the real deal, and they're out protecting us every day. And to understand actually what they go through every day is just mind blowing.

Did he ever tell you one thing that freaked you out a little bit or scared you or changed your view of the world a little bit?

No, nothing like that. It was mostly things about how they trained and the things that they try to drill into you, you know. Just things I don't think I'd ever survive. It's amazing that anyone, let alone so many people, are capable of doing that and that's the reason they get chosen and they make it through these intense and lengthy training courses.

We see a fictionalized version of that in the movie with the Stan Hurley character played by Michael Keaton.

Michael's great. He's everything you'd want Michael Keaton to be. You always have the nightmare of, you know, working with the guy that you've just admired forever and then he's just totally disengaged and awful to be around. Michael's just the opposite, he's a dream to meet and work with, and to see how he operates. Just like such a normal, laid back, smart guy. He's had a great career and a really great life, he's really close with his family and son. Yeah, I really admire the guy.

Your fight trainer on this, Roger Juan, was a key person for you.

Yeah, he's become one of my closest friends. That guy's amazing. This whole process of the movie started with me and Roger, you know. It was really just us first in L.A. training for the first eight weeks. I couldn't be more grateful to that guy. Both just as a friend and my trainer on the movie. He was very instrumental in the process of me getting going on this, because it was a really tough time for me too, you know. I was going through a lot at the time and he just couldn't have been more understanding about that stuff, helped me get through it if ever I was having some kind of tough day, or if I showed up to gym in some sort of state, you know. We would talk and would just pull me out of it sometimes.

You look great, I'm glad to see that you seem like you're doing okay --

Thanks man, thanks, really.

Coming out of that horrific experience and starting to make movies again, did that feel like getting back on the horse to you? And did that come full circle when you came back to finish the Maze Runner series?

I mean yeah, absolutely, man. It was a big full circle for me. It was a really long journey. This last year and a half has absolutely been the most difficult time I've ever gone through in my life. It was a really scary experience jumping back on the horse in general and then also an entirely different one tackling that exact beast too, you know, and facing that one. But I couldn't feel better about it all now. Truly, I feel so much more weightless than I have in the last year and a half by a large margin. I'm really glad that I was able to do it and push through 'cause it was the right thing to do.

It was also the best thing for me to be able to put it away on a really positive note. (Maze Runner) was something that meant a lot to me too, because it was also really a franchise that I love so much, and it was an experience that I always loved so much and it really got tainted for a while. So it was really good to get back and finish it. It was a very long and challenging journey, but I couldn't feel better about it all now. I'm glad I got it done, and again, just able to finish it on a positive note. It was great.

What would you say to fans about The Death Cure?

I think we made something great, you know. I hope we did, that was the goal. We really wanted to finish it strong. I feel like we had a really strong template to start with. I feel like we had a really strong crew out there too in South Africa. We were all so close on that too, so I think it meant something to everybody and everybody wanted to really give it everything they had for the last go. It's going to be an emotional one, man.

[source: Den of Geek]

[aceb133]

Wholesome Week 2, Day 6: The Battle for Firebase Mewni

...This is what you guys had in mind for this prompt, right?  Right???

July 15th, 1968 Kon Tum Province, South Vietnam 1143 Local

Just five more minutes, Captain Steve “Pony Head” Slate thought. Five more minutes until he gave up waiting and flew off without her.

He checked his fuel gauge, his heart sinking into his stomach. He’d been circling this god-forsaken patch of jungle in his Air America Huey for nearly fifteen minutes now, and he was giving up hope his pickup would ever arrive. He grimaced as he scanned the treetops, knowing he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he left her behind-but if he didn’t act soon, he wouldn’t have a choice.

Beside him, his co-pilot, Lt. Tad Kelly, tapped the controls and hummed nervously. “You sure these are the right coordinates, Pony Head?”

“Well, they came straight from Ruberiot at the Castle, and he’s usually pretty accurate.” Slate said. “But then again, it’s the Agency, so I figure we’ve got about a 50/50 chance.”

He sighed. “I’ll give her a couple more minutes, then-“

“Hold on, I’ve got a visual on smoke!” Kelly shouted. Turning, Slate saw a thin column of red smoke rising from the jungle, and he felt an immense wave of relief. Tipping the helicopter forward, he dropped down into the clearing that had been designated by the LZ, and hovered over the grass.

A second later, a figure darted out from behind the trees and climbed on board, banging the roof. “Let’s go!”

Slate didn’t need the invitation, dipping the controls forward and leaning on the throttle. The Huey quickly leapt into the air in response, rising above the treetops and leaving the jungle behind.

Slate smiled as he turned and stole a glance at his passenger. Everything about her-from her heart-shaped tattoos on her cheeks, to her long blond hair tucked under her helmet, to the decorated purple and star-emblazoned CAR-15 she held, screamed the opposite of CIA operative. But if there was one thing Slate knew about Captain Star Butterfly, codenamed PRINCESS, it was never to underestimate her.

“Good to see you again, Princess!” Slate shouted over the roar of the rotors. “Mind telling us what’s going on?”

“Call me Princess again and I’ll toss you from this ‘chopper,” Star said, smirking. “But… ah, the hell with it, I’m gonna get right down to it: we’re going to Firebase Mewni.”

“Firebase Mewni?” Kelly asked. “Why the hell are we heading out there?”

“Ask Colonel Moon, they’re the one that recalled me.” Star replied. “The only information I have is that they expect an imminent attack by VC forces. Turns out Kẹo Bơ Cứng might be back.”

“Bơ Cứng?” Slate said incredulously, turning back to Star. “I thought you took him out back in Operation CASTLE. Isn’t Ludo the one in command of forces in that area now?”

Star shook her head. “Whatever we did, it wasn’t enough. Reports are scattered, but we received word from local agent BUFF FROG that Bơ Cứng’s subsumed Ludo’s leadership. At this point, all we can do is hope to get there first.”

Slate nodded. “Well don’t worry, we’re bookin’ it as fast as we can manage. Should we expect any friendly assets?”

“Major Johansen’s in command there, he should be shoring up their defenses as we speak.” Star said. “I’ve also got word from General Quỷ Sa Tăng that he’s personally driving in an entire mechanized battalion of ARVN, though lord knows if they’ll get there in time to help.”

Slate nodded. “What about that army captain you were working with, that Diaz guy? You think he might be able to provide any support?”

Star was silent for a moment in the back of the helicopter. “…I don’t think so,” she finally said.

Slate shook his head angrily for a moment, but decided to let the matter drop. He’d seen how Butterfly had looked at Diaz, in a way that she didn’t look at anybody else-and he’d seen how her heart had been broken when it turned out the good Captain already had a girl back home. But he knew Butterfly wasn’t the kind of woman who would put any man ahead of the mission. If she said Diaz and his company were in no position to assist, he believed her.

For the next twenty minutes, the trio sat in silence as the Huey raced over the green jungles and rolling hills of the Vietmanese highlands. It was at times like these, Slate thought, that you could almost trick yourself into thinking the nation wasn’t at war-and that if he’d wished, he could simply land the helicopter and lose himself in the tremendous natural beauty that surrounded them.

But, as he spied the contrails of a flight of B-52 bombers high above, he shook his head sadly. Though fantasy was one of the only escapes men like him had from the war, even daydreams had their limits.

“We’ve got about five minutes before we reach the base.” Kelly reported. Slate nodded, and, squinting, spied the firebase approaching over the horizon. Situated on one of the highest hills in the area, Firebase Mewni had been built above an old Vietmanese hamlet from which it had gotten its bastardized name. Under the dual command of Major River Johansen of the US Army’s 4th Infantry Division and Colonel Moon of the CIA, the base served as an Agency stronghold in the area for incursions into Cambodian and Laotian territory to disrupt Viet Cong operations. One of the most important outposts in the region, it had been attacked by both the NVA and the Viet Cong repeatedly before-but it had held each time, if only barely.

“Looks like the fighting’s already begun.” Kelly said, raising a hand to his helmet. In the distance, Slate was able to spy the distant flashes of artillery, and the occasional string of tracers.

“I think you’re right.” Slate said. “Okay, Star, this looks like it’s going to be a hot drop. I’m gonna need you to-“

Without warning, the jungle below them exploded with fire. The helicopter shuddered as a string of tracers chewed through the thin armor plating, and a series of warning lights immediately began to glow on the dashboard.

Gripping the controls, Slate watched helplessly as the oil pressure in his engine began to drop. “Come on, baby,” he whispered, “Just a little bit more. We just gotta go a bit farther.”

It was no use. The helicopter shuddered as the engine began to die, and the treetops of the jungle began to edge closer and closer.

“Hold on!” Slate shouted. “Brace for im-“

----------

Star groaned as she slowly drifted back into consciousness. For a moment, she thought she was back at Camp Echo, back with Marco, about to go on patrol…

Then, she remembered where she was, and her mind jolted back to the realm of the living.

Scrambling to stand up, she evaluated the situation as quickly as she could. She was on the edge of a wide jungle clearing, only a dozen yards away from the smoking hulk that had once been an Air America liveried Bell Model 204B. Miraculously, not only had Star survived the crash, but though her entire body hurt like hell, and her head felt as though someone had smacked her in the head with a frying pan, she hadn’t been seriously injured. Her ‘wand’, however, a specially modified CAR-15 that had been given to her personally by Colonel Moon, was nowhere to be found.

Unholstering and drawing her pistol, Star crept forward to the wreckage of the helicopter. The cartoon horse head painted on the door grinned at her as she approached, stained with dripping fuel, and Star held her breath as she got a closer look at the man in the pilot’s seat. That’s a lot of blood…

Miraculously, however, he, too, was still breathing-though as Star got closer, Star could tell that unlike her, he hadn’t managed to entirely avoid the hand of fate. Part of the helicopter’s control panel had been crushed inwards by the impact, and Slate’s left leg had been almost entirely severed above the knee.

“Princess?”  Slate said groggily. “Is that you?”

“Quiet, Pony Head.” Star hissed. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. Now come on, let’s get you out of there.”

Using her knife, Star slashed Slate’s restraints, and pulled him from the cockpit, trying not to look at where the wreckage had shorn through his leg. Laying him down against a nearby tree, she tore a strip of cloth from his shredded pants and used it to tie a tourniquet around his leg, praying he hadn’t lost as much blood as she believed he had.

“I should’ve stayed in the *cough* First Cav.” Slate said wearily. “Say, where’d Kelly? He make it out?”

Star ran back over to the helicopter and tried to see if she could spot Slate’s co-pilot. But, aside from the helmet he’d been wearing, a foliage-patterned infantry helmet with a pair of large googly eyes pasted to it, she could see no sign of him.

Suddenly, she heard a branch break.

Whipping around, she leveled her pistol at the jungle, her eyes darting all around as she tried to determine the source of the noise. It had been close-too close, and she didn’t believe in coincidences. Someone was here, and the only question was who would find the other first.

Biting her lip, Star looked back at the wounded Slate. Had she been by herself, the obvious solution would have been to run. As tough a fighter as she was, she knew the key to staying alive was fighting battles only on the ground she chose-and against an unknown number of enemies, in an area she knew nothing about, she wouldn’t have given herself good odds.

But, looking back at Slate, she knew she couldn’t leave a man behind.

Creeping backwards, she slowly disappeared into the foliage and dropped down to the ground. Cradling her pistol, she wondered if the helicopter’s radio still worked, and if it would be possible to call for help-but then, as a pair of Vietnamese guerillas appeared out of the jungle in front of her, she knew it was too late.

Breathing as softly as she could, Star watched the two approach the smoking wreck of the helicopter slowly, keeping their rifles raised. By the way they moved, Star could tell they were no peasant conscripts. These were veteran fighters, men who had undoubtedly spent years-possibly even decades-fighting to free their country. If she didn’t play this just right, Star knew, she and Slate were as good as dead.

As they approached the helicopter, one of them suddenly swung around and pointed his rifle in Slate’s direction. Tapping his comrade, he slowly moved forward, keeping his rifle trained on Slate’s body. The other kept his rifle up and slowly scanned the jungle around them, looking for any more survivors of the crash.

Star stayed as still as she possibly could, watching the Vietnamese soldier scan the underbrush. It was only a matter of time before he spotted her, she knew. What she needed was a distraction…

As carefully as she could, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her lighter. It was a classic Zippo, emblazoned with a little cartoon of a spider in a top hat. She smiled briefly as she held it, remembering how it had been a gift from Marco from shortly after she’d arrived at Camp Echo.

Then, lighting it, she lofted it as hard as she could at the helicopter, praying desperately that neither VC would see or hear the motion before the lighter could reach its target.

With a loud CLANG, the lighter knocked against the battered frame of the Huey. A second later, there was a bloom of fire as the lighter ignited the leaking avgas. Startled, both guerillas shouted in Vietnamese as the helicopter burst into flame, and that was all the opening Star needed. Leaping up out of the foliage, she fired her pistol at the first Guerilla, placing two shots directly into his back and sending him crashing to the ground. Shifting targets, she pulled the trigger again-only to be rewarded with a light click. Desperately, she tossed the weapon directly at the turning guerilla, distracting him momentarily as he leaned to dodge the improvised weapon. For Star, it was just enough-closing the distance, she grabbed the VC and tackled him to the ground, trying to wrestle his rifle from his grip. He had the strength, but she had the leverage-and, pushing her weight into the rifle, she was able to twist it away from the man. Before he could react, she flipped it around, found the trigger, and shot him twice.

Breathing heavily, she stood up, scanning the jungle once more. Then, to her horror, she saw a dozen figures emerging from the jungle on the opposite end of the clearing, their weapons raised. As soon as they saw her, they began firing, and Star had to scramble to run back to the treeline without getting hit. Falling to the ground, Star aimed the rifle and fired a trio of shots back at the approaching enemy squad. She knew, however, it was no use-there wasn’t enough ammo to take them all out, and even if there had been, there were a dozen of them, and only one of her.

Then, she heard the sound of rotors above the gunfire.

Out of nowhere, a Cobra attack helicopter flew out over the clearing, its chin-mounted gun blazing. Spinning around, the helicopter began to hover only a few dozen feet from Star, close enough for her to read the pilot’s names emblazoned on the cockpit-Dolittle and O’Durguson.

Across the clearing, the VC infantry rapidly began to retreat, firing sporadically at the attacking gunship. Then, a trio of Huey helicopters flew over the clearing, and one-proudly emblazoned with the screaming eagle of the 101st Airborne-dropped down, landing just a few yards away from the burning crash site.

Star stood up slowly, not believing her eyes as Captain Marco Diaz leapt out of the helicopter, his own rifle in hand. “Star? Is that you?”

“Marco!” Star shouted. “What the hell are you doing here? I thought your unit was rotating home!”

“After you left, we got word Firebase Mewni was under attack.” Marco replied. “We were about ten minutes from getting our flight home, but… I knew you’d be here, and I knew you’d need the help. I talked to everyone, and to a man, everyone volunteered to come back and help you fight.”

Star breathed in deeply, not believing what she was hearing. “Well, you sure came at a good time, Captain. I don’t know what the situation is at the base, but we would’ve been done for if you hadn’t shown up.” She turned to Slate, who groggily gave both of them a thumbs-up. “Can you get a Medevac up here?”

“It’s already on its way.” Marco replied. “Now climb aboard, we need to get back to the firebase before Bơ Cứng hits it again. Whatever he’s planning, we have to stop it.”

Nodding, Star marched up to the helicopter. Just as she stepped aboard, Marco spotted something against the ground, and picked it up. “Say, I believe this is yours.”

“I think you’re right.” Star said, gladly accepting her rifle from Marco. The purple bandanna wrapped around the stock had ripped, and the broken star was covered in dirt, but it looked to still be in working order.

“Alright,” she said, strapping herself in and banging her hand against the roof. “Let’s fly.”

[go-redgirl]

More Must Be Known About Democrat Attempts To Derail Trump Boston Herald ^ | May 26, 2019 at 8:45 pm | UPDATED: May 27, 2019 at 7:26 am | ADRIANA COHEN

Now that President Trump has declassified the documents related to the #RussiaCollusionHoax, as he said he would during my exclusive interview on Herald Radio earlier this month, the truth is finally coming out and the reaction is fierce.

“I think what is really crucially important to remember here is that you had Strzok and Page who were in charge of launching this investigation and they were saying things like, ‘We must stop this president, we need an insurance policy against this president,’” Rep. Lynn Cheney (R-WY) said Sunday on ABC’s “This Week.”

“In my view when you have people that are in the highest echelons of the law enforcement of the nation saying things like that, that sounds an awful lot like a coup — and it could well be treason and we need to know more,” she said.

Cheney was referring to texts critical of Trump between disgraced former FBI investigators Peter Strzok and lawyer Lisa Page. The pair worked directly for FBI director James Comey and deputy director Andrew McCabe and conspired with them and others — including members of the Obama administration — to stop Trump from getting elected. After the election, they tried to derail his administration. At the same time, the FBI was also conducting a sham investigation into Hillary Clinton’s emails to exonerate her, a conclusion famously announced by Comey.

The investigations are something Attorney General William Barr and the Department of Justice are looking into now, along with the FBI’s inspector general whose long-awaited report is expected to drop any day.

Perhaps Comey, McCabe and former CIA director John Brennan should lawyer up instead of spreading a never-ending stream of lies and disinformation about the president during their perpetual rounds of TV appearances.

(Excerpt) Read more at bostonherald.com 

TOPICS: News/Current Events; US: Massachusetts KEYWORDS: adriana cohen; andrew mccabe; boston; boston herald; dnc talking point; dnc talking points; james comey; John brennan; lisa page; massachusetts; media win gof the dnc; partisan media shills; peterstrzok; presstitutes; robertmueller; smear-machine

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INDIVIDUALS COMMENTS/POSTS:

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To: E. Pluribus Unum

I posted this on another thread, but it needs to be the stock answer every time the ringleaders of this circus ask: “what is the predicate” for doing this -

Mr. Brennan - it appears that you and others in the IC community spied on US citizens, leaked classified information to the media, planted false information in the media, schemed to entrap US citizens, lied to congress, enlisted help to do this from allied intelligence services, unmasked US citizens for no legitimate reason, CONSPIRED DIRECTLY TO COMMIT THESE OFFENSES WITH FOREIGN NATIONALS, lied to the FISA court, falsely accused the President of crimes, targeted his family, used political opposition research from Russians, provided partisan private contractors access to NSA databases, influenced an election, and you tried to undermine a duly elected President.

Any questions?

2 posted on 5/27/2019, 10:57:16 AM by volunbeer (Find the truth and accept it - anything else is delusional) --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- To: E. Pluribus Unum

I now believe the insurance policy was Comey...and of course, Brennan and Clapper. They had the dossier...and the tools to continue "setting up the President".

That would be Comey with his memos.

There's a lot of little pieces missing in his memos. Like the "conversation about Flynn"...not just the tidbit that Comey wrote...

Why did Comey tell the President that he (the President)would like McCabe.

IIRC, he said McCabe was a good guy. Thats's the same thing that Comey wrote when they talked about Flynn...except now it's the President saying..."He's a good guy". Sorry...they shouldn't match up. One is a lie.

3 posted on 5/27/2019, 10:58:17 AM by Sacajaweau ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- To: E. Pluribus Unum

Stop wasting time.....the culprits are Obama, Biden, Clinton, Brennan, Comey, Clapper, etc., all of them criminals and Traitor/Turncoats against the USA!!! Case closed!!!

4 posted on 5/27/2019, 10:58:26 AM by JLAGRAYFOX (Defeat both the Republican (e) & Democrat (e) political parties....Forever!!!) ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- To: volunbeer

I watched “Snowden” for the second time last night.

Whether or not you think Edward Snowden is a traitor, what he revealed about the US government’s total surveillance state should enrage you.

5 posted on 5/27/2019, 11:01:09 AM by E. Pluribus Unum (Capitalism produces EVERYTHING Socialists/Communists/Democratic-Socialists wish to "redistribute.") ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- To: E. Pluribus Unum The democrats coup on Trump shows just how dangerous they are.

Mao winks

6 posted on 5/27/2019, 11:07:28 AM by Vaduz (women and children to be impacIQ of chimpsted the most.) ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- To: E. Pluribus Unum

When much more of this story is revealed, it will be time for the congress to revisit the whole idea of electronic surveillance and the FISC. We would all scream if they implanted all of us with microchips to “prevent terrorism”, but they have effectively done this with electronic surveillance.

They promised us that a careful and deliberate process was in place to protect the privacy and civil rights of US citizens.

They lied about this because many people to include private contractors affiliated with the DNC were granted access to these databases. They even leaked this information (Flynn) to the media!

7 posted on 5/27/2019, 11:07:45 AM by volunbeer (Find the truth and accept it - anything else is delusional) ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- To: E. Pluribus Unum

Strzok and Page thought they would become heroes for helping to overthrow the US government. They used to drive around DC at night, trying to decide which streets would be named after them... 8 posted on 5/27/2019, 11:10:35 AM by Cowboy Bob ("Other People's Money" = The life blood of Liberalism) ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ To: JLAGRAYFOX

The million or so documents that Italy is handing over will nail Brennan to the wall.

9 posted on 5/27/2019, 11:14:25 AM by Georgia Girl 2 (The only purpose of a pistol is to fight your way back to the rifle you should never have dropped) --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- To: Sacajaweau

I now believe the insurance policy was Comey...and of course, Brennan and Clapper. The important thing for all of us to recognize is that all three were motivated by the highest and purest patriotism. All were completely independent actors. Their actions only seem coordinated because they were applying normal intelligence and law enforcement protocols to a challenging situation. This is the same reason other, "lesser" players also conformed their actions to a standard operational framework. This kind of spontaneous and seamless cooperation reflects the staggering professionalism of the senior levels of the U.S. intelligence community, the FBI and DOJ. While President Obama was surely surprised when he learned about this in the newspapers, he can certainly be proud of the team he assembled.

10 posted on 5/27/2019, 11:18:57 AM by sphinx ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ To: All

So far as expected it’s landed with whimper. MSM will spike this unless and until they are several high profile indictments and even then it will be painted as “a vindictive Trump” trying to get those brave heroes protecting the country from a madman.

11 posted on 5/27/2019, 11:20:36 AM by gibsonguy ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- To: E. Pluribus Unum

...‘We must stop this president, we need an insurance policy against this president,’”... Stop him from what, exactly? The answer is a booming economy and in particular record employment among minorities. When more people are gainfully employed fewer need government "help", reducing the need for government and their hold over their serfs. RATs and lots of RINO Pubs can't abide that.

TERM LIMITS, NOW!

12 posted on 5/27/2019, 11:29:51 AM by JimRed ( TERM LIMITS, NOW! Build the Wall Faster! TRUTH is the new HATE SPEECH.) ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ To: Cowboy Bob

Strzok and Page thought they would become heroes for helping to overthrow the US government. They used to drive around DC at night, trying to decide which streets would be named after them... Is this from texts or from their testimony? I have not seen this insight to their mental illness before.

It appears to me that Obama and his band of traitors loaded up leadership positions with mentally ill fools (liberals) so that he would be able to ignore the Constitution and the rule of law. I believe we still have not seen the bottom line in the Obama list of crimes. We will find out more really bad things about the Muslim loving moron that invaded the White House with help from both Repubs and Dims.

13 posted on 5/27/2019, 11:41:28 AM by politicianslie (OPTIMIST-Glass 1/2 full- PESSIMIST 1/2 empty TO ENGINEER, Glass is twice as big as it needs to be!) ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- To: Cowboy Bob

And which name would that be? *Hobb’s Lane*? Strzok and Page might be the name of an unsuccessful department store, think of J. C. Penney or Sears and Roebuck.

14 posted on 5/27/2019, 11:49:56 AM by V K Lee ("VICTORY FOR THE RIGHTEOUS IS JUDGMENT FOR THE WICKED") ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- To: JimRed Stop him from what, exactly? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stop him from halting the illegal alien inundation. Completing the Fundamental Transformation of this nation into North Mexico has been the most important project of the federal government (both parties) for the last 30 years. Their entire life’s work is at risk as are the lives of the 30 million already here and the hundreds of millions that are coming, whether we like it or not. NOTHING is more important and that is the reason they hate Trump so vociferously. We were not supposed to be able to elect a President that would side with US and the rule of law.

15 posted on 5/27/2019, 12:11:02 PM by Lurkinanloomin (Natural Born Citizen Means Born Here Of Citizen Parents_Know Islam, No Peace-No Islam, Know Peace) ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- To: JimRed

I’m confused, when did she write “we must stop this president?” The “insurance policy” text was written before the election of 2016, was it not?

16 posted on 5/27/2019, 12:15:52 PM by Buttons12 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- To: Cowboy Bob

I’d be censured once a week if I was in congress. I’d have told Strzok “I’m coming down there and I’m going to slap that effin’ smirk off of your face.” Staff and other members would have had to have held me back.

17 posted on 5/27/2019, 12:20:16 PM by Terry Mross (I'ma) -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[bluboothalassophile]

Calm in the Storm

Damian had found drawing to be the most entertaining thing he did; especially since he was no longer required to draw what his tutors demanded of him. No, he was free to draw whatever he pleased; and art was truly the only class in his pathetic school which was worthy of his full attention.

This week’s assignment was to draw his family.

He’d proceeded to draw Goliath, Titus, Batcow, Alfred (the cat) immediately. He loved his animals like they were his family, and he’d destroy anyone who threatened his pets. He put aside the drawing of Goliath though, it wouldn’t do to blow his cover as Robin by turning that in. A quick pencil sketch of Titus sleeping with Alfred in a patch of sunlight in the Manor library was one to be turned in. And he drew Batcow grazing on the Manor lawn. All simple, easy sketches and he was satisfied with them.

Next, he moved to sketching Pennyworth, it was easy to corner the old man in the kitchen, and Damian spent an afternoon perfecting the sketch of Pennyworth baking. That evening he silently sat with his father in the study as his father worked on Wayne Enterprises and Damian sketched him. He was rather pleased with the results; his father was an excellent art subject to sketch and it had turned out well with the lighting of the study.

The next day he sketched Brown and Cain sparring before patrol; they were both in their civvies so it was rather easy to draw them. He liked the play of light and dark, and was careful not to smudge the charcoal as he worked. He showed it to his father before patrol and preened when his father praised him for his talent. Damian liked art, he loved it, he loved sketching, and painting, and more than that, he loved being good at it.

The following afternoon he sat in the school library working on a reluctant sketch of Drake. Drake was a part of the family according to Grayson, even if Damian and he did not get along. Still, the assignment was to draw the family, and Drake was his father’s adopted son and that made him family. Damian drew Drake asleep in the library because he liked the lighting in the library and knew it by heart; so he didn’t actually have to be there to draw Drake.

His next study was Grayson and Gordon, they were getting married in a month. He was pleased about the wedding, but he was also a bit uneasy with the wedding and what it could mean for him. However, Gordon would be family after the wedding, and she was already family, so he would include her in his sketches. It was an afternoon he knew they’d be at the park, when he ditched school and hid out in a tree to sketch Grayson and Gordon together. Grayson and Gordon were the couple who just oozed happiness, joy, and love, it was something he’d heard Jon say people wanted and envied. Damian just enjoyed being around them. It was kind of fun to sketch them, they were so… happy, it was a bit infectious as he sketched their smiles and enjoyed his afternoon out.

Mentally he ticked off the list of who his family was and was satisfied that he had everyone except his mother and grandfather, but after his death he wasn’t overly keen on adding them to his family sketches. And he could not add the Titans, that would reveal his identity as Robin, and aside from Raven and Stone, he was not close to any of the others on the team.

At least he thought he had all the family until Todd recklessly came crashing into a warehouse he’d been trapped in, guns firing, and people screaming as the chaos which was Jason Todd ensued. Honestly! Damian had come here on a case, he’d been a little underprepared for the manpower this smuggling operation had but he had had everything completely under control! Then Todd just came barreling in with a wild laugh and reckless actions; it was infuriating to him. People would think he couldn’t handle himself!

“I had everything completely under control!” he snapped as he helped Todd tie up the gunmen and smugglers.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get your cape in a twist, I’m only here to meet up with a little bird, baby bird,” Todd dismissed as he walked down the docks.

“Since you’re here I suppose I have to draw you as well, Hood,” Damian growled a bit as he jogged with Todd.

“Huh?”

“Draw, it is an art assignment, I have to draw the family,” Damian explained.

“Nope, no need, we aren’t family, I’m here for a different bird,” Todd quickly said uncomfortably.

“I will pass this assignment, and you’re family! Father would be displeased if I did not draw you as well,” Damian hissed.

“I don’t give a shit what the old man wants or likes or what pleases him! No. I am not here for Bat family time!” Todd growled lowly.

“But I have to draw the family,” Damian persisted. He was still going to draw Todd, now that he was here, but truthfully Damian was not as familiar with Todd’s face and did not wish to mess it up. Failure was not an option.

“Nope, gotta go, see you later baby bird,” Todd shouted as he took an escape to the rooftops. Damian scowled a bit but he was not deterred. He would have a portrait of Todd for his assignment, he was not failing!

Damian spoke to Gordon about using her cameras to track down Todd; it wouldn’t be easy but he was too tired to try to do it himself tonight. Besides, he had to get up tomorrow for school, though he found the institution pointless and useless, his father, Grayson and Pennyworth refused to let him drop it entirely.

Also, he was surrounded by idiots at that institute, and it was poorly kept; even for a prestigious school it was poorly kept.

He made it through his literature class before he received a text from Gordon saying Todd was in New York City.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Jason had come stateside tracking a child smuggling ring, run out of Slovakia. He’d been systematically tearing it all down, which had had him moving all over Europe, but in his pursuit, he was now stateside, not a thrilling thought because he’d have to deal with Bats. However, a beautiful little bird he hadn’t seen in a long while went to school at NYU, and Jason was more than happy to spend time with that Titan, especially since it’d be Jason Todd and Rachel Roth hanging out and no one would be following her about.

The problems with being dead and dating a famed Titan… paparazzi. Raven handled it all with far more grace than he could, also she was ‘the boring Titan’ according to the paparazzi. To him she was anything but boring, however he was happy that his girlfriend did not attract all the media attention her fellow Titans did. Jason was pretty sure it was because of the media that secret identities were almost shot to hell; well, his barely concealed secret identity was almost destroyed already, but to hell with it, he was dead! DEAD! Oh all the freedom being dead brought him!

But also, they’d been smart about how they had set this up so they could have civilian lives. And aside from Victor, no one knew Raven’s secret identity, she’d been smart about never giving it to the Titans, or registering it with the League, so Rachel Roth was just Rachel Roth. A twenty something student at NYU who was trying to become a writer, and was getting a degree in literature. She made a quiet living as a freelance writer, and had a boyfriend who owned this apartment complex; legally too, (he even had one of his legitimate aliases on the lease agreement, Jason T. Peters), he’d even bought several other buildings around the city and maintained them well when he was here, other than that, everyone thought he was a traveling businessman. It was so mundane and boring that he knew no one ever look at Rachel Roth and see the powerful Titan Raven. It was brilliant.

Getting off the subway in Brooklyn he pulled out his cell as he dialed a number he had long since memorized as he walked towards their civilian apartment.

“Hello?” her husky voice answered and he grinned.

“Miss me little bird?”

“I saw all the destruction you brought with you to Gotham,” she said monotonously, but he heard the lilt of amusement in her tone.

“Might as well make an entrance,” he smirked as he walked through the crowd.

“So, I, and the entire east coast, can see,” she mused.

“Only Red’s wanted, Jason’s in the clear,” he pointed out. He knew full well that only the Assassins and Bats knew who he was under the hood. The FBI, CIA, DIA, NSA, Homeland, KGB, Mossad, Interpol, A.R.G.U.S., and a bunch of other agencies he couldn’t bother to remember, all still had no clue that Jason Todd was alive, and he was aiming to keep it that way.

“Are you coming over?” she hummed.

“Well, you’re the empath, you tell me,” he mused as he started pulling out the keys to the apartment building they were living in.

“I can only feel that you’re close, in the city everything is askew,” she huffed.

“Aw, poor princess, your senses over stimulated?” he asked.

“Not right now, the shields are up,” she countered. He shook his head at her missing what he was asking but decided in about five minutes he could live with it.

“Well, love, I’m here, so open the door?” he asked when he stopped at apartment 4C. The line went dead and he heard Raven scrambling behind the door, he slipped his phone in his pocket as he listened to the deadbolts he’d installed the last time he’d been here flip open before the door was open and his arms were full of Raven.

“I missed you!” she stated, he stumbled into their apartment, kicking the door shut as her magic filled the apartment, all the lights were brightening as a few things rattled.

“You just missed my waffles,” he teased as he spun her around so her back was pressed up against the door, deftly he locked it for her as his mouth landed on hers’ before she could counter his claim. Good Fucking God He’d Missed Her! She tasted of jasmine tea, shadows, and that dark flavor which was Raven, and he couldn’t get enough of it as his hand dove into her hair and he kept her secured around him. Pulling away he was gasping for air as he lightly kissed his way down her throat.

“Welcome home,” she whispered. He smiled against her skin because he felt like he was home as he pulled her away from the door and carried her straight to the bedroom.

It was a few hours later he was in sweats and in the kitchen as he cooked up a lunch for him and Raven and she was working on homework.

“I’m thinking about renovating the bathroom,” he said suddenly.

“You said the kitchen was the last renovation,” she protested as she looked up at him from where she was working on the island.

“I know, but I really hate that bathroom,” he admitted.

“You cannot go about tearing up this entire apartment just because you don’t like the bathroom,” she stated flatly.

“Come on Rae,” he pleaded as he continued to work on their lunches.

“It took four months to do the kitchen,” she sighed.

“It won’t be that long this time, I’m staying quiet for a few weeks, letting the heat in Gotham die down before I move,” he promised.

“Fine, if you do this it has to be done before you leave, I’m not living without a bathroom,” she warned coldly.

“You’re going to love it, little bird,” he promised as he served up lunch and walked around the island to kiss her brow and see what she was reading.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Damian stood outside of an apartment complex and frowned as he looked over the tenant names on the buzzers. There was no obvious alias of Todd’s here, which was a bit vexing because he’d memorized the known aliases his father had listed for Todd. Pulling out his phone he dialed Gordon’s number. He was not failing this assignment and he couldn’t break into this apartment in broad daylight; father would be furious and Damian did not particularly want to go to juvie.

“Hello?”

“Are you certain Todd went in this building?” Damian barked out.

“He even pulled out a key according to the footage I can see,” Gordon sighed.

“Well, none of his names are on the tenants listed on this buzzer!” he hissed. He really just wanted to break in there and find Todd and make him sit still for a portrait. Damian would draw his whole family as the assignment required; this was the one class he actually liked and he intended to keep his A+ in it!

“Hold on,” Gordon started typing on the other end of the line. Damian stood there waiting impatiently, amazed that no one had come in or out of the building so he could slip in. Seriously! This was New York! The busiest city in the world! And no one had come in or out at all!

“The building is owned by one Jason T. Peters, twenty-five, go figure,” Gordon sighed.

“What?”

“He made a legitimate identity for this one, it’s why it hasn’t popped up, according to records Jason Peters is the owner of about ten properties all around New York, wow, they’re actually nice. And he’s been buying up properties in the warehouse districts and refurbishing them, seems legit, even for Jason,” Gordon observed offhandedly.

“Gordon, which apartment is he in!” Damian snapped.

“According to this, he lives in 4C,” Gordon stated.

“That is a Rachel Roth’s apartment, who is she?” Damian demanded.

“Listed as a live in for two and a half years now, Rachel Roth is a student at NYU, literature major, and freelance writer, current ID lists her as twenty-two, I’m not finding much on her,” Gordon said.

“You have been useful,” he said and hung up as he stepped up to the buzzer and pressed the intercom system on, picking a name of what sounded like an old lady. No response, he pressed again.

“Hello?” a sweet old voice replied.

“I’m selling candies for my school are you interested,” he replied in the innocent child tone he’d been parroting off of Jon, or at least trying too. Thinking of Jon he should have brought him along so he had reinforcements on the selling candies idea.

“Come right on up, I’ll just get my check book!” she said sweetly before the door was buzzed open. Damian slipped in then. It was a nice building he noticed as he jogged up the stairs. Quiet. Making it up to the fourth floor he walked down the hall until he came to a corner apartment, 4C.

Stupid Todd, making him track him down! After Damian got that portrait done he was going to kick Todd’s ass and then proceed to tell his harlot all the horrible things Todd did on his off time.

Knocking he waited a beat before he heard the locks flipping and a security bar flicking and then the door was opened.

Lilac orbs blinked, and he just gaped.

“Raven!?” he sputtered.

“Damian!?” she grabbed him and yanked him into the apartment before she shut the door and locked it up again.

“Who was it?” Todd called appearing out of a different room toweling his hair and then glaring at him, Damian was just too flabbergasted to do anything more than stare at his Team Captain on the Titans, and Todd.

“Uh…” Raven just looked too stunned to answer, and Damian couldn’t seem to make his voice work.

“What the hell!?” Todd snapped. “Who brought you here? What the fuck do you want? Does Bruce know you’re here? And how the hell did you find me!?”

“I am here because I need your stupid face for my art project!” Damian snapped; horrified at how he had simplified his vocabulary because he was shocked that Raven and Todd were in a room together. Clearly Jon’s childish ways were rubbing off on him, Damian was not amused.

“I said no!” Todd shouted as he stepped forward.

“Jason,” Raven was suddenly between him and Todd, and Damian saw his eyes glowing green faintly. “He’s not here as a Bat.”

That had Todd growling as he stalked away and Raven turned on him. Damian fidgeted a bit then when the door slammed and he was in the room with Raven alone.

“Tea?” she offered.

“That would be appreciated,” he decided as he followed her to the open kitchen in the corner and took a seat at the island bar.

“This art project, what is it?” Raven asked as she filled up a tea pot and pulled out mugs before setting it on the stove.

“I was assigned to do family portraits, I have so far completed the assignment until Todd was in town, I will not fail this assignment,” he stated fiercely.

“Sounds like you’re persistent about this if Jason told you no last night,” Raven said as she leaned on the counter.

“I will admit that I was not expecting him to be so… uncooperative,” Damian said carefully. He was speaking to a friend and his Team Captain at the Titans, he did not want to insult her.

“He’s very stubborn,” Raven said with a soft smile.

“I was not expecting you to be here, I was expecting to deal with some flouncing blonde bimbo with how Todd hits on Supergirl,” Damian admitted honestly.

“I figured,” Raven said humorlessly.

“I do not mean to insinuate that you’re a flouncing bimbo,” Damian quickly tried to amend.

~~~*~*~*~~~

This morning Raven had not been expecting her boyfriend of three and a half years to come home with explosions and media covering the latest in Red Hood busts. She had been pleasantly surprised by his call and even more thrilled that he had shown up outside their door after being gone for three and a half months. And she’d been more than enthusiastic about taking a day off from the world to have catch up sex with the boyfriend she’d only seen glimpses of on the news or had phone calls from. However today seemed insistent on surprising her again as she had opened the door to the youngest member of her Team in the Titans, and found him gawking like a fish out of water as he stared at her and Jason. Jason had been furious, Raven could even hazard a guess at why he was so furious, she was kind of mad too. But the moment she had sensed the bloodlust and rage on him and seen his eyes starting to pick up that green tint from the Lazarus Pit she had intervened.

He was currently beating on his punching bag set up in the corner of their guest room, she could feel his fury as he attacked the punching bag. And she could sense Damian’s embarrassment, uncertainty, and determination as he sat across from her blundering over his words. It would have been funny had she not been angry about being found out this way, Jason and she had been moving at their own pace and she figured when he was ready he’d tell his family and she’d tell her friends; when they were ready! Until then they wanted to keep it quiet; only Victor knew. She guessed it was too late to be mad about being found out though.

This was not how she had planned it to happen.

“Damian, I understand,” she assured the embarrassed young teen then.

“I’m sorry,” he hesitantly looked around the apartment and she turned when her kettle started singing as she continued making the tea. She set a cup of it in front of Damian before she moved to the guest room where Jason was working out his fury.

“He shouldn’t be here,” Jason growled lowly.

“I know, when you have calmed down, way down, drink this and join us, I’m going to talk to him for a bit, and Jason,” she said as she set the tea on the desk and reached for the door. “Just do the portrait, it’ll go smoother if you just give him what he wants and then he’s gone.”

She left him there before he could argue with her.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in school, Damian?” she asked as she walked back to the kitchen then and made her own cup.

“I do not believe that the other class require my presence to function, and they cannot teach me something new,” he shrugged. “You’re Rachel Roth?”

“Yes,” Raven acknowledge as she closed her note books and laptop as she gave Damian her undivided attention and so he couldn’t snoop on her school work.

“I was unaware that you even had a civilian identity,” he said.

“I didn’t tell anyone about it, I wanted it private,” she replied.

“Why?”

“I did not want Zatanna or the League monitoring my every breath, I am not a monster nor am I a criminal so I should not be treated as such, I tolerate that treatment when I work with the League because demons scare people. Also, I just wanted to be human and not have sorcerers and magicians and the League just popping up on my door step,” she admitted. Well, Victor came around for Sunday games and dinner if there wasn’t a mission, but that was family. Jason hadn’t wanted to get involved with his family, but she’d slowly been coaxing him in that direction, she knew he needed to have a good relationship with his family.

“You’re not upset with my arrival?” Damian quickly asked his fear and uncertainty rolling off him even if his voice was indifferent.

“I’m mad, yes, but I’m happy to see you,” she clarified.

“Why?”

“I’m mad because I respect your privacy and I wished to have mine respected in return, but I’m happy to see you Damian,” she explained.

“I see,” he nodded briskly. “How long have you and Todd…?” he looked at a lost then.

“Friends, dating, sleeping together, living together?” she filled in coldly.

“Yes.”

“Five years, three and a half years, three years, two and a half years,” she answered swiftly and smirked into her tea as the young teen’s face reddened.

“You did not need to tell him that,” Jason told her as he emerged from the room.

“I felt it was necessary rather than endure his interrogation and my tripping on answers,” she said as she took the tea cup from Jason, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. He was a tactile person with those he loved, but this was different, and Raven knew it. Jason was keeping her close so he didn’t do something he’d regret, she would use her empathy on him with his permission. He kissed the top of her head, Raven felt him tremble a bit as she decided to use her empathy to calm and sooth him.

“So what do you want, twerp?” her boyfriend demanded. The gangly young teen scowled a bit and bristled but Raven lifted a brow on him.

“I need a portrait,” he answered. “You can do it with Raven if you want.”

“Me?” Raven blinked, Jason’s arm tightened as she lay an arm over his. He was too tense.

“I have come to consider you family as well, but was not going to do a portrait of the Titans so as not to reveal my identity as Robin,” Damian filled in.

“Please,” Jason whispered.

“Fine, where do you want us?” Raven asked.

“Wherever is fine, live study so do what you normally do,” Damian said.

“I’m cooking,” Jason said suddenly, Raven just nodded to him as he pulled away then. Cooking was how he soothed himself, she just enjoyed the delicious food.

“Since you’re here Damian, stay for dinner, and the night, I’ll take you home tomorrow,” Raven said.

“Father will worry,” Damian pointed out.

“I’m calling him now, and shoes off,” Raven said as she walked to the bedroom to find her Titans phone. This might be a long night but she was not having Damian; trained assassin or not; riding the train at night. Bruce would kill her if she let that happen.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Once Todd seemed to relax as he cooked without talking, the evening went rather smoothly. Raven sat at the counter doing work on her laptop and he had claimed their sofa which had a good view of the kitchen. He was so baffled with them being together that he couldn’t figure out how they could have met. And for five years they’d been friends; he’d been with the Titans for five years! It was so peculiar. And more bizarre, no one had ever noticed. At least, no one in the Wayne family had; he knew if Grayson had such information that he would not stop talking about it until all of the Titans and the League knew. And truthfully, Damian had thought Todd had something going with Supergirl, Kara Danvers. It appeared he was wrong, so was Jon though, which made Damian feel a bit better about having missed this relationship.

“Raven, Rae, sunshine, love, come on, save and close out the school work,” Todd coaxed and Damian smirked as Raven jolted.

“Smells delicious,” she stretched.

“Almost as good as Pennyworth’s,” Damian sniped.

“It’d better, it’s his recipe,” Todd snapped.

“You should be a vegetarian,” Damian commented as he sat at the table in the corner with Raven who was using her magic to set the table and bring the dishes over.

“Just be happy that I made you a vegetarian dinner,” Todd growled.

“No fighting at dinner, and Damian we respect that you don’t eat meat, but respect that we do,” Raven said firmly as she started serving.

“Very well,” Damian surrendered, Raven had been using that argument since before he’d come to the Tower, and Grayson assured him that there’d be no winning against her.

“Can we send him home now?” Todd asked Raven.

“He’s staying the night,” Raven stated.

“I’m certain father would be fine with me taking the train to Gotham, it’s only an hours ride,” Damian pointed out.

“Damian, until you’re eighteen you are not riding the train from New York to Gotham; assassin trained or not, at night, I will send you to another dimension before I let you,” Raven stated.

“B could come get him,” Todd stated.

“He’s staying the night, Bruce has already agreed to it,” Raven said firmly. “We have a couch, and he can use it.”

“The couch,” Damian choked.

“The guest room is an office, and since the only visitor we have does not stay the night there’s no guest bed,” Raven shrugged.

“He could sleep on the floor,” Todd muttered.

“If you’re not careful you might end up sleeping on the floor,” Raven warned Todd. Todd glared at her but Raven seemed rather unaffected by this. Damian just decided looking at them that if Grayson and Gordon were happiness for couples, Todd and Raven were opposites.

“Not likely to happen,” Jason smirked at her.

“With how you’re going it’s a possibility,” Raven countered.

“Do you have everything you want demon spawn?” Todd asked.

“Yes, I do,” he assured them as he ate the potatoes; not that he’d ever tell Pennyworth or Todd this, but these might be better than Pennyworth’s.

“And this was so fucking important that you stalked me… why?” Todd demanded.

“Because I will not fail my art assignment,” Damian snapped.

“Please tell me that the teacher’s sexy hot or something and not because you’re a type A personality Wayne,” Todd pleaded. Raven smacked Todd up the back of the head then. “Hey! Legitimate question since he stalked me! The only reason I’d have stalk Dick was to impress Donna before I died, and I was his age at the time!”

Raven gave him a bland stare.

Damian frowned.

“No, I did not do this because Mrs. Thompson is hot,” Damian answered; and she was a very beautiful woman.

“Great, Rae, we might be moving,” Todd warned her.

“We’re not moving!” Raven snapped.

“And Bats will be here in a fortnight,” he warned her.

“You’re just sounding paranoid and ridiculous, and you are going to have to deal with them eventually,” Raven stated flatly.

“Not until I’m dead!” Todd countered.

“Only Oracle knows where I am,” Damian pointed out. Now Raven frowned.

“You were saying about that move?” she asked.

“Glad you see it my way, how do you feel about the west coast?”

“You two are being utterly ridiculous,” Damian stated.

“Look kid, I put a lot of work into staying the hell out of B’s hair, and the entire family for that matter, and I do occasionally work in Gotham, but I have moved on and away and I don’t want them stalking me,” Todd stated.

“Father doesn’t stalk us, he just looks after us,” Damian defended.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Todd snorted.

“Completely ridiculous,” Damian muttered.

“So, Damian, how is everything going for school and Robin?” Raven asked slicing off the conversation and he found himself slowly drawn into this conversation. It was after dinner when Raven and Todd were doing dishes that he saw something he didn’t think possible. They played, doing dishes and they were having a water war. After that Raven helped him turn the sofa into a bed before she wished him a good night and left him.

Damian looked at his drawings of Raven and Todd here and he just wondered if it was really worth sharing it when they were so happy being left alone. However, he refused to fail his assignment, perhaps he would speak with Grayson and father about this relationship and what Todd was doing here in New York. Yawning he let sleep take hold of him as for the first time in his memorable life he went to bed before ten o'clock.

New York was rather noisy outside the window but he still felt safe enough to sleep here.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Jason and she were in bed, Jason was reading his newest novel, and she was reading over a spell book she was trying to figure out.

“I’ll take him home in the morning,” Raven said calmly.

“You could have just teleported him away,” Jason pointed out.

“Jason, I’m tired, and I don’t particularly have the energy to deal with Dick, Tim, Bruce, and Damian all at once at the moment,” she yawned.

“Well, we’d be more tired if the demon spawn hadn’t shown up,” he murmured as he set her book aside and his book was on his nightstand. She sighed as his lips were pressed to her pulse.

“You’re shameless,” she muttered.

“I was deprived of sex for three and a half months, and I missed you,” he murmured against her collarbone.

“Missed you too,” she murmured as she tugged on his hair, bringing his mouth to hers.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Jason stared at Raven as she slept soundly beside him and he felt content. Restless; he was still in a different time zone, but he felt content as he moved her black hair aside and studied her face quietly. The woman was a Queen, an angel, and his God’s send. He could remember when she’d found him and then snuck him into the Tower to help him, her and Victor would have gotten in so much shit if Dick or Bruce knew about that.

However, she had saved him, and Victor had helped him.

Rolling out of bed he pulled on his discarded sleep pants before padding out of their room. The demon brat was sleeping on the couch; it was weird having him there, but the brat was sound asleep; feet hanging off the couch too. Silently he moved to his kitchen again as he pulled out some orange juice and quietly poured it as he opened his book and sat in the nook reading by the city’s light.

Leaving Gotham was the best fucking choice he’d ever made, and he would happily never look back on this decision. Jason read until dawn, then his eyes flicked up when his girlfriend stumbled out of their room wearing his red t-shirt, and yoga pants.

“Morning,” she mumbled as she came over to the reading nook he’d built her when he’d first started renovating buildings. She crawled onto his lap and curled up against his chest, she was sound asleep in a second again, he smirked as he let his head fall back and rest against the window sill and he shut his eyes for a moment.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Damian sketched them like that this morning, he did it for a few hours before his phone rang and he saw his father’s number. Both Raven and Todd bolted up when his phone’s ringtone pierced the air looking wild.

“Morning father,” Damian answered, his irritation at having the moment he had been enjoying sketching ruined. They hadn’t moved; for three hours! He’d woken up when Raven had come stumbling out of the room at five, and it was now eight, neither she nor Todd have moved at all; and if he hadn’t known better he’d have thought them both to be dead. Todd groaned, Raven sighed, and Damian tuned them out.

“You’re still with Raven I presume,” his father stated.

“You are tracking my phone, and yes,” he stated. “I will be home before noon.”

“Keep me apprised,” was all his father said before hanging up.

“Now we have to fucking move,” Todd muttered.

“Food,” Raven ordered with a yawn.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, waffles, you kid?” Todd yawned as he stood.

“I do not like waffles,” Damian stated.

“Well you’re going to fucking love mine and eat them all then you and sunshine are heading to Gotham,” Todd stated.

“Father would be pleased to see you, Todd,” Damian persisted. His father always looked so wistful when Todd showed up and then vanished, or when Pennyworth received a text or email or call from Todd. Father was wistful whenever Todd came up or anyone saw or heard from him.

“Don’t give a shit,” Todd snapped.

“Waffles,” Raven muttered.

“Coffee,” Todd yawned.

“On it,” Raven stretched and Damian sat at the island as they worked in silence.

Breakfast was served swiftly and devoured. He took Raven up on the offer to shower, and he tried not to cringe about how out of place the bathroom was to the rest of the apartment. The rest of the apartment was a mix between open-vintage-light-classic and then there was this bathroom. Stepping out of the bathroom he looked at the offered clothes tossed on the bed, he wasn’t as tall as Todd; yet, but he wanted the clean shirt.

Looking around the room he noticed that it was practically a library, almost all the walls were covered in shelves, the shelves were even built around the windows, it was rather homey though. Once dressed he walked out of their room to see Raven and Todd both reading, neither seemed inclined to move.

“I’ll grab a shower then we’ll go,” Raven said when he opened his mouth to say his thanks for letting him stay the night. He sighed in irritation knowing there’d been no escaping Raven and dropped in a chair as he scowled at Todd, who didn’t seem to care.

“Your bathroom is shitty,” he stated.

“I know, next project unless I’m moving,” Todd said.

“The apartment is nice,” Damian observed.

“Thanks, restored it myself,” Todd dismissed and Damian blinked at that. Todd didn’t speak further and Damian sighed as he was now reduced to sketching as he waited for Raven to emerge. She appeared shortly, Todd looked up as she walked over to him.

“I’ll be back later, don’t do something rash, love you,” she said.

“Love you little bird,” Jason replied.

Damian looked away when she kissed Todd before he grabbed his bag and followed Raven out of the apartment. They walked in silence all the way to the subway and then rode in silence. He was feeling a bit uncomfortable as he fidgeted in his seat.

“What?” she asked when they exited the subway then.

“Nothing,” he lied.

“Damian, I’m an empath, and if Jason can’t lie to me what makes you think you can?”

“I just did not expect you and Jason to be… together,” he decided.

“Ah, we didn’t either.”

“Can I ask how?”

“I found him in the Lazarus Pit madness, I thought he was a demon, I found him in a room of dead bodies; the League of Assassins was after him, he’d destroyed the assassins, and was raving mad. I took him back to the Tower, kept him safe, and when he wasn’t lost in the madness I offered to help him with it,” she shrugged.

“Why did you never tell father?”

“Because Jason asked me not to, and that is what you do for friends, Damian. You help them, and I do not think that at that time Bruce or any of you, would have been much help for him, and afterwards he hasn’t wanted to mend fences,” Raven stated as she bought them tickets to Gotham, hers was a round trip though. “I’ve been pushing him towards it, slowly.”

“Are you two… happy?” Damian asked. He knew that was a big thing with couples, being happy. Grayson and Gordon were always happy, Kori and Harper too, but he also knew that not all couples were happy; like his mother and father.

“We work at it, but yes,” she said.

“Then I am pleased for you,” he decided.

“Really?” Raven asked skeptically.

“You are perhaps my dearest friend, aside from Jon, but he’s an imbecile, I find Todd to be tolerable, a simpleton, but tolerable,” Damian decided. Truthfully he though Todd to be exceedingly resourceful and cunning but there was no way he was ever going to say that; he’d sooner chop his tongue out than say that.

“And what am I?” Raven asked, her monotone was amused.

“You are actually intelligent, I find your company most enjoyable,” he assured her as they walked onto the commuter train.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Raven said.

“What are you studying,” he asked and he spent the next fourty-five minutes talking to Raven about literature. She said Todd loved it, Damian found that easy to believe since Todd’s old room was crammed full of books. It was only as they neared the Manor that Raven seemed nervous until he pressed in the code for the gate; having not taken a bike but rather the subway when he’d ditched school the other day.

“Master Damian, most irresponsible of you to run off like that, from school no less,” Pennyworth scolded upon opening the door. Damian internally winced; he hated it the most when Pennyworth guilted him about this. “Good afternoon to you, Miss Raven.”

“It’s nice to see you Alfred, now I should be…,” Raven started.

“Master Bruce, Miss Gordon, and Master Dick are awaiting you and Master Damian in the study,” Pennyworth interrupted.

“…going. Fuck,” Raven sighed in defeat.

“That is no way for a lady to speak, Miss Raven,” Alfred stated.

“I’m sure by now all of you have figured out who I am living with so you can blame him for my bad language and bad habits,” Raven muttered as Damian and she walked through the Manor for his father’s study. It was funny to see the Titan’s indomitable Raven brought down by Pennyworth, normally Raven was like Pennyworth on the Titans, she managed to knock them all down and have manners. Grayson may have been the mother hen of the Titans, but Raven was the parent, and she wielded her power over them how Pennyworth wielded his, with an iron fist and class. Damian noticed how everyone was just outside the study but Raven glared at them and they scattered; not Cain though, Cain held her grown until they were in the study.

“Father, Grayson, Gordon,” Damian greeted.

“Morning,” Raven acknowledged.

“Damian, Raven,” his father started but Grayson cut him off.

~~~*~*~*~~~

“When were you going to tell us about Jason!? Didn’t you think we had the right to know about you and him!? And seriously Rae! How irresponsible are you that you just let him do whatever the hell he wants even though he’s dating a Titan!? Just wait until Vic finds out about this!” Dick started and Damian opened his mouth to counter when she cut them all off. She had always expected this but dealing with it without Jason there to add fuel to the proverbial fire was something she hadn’t expected. So she’d cut all of the questions off and explain before Dick was raving mad and scared.

“I did not tell you about Jason because he asked me not to, and I am his friend first, and if any of you had asked me not to tell Batman something I wouldn’t breath a word of it. Yes, I do think you had a right to know about him, not about us because that is not your business unless he wants it to be your business. And when the hell has anyone ever been able to make Jason do anything!? Controlling him or demanding anything of him is impossible! It’s like trying to control a hurricane! He’s going to do whatever he deems necessary to get his jobs done and you can either stand by that or get out of his way. I am unable to reign him in, on anything, from renovating the bathroom to charging into a warehouse of goons with guns, explosives, and outnumber him fifty to one, head first than you were! It’s preposterous to think I could or that I would!

"Also, no one knew we were dating aside from Victor, so go ahead and have that lovely chat with Vic, he’ll be happy to finally have someone to bitch about Jason to, finally, so our dating doesn’t affect the Titan’s image. Also, Victor approved, just so you know, Jason even asked him permission to date me, which is very sweet; and unnecessary, but sweet all the same and while Victor does not always like Jason, he trusts him, which should tell you a lot,” Raven said evenly.

“Jason T. Peters,” Barbra started and Raven sighed.

“He wanted to be legitimate for a change, Vic and I helped him set that identity up, with back long and papers to prove him as alive, the same time I arranged my own official identity,” Raven sighed.

“I would like a moment with Raven, alone,” Bruce said.

“Father!” Damian protested.

“Very well,” Raven nodded and she watched as the other three occupants left, she saw Alfred shut the doors behind them and she sighed as she looked into the sharp blue eyes of Bruce Wayne. They made her feel as if she were staring into the eyes of a dangerous predator, a man who could easily cut her down and destroy her and walk away as if it were nothing. Jason had this very look in his eyes too, so she held her ground.

“How is he?” Bruce asked softly. The question threw her off guard as she blinked impassively at him before carefully answering him.

“He has good days and bad days,” she admitted. She wasn’t going to lie to her boyfriend’s father.

“Is he… happy?”

“He’s very happy, especially when he’s got free range to rip apart our apartment and renovate it how he wants,” Raven admitted. Projects kept Jason calm, having things to tinker with or do with his hands kept him calm, and busy. “He’s decided to gut our bathroom, and he’s probably started on that while I came here with Damian.”

“Really?” Bruce asked, looking and acting impassive but she felt his amusement rolling off him.

“Yes, it took him four months to do the kitchen, he worked on it around jobs, it’s a good thing I do not cook else I’d have gone mad and murdered him for the mess he left,” Raven said with a bit of a smile.

“I do not approve of you keeping the relationship a secret,” Bruce said sternly.

“I know,” she acknowledged.

“And I do not approve of my son dating an interdimensional demon’s daughter,” Bruce continued.

She nodded at that one; remembering the fights Dick and Bruce had about meta-humans when Dick had been dating Kori.

“I know,” she admitted softly. “Jason even knows you don’t approve and how you feel about relationships between your sons and metas, and I’m certain that in the beginning of this relationship he was hanging around me as an act of defiance to you and what you stand for. But understand this, Bruce, while I adore all of your sons and daughters, and consider them dear friends who I would do just about anything for, I love Jason and I will do anything for him. He doesn’t ask for much, he’s been quiet about what he wants in this relationship, and he’s been good to me, but should he ever ask anything of me I will do everything I can to give it to him. I am not here to seek your approval, for I do not need it. I came here today to tell you that I love your son and that I am trying to bring Jason home to you and your family. He needs you, he doesn’t act like it and he doesn’t ever say anything about it, but he misses you, all of you, he just doesn’t want to let you down.”

“Could you possibly get him to come to the Manor for a dinner?” Bruce asked her.

“No, but send Alfred over, he’ll do anything Alfred asks,” Raven stated. Bruce’s lips quirked a bit and she smiled at him.

“He’s a good man Bruce, and you might not like how he does the job, and you will probably never agree on how to go about the job, but he’s a good man. And he’s been trying to stick to your no killing rule as a way to appease you, if you can see he’s trying, I’m certain he’ll see you trying and he’ll come home,” Raven said.

“I see.”

“Damian was a delightful guest, he’s growing into a fine young man, now I have to go home and make certain you son hasn’t destroyed the apartment with his starting of renovations on the bathroom, he likes gutting the rooms the most,” Raven sighed.

“Thank you Raven,” Bruce said as she reached the doors. She paused before she would leave.

“A word of advice, don’t crowd him, he’ll bolt if he’s crowded,” Raven warned and then she walked out of the study. She ignored the gaggle of Wayne children as she made her way out the Manor.

“You should stop by Alfred, he might come to a dinner if you invite him,” Raven mused as she reached the front door.

“I will take that under advisement, Miss Raven,” Alfred mused. “I have called you a cab to the station.”

“Thank you,” Raven smiled as she left the Manor and got in the cab. So… that wasn’t what she was expecting. Now she was hoping her apartment was in one piece when she returned home. She knew Jason well enough to know he was agitated and his agitation lead to three things: trouble or chain smoking or destroying something. She was betting all three to have occurred in her absence.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Bruce sighed, he’d never been particularly good at being a father for Jason. It was only after Jason’s death that he realized Jason had needed a father and not Batman.

Now, his second son was twenty-five, and dating a demon who loved him. It was baffling to Bruce, he did not like the idea of his sons dating meta-humans for the simple fact of he didn’t want them hurt or killed. But the young empath hadn’t seemed to care about his opinion on the matter before she had cut down every argument he had to get her away from his son and walked away. Now he was leaning against his desk startled at the audacity of the young woman and bemused at how she had stood by his son.

“Father,” he looked at Damian then. “I think you would like to see these,”

Damian presented his sketchbook then and Bruce opened it.

He smirked at the first image of Raven and Jason in a kitchen, at first glance they were strangers who never interacted. The second image was of a meal, Raven whacking Jason upside the back of his head, and Damian had even drawn himself in the image. Which was an amusing first. The third image was of Raven and Jason, they were doing the dishes. But it was the final image which had Bruce just staring blankly at his son’s drawing.

The demoness was curled up in his son’s lap, and Jason looked like he was in heaven. They were both asleep and Damian’s drawing depicted the city outside the window.

“Raven is my friend, but she makes Todd happy, and he makes her happy,” Damian said coldly. “Raven said they work at their relationship.”

“Damian it’s more complicated than that,” Bruce sighed.

“Well, if these drawings are anything to go by I’d say Jason’s happy,” Dick suddenly announced and Bruce had to agree. Damian only drew reality so these drawings were as good as photos, and they depicted a happy Jason. A Jason that Bruce had thought dead and buried, and yet he was sitting right there with a small woman and a phantom smile on his lips.

“That one is for us,” Dick decided as he plucked the sketchbook out of his hands. Damian didn’t even protest when Dick tore out the last drawing. “There, the rest you can use for school; stalker. I’m going to make a copy of this and send it to Vic and Raven.”

Bruce watched as his eldest walked out with his fiancé and he looked at his youngest then.

“Raven’s family now father, she’s even a bird,” Damian smirked.

“What?”

“Jason calls her little bird, she’s family now,” Damian decided. Bruce was just dumbstruck and then he smiled; all the kids had nicknamed themselves over the years with bird being a part of the name, it was a part of the family. Well, he could learn to tolerate it if the rest accepted it.

And just maybe Raven would lure his wayward son back home.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Jason looked up when his girlfriend walked into the apartment, he was working on ordering a dumpster and shoot for his gut job, and reflexively he smiled in relief at her arrival.

“Tomorrow’s great,” he agreed and hung up before she walked up to him to stand toe to toe, her head tilted back and he saw her stubbornness.

“Your family is a pain in the ass!” she stated flatly. He laughed then.

“Bruce doesn’t approve of our relationship, I get he doesn’t like metas, and a demon is probably way worse in his book, Dick was raving but happy for you, and the rest of them are nosey and eavesdropped the entire time!” she snapped.

“You knew this,” Jason pointed out as he wrapped an arm around her.

“I know, I just… I was not expecting the bathroom to be still in one piece,” she trailed off as she stared at it.

“I called Victor he’s coming over to help me with the heavy shit, but he’s also got a few design plans,” Jason said.

“Huh, I’m just relieved to see it in one piece,” Raven admitted. “Oh, and you should know Bruce is likely to be sending Alfred here to drag you to a family dinner.”

“What?”

“You’re going,” Raven dismissed as she turned in on him and levitated so she was eye level with him.

“I am?”

“Yes, and I’ll wear that thing, the black one,” she promised. He lifted his brows in interest then.

“The lace or the silk?”

“The silk. I can even wear red if you prefer,” she promised.

“You don’t own a red one,” he pointed out.

“No I don’t, but Kori wants to go shopping later this week to catch up and I agreed,” she said as her arms wrapped around his shoulders.

“In that case, I’ll consider it,” he murmured as he slowly started back her into a wall, hooking her legs around his waist.

“You’re going,” she said firmly.

“Maybe,” he agreed as he leaned forward.

“Jason?”

“Bat family does not get to fuck up the fact I have been deprived of sex for three and a half months, and a few hours does not make up for being away,” he said seriously.

“Is sex all you think about!?” she asked when his mouth was a breath away.

“No, but it’s a good portion of what I’ve been thinking about lately,” he smiled. “That and renovating the bathroom, upping the security so the Bats can’t just waltz in, and if I could possibly steal the batmobile as retribute for the demon spawn stalking me home and Oracle hacking surrounding security to spy on me now. But mostly sex.”

“You’re impossible!” she sighed in exasperation.

“But you love me anyway,” he pointed out.

“I do,” she sighed and he kissed her hard. He loved her, he really did, that was his last thought before she kissed him back and all thoughts disappeared.

[alexsmitposts]

BC: US-funded “Disinformation Oversight” of Bio Weapons Prevention Programmes in Georgia BC stands for NEO’s Banned Classic. This article was originally published by our journal on 09.10.18  For some reason, this article is missing from Google search results. Since this article remains pretty relevant to those geopolitical events that are taking place on the geopolitical stage today, we deem it possible to present it to our readers once again. Should it go missing again, you may be confident that you will see it republished by NEO once more, should it still remain relevant by that time. The Richard Lugar Lab is fast becoming a topic of household conversation in both Georgia and the Russian Federation, because increasing numbers of people care that it is not a public health facility, as claimed, but a threat to the population and humanity as we know it. The Caucasus region is an ideal location for the United States to outsource its ‘grey zone’ research to. Many of the most ‘attractive’ viruses and bacteria for weaponisation occur naturally in this region, so they can be studied in their natural habitat. The region is also known for its thriving black market economy and trafficking, as the lack of democracy and a civil society makes it easier to hide things from the world. But what is now concerning US officials is the attention Russia is paying to the topic of bio weapons and other related medical programmes. What has been uncovered so far demonstrates that the question is NOT whether the US is in violation of the 1972 Biological Weapons Treaty BUT to what degree. The US has long tried to deflect attention from these programmes. American journalist and Bureau Chief for Veterans Today in Georgia, Jeffrey Silverman, a long time resident of Georgia, is again the cross fire for his articles and series of recent TV interviews, having endured a long series of indignities, and downright illegal acts, at the hands of his own government and embassy. But the new attacks on Silverman coincide with recent revelations in the Russian media. Igor Giorgadze, the former State Security Minister of Georgia, dropped a bombshell in mid September when he leaked documents containing information about “a laboratory located near Tbilisi named after US Senator Richard Lugar”, and how some experiments had turned deadly. Various media groups describe such breaking stories as recurring disinformation, and further claim that there is no factual evidence that the US is building biological laboratories in the Caucasus region in order to use it as a testing site. The same media groups also denied that the US was losing the Vietnam War and declared the well documented CIA human rights abuses in places like Paraguay weren’t happening either. But Giorgadze, a former Georgian State Security Minister, and Silverman beg to differ. They claim that such labs and related medical projects may have secretly conducted experiments on people, some of which have had fatal outcomes. Right or Wrong Person to Ask? Giorgadze has asked Donald Trump to launch an investigation into the experiments conducted by the laboratory. This really has some in Georgia concerned, as Trump is no fan of Big Pharma. He recently stated that the much touted flu shot is the greatest scam in medical history, created by Big Pharma to make money off vulnerable people and make them sick. US-government funded media watchdogs and strong-arm agencies have fought back by using Homeland Security to harass Silverman when he travelled to and from the United States earlier this year, when he was finally allowed to make his first trip home in over 14 years. On both arrival and departure he was subjected to repeated body and bag searches, including seizures of his phone and personal documents, in direct violation of the 4th Amendment to the US Constitution. Such frontal attacks on this journalist date back to when the first stories about the Lugar lab, and the nefarious research linked with it, broke in Georgia in 2013. As he has since backed up many of his allegations with actual documents, there has been a concerted effort to discredit him, not only in Georgia but in the international media. Silverman continues to publish in the Georgian language media, and has described how the concentration camp patients of Nazi Doctor Joseph Mengele can be compared to the civilians residing close to the Lugar laboratory, as they [too] did not understand the threat they were under until they were placed in the medical experiment section death camps—when it was too late. “I am warning those who live near the Lugar Laboratory that they are under a big risk. The locals who settled there were misled that this was an ordinary laboratory and nothing else.” Georgy Iremidze, head of the Georgian based Patriot news agency, which is labelled pro Russian by the same detractors, adds to the debate: “On paper, the lab is run by the Georgian government, or rather the Ministry of Health. But in reality, it is operated by the American government. The idea is that, if something goes wrong, the Georgian government will take the blame so that the American government can stay under the radar”. A Lot for Nothing The United States has provided a total of USD 350 million for the construction and technical equipping of the laboratory. In 2013 the laboratory was allegedly subordinated to the National Center for Disease Control and Public Health (NCDC), and from 2018 the Government of Georgia will assume responsibility for the full funding and operation of the Lugar center and laboratory network, or so we are told. However it is only the US which has an interest in building such laboratories. Other countries would face sanctions from more powerful neighbours, who can build worse facilities of their own, for doing so. The US wants to flout the Biological Weapons Convention and then claim, if caught, that this is something only dubious, less-developed, “ignorant” countries do, as it usually does when questions are asked in places like Syria and Iraq. The Lugar Laboratory is located not far from Tbilisi International Airport. This means that loading weaponised agents and moving viruses and bacteria around the world is expedited. It is conceivable that the United States may be trying to continue its losing battle in Syria by using biological and chemical weapons, as military planes, which are based at NATO airfields, have been landing at the airport with increasing regularity for no other apparent reason. The same deadly and especially dangerous pathogens could also be targeted, as an aggressive act, against Turkey and the Russian Federation. The US has a history of doing this, and we might recall the Swine Flu outbreak in Russia 12 years ago. Even unsuspecting humans could be weaponized and board civilian fights, just as was described in Station 11, a work of fiction, and how the Georgian flu killed over 95 percent of the world’s population. Emily St. John Mandel’s fourth novel, “Station Eleven,” begins with a spectacular tragedy on a considerably vaster scale arrives in the form of a flu pandemic so lethal that, within weeks, most of the world’s population has been killed. It is standard medical practice that nothing that is injected into the body should be used past its expiration date. But the US military, and other organisations like MARFOREUR, USAMRIID, ClinicalRM, WRAIR, and DTRA, are being accused of giving many such preparations to allied countries as “aid”. They have been widely used on the general population in Georgia, even children, without the victims’ full knowledge and informed consent. When questions are asked, it funnels this aid not through medical bodies but TMC Global Professional Services. This company has overseas offices in nine countries throughout Eastern Europe and Central Asia, and two offices in the US, in Virginia and New Mexico. Most of its work is as a US Government contractor on Defense Threat Reduction Agency (DTRA) programmes, with national laboratories and other DoD customers. For example, it manages an international project at the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant site (ChNPP). Too Many Roads Lead to Rome The Myth Detector claims to have debunked “disinformation” spread around the Hepatitis C elimination programme on several occasions—but it fails to mention the nexus of this programme to TMC. Nor does it give, or investigate, the technical backgrounds of those doing the debunking, who just post pre-written statements provided by their Embassy contacts or PR staff working in the Lugar lab. It is not difficult to expose those actually working in these military projects at the management level. Silverman was once hired by International Crisis Group, ICG, and the French government to look at the links of these researchers. He soon discovered how the Lugar and partner projects are connected to American, European and other scientific centres. All the highly skilled professionals in the TMC office in Georgia left in 2010 to form a new organisation, Sigma. The most high profile of these was Richard Mah, who had worked at Los Alamos. You do not leave the golden handcuffs, and diamond pension, of a USD defence contractor to start a company from scratch unless you feel too compromised to stay with that contractor. But nobody is interviewing Mah, or the main TMC person in Georgia nowadays, Giorgi Begiashvili, before claiming “disinformation”. Day Late and Fact Short The US can get away with violations of treaty law because what it addresses has been superceded by new developments and changed beyond recognition. It has often been observed that when a certain narcotic is made illegal, another one comes along which is equally deadly but gets round the laws as written. Claims that any treaty violations are accidental are difficult to disprove because such violations are so widespread as to be unavoidable. The US bio weapons legislation is codified in Section 817 of the Patriot Act. It effectively gives the US immunity from violating its own bioweapons laws, despite the fact that such a national law cannot override an international treaty that country is bound by. Specifically, it states that “the prohibitions contained in this section shall NOT apply to any duly authorised US governmental activity.” Prior to enactment of the Patriot Act, federal law proscribed the use of biological agents or toxins as weapons, in 18 U.S.C. 175. This outlaws possession of a type or quantity of biological agents or toxins that cannot be justified for peaceful purposes. In short, what is being done for the purpose of military use, offensive, is now being justified under the guise of peaceful purposes. Regardless of the ledger of truth and innocence, a public debate has begun which is cross cultural and beyond borders. As a result of it, some of what goes on behind closed doors, under the flimsy disguise of public health protection and non-proliferation of bio weapons and especially dangerous pathogens, is now out in the open. One only needs to look more closely at what has been done in Georgia at various DOD funded labs and medical project. There is a long list to explore, including deaths from experimental TB antibiotics, a succession of dodgy programmes doctors refuse to talk about, and various experimental treatments on what is often an unsuspecting population. If you do not wish to believe Silverman or the Russian media, enough can be gleaned from open sourced academic materials which clearly demonstrate that proper procedures for informed consent are not being implemented. These shine light on what appear to be “backhanders” paid by and to various funding agencies, the UN, the US State Department, Big Pharma and various partner organisations, including the Ministry of Health, various American universities and the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta Georgia. Information is now being shared with the Congressional Oversight Budget Office, about the apparent planting of false and misleading information. However, all this demonstrate is that US-funded disinformation oversight is in fact blatant disinformation itself, as anyone who has lived in a country on which the US has an “official narrative”, such as Georgia, has always known. Not only are some of these new generation bacteria agents and especially dangerous pathogens so evolved that there is no antibiotic or other treatment that can save a patient. Often the cure is only available in the form of bacteriophage preparations, as also is being produced in Tbilisi Georgia on the first floor of Building B at Eliava Institute. It comes as no coincidence that the US Department of Defense and other agencies have also poured money into improvement of infrastructure at the laboratories on the second and third floors, where the planned production area is housed. These laboratories are used to produce bacteriophage on short notice and will be used for phage concentrate production that is used in the final phage product Founded in 1923, the Eliava Institute is a world known institution working in the field of Applied Microbiology, Virology and Infectious Immunology. Bacteriophage research and application is its main direction.