When I was ten, I formed a junior detective squad.
Mom bought me the entire box set of What's New Scooby Doo, and I was inspired to start my very own detective gang. I held auditions outside the gymnasium at recess (serious enquiries only) after a number of kids tried to apply for the role of Scooby Doo despite me reiterating I was not interested in playing make believe.
When I was laughed at in class, I made posters strictly asking for SERIOUS wannabe detectives, even going as far as using my Mom’s printer to make flyers, sticking them all over the school.
Auditions were simple. I asked them to solve a simple riddle.
Whoever impressed me got to sign their name down, and I’d get back to them.
I spent three days sifting through kids who definitely had charm, but they lacked the intelligence of a junior detective. Most kids were only auditioning to make fun of me, anyway.
Still, though, I didn't give up.
My flyers had five requirements:
1). You had to be smart.
2). You were not allowed to be a scaredy cat.
3). You had to accept your inevitable death at the hands of our town’s evil villains.
4). You had to have a fully registered driving licence (I quickly changed this to a bike).
5). You cannot have a criminal record.
(I later scribbled this one out, writing over it. *“You cannot have any tardies.”
Narrowing the applicants down to three kids, all of whom failed to share my enthusiasm for solving cases. The kids I picked didn't even know how to make plans, and when I invited them to my house, they stole my Mom’s necklace.
I didn't even need to solve the mystery of who stole Mom’s necklace. The girl was wearing it at school. I punched her in the face, and was immediately sent to the principal’s office. When I was being given the mother all lectures, the door quietly opened, a head peeking through.
It was Ben Callows, a freckly kid with overgrown brown hair hanging in his eyes. Ben really needed a haircut.
He was always wearing the exact same baseball cap, and I found myself wondering if it was permanently glued to his head, stuck on top of unruly brown curls practically matted to his forehead.
In class, Ben was also known as Bloody Ben. In the second grade, the boy had a nosebleed in the middle of a spelling test, bleeding all over his paper.
It's not like he didn't try and detach himself from the name.
Ben brought in Digimon cards, so kids would call him Digimon Ben instead.
Then he “accidentally” spilled yoghurt down his shirt in hopes we would call him Yoghurt Ben. But no. The kids in our class were relentless in reminding him of his name. No matter what he did, he was still Bloody Ben, and when anything related to blood came up in class, fifteen pairs of eyes would swivel to him, like he had invented the concept of bleeding.
I feared the nickname would follow him to junior high.
Ben didn't wait to be let in. He didn't even knock, striding in with his arms folded. Over the years, Bloody Ben, had definitely soured his personality.
He smiled rarely, and when he did smile, someone was falling over or hurting themselves.
Which definitely strengthened the claims of him being a sociopath.
The rumor mill was churning, with the latest claiming Bloody Ben killed his cat. That wasn't true. Ben’s cat was seventeen with cancer, and that was why he was sobbing all the way through reading time.
According to Ellie Daly, however, Ben had killed and dissected his kitty, and buried her in his Mom’s flowers.
Now, my principal did not like being interrupted, especially when she was in the middle of screaming at me.
Principal Marrow was old old (like, thirty, in my ten year old mind) stick thin like a pencil, and always wore the same stained sweater.
She used to be pretty, but I was convinced she had kissed a frog and been cursed. After our old principal suffered a stroke, she stepped in as a temporary replacement, and since becoming principal, had banned my favorite book series, colored shoe laces, and hamburger helper, even officiating a uniform.
(vomit green shorts and a tee, and plain white sneakers).
Kids were convinced she was a witch, and I kind of believed it.
Principal Marrow’s whole existence was built on sucking the fun out of school.
I was already reprimanded for my mystery gang flyers.
Her office smelled of peppermint and she was definitely sneaking sips of whisky in her coffee cup. I could see the bottle sticking out of the trash.
She straightened up, folding her arms across her chest, squinty eyes narrowing at the boy. I had spent the whole time she was lecturing me trying not to cry, my fists bunched in my lap.
I took the distraction as the perfect opportunity to swipe at my eyes, allowing myself to breathe.
Ben Callows was her victim now.
I was right. The woman's voice was like a thunderclap in my ears.
“You better have a good reason for not knocking, young man.”
Ben wasn't fazed by her tone. “You took my Switch two weeks ago,” he said, “I want it back, or I’m telling my Mom.”
At first, I thought I'd misheard him.
No, I was pretty sure he'd threatened our principal.
I swore I heard all of the breath sucked from the room.
“I'm sorry,” Principal Marrow cleared her throat. Her soft tone was dangerous.
She wasn't being nice. The lady was about to explode.
I could see visible veins straining in her temples, her right eye twitching.
It was straight out of a cartoon.
“Did you forget something, Ben?”
Ben sighed, like she was inconveniencing him.
He held out his hand. “Please can I have my Switch back? It counts as stolen property. Give it back, or I'm telling my Mom.”
The kid put so much emphasis on the word please, I couldn't resist a smile.
I think our principal was too shocked to get angry.
“Get out.” She said, firmly. “I don't have your gaming device.”
“It's in your drawer.” Ben nodded to her desk, “Under your divorce papers and the restraining order ordered by Jake Willow, the seventeen year old boy you've been having math ‘tutoring sessions’ with.” He quoted the air, his gaze lazily rolling to me. “Tutoring”
Principal Marrow went deathly pale, her eyes darkening.
“Benjamin Callows–”
“The school already knows about the restraining order, but your uncle is the head of the Board of Education, so all you get is a slap on the wrist and a warning to leave the boy alone."
Ben continued, and I found myself mesmerised by his words. He was a natural, his expression stoic, mouth curved with satisfaction that wasn't quite a smile. “However.” He held up his phone, pulling it away at the exact moment the teacher attempted to grab it. “You were outside Jake Willow’s house at 6:12am, drunk, and trying to climb through his window, which, I think violates the restraining order, does it not?”
Ben pretended to think real hard, his gaze flicking to the ceiling.
“I mean, I'm just a kid, right?” His mouth curled into the hint of a smirk
“What do I know, huh?”
Principal Marrow’s expression twisted, her lip wobbling.
“Mr Callows, remove yourself from my office, or I am calling your father.”
Leaning comfortably against the door, Ben’s lip twitched.
“Why? Are you planning on telling my Dad about your relations with a teenage boy, or will I have to tell him instead?”
I was enthralled, and fully disgusted, making a move to inch away from the woman.
“But it doesn't end there.” Ben continued. He straightened up, taking slow, intimidating steps towards the woman's desk. “You don't even want Jake, do you? Because, once upon a time, you were in love with his father. Jason Willow. You despised him for rejecting you, so you decided to defile his son.” Ben leaned over the principal’s desk, slipping his hand into the drawer, and pulling out his switch.
Painfully slowly.
She stood there, speechless, her shoulders trembling.
Ben smiled, and I found myself liking it.
“Thank you!” He said, waving the console in her face. Ben mimed locking his mouth and throwing away the key.
“My lips are sealed.”
Ben’s half lidded eyes found mine. “Are ya coming, Panda?”
I forgot my own nickname.
Panda.
I wore my Mom’s eyeliner because I thought it looked cool.
It did not.
Finding my breath, I snapped out of it.
Jumping up, I followed him out of the office, and when the two of us were safely on the hallway, I burst into hysterical giggles. “How did you know all of that?!” I whisper- shrieked.
Ben surprised me with a splutter. “Wait. You believed me?”
Something very cold trickled down my spine.
I stopped walking. “You lied?”
He shrugged. “I had a dig around her office before she caught me a few days ago,” Ben swung his arms, a smile curling on his mouth. “There's no restraining order, but there is prescription anti-psychosis medicine, and an extremely detailed story on her laptop about a teachestudent romance, which I presume is a self insert.”
Ben shot me a sickly grin. “The school refused to make her condition public.”
He prodded at his own cotton shirt embroidered with the school emblem.
“Why do you think she's made all these dumb rules? The woman is a certified Looney Tune.”
I nodded slowly. “Wait. What about Jake and his dad?”
“I made them up.”
I choked out a laugh. “And… the video?”
Ben walked faster, pulling out his phone and shoving it in my face. The video was real. Principal Marrow was walking around in circles, draped in her nightgown. “It's her own house,” he explained. “She locked herself out.”
Nodding slowly, I was in awe. Bloody Ben was kind of fucking amazing.
“But the restraining order isn't real.”
Ben raised a brow, coming to an abrupt halt. It was his smile that cemented his place in my gang. His lack of empathy for a woman he had gaslit into being a disgusting human being. Ben Callows wasn't exactly what I was looking for, but he fascinated me. Maybe for the wrong reasons. “Her filing cabinets are filled with tinned cat food, Panda,” he said with an exaggerated sigh, “I’m not psychic, but I thiiiiink we’ll be okay.”
I turned to him, unable to stop myself jumping up and down with excitement.
“Will you be my first?!”
Ben inclined his head. “Will I be your what?”
I shook my head. “Sorry. I mean, will you join my mystery gang?”
The boy’s eyes lit up, and I shoved him playfully.
“To solve real cases,” I corrected myself. “Not make them up.”
Ben wore a real, proper smile. But there was something in his eyes, a darkness that was so hollow and polluted and wrong, I pretended not to see it for the sake of his smarts and intellect. “Well, if you insist, sure!” Ben held out his hand, and I shook it. I'll be your first.”
We found our second member, who was, ironically, looking for her glasses under the table in class. Lucy Prescott, the quiet girl, was born to be with us.
The class eraser went missing, and she found it in the blink of an eye.
When questioned, Lucy’s face turned as red as her hair. “I asked everyone in the class and followed the clues to the last person who had it,” she pointed to Chase Simpson. “Which was Chase, who was throwing it at Marcus Calvin.”
Twisting around in my chair, I aimed to get Ben’s attention. But he was already looking at me, chin resting on his fist, eyes ignited with excitement.
The two of us cornered Lucy after class, and when she motioned for us to get back, I dragged Ben (who was a little too excited) to my side.
Lucy looked mildly horrified when I said, dangerous cases, though her expression pricked with intrigue.
She agreed, her gaze lingering on Ben, cheeks smouldering.
Our last two members were a surprise.
Violet Evergreen was what you would call popular on the middle school hierarchy. Not just because her mother was the mayor, but because Violet could get away with murder. The girl refused to wear the school uniform, coloring a single purple streak in her hair to cement herself as the it girl.
She was also one of the girls who started the Bloody Ben rumor.
Ben, Lucy, and I were sitting on the grass during recess, trying to come up with a name for our detective service, when Violet came storming over, hands planted on her hips. She was copying how her mother held herself during town meetings.
“What are you doing?” Violet demanded.
Lucy opened her mouth to answer, Ben nudging her to shut up.
“Making a mystery gang.” I told her. “Why?”
Violet inclined her head. “Oh.” She folded her arms. “Well, can I join?”
Ben stood up, stepping in front of the girl. Violet didn't move, stubbornly standing her ground. “Sure.” Ben flashed a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. He stepped closer to her, his smile widening. “If you can pass the test.”
Violet’s lip curled. She took a single step back. “What kind of test?”
Ben nodded to me. “Meet us at the swimming pool at 8pm.”
To my surprise, Violet nodded. “Do I need to bring anything?”
“Nope!”
8pm. The four of us met outside the local swimming pool.
Violet was already on the other side of the fence, waving.
“Hey guys!”
I noticed Ben’s expression, his eyes darkening, lip curling.
Still though, he maintained positivity, vaulting over the fence.
“You made it!”
I followed him, helping Lucy, who was immediately freaking out. I didn't blame her. The pool looked cold and dark, a hollow oblivion carved into the ground.
Ben and Violet stood on the edge, the two of them shoulder to shoulder.
Violet Evergreen was braver than I thought.
Standing with her arms at her sides, Violet's hands clenched into fists.
“What's the test?” Violet said, her gaze glued to bleeding black depths.
“I don't know,” Ben murmured, his voice teetering on a giggle. He leaned forwards, arms spread out. “I didn't think you'd actually come meet us.”
Violet hummed, stretching out her leg, teasing it across the surface. “Was that the test?”
The boy leaned back. I caught the glint of a grin under the floodlights. “Nah.”
Before I knew what was happening, he shoved Violet into the pool. The girl didn't scream or shriek, she just hit the surface, sinking into pitch dark nothing.
“Sink or swim,” Ben said in a low murmur, when Violet’s head bobbed under water. I could see her shadow under the surface, imagining the freezing cold depths pulling her down.
“Drown, and you can't join us.”
It was so quiet, suddenly. The three of us staring into rippling water.
A minute passed, and my tummy started to twist.
“Fuck.” Ben’s expression stayed stoic. I wasn't expecting him to say a bad word.
He cocked his head. “I thought she could swim.”
I hit him, holding in a cry. “You need to get our parents!”
But he didn't listen to me, taking a single step, and dropping into the pool.
I fell to my knees, scanning the water.
Lucy was crying. “Are they dead?!” she shrieked.
“Shhh!” I was watching two shadows lingering under the water.
Violet broke through. I expected her to be crying, but her expression was unwavering. She was silent. I thought the splashing underneath her was her legs trying and struggling to tread water, before Lucy shoved me. Hard.
“Panda! What do we do?!”
Looking closer, Violet was perfectly still, her gaze on the sky.
While she shoved Ben under the water, drowning him.
Violet’s eyes sparkled, and somehow, I knew she belonged in my gang.
Her gaze found mine, glinting with that darkness, that poisonous streak I found myself drawn to. It was a starving, insatiable need to understand a fractured mind. Know your enemy.
“Do you want to see if Ben’s a witch?” Violet asked me, her tone something else entirely. This girl did not make sense, using barely her finger to drown Ben Callows. I knew she was wrong.
I knew there was something loose, something unlocked and unbridled and drowning inside her mind and heart.
But I wanted more of her. I wanted Violet Evergreen in my detective gang.
I think that is why I stood there, frozen.
When the thrashing stopped, Ben broke through.
He wasn't coughing or spluttering, his head inclined. “You didn't drown.”
Violet climbed out of the pool, offering her hand. “And you're not a witch.”
He declined her hand, taking the steps instead.
I asked Violet in a shaky voice. I was trembling with terror, but I was excited.
Exhilarated.
“Violet, will you join my gang?”
She didn't answer me until we were sharing hot cocoa in my house.
I told Mom we fell in the pool, and she believed me. I should have told her that my friends were sociopaths, and I was kind of maybe in love. Violet sipped her cocoa, nodding with a smile I didn't recognise. Violet never smiled at school.
Well, she did. But it was always the prick of a cruel smirk.
I don't think her smile was genuine, but she was definitely enjoying herself.
Our last member came to us, instead of finding him.
Jules Howell, a straggly brunette pushed his way in front of me in the lunch line. I didn't really know the kid.
He sat at the back of the classroom and slept through most of class. I did like his accent though.
Jules had moved from Melbourne in the second grade. He didn't talk much.
When he did, I found myself enveloped in his voice, which sounded like water to me, a bleeding cadence to his tone.
Jules piled his plate with fries, smiling widely at the lunch ladies.
“I saw you last night.” He murmured through that perfectly moulded grin.
“Saw me where?”
“At the pool,” Jules said. “You, Bloody Ben, Violet Evergreen, and that Lucy girl. You were doing a suiciding pact.”
“That's not what we were doing.” I said, “What's a suiciding pact?”
“When you kill yourself together.” Jules said. “I saw it in a scary movie my Mom was watching.”
I grabbed a fork. “We weren't doing that.”
His eyes were strange when I took the time to notice them. The excited gleam had fizzled out. Jules’s hands tightened around his tray. “Then what were you doing?”
I didn't reply, making my way over to our usual table. Ben was already waving me over, Violet and Lucy holding up the flyers we were making.
THE REDBLOOD DETECTIVES.”
Do YOU need our help? We can find/solve anything! Contact us on the number below. (We take donations!)
When I bothered turning around, Jules was lost in the crowd of kids.
We were on our first official case, searching for Mrs Lake’s missing mail, when Jules appeared seemingly out of nowhere. And with him, a golden retriever puppy he introduced as Arlo.
It took a dog jumping up at them for Violet and Ben to find their real smiles, their real selves slowly seeping through these facades they had built around themselves. Ben dropped to a crouch, ruffling the dog's ears, his smile faint.
“Who's a good boy?” He chuckled.
Arlo didn't move, tail wagging, eyes bright.
Ben motioned the dog towards him, but Arlo stayed put.
Jules joined us…quietly.
I don't remember asking him, or even him asking me.
He just became part of us, side by side with Arlo.
We soon came to quickly realize that our town was boring.
There were no monsters or thieves, or soul sucking demons. No criminals or serial killers. Not even one missing person. We did, however, get calls about missing cats. I turned eleven years old, patiently waiting for a murder or a kid going missing. But there was nothing.
All we did was chase cats, and the occasional dog. Maybe a budgie if we were lucky. Twelve years old, our detective club became a joke.
The five of us (and Arlo hiding under the table) were trying to pinpoint Mrs Tracy's lost hamster, when three girls came over, dumping their soda all over us.
We watched crime shows for inspiration on catching killers.
Ben’s favorite crime was one that happened in the 80’s in our town.
2 girls murdered.
Their intestines stuffed into envelopes and mailed to family members.
“That's what we should be solving,” he told me one night, “Not missing cats.”
Thirteen years old, we lay in Violet’s backyard under the cruel glare of the summer sun. We called it working and didn't like to admit it was hanging out, or that we were even friends. However.
That didn't stop us growing closer.
Even if it wasn't quite the way I’d expected.
I proposed a plan, standing up, wobbling a little off balance.
“I've got it.” I said, my voice kinda slurry from Violet’s special summer cocktail, which was just random alcoholic beverages we found, thrown into a blender, and diluted with water.
The town wasn't taking us seriously.
So, we were going to make our own mysteries.
I ordered a full-scale assault on our small town. One that they could not ignore. Ben stamped on Mrs Mason’s flowers, and Lucy threw mud pies at people's cars. Jules trashed the high school gym, and Violet and I spray painted threats and warnings on every store window. Now, this did cause panic, but also an official curfew.
Thirty minutes before curfew, we met in our usual spot, deep in the forest near the lake. Ben yelled at me when I was three minutes late. He was real passionate about finding a real mystery.
“You're late.” Ben was sitting on a rock waving a stick in Arlo’s face.
The dog still wasn't going near him, whining softly.
I took my place, muttering an apology. “I had to lie to my Mom.”
Violet, sitting with her legs crossed, idly digging her manicure into the dirt, suggested we buy mannequins and masquerade them as dead bodies, hanging them from the school rafters.
Lucy, who had slowly grown out of her shell, becoming a lot more outspoken, nudged her. “That's a stupid idea.”
The girl groaned, leaning into her. “Urgh. You're right.”
Jules was the only energetic one, standing on the tireswing.
He jumped down, definitely twisting his ankle.
But his smile only widened, kind of like he enjoyed being in pain.
“Why don't we pretend to be kidnapped?” He said, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt over blondish curls growing out. Jules did a dramatic spin, his eyes shining. “We can ‘go missing’ for like a week, and then when our parents are really scared, we can turn up, and tell them we escaped a kidnapping.” His lips split into a grin.
“And then we solve our own kidnapping!”
Ben awkwardly patted Arlos head, only for the dog to pull away with a snort.
“I like it,” he murmured. “I'm in.”
Jules’s idea was stupid.
But.
It was worth a shot.
The five of us agreed to meet the morning after with enough food and supplies for a week. Then we were going to hike to the next town, and hide out for a week. It was an almost perfect plan, using ourselves as victims of our own mystery.
Packing as much as I could, I kissed my mother goodbye (I told her my pack was for a picnic) and set off to the rendezvous we agreed on.
When I arrived, I was the first one there. I checked and re-checked my pack.
I waited ten minutes, unable to contain my excitement.
Then 20 minutes.
It was getting kind of cold.
One hour.
I sat on a rock for enough time to watch the sky change color.
When the clouds were orange, I stood up and stumbled back home. They had gone without me. Mom lectured me when I got home, and I stuck to the plan of pretending my friends had gone missing, even if I they had betrayed me.
Ben said he'd text me when he arrived at the redervous. I at least expected him to text an explanation, but there was nothing. I was in the dark, and after three days of nothing, our town finally began to take us seriously.
“Our children have been kidnapped!” The adults were screaming.
Mom was crying in the kitchen, praying to a god I knew she didn't believe in that I wasn't taken next. I was interviewed and stuck with the exact same story I came up with when I was with the others. Our plan was to return after a week, claiming to be locked up in a dark room with a masked man.
I told my Mother and the other parents that I didn't know where my friends were, repeating the same thing over and over again until I was tongue tied.
“I saw them the day before they went missing, and… yes, everything seemed okay.” I slowly sipped my glass of milk provided, looking the sheriff directly in the eyes.
“No, I didn't notice anything suspicious, sheriff. Yes, I'm sure, sir. No, they didn't tell me anything.”
It was Ben’s mother who shattered my mask.
“Did I know about… what?” I whispered.
Something warm filled the back of my mouth, foul tasting milk erupting up my throat. I leaned forward, trying to look Mrs Callows in the eye. “No, I… I didn't know about Ben’s…condition.”
Mrs Callows was screaming at me about her son’s troubled past when I barfed all over myself, my eyes burning.
In the privacy of my own room, I sobbed until I couldn't breathe.
I tried to tell Mom, but we had come so close.
One more day, and the others would be back.
But that day came. I sat cross legged at our usual spot, which was now covered in police tape. I waited for their thudding footsteps, their laughter congratulating each other for coming up with a great plan. I waited, my face buried in my knees, for my friends.
It was dark when my phone vibrated, and I'd fallen asleep.
I wasn't scared, forcing myself to my feet.
“Where are you?” Mom yelled down the phone.
“Coming home now.” I muttered.
“Sorry.” I paused, holding my breath against a cry. “Mom.” I broke down, forcing my fist into my mouth to hide my squeak. “Mommy, did they come back?”
Mom didn't reply for a moment.
“I'm so sorry, baby.” She whispered, ending the call.
I took my time walking home that night.
There were no stars in the sky.
When a hand clamped over my mouth, I could smell him.
When he dragged me back, stabbing a kitchen knife into my throat, I stared at the sky and looked for stars. His arms were warm around me, violently pulling me into the back of a pickup truck. The pickup truck he'd said he was bringing.
It was his grandfather's, and he could just about drive it.
Hitting the backseat, my body was numb, my thoughts in a whirlwind.
The pickup flew forwards, and I remembered how to move.
I rolled off the seat, my hands pinned behind my back.
Twisting around, blinking in the dim, I could feel something warm, something seeping across upholstery seats. Blood.
It was everywhere, sticky on my hands and wet on my face when I struggled to get up. I was lying in someone's blood.
A scream clawed its way out of my throat.
The pickup flew over a pothole, and something dropped off the seat.
Arlo’s leash.
I screamed again, this time his name gritted between my teeth.
I didn't stop screaming until the jerking movement stopped. The doors opened, pale light hitting me in the face.
Flashlight. Warm arms wrapped around me, pulling me from the car, and then, pulling me by my hair, into our old tree house. It was always our secret place, our saving grace on the edge of town.
The flickering candlelight caught me off guard, illuminating my surroundings.
Two bodies slumped over each other, lying in stemming red.
I felt suffocated, like I was going to die. I screamed, and that warm hand cradled my mouth again, gagging my cries.
Violet and Jules.
There was something wrong with them. And it was only when I forced myself to look closer, when I realized their insides had been carved out, heart, stomach, everything, pulled out.
There was paper on the floor.
No, not paper. Envelopes.
Envelopes stuffed with gore, bright red leaking through white.
Shuffling back, my brain was too slow to react, while my body was trying to vault to my feet, only to be violently pulled back by my ponytail.
I felt his fingers twining around my hair, revelling in my screams.
With another tug, my head was forced forwards.
Orange candlelight felt almost homely, this time lighting up a third body.
Lying on their back, curled up, pooling scarlet dried into the floorboards, their wrists restricted with duct-tape.
I could feel blood underneath me, sticky, a congealing paste.
“Do you know what happened on October 3rd, 1987, in our town?”
Lucy Prescott stood over me, her arms folded across her chest.
I managed to shake my head, when she grabbed Ben’s legs, dragging him under the candlelight. I dazedly watched her stroke the blade of a carving knife, the teeth already stained scarlet. “The intestine murders.” Lucy hummed, tracing the knife down the floorboards.
“A man murdered two high school girls, carving out their insides and sending their pieces to their loved ones.”
Lucy's eyes found mine, ignited in a familiar gleam. I saw it in Principal Marrow’s office. Then the swimming pool. The cafeteria. “It was the sheriff's only murder case, Panda. Ever since then, our town has been boring. There's no mysteries to solve. Nothing to find.”
The girl jumped to her feet, retrieving a blood stained envelope.
She held it up, a smile curved on her lips. The girl turned around, and I heard a horrific squelching sound. Lucy held up a bright red sausage, ripped into it, and slipped it into the white paper.
“But I can change that.” she said, in a giggle.
“I can create a real serial killer, who we can hunt down together.”
Lucy stabbed the blade into the floor, laughing.
“Or! I can bring a fan-favorite back! I can bring the intestine killer back from the dead!”
Her gaze flicked to the others. “There are casualties, of course. The story is, I was kidnapped with Ben, Violet, and Jules. The scary intestine killer killed them, and I managed to get away.”
Lucy shuffled over to me, her eyes wide. “Then! He came back and struck again!”
With those words, she shoved me onto my back.
“First he took Violet,” Lucy hummed, tracing the blade down my shirt.
“Then… Jules.” I squeezed my eyes shut, pulling at the restraints around my wrists. “Then Ben.” her breath tickled my cheek. “And finally… Panda.”
Lucy lifted the knife, and I accepted my death.
Until a low rumble in my ears.
Shouting.
Thundering footsteps, followed by the pitter-patter of paws.
“Lucy!” The sheriff was screaming, and the girl stumbled to her feet, the knife slipping from her fingers. Lucy stumbled, tripping over Ben’s body.
“He got away!” she shrieked. “He…he killed them! Oh, god, please help me!”
I don't think Lucy even realised the traces she'd left behind.
The blood slick on her fingers, her manic, grinning smile full of mania.
I was looking for stars when an officer crouched over me.
I couldn't understand what she was saying.
Her voice was white noise.
“Rachel? Hey, try and sit up, honey. You Mom is on her way.”
Instead of listening to her, I curled into myself.
My gaze found Arlo sticking his nose in Ben’s hair, trying to nudge the boy awake.
I didn't fully register the next few days.
They went by in a confusing blur.
Part of me tried to eat, and spent hours with my head pressed against the toilet seat.
I could still see the slithering, scarlet remains of my friends every time I closed my eyes. There was so much red, soaked in that hunting orange light.
Blood that I could still see, a starless sky that stretched on forever.
Weeks went by.
Then months.
I think I turned 14. I wasn't sure. I didn't feel alive anymore.
I stood at my friend’s funerals with a single rose I dropped into their casket.
Violet’s mother was quick to cover the whole thing up.
Lucy's plan didn't work after all.
Our town’s murder cases stayed stagnant at one.
It's been four years since my friends were murdered by our ’Velma’.
Now, at seventeen, Mom asked if I wanted to visit Lucy in juvie.
I'm not even upset or angry anymore.
I want to know why.
Ben picked me up. Arlo was at his side, wagging his tail.
Ben was…different. He'd dumped his baseball cap and gotten a haircut, swapping his old wardrobe of drab colors for an attempt at changing style.
That day, he looked awkward in a short sleeved tee and shorts.
At school, Ben is no longer Bloody Ben.
Now, he is Survivor Ben.
I’m still Panda.
Every time I was with him, I felt like my soul was being sucked out.
Guilt so deep, so fucking painful, I lost my breath.
I live knowing that I immediately assumed it was him that day.
Ben was barely alive when I found him. Lucy had started to carve into him before remembering she needed me.
After admitting it to him, his lips formed a small smile.
“Can I tell you a secret?” He said to me, at sixteen.
"Yeah?"
Whatever he was going to say, Ben never told me.
Presently, I nodded at the dog’s new collar.
“Peppa Pig themed?”
The boy shrugged, ruffling Arlo’s ears. “FYI, he chose it.”
“It's cute.” I said. “Very… chic.”
We didn't speak the whole ride, but Ben did entangle his hand in mine.
We spent half an hour outside the detention centre. I was panicking, and Ben was trying to hide that he was panicking. In the end, we joined hands, and strode through the doors together.
Lucy greeted us with a wide smile. Just as psychotic.
The orange jumpsuit suited her, though I had zero idea why.
“Hey Arlo!” she giggled at the dog, and Ben pulled the pup onto his lap.
“Ben.” She sighed. “I wish I got to finish you. I would have loved to solve the mystery of your gutted corpse.”
Ben’s smile was wry. “Nice to see you too.”
Behind a glass screen, I asked Lucy one simple question.
“Why?”
Lucy didn't reply. Or she did, but it was just nonsensical bullshit.
But there was one thing she said has stuck with me, chilling me to the core.
I am fucking terrified of Lucy. Of what's she's done, and what she's capable of doing.
It was a throwaway line, and I don't even think Ben noticed.
Or he did, and was in denial.
Lucy's smile was wide, her eyes empty pools of nothing.
The exact same glint in Ben’s eyes.
Jules’s eyes.
Violet’s eyes.
Like something was gnawing away at their psyche, twisting and contorting it, filling them with darkness, poison, that was so vast, so endless, I had craved it as a child. I still don't know what it is.
But I'm going to find it.
Lucy's laugh was shrill, and next to me, Ben didn't move a muscle.
But he did smile.
Yes, my gang were psychos.
But I kind of maybe loved it.
“I don't even wear glasses!”

We have had our ups & downs. He has hurt me a lot in the past & we been married almost 8yrs. He’s in the navy & he has been on 4 deployments & I was pregnant twice while he was 2 of the deployments. I have 2 kids from my past marriage & now 3 with my current husband. I have told my husband has changed a lot each time he went on deployment. Meaning he’s not romantic, sweet lovey dovey or pays attention to me like he used too. He’s been busy with work & then started a hobby playing disc golf but barely has time for me /family time. He just got promoted to E6 this past week & he doesn’t want me to go to his pin ceremony this Friday because he thinks so negative of me as not being a supportive wife. So I had to quit my job bc we couldn’t have a babysitter more than 2 weeks before quitting. So I had to sacrifice a lot , I’m a stay at home mother of 5 kids & I also started my own business at home dog sitting that’s been very successful & I’m able to help my husband pay for half the bills.
But I feel more like a man than a wife in this marriage. I pay for vacation, birthdays, Christmas gifts, anniversary, shopping, I don’t get spoiled by him like he used to at the beginning. He used to be sweet & romantic & sex was us making love now it’s more just sex.
I don’t feel special, important to him, appreciated or valued.
I’m hurt that he thinks I’m not supportive for his job. Even though I’m here taking care of the kids no matter what even when I had depression & anxiety & his deployments & him leaving for training & everything for him to just focus on his job I’m not supportive. He says that’s my job since I’m a mother !!! I’m hurt right now & upset.
I hate my husband job because he’s always working, or gone, or tired, then he goes plays dis golf once or twice during the weekend & it’s full days . So he’s gone at least 6 FULL days out of the week & the day we get him he’s too tired!
Am I a horrible wife? I’m trying my best I really am! I work very hard for us to have a good life & for him not to stress about money so he can focus on his job . But it’s like nothing I do is enough..

Okay, so...
u/CaptainChristopher02 and u/ThatGuyBob0101 are working on a crossover between My Floridian Arxur Daughter and Unusual Arxur. And given that characters from Arxur Nursery are being used, I got roped in.
So, here I am, as a Trojan Horse, posting something written by the aforementioned authors.
I hope you enjoy.
Memory Transcription Subject: Captain Olivia Denson, UN Military, American Branch, Nursery Founder
Date[standardized human time]: December 24, 2136
Seeing Minuli say goodbye to her friends was a little emotional. I’d grown attached to that peculiar, wonderful, family. But I had my own responsibilities I needed to look out for. Marleen gave me the address of the new nursery and the information for the bus. It didn’t take long for us to find it. A classic yellow exterior.
“Are you kids excited to ride the bus?!” I cheered towards the crowd of precious babies.
Minuli jumped with joy and happily shouted, “It’s so yellow it hurts my eyes to look at it! But I’ll look at it anyway.”
Oros patted her on the shoulder, “Hehe, yes little one. Yes it is.”
I opened the door to the bus and looked at the name of the driver, Ben, who I confirmed with Marleen to be the driver but I asked him anyway.
“Hey, are you the driver for the nursery?”
He smiled brightly, “Yea! You must be Olivia. I’m Benjamine, but you can call me Ben. I'm the school's driver. Hop in. By the way the school had an issue with the amount of beds so the rooms aren’t quite ready. If you want we can take a detour to see the area?”
A stray voice came from behind me. “Really?!” Minuli was whispering to the other hatchling explaining what she overheard. Once the whispers died all the kids started chanting “Beach, Beach, Beach, Beach!”
Okay, beach it is.
The kids all scurried in one by one, despite the jet lag they were so excited that they were bouncing all over the seats.
“Olivia look!” Minuli said. “They don’t have seatbelts! We can just move!”
Should I tell her to get down, or should I let her fall once and learn her lesson?
“[Chortle]”
Timothy tugged in my pant legs, signaling he wanted to be carried for the ride. I obliged, obviously, and raised my voice enough to be heard in the sea of Arxur Hatchling screeches.
“OKAY EVERYONE, PLEASE STAY SEATED!”
Most of the kids listened except for a few stray hatchlings bouncing around at the end of the bus. I was going to let Ben know so I could deal with them but he just winked at me, closed the door, and drove for a foot, only to suddenly hit the brakes, sending those few hatchlings falling into the seats in front of them.
“We’re okay…”
“And that, children, is why we stay in our seats.” I simply stated as I sat down.
“[Chortle!]” Timothy chirped in agreement.
<<>>
Memory Transcription Subjects: Agent Cass Smith, FBI ARR Arxur Refugee and Relocation Unit
Date[standardized human time]: December 24th, 2136
I didn’t know what to expect. Allen had told me it was an “on-the-job training” experience, although given how he made it sound, it felt like I wasn’t going to be learning much of anything. Especially considering he seemed to be horrible at directions.
“Wait. No. Left,” he ordered, face crammed into his holopad. “Urgh. Say what you will about them, paper maps aren’t nearly as disorienting as this stuff,” Allen groaned. I rolled my eyes, crossing three lanes of traffic to turn left. “Wait! Shit! No!”
“Oh, my God, Allen. Just gimme th’ damn phone,” I pleaded.
“Hey, you’re driving, you shouldn’t be-”
Cutting his complaint short, I gently, but firmly pulled his wrist up in front of the dashboard so I could see where the hell I was going. It was a left, like he originally said, and then…
And then he got a phone call. Sunuvabitch.
“Yer ringin’,” I told him, letting go of his wrist. Considering I needed directions before I went any further, I decided to pull into a nearby beach parking lot and wait as he answered the call.
“Yeah? Yeah, same here. We got a bit turned around; just pulled into a beach so I could take this call. Yeah… Yeah, how’d you know?... Huh. I see. Well, we’ll be right over, in that case.” He shut the call off. “Hey Cass. We’re making a detour.”
“Where to?” I bemoaned.
“Well… look right.” Doing as instructed, I turned to see… a beach. Is he saying-... “I know neither of us brought our swimsuits, but… Hey, you’ll be meeting your charges for the week a bit earlier than expected.”
“For the week? Sir, I volunteered for Christmas Eve, but, I’d still like to be home on the day.”
“I’m not having you work over Christmas, kid, don’t worry, but you’re gonna be working with these guys for a bit.” The both of us stepped out of the car to catch the smell of the beach. “Just, make sure nothing bad happens, and tell me what the place and the people there need. I know I haven’t trained you on, well, anything, admittedly, but you have my number if you’ve got questions, and the assignment should be a breeze. Now, let’s go meet these guys, huh?”
“You mean the guys I’ve been told next to nothing about except for the fact one of ‘em’s an arxur?” I snarked, looking at him.
“Yup. Those’d be the guys. But hey, I want it to be a surprise. You’re gonna love it. Or hate it, and, quite frankly, I didn’t want to get punched inside my own office,” he admitted. I glared down at him as we walked side-by-side down the beach. “Uhhhhhhhhhh hey look! There’s the, ah, founder of the program right up ahead!” Allen shouted, dragging my attention forwards. It was a girl with brown hair and tan skin flagging us down from a ways down the beach
I could see she recognized us, and she seemed to be with company. Allen pointed out two individuals next to her. An Arxur by the name of Oros and a bus driver named Ben.
“Why do I need to know the bus driver?” I asked. I had absolutely no idea who anyone here was, so I supposed introducing myself to everyone would be ideal, but I didn’t think I'd really be seeing this guy often.
“Trust me,” Allen insisted. “You’re gonna be seeing him and asking for his help a lot more often than you think. No matter what you need, he knows a guy or knows the random skill.”
“You’re kidding right?”
“I once briefly mentioned my wife wanted a purse for her birthday and the next day he told me he skinned an alligator that ate his neighbors dog and traded the gator in for fresh leather that he used to make her a purse. No, I am not kidding.” I didn’t have time to comprehend what he said before he shook his head and continued. “It was a nice purse too. Saved my marriage.”
I decided to ignore that last part and instead asked about the adult Arxur.
“Uh… what’s with the big guy over there?”
“Oh, him? That’s Oros. He helped rescue a bunch of kids and brought them to Earth. We moved them from Brazil the other day.”
“Kids? As in… Arxur kids?” I asked. Does that mean-...
“Two of ‘em right there.”
I took my gaze off the founder and rescuer and focused on the other two Arxur that were visible. They were definitely kids. Kids! I wondered if that’s how Tarry looked when he was younger?
Aww.
Before I got distracted about that thought, which I was absolutely going to use to tease Tarry later, I reset my focus onto the arxur in question. One of the kids was older, having a shirt with what looked like a solar system on it. They were standing next to the big guy; Oros, I assumed. The other hatchling was in the woman’s arms with a cute little button up shirt. His expression showed no thoughts, only a smol head.
“Heh. Welcome, Cass… to Jurassic Park,” Ben theatrically gestured. I looked down the beach to see… Oh.
Waves of tiny little Tarry’s were running around, building sandcastles and splashing in the water just up over the sand hill we were standing on. I looked at Allen.
“... We are going to talk about this later.”
“C’mon. It’s not that bad. You’ll be great with these kids!”
“Allen, when anyone younger than a teenager sees me, they’re either terrified of me, or they think I’m a jungle gym. There is no in-between,” I told him.
“Hey, these aren’t human kids. It’ll be different, I swear!” he tried to placate. I just let out a somewhat exhausted sigh. “Look, just, walk around! Meet some of the kids! You’ve got this, alright?”
“Alright. I guess we can see how it goes…”
One of the tiny Tarry’s was blissfully running around the sand past Olivia, towards me, not paying attention. She fell on her face, but didn’t take long to get up and brush the sand off. She was close to me so I decided to see if Allen was telling the truth. Kneeling down next to the child, I decided to smile at her. Once she noticed the looming shadow over her and looked up I greeted myself. “Hi there.” I said in my best toddler voice I could muster. Admittedly, it wasn’t my best.
She didn’t say a word for a few moments. I thought for a moment that she might actually warm up to me. Maybe that would have been the case if she didn’t immediately start crying.
“…wa…whaaaaa! Chortle, Whaaaaaaa!”
It took only a second of looking at me to get her to cry. I pointed a tired look over to Allen, who simply offered me a half-hearted shrug. An exasperated sigh escaped my chest as I massaged my forehead.
“Ehm… Oliviaaaaa,” I yelled out, trying to get the nursery founder’s attention. She looked over, seeing the lizard begin to wail, and quickly rushed over.
“Oh! Nonono, bebes! It’s fine! She’s friendly!” She quickly scooped up the hatchling in her arms, holding the kid close to her.
“B-but… b-b-big and scawwwyyyyyy,” the hatchling kept wailing.
Oh come on, I am not that scary.
Olivia continued to cradle the small Tarry and tried her best to comfort her by kneeling down close to the sand and making her focus on that.
“Look at all the pretty sand, Kana. Can you say, sand?”
“Wahh- gasp, yay sand!”
Kana, leaping out of her caretaker's hold, landed with a thud on the white sand and played to her heart's content. The small child was immediately focusing on the vivid shape she made, and no longer paid any attention to me.
“It’s a good thing kids have short attention spans.” Olivia held out her now freed hand. “I’m Olivia, I helped found the nursery.”
“Agent Smith. You can call me Cass.” I shook her hand, nearly engulfing it in just my palm alone as I stood back up. “Apparently, I’ll be helpin’ ya get set up at yer new nursery.”
“Well, there’s probably going to be plenty to do. The place is a well-equipped school, but, even though they have the facilities, I don’t think it was built in mind for this many hatchlings living on the grounds,” Olivia contemplated.
“Well, I’ll help wherever I can, and hey, if ya need sum heavy liftin’, ya know who ta call for,” I grinned, tapping my bicep.
“Whooooaaaahhhhh,” an untranslated lizardy voice murmured from behind me, grabbing my attention as Olivia went back to watching the rest of the kids. I looked back and down to see another mini-Tarry. I knew from experience that one thing was definitely going through his mind. My suspicions were confirmed when he lifted his arms, the universal sign of children that they want to be picked up.
“Ma’ lady, would you be so kind as to lift me up and place me upon your shoulder so I may see the top of the world?”
Well at least he’s polite.
I let out a quiet sigh. “No climbing, okay?”
“That’s quite alright!” he accepted. I gently picked up the li’l lizard under his tiny arms and lifted him up to my shoulder, shuffling him up next to my head.
“Whoahhhh… Do you see everything from up here???” he asked in amazement.
“Ayup. Eat yer food and exercise, and given how big you arxur get, you’ll be just as tall as me one day, kid.”
“Well, I’d never presume to best a lady such as yourself,” he humbly offered. I couldn’t hold back a chuckle, shaking my head a little.
“You’re quite the charmer you. Where’d you- ack!”
My question was interrupted by a handful of tiny needles climbing up my back.
“Hey! No! Don’t- Ow!” I was restrained by the gentleman sat atop my shoulder, as another curious lizard clambered their way up my back, poking me all the way up. I was powerless to stop them, as they worked their way up to the top of my head, pomfing down once they reached the top. I sighed, doing my best to stay perfectly still, as while the gentleman lizard was fairly stable on my shoulder, the curious George, who seemed to be barely a toddler lying on my cranium, was anything but.
“Well. So it begins,” I accepted.
“Ooh, I want up there!”
“Wait for me!”
“So tall!...”
“Ack! No! Don’t- fucken!-”
“Swear jar!”
“HAAAAAALP!” I cried out, feeling dozens of tiny needles clamber my body as I was powerless to defend myself. Soon, I was doing everything in my power to prevent at least half a dozen kids from eating dirt, while still enduring a perpetual barrage of stabbing from all sides. I looked around as best I could to see if anyone had heard my cries, but, alas, facing away from the beach, I couldn’t see anyone…
Tell me, God… is this how I die?
And of course, my answer was more claws clambering up my calf.
“ACK!”
I looked behind my calf to see who was the culprit of those little stab wounds on my leg. What I found was an innocent mini Tarry with bunny ears on, who wasn’t trying to climb me. They were actually trying to give me a hug but couldn’t reach all the way.
“Chortle, pew!”
I let out a quiet sigh. “You know what? You’re alright, little guy.”
I leaned over just a bit so the kids on me wouldn’t fall on their heads and gave the bunny Tarry a little pat on the head.
I guess this won’t be that ba- Ow! Never mind.
Previous(MFAD)
Previous(UA)

We suddenly lost our 12 year old Tabby 2 days ago. He was my first and only pet and I am struggling to come to terms with what happened, I feel like I have been robbed and he was taken from us too soon.
Franklin was healthy (that we knew of) happy boy, always meowing away and loved our cuddles.
2 days ago, I saw him in the morning. He ate normally and had been sleeping on the sofa that day. Had been perfectly well and behaving normally. I’m a night shift worker so I had a little late morning nap and then got ready for work. I went downstairs a few hours after I last saw him and found him laying on the living room floor in an odd position with one of his legs in a really strange position. This stopped me in my tracks and I immediately knew that he had gone. I saw that he wasn’t breathing and quickly realised he had sadly died.
He had wet himself and had his eyes and mouth slightly open and wet fur from drool around his mouth. I rang my partner and neighbour and they came and supported me. We cleaned him up a little and put him in his favourite spot where he liked to sleep and I waited for my mum to come home from work so that she could also spend time with him in a nicer position than how I found him.
I have the most horrible feeling I can’t stop picturing how he was laying dead onn his own on the cold floor with his leg in a un-natural position. I feel so awful that I was in the room directly above him when he died and I am so upset that I wasn’t able to be with him when it happened so that he knew he wasn’t alone. I just wish I hadn’t been napping and maybe I would have noticed something was wrong before it was too late. I didn’t try CPR when I found him as I know how ineffective it is especially if it’s not a witnessed collapse. I didn’t want to disturb his little body.
I hope it was a quick death and that he wasn’t scared but my gut says he knew what was going to happen as he would often lay where I found him when he was feeling unwell in the past as I think he knew that was where we always walked past whenever we were going downstairs.
I miss him so much, our house is painfully quiet without him and my mum is also struggling with his loss as he would constantly be following her around and was glued to her lap in the evenings.
I am guessing it was possibly a sudden heart attack or arrhythmia which may have caused a seizure which would explain the funny position he was in and the fact he wet himself.
I’m sorry to ramble but I’m hoping this post will help and if anyone could share similar experiences and any advice I would be so grateful.
I am a paramedic so I’m very used to death but this is causing me so much pain. I wish I had time to hug him and give him a final goodbye but there was just zero warning signs. Life can be so unfair.
Love you always Franklin xx

Seriously, though, constructive criticism please.
I was really trying to adapt to the engrammer layout. I gave it a good college try and just started to feel like there was way too much pinky action in the setup. So I did what any other self-disrespecting person would do... I made it for what works for me. It'll be a work in progress, but isn't that the fun of this? Here it goes:
Esc `\[( )}+= - Tab QYOU; ,LDWP _ CapWd JIEAG .HTSN ' GUI ZXCVB KRMF/ Return
My I & S are shift on hold, E goes to numbers, & A goes to arrows/nav stuff.
I kept the QWERTY positions for QP on top, G and ' on the middle, and ZXCVB/ on the bottom. There seems to be a good retention of the Engrammer-intended roll-ins for common bigrams, so I'm happy about that. However, in typing this, I do find some areas that aren't quite optimized. What do ya'll think? Anyone have a way to run the metrics on it? New to this so I know I'm a little ignorant still.
Oh, I almost forgot... I'm rocking this on a ZSA Voyager!
(EDITED: still getting the hang of my key positions)

Superman #97 - Tales of Metropolis

<< < > Coming July 1st
Author: MajorParadox
Book: Superman
Arc: Heritage
Set: 97

Rain

78 Reeve Rd, Metropolis
Rain poured down over the Kents’ new house. Inside, toys and clothes were littered all around. Clark was in the living room, rocking a crying Lara in his arms as Lois worked on Jon’s grilled cheese in the kitchen, the boy sitting at the table with a coloring book.
“Lois,” Clark called to his wife as he heard a cab pull up in front of the house. “They’re here.”
“What?” asked Lois, pushing down on the bread with a spatula. “Who? Ma and Pa? I thought you were picking them up at the airport.”
“I was,” said Clark, taking in the mess their home had become. “Can I put you down, Lara?” he asked the baby, who took a quick break to stare but quickly returned to tears.
It would only take a few moments to gather all the clutter, but he didn’t want to be holding her during a burst like that. Instead, he made sure Jon was distracted and proceeded to blow a gust of wind, but it didn’t quite go as planned. While some toys moved into the corner, other items in the room fell onto the floor.
“Oops,” said Clark just before there was a knock at the front door.
“We have two kids,” Lois called. “They’ll understand.”
Clark walked Lara to the door and opened it.
“Oh my god,” said Martha as her face melted. “She’s even more adorable than her photos.”
“What happened here?” asked Jonathan, noticing the chaos in the living room.
“Our grandkids did,” Martha retorted, reaching her arms out.
Clark handed Lara to her grandmother and she looked up at her, finally quieting down.
“You are just the sweetest,” she said and the baby cracked a tiny smile.
“Come on in,” said Clark as Jon came running over with a grilled cheese in his hands.
“Gramma, Grandpa!” he yelled.
Jonathan kneeled down and lifted Jon into his arms, letting out a small groan. “Oh boy, Jon,” he said. “You’re getting so big!”
“Hi,” said Lois, walking in next, raising an eyebrow at the Clark once she saw his attempt at cleaning. “You’re here early. ”
“We were able to get on an earlier flight,” Jonathan explained. “And we didn’t want to bother you with picking us up. You’ve got enough on your plates.”
“Besides,” said Martha as she leaned over to Jon to kiss him on the forehead. “We couldn’t wait to get here.” She gave Lara a kiss next and the baby let out a squeaky coo.
“Well, we’re glad to see you,” said Lois, rubbing a hand behind her neck.
“You seem tired,” said Martha. “You two take a break and Jonathan and I will watch the kids.”
“Well, we need more diapers first,” said Lois, looking at Clark. “Do you want to rush over to–”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Jonathan, zipping up his jacket.
“Can I come too, Grampa?” asked Jon.
“Are you sure?” asked Lois, kneeling to his level. “It’s raining pretty hard out there.”
“He’ll be fine,” said Jonathan, tapping his umbrella. “This thing is heavy duty and the convenience store is just down the road.”
“I’m sure, Mommy,” said Jon, rushing to the door.
“Put on your coat,” Clark called, grabbing a small, blue rain jacket from the closet.
“Okay,” Jon agreed.
Jonathan and Jon left once he got all zipped up.
“Go rest and take a nap,” said Martha, realizing Lois wasn’t in the room anymore before she could add “you two.”
“Lois beat you to it,” said Clark. “She fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. Let me just clean–”
“Clark…” said Martha in a mom voice he hadn’t heard in years.
“Okay, Ma,” said Clark, kissing his mom on the forehead and following it up with a kiss for Lara. He moved toward the stairs but suddenly stopped.
“What is it?” asked Martha.
“Clark may need a break,” he said, “but Superman doesn’t always have the luxury.”
Reeve Rd.
Jonathan walked down the sidewalk with Jon close to his side, both shielded from the rain by the rather large, black umbrella.
“I don’t like rain,” said Jon. “I’m not allowed ta play in the yard.”
“Rain is a great thing,” Jonathan said. “It helps plants grow, it cools it down when it’s been too hot, and it can be peaceful to just listen to the sounds of it.”
“Oh,” he answered, not quite sure if he should be upset that his grandfather didn’t agree with him.
“You’re right, it’s not always the best,” Jonathan added. “Like if you had other plans. But, rain doesn’t last forever. And the world would be worse off if it never rained at all.”
Jon considered the words but wasn’t quite sure what to say. He looked up to see a man in red, blue, and yellow flying overhead. “Look!” Jon called. “It’s Superman!”
Jonathan smiled as his son disappeared into a blur. “Wow,” Jonathan exclaimed.
He must have slowed down to give Jon a glimpse. Jonathan wondered how often Clark did that for others.
“Did you ever seen’d him before?” asked Jon.
“Once or twice,” Jonathan answered with a smile.
“Wow,” Jon replied, copying the tone his grandfather used earlier.
The two got to the 6/21 store and Jonathan reached for the door as he looked up at the sky. “The rain’s letting up,” he said.
“I still don’t like rain,” said Jon as he went inside.
Ace O’ Clubs, Suicide Slum
“Hey, Jimbo,” said Bibbo Bibbowski as Jimmy Olsen sat down at the bar. “What can I getcha?”
“Just a beer,” said Jimmy. “Thanks.”
“Everythin’ okay?” asked Bibbo as he poured a glass.
“Girlfriend broke up with me,” Jimmy explained.
“Ruby?” asked Bibbo. “Sorry to hear that.” He flung a drink coaster down and placed the beer on top of it.
Jimmy nodded. “We’d been together for over a year,” he stated.
“That’s rough, pal,” said Bibbo, catching the TV with the corner of his eye. “Hey, look, it’s Supes!” he shouted, reaching for the remote to pump up the volume.
A woman’s voice could be heard describing the video feed. “–fighting what can only be described as a–”
“Did she say why?” Bibbo asked, returning to his conversation with Jimmy, but still watching the news break.
Jimmy sighed. “I wouldn’t say the ‘l’ word.”
“Laundry?” asked Bibbo.
Jimmy almost choked on his beer. “What?” he asked.
“Oh, love!” Bibbo realized. “What’s so hard about that? I love ya, Jimmy Olsen. See? Rolls off da tongue.”
“Excuse me,” a woman with long brown hair, sitting a few seats over said. “I couldn’t help but overhear. Are you the Jimmy Olsen? The one who gets all those great photos of Superman?”
“Yeah, that’s me,” said Jimmy, taking a sip of his beer.
“Can I buy you a drink or something?” the woman asked.
Jimmy sighed and pointed to his beer, oblivious to her smile that faded at his non-answer.
“Oh yeah,” said Bibbo, pointing to the TV. “How come you ain’t out there snapping Superman right now?”
“It’s my day off,” Jimmy answered. “Besides, I’m not in the mood to be around all that excitement right now.”
“Hey!” a man from a table shouted, pointing toward the TV. “That fight is only a couple blocks away.”
Bibbo turned the volume down and motioned for everyone to be quiet. Loud bangs could be heard in the distance. “Yer right!” he shouted. He jumped over the bar and ran to the windows, trying to see if he could catch a glimpse of anything.
A monstrous figure flew by and crashed into the asphalt, causing several cars to slam their brakes and turn around. Superman appeared in a burst of speed, dropping down next to the threat. The rain had picked up again and they were both soaking wet.
“Okay,” Bibbo announced. “You know da drill. Stay away from the door and da windows.”
A man by the door was typing away on his phone.
“Hey!” Bibbo shouted, nearly giving the man a heart attack. “Didn’tcha hear me?”
The man moved further inside the bar as Bibbo stayed at the window, watching the two outside trade blows.

Familiar Faces

Near The Ace O’ Clubs
Mitch Anderson walked up the stairs to the subway, reaching the sidewalk. He didn’t even bother opening his umbrella, instead letting the rain cover him. The ground was shaking underground and he could finally see the source. Superman was fighting some kind of monster in the street.
“Good old Metropolis,” said Mitch, dashing to the nearest secluded alleyway. He pulled off his shirt to reveal his red and white uniform underneath. “Good thing I wore this today,” he said to himself, stripping the rest of his street clothes away and tossing them and his umbrella to the ground. He pulled his mask over his face and glided his way toward the battle.
It had been a long time since Mitch used his powers in public (Superman #66). His mom had moved the family away and forbade him from being a superhero anymore. That didn’t stop him, though. He still helped people when he could in secret.
But Mitch was eighteen now and moving back to Metropolis in the fall. It was time for the return of–
“Outburst!” yelled Superman as Mitch made it onto the scene. “It’s been a while.”
The monster lifted an empty car and tossed it toward the Man of Steel, but Mitch lifted his hands, slowing it down until it hovered next to him.
“Nice save,” Superman said before Mitch sent the car flying back toward the attacker.
Mitch swung his hands around in a swoop, bringing in several other parked cars, forming a blockade around the beast. The magnetic force was held tight, keeping him from escaping.
Superman flew over and dropped with an elbow, finally knocking the monster unconscious.
“Sorry for that, fella,” he told him. “You didn’t seem to mean any trouble. You were just frightened.”
“Nice shot, Superman!” yelled Bibbo from the door to the bar.
Mitch swerved the cars back to their parking spaces and Superman lifted the unconscious animal in his arms.
“Thanks for the assist,” he said. “I better get him somewhere safer before he wakes up.” With that, the hero flew off into the distance.
“Any time,” said Mitch to himself, wondering if Superman heard him anyway. He returned to the alley and picked up his clothes, dressing himself quickly. They were soaking wet, but what could he do? The rain wasn’t letting up either.
Mitch opened the door to the Ace O’ Clubs and Bibbo’s eyes lit up.
“Mitch Anderson?” he asked. “Is that’chu?”
“Hey, Bibbo,” Mitch answered, letting the door close behind him. “Long time no see.”
“How ya doin’?” Bibbo asked. “How’s yer mom?”
“Mom’s good,” said Mitch. “I’m in town for college orientation. Going to Met U in the fall.”
“That’s great!” said Bibbo, patting him on the shoulder. “You hungry?” he asked. “Anything you want is on da house!”
“Thanks, but I can’t stay long,” said Mitch. “I’m meeting a… friend.”
“Would they be of the romantic kind?” Bibbo asked.
Mitch couldn’t help but blush a bit. “My ex,” he explained. “Well, kinda. We never really put a label on it. I’m hoping we could pick up where we left off when I moved, but–”
“Dunno if she feels the same way?” Bibbo cut in.
“Yeah.”
Bibbo didn’t even take a moment to consider his answer. “Never really know unless ya ask her, right?”
“Hey, thanks for the beer,” said Jimmy, walking by toward the door.
“Take care, Jimbo,” said Bibbo with a nod. “And don’t be afraid of love.”
Jimmy chuckled before leaving the bar.
Subway
Soon
Jimmy watched the underground tunnels go by while lost in thought. Was Bibbo right? Was he afraid of love?
He couldn’t be. Jimmy loved Lucy Lane once upon a time. And then a kiss happened with Dana Dearden (Superman #53)– AKA Obsession– and things spiraled from there. It seemed like they got past it for a bit, but it didn’t last.
But if Jimmy wasn’t afraid of love, why was he so hesitant with Ruby? He never really stopped to think about why it was so difficult. He really did care for her, but… Maybe he just didn’t love her. Not like he loved Lucy.
“Jimmy?” a voice said above him. He looked up to find Lucy holding the handrail.
Did he just manifest her? Was he developing powers? Or maybe just dreaming?
“Hello?” Lucy asked, waving her hand as her lips did that almost mischievous half-smile of hers.
“Lucy!” Jimmy said louder than he expected, drawing stares from others. He stood up to meet her eyes. “What are you– um, how are… it’s good to see you.”
“You too,” Lucy answered. “I’m in town to meet my new niece.”
“Oh, that’s great,” said Jimmy. “She’s adorable. You’ll love her.”
Lucy’s perfume overpowered Jimmy’s senses. He missed the way she smelled.
“You know it’s funny,” said Lucy. “We started dating after Jon was born.”
Jimmy thought back. He had worn a bowtie that day in the hospital. It’d become a lucky charm since.
“That is funny,” Jimmy replied. He looked up at the next stop displayed on the readout. It was his stop. But he didn’t want to get off. He wanted to keep talking to Lucy forever.
Oh god, he realized something. He was certain he wasn’t afraid of love now. The problem was he still loved Lucy.
Jimmy’s heart pounded so hard, he thought it would pop right out of his chest. He panicked and pointed toward the doors as the subway car slowed. “This is my stop,” he said.
“Oh,” said Lucy.
“Yeah,” said Jimmy.
“Maybe we can–”
“How about–”
Lucy smiled and Jimmy let out a nervous giggle.
“I’ll be in town for a bit,” Lucy said. “Let's get together and catch up sometime.”
Jimmy nodded and stepped out of the subway car as soon as the doors opened. He turned around and watched Lucy wave through the window. As the car took off again, she went to sit down and pulled out her phone.
Why did he leave? It’s not like he had plans. Why did he feel so nervous? He knew Lucy. He loved her.
Maybe Bibbo was right after all. Maybe he was afraid of love.
LexCorp Tower
Lena Luthor’s phone began ringing as she walked toward the entrance to LexCorp Tower, her umbrella in hand. She pulled the phone out of her coat pocket to find a photo of her old roommate Lucy Lane on the lock screen.
“Hey, Lucy,” she said upon answering it.
“Lena,” Lucy said. “It’s been too long. I’m actually in town visiting my new niece, but I was wondering if you were free later this week to catch up.”
“That would be great,” said Lena as the automatic doors to the building opened. She tucked the phone into her neck and collapsed the umbrella. “I’ll have to move some things around in my schedule, so let me get back to you.”
“Of course,” said Lucy. “You’ve been through so much since– uh, things went downhill with your dad. It’s amazing to see how far you’ve come since our Gotham U days, though.”
“Yeah, it took a while,” Lena agreed. “But after a lot of paperwork and legal hoopla, the board finally named me as the new CEO.”
“Congratulations,” Lucy offered, but Lena didn’t quite catch it. Someone outside caught her eyes instead.
There was a man in a black hoodie with brown hair and sunglasses. Who wore sunglasses in the rain? Lena only saw him for a second, but he looked oddly familiar. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
“Still with me?” asked Lucy.
Lena couldn’t see the man anymore, so she shook her head and proceeded toward the elevators.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” she said. “I’m heading inside now, let me take a look at my calendar and get back to you.”

Sunny Days

LexCorp Tower
The man in sunglasses was hiding behind a pillar. He tapped a sequence against the metal structure and a piece of it swung open, revealing a small, tube-like compartment. The man stepped in and it swung closed and the compartment moved downward, underground..
Shortly after a woman in a gray hoodie walked over, made sure the coast was clear, and disappeared from LexCorp Tower’s entrance in the same manner.
Underneath the building a small doorway opened into a secret area and the woman walked out. The place was small, but there was a lot of equipment scattered around. And an array of security monitors displaying different areas inside and outside of LexCorp.
The man walked over, taking off his sunglasses and pulling at his hair, which popped right off, revealing a bald head.
“Lex,” she said. “Why are we meeting here? This is the last place you should be.”
“Mercy,” Lex answered. “This is also the last place they’d look for me. Now, what happened with the so-called Superman Revenge Squad?”
“Even with the kryptonite,” Mercy explained. “Superman managed to get away unharmed.” (Superman #95).
“Just as well,” said Lex. “I didn’t think they could succeed anyway. But it was a good field operation to test the blue variety against him. How did that turn out?”
“Things went south quickly, so I wasn’t in a position to monitor the fight,” said Mercy. “But, the Kryptonian named General Zod is being held at S.T.A.R. Labs now. Rumor has it they managed to render him powerless.”
“Powerless,” Lex repeated. “If they used blue kryptonite and it can deactivate a Kryptonian’s powers entirely, this could be a game-changer.”
“Lex,” said Mercy, taking a few moments to find the right words. “I know you blame Superman for your downfall, but you got away. We could just go and find a new life. Together.”
Lex raised an eyebrow. “I’ve never known you to be sentimental,” he said. “I also thought you knew our arrangement was purely physical.”
Mercy felt her breathing stop. She knew the whole time Lex never felt the same way about her that she felt about him. But once they started getting closer… Maybe she fooled herself, thinking he would.
“I know,” said Mercy, holding herself back from shaking. “It was just a thought.”
She sacrificed so much for him and she was offering to sacrifice more. None of the legal trouble after the presidential fallout stuck to her. She could move on with her life. Was it worth it sticking with him?
“So, what comes next?” asked Mercy.
Lex let out a half smile. “I want to show you the other reason for staying close to Metropolis,” he said, walking over to a table of circuits and machinery. There was a white sheet over something big in the corner, which Lex pulled off in a display of showmanship.
It wasn’t much to look at, but it had the familiar outline of a manned exo-suit.
“Is that…?”
“Yes,” said Lex. “I’ve been sneaking parts from upstairs for a while now to rebuild my armor. It will take a while, but when it’s done, the world won’t be ready.”
Mercy let out a smile. How could she ever doubt him? The man was a visionary genius and she would always love him, even if he never felt the same way.
Lex’s attention turned to the security monitors. One of them at street level showed a car accident quickly turning into a four-car pile-up. Superman arrived on the scene and was seemingly checking on the injuries.
“This is why it’s not safe here,” said Mercy. “The last thing you need is for him to spot you before you’re ready for him.”
Lex watched as Superman lifted one of the passengers into his arms and flew away.
“He hasn’t spotted me yet,” said Lex.
Mercy nodded. The man knew what he was doing.
Metropolis General Hospital
Superman arrived in the emergency room entrance and gently placed the injured passenger into an empty wheelchair. “Excuse me,” he said to the triage nurse who was already staring in his direction.
She had heard stories of Superman showing up before, but she’d never been on duty to see it for herself.
“Can- can I help you?” she asked the hero.
“This woman was involved in a car accident and needs medical attention,” Superman explained.
“Is- Is everyone else okay?” the nurse asked. “From the accident?”
“They’re fine,” said Superman. “But this young woman seems to have broken her leg.”
“Thanks, Mr.– Uh, Superman,” the nurse managed to get out. “We’ll take good care of her.”
Some orderlies came by to wheel her toward an empty room.
“I’m sure you will,” said Superman before waving as he walked back the way he came. He passed by another woman entering who he seemed to know and the two exchanged pleasantries.
“Hi,” the woman said upon reaching the desk, holding her left arm by the elbow with her other one. “I’m Inspector Maggie Sawyer of the Metropolis Special Crimes Unit. I hurt my arm on duty and I need to get it checked out.”
“Bring her to exam four,” a doctor said as she walked by the desk.
In the quick moment Maggie saw her, she couldn’t help but notice her kind, brown eyes.
“But Dr. Franklin,” the triage nurse called.
The doctor lifted a hand in the air, and spun around to give a carefree wink.
“I guess you can fill out these forms in the exam room,” the nurse said, handing over the clipboard.
Maggie took them and followed an orderly to the room, where she sat down and waited.
She felt her heart beating a mile a minute. Was her injury worse than she thought? Sure, the doctor was attractive, but Maggie never had a reaction like that to meeting anyone. Not even her on-again off-again girlfriend Toby Raynes.
Maggie was too in control of her emotions to swoon like a teenager. It must have been something else. Maybe she had too much coffee.
“Hello again, Inspector,” Dr. Franklin said, entering the exam room and Maggie’s heart dropped. “Let’s take a look at that arm.”
Maggie nodded. “Thank you Dr. Franklin,” she added as an afterthought.
“You can call me Amina if you want,” the doctor said, taking Maggie’s arm into her hands. The pleasantness of her gentle touch vastly outweighed the pain.
“You can call me Maggie.”
“I have to admit,” said Amina. “I’m a little starstruck. I’ve seen you on the news. You lead such an extraordinary life.”
Maggie pulled from deep down, knowing she had to say something. “Being a doctor must be extraora– I mean extraordinary too,” she said.
What was wrong with her? She was never shy or messed up her words like that before.
Amina just chuckled. “It has its days,” she replied. “I don’t think it’s broken, but I’d like to get some x rays just to be sure.”
“That’s good,” said Maggie, realizing Amina was still holding her arm.
“Oh, sorry,” the doctor said, letting go. “I guess I was lost in thought.
“Me too,” said Maggie, realizing she had rarely looked away from Anima’s eyes.
“We should have asked Superman to check you out when he was here,” Amina said with a chuckle.
Maggie delighted in the sound. “I’m sure he had better things to do.”
Kent House
Clark opened the door to find Sam, Ella, and Lucy Lane. “Right on time,” he said. “Come one in and get out of the rain.”
Jon ran over and gave Lucy a high five as Martha walked over with Lara in her arms. Lois walked up beside them.
“Oh, she’s even more adorable in person,” said Ella, reaching out her hands. “May I?” she asked.
Martha handed over the baby with an “Of course!”
Ella looked down into Lara’s eyes and smiled.
“Look!” said Jon, pointing outside before Clark closed the door. “The rain stopped!!”
“You’re right,” said Clark.
Jonathan walked over and knelt down to Jon. “See,” he said. “It can’t rain forever.”
“I guess,” said Jon. “But I think I like the rain now.”
“You know what’s even better than rain?” asked Lois, walking over to the two. She pointed up into the sky and Jon’s face lit up.
“Wow,” said Jon.
Everyone walked out to the front porch to admire the rainbow spread across the sky.
<< < > Coming July 1st

Am I above taking a shot at the lowest of low-hanging fruit just to score some easy upvotes? Apparently not. On the other hand, I can legitimately see billionaire Wall Street fund managers doing something like this.
If you prefer to listen rather than read, you can find this story on my Youtube channel: The Warlocks of Wall Street
*
​
Seven men stood around the pentagram. One at each of the five points of the unholy star, and two more by the altar. Each man was cloaked in a black robe and an aura of shadow that clung to them like oil.
​
The sacrilegious chant echoed off the stone walls of the chamber. Foul texts were inscribed thereon, their words unreadable to any sane man. Words of protection. Words of binding. Deep in the grooves of each inscription was a dark residue that shone rust-red as it caught the candlelight from the pentagram.
​
The candlelight also caught the blade in the Magister's hand. The chanting accelerated, syllables streaming out of the mouths of the hooded figures, unknowable phrases that seemed to coil through the air as they left the cultists' mouths, like the smoke rising from the candles. The knife flashed, and the goat that had been laying entranced upon the altar started gushing bright, red blood.
​
"Baalchazar, Baalchazar, we summon you!" The final words rang out, and then... silence.
​
For a moment the cultists stood there, and from the way their hoods turned fractionally towards their neighbours, you might almost think they were looking for reassurance. Their feet shifted, uncertainly.
​
Then the candles flared, casting distorted shadows of the seven cultists across the walls, before dying down again so dim that darkness almost swallowed the chamber. There was a soft noise, as of someone letting go a breath, then...
​
"Alright, I'm here, I'm here. What do you want?"
​
The candles flickered into life again. There were no longer seven figures in the room. Now there was an eighth, and he was standing in the centre of the pentagram. He looked like a man, in an expensive yet nondescript suit. It was only his eyes that gave him away, still smouldering red with the fires of hell.
​
The Magister wiped the blood from his knife and approached the circle, slowly.
​
"Well?", the demon asked. "I haven't got all day, you know."
​
The Magister hesitated, perhaps slightly put off by the new arrival's relaxed attitude. Then he mustered his occult authority, and proclaimed in sonorous tones: "Baalchazar, demon of the second rank, servant of the Pit, master of foretellers and soothsayers, by the rites of Ancient Ur and the bindings of the Edomites, we adjure thee!", he proclaimed, raising his hands in a manner he probably thought was dramatic, but looked more like he was signalling a touchdown.
​
The demon rolled his eyes. "Well yes, obviously, that was implied by all... this.", he said waving his hand vaguely at the pentagram, candles, and robed figures. "*What* do you adjure me? Presumably you had something in mind and didn't call me up here just to have a chat."
​
The hoods looked at each other again. It was pretty clear that they hadn't done this before, and whatever they'd been expecting, it wasn't this.
​
"We demand... uh...", the Magister started in his stentorian voice, then hesitated. Then he coughed. He looked like he sensed the whole production was starting to slip away from him, but clearly he had a script and he intended to stick to it. "We demand of you arcane knowledge! By Lucifer, by Lilith, in the name of Pandaemonium and Dis, we command you to tell us..."
​
There was a pause. Possibly for dramatic effect, possibly because the Magister realised that having put so much effort into the lead-up anything he said now would be an anti-climax.
​
"Yes...", the demon said encouragingly.
​
"... what will be in the NVidia quarterly report?"
​
You could have cut the tension in the air with a knife, which the goat would no doubt have preferred. Seven men waited with baited breath to see whether their transgressions against all the laws of man and god were about to pay off - like Hollywood producers on Oscar night.
​
Baalchazar shrugged. "Oh, is that all. Net profits will be twelve point three billion, up forty-six percent from the previous quarter. We done here?"
​
"We... uh... is that it?"
​
"Is what it? You asked, I answered."
​
"Yes, but...", the Magister hesitated.
​
One of the other cultists spoke up: "We were expecting that you'd... you know, make it a bit more difficult for us. Answer in riddles, something like that. 'NVidia's price shall rise as high as the moon on the fifth night of June.'"
​
Baalchazar winced at this attempt at poetry, then shrugged. "Yes, well, that's normally the sort of thing I'd do, but it's not worth the effort this time because - and I really can't stress this enough - I don't care."
​
"You don't care?"
​
"Not in the slightest. This is just not the sort of thing that interests me, it's all a bit... trite, to be honest. No offence.", he said. Like everyone who has ever used that phrase, clearly intending to be offensive. "If you were a dark brotherhood seeking to unlock secrets of blasphemous sorcery to make yourselves gods amongst men, then I might actually take an interest. But this? Well put it this way, for me this is like being a classically trained Shakespearean actor having to sit through a kid's school play."
​
"Well that was uncalled for.", one of the cloaked figures said, a little peevishly.
​
"No, the designer robes were uncalled for. Why does Armani even have a range of hooded cloaks anyway?"
​
"They make them for orgies.", one of the other cultists volunteered cheerfully. "My wife and I have a matching set."
​
"Circling back to the focus of the... summoning.", the Magister said, biting down before he said 'meeting'. "You're saying that NVidia will see a 46% rise in profits this quarter? You're really just going to give it to us as easy as that?"
​
"Yep. Hey, since we're here: Tesla is going to be down twenty percent, Goldman Sachs is going to have a surprise rally starting at three-ninety before topping out at four hundred fifty a share, and oil prices are going to rise by ten dollars a barrel."
​
"Oh come on, now you're just fucking with us.", one of the cultists said, crossing his arms. "It can't be that simple, there has to be a catch."
​
"No catch. Scouts honour.", Baalchazar said, giving them the three-fingered salute. "You know how the summoning works: I can't lie."
​
"That's right.", the Magister confirmed. "The ritual compels the demon to answer truthfully. That's why there's usually all that chicanery with the riddles and stuff, to stick to the letter of the rules while still being as unhelpful as possible."
​
"Which, like I said, is exactly what I would do... if I cared.", the demon said, tapping his feet. "But I don't, so you get a freebie this time. Now, are we done here?"
​
The hooded figures looked at each other again.
​
"You're not even going to try and tempt us?", one of them asked, sounding almost disappointed, as if he'd been looking forward to at least window-shopping the treasures on offer for his soul.
​
Baalchazar raised an eyebrow. "You guys work on *Wall Street*. I think it's pretty much a given that we're going to be seeing you down below sooner or later. Not really much for me to do here."
​
"Well, I guess...", the Magister started. "I mean, that's it, isn't it? Time to send him back? We've got what we wanted, right?"
​
"I still think it's a trick.", the cultist with his arms crossed said bluntly.
​
"It can't be... the spell..."
​
"We shouldn't let him go! Get him to give us more!"
​
There was a hubbub of voices for a moment as the cultists all started trying to shout over each other, and suspicion, greed, and the pressing desire of one cultist to end the summoning so he could go to the bathroom, all vied against each other. Then the Magister put up his hands.
​
"Okay, okay, enough!", he shouted, and the cultists started to simmer down. "He's answered our question. We got as clear an answer as we're going to get, there's no reason to keep him here."
​
"I still think we should pump him for more information.", said one of the greedier cultists.
​
"Well if you really want to know more secrets,", Baalchazar said, "We could always discuss who's sleeping with who's wives."
​
"Never mind.", the cultist mumbled.
​
"Right.", the Magister said firmly, clinging onto his control over the situation by the very tips of his fingers. "Then we're all agreed: we're done here." He looked around the circle, and one by one, the hoods nodded. He looked back at Baalchazar: "By the ancient compacts between the Lord of Damnation and his servants, we have summoned thee, and we have bound thee, and we have compelled thee to offer forth thine secrets. Now, by the ancient oaths of Akkad and the bindings of Alhazred we have heard thine words..."
​
Baalchazar rolled his eyes and made the rotating hand gesture for 'let's move this along, shall we'.
​
The Magister sighed. This had been a very trying experience, in ways he hadn't been expecting. "Alright, let's just get this done. We all remember the banishment ritual?" There was a round of nods. "Okay then: a one, a two, a one two three four..."
​
As the chant started and began to ramp up, the trace of a smile began to spread across Baalchazar's face. Partly because this whole farce was finally over. But mostly because they'd taken the bait.
​
If he'd answered with a riddle they would analysed it to hell and back, metaphorically speaking, but they would have been confident in their results. After all, that was all in the game. But cooperating? They hadn't expected that, and it set the gnawing worm of paranoia loose in their mind.
​
It just so happened that one of the men present here knew someone at Goldman Sachs. He would make discreet enquiries with this person, just using the information as a benchmark to judge how far to trust Baalchazar's other answers.
​
Although the man with the friend at Goldman Sachs wouldn't touch their stock himself - that would be insider trading, after all - three of the other robed dipshits here tonight would make massive bets on it. Enough to draw the SEC's attention, given that everyone was currently expecting the stock to tank. The Goldman Sachs employee could be linked to them through his friend, and because he was a nervous sort who folded as soon as he was put in a room with an SEC investigator, he'd mention he might have let certain details slip... they'd never find an actual paper trail, but all four men involved had provably collaborated on stock trades, and that was enough. After all, there was no *rational* explanation for their sudden good fortune.
​
Once the first conviction loomed, all seven of the cultists would turn on each other one by one, hoping to stay out of jail by pointing the finger at their compatriots' other dubious dealings. Fines would be levied, marriages would fall apart, careers would go down in flames. Half of them would go to jail anyway. In a very short time, every man in this room would be ruined by their own greed, cowardice, and betrayals.
​
Baalchazar just managed to hold in his laughter until the banishment spell finished in a flare of candlelight. Really, his job was almost too easy sometimes.
​
​

https://archive.is/QKZin
Michael Magee of Orange is urging the Athol Conservation Commission to oppose legislation filed by state Sen. Jo Comerford for the Quabbin Reservoir.
Comerford and state Rep. Aaron Saunders of Belchertown filed a bill (S 447 / H 897) that would impose a 5 cent per 1,000 gallon excise on Quabbin water. The lawmakers estimate the tax would produce $3.5 million, which would be directed to Quabbin watershed communities and local nonprofits with a focus on these towns’ health, welfare, safety and transit.
That bill also would mandate that the Massachusetts Water Resources Authority (MWRA) analyze potable water in western Massachusetts across multiple watersheds. The studies would include an assessment of the kinds of infrastructure that would be needed to provide water to each community from local resources.
In an interview, Comerford said her bill would also expand the number of western Mass representatives to the MWRA board from one to three.
“And that one person is not necessarily speaking on behalf of Hampshire or Franklin counties,” she said. “It’s important, I believe, to have a greater voice. Three people would have a better chance of communicating the many things our communities care about.”
Another change would come in the way PILOT (payment in lieu of taxes) payments are made. PILOT payments are made to communities for property owned by the state, but which are not subject to local property tax assessments. Comerford said that land lying under the Quabbin is not counted when figuring the state’s PILOT obligations.
“And yet the communities around the Quabbin are stewarding this public land in order to make sure the water is pristine,” she continued. “In my mind, the area covered by water should be part of the PILOT payment back to communities.”
The bill is currently under consideration by the Legislature’s Energy & Environment Committee.

‘It’s a crazy idea’

While he served on the Orange Conservation Commission years ago, Magee told the Athol Daily News he’s lobbying against the bill as a private citizen. Magee went before the Athol Conservation Commission at its meeting on Tuesday, May 28.
““I’m just now writing to a bunch of other conservation commissions,” he said. “I’m going to contact everybody I can. As I said last night (May 28), it’s a crazy idea.”
At the top of Magee’s concerns is the potential strain on the Quabbin Reservoir that could result from expansion of the MWRA’s service area.
“I remember years ago, when the water was so low in the Quabbin, they proposed putting a pipe in that would go all the way to either the Connecticut or the Millers River to replenish it,” he said. “I understand that sometimes these crazy ideas actually become law because nobody says anything.”
Magee claims that, under Comerford’s legislation, water from the reservoir would be piped to the north and south shores of Massachusetts Bay, and to more communities in MetroWest.
“Once those communities get Quabbin water they’re not going to take care of their own water supplies anymore,” he said. “They already have plenty of water. But once they’re on Quabbin water they can do any development they want…and they’ll become dependent on Quabbin water.”
Magee pointed out that several times in the last 60 years, climate conditions led to the water level in Quabbin becoming “extremely low.” Magee said that one of the worst droughts occurred between 1964 to 1972, with others happening between 1983 and 1989, 2000 to 2003, and most recently between 2015 and 2017.
“It will happen again,” Magee predicted. “It’s inevitable. And then what? We have to take care of our existing water supplies.”
Magee also argues that the additional PILOT payments are inadequate to compensate Quabbin towns for the sacrifices made for the Quabbin watershed.

Comerford defends bill

Comerford refuted Magee’s contention that she is interested in sending Quabbin water to eastern Massachusetts or beyond its current service area. She said the MWRA recently did three studies on the potential availability of potable water supplies in eastern Massachusetts, as well as of expanding the distribution of Quabbin water to that part of the state.
“Truth be told,” she said, “I’ve been trying to put the brakes on that.”
The senator said the time has come for the state to conduct similar studies in western Massachusetts.
“I am worried that if we open up the taps on Quabbin water to eastern Mass that we will go above safe yield and there wouldn’t be any options for us to look at in western Massachusetts,” she said.
Comerford said recent reports that the MWRA is undertaking a study to pipe water from the Quabbin Reservoir to the towns that surround it are incomplete.
“That’s a limited take,” she explained. “They are absolutely looking at whether western Mass towns could access the Quabbin. But they’re also looking at other things, like aquifers, existing wells and other watersheds. They understand the Quabbin could be a resource for some (communities) but that it won’t work for all.”
Comerford also said while the legislation would mandate that MWRA to explore opportunities to expand into new communities, that doesn’t mean the water authority would have any control over how communities address their own drinking water needs.
“There would be not jurisdiction for MWRA to mandate anything in any community,” she said. “The MWRA can’t tell Northampton, can’t tell Athol what to do. Athol’s town government makes those decisions.”
Comerford also disputed Magee’s contention that the bill would encourage communities surrounding the reservoir to get their water from Quabbin, something, he says, which “would cost billions of dollars.” More than half the small towns around Quabbin get water exclusively from wells, while Orange, Belchertown, Ware and Barre have a mix of public water and private wells.
“We’re not saying that these communities must have access to Quabbin water, but we are saying the state has a responsibility to make sure they have access to potable water,” Comerford said. “So, it may not make any financial sense to ship our Quabbin water to a community, either because they don’t have the infrastructure or they’re too far away. But I do think the state has a responsibility to understand the current potable water structure to understand where wells might possibly be dug. Communities out east all have had these studies done on the state’s dime.”

I think the downfall kinda started from the third season itself. With that being said, season 3 was flawed but great overall, especially the mystery. I'm no expert, but I think the fourth and fifth season would've been better if:

• They made Benjamin a private investigator who's here to play principal while trying to win over his main suspects Samuel, Guzman, and Cayetana.
• They showed Ari's flaws and didn't make her a plot device. Also, her drinking problems and attempted murder were addressed.
• Guzman & Nadia break up on the first episode due to long distance relationship
• Make the mystery in s4 about Armando's death and season 5 about Samu's except it's more defined and has closure or a fire in Las Encinas and a few main characters die
• Nico's a minor recurring character in season 5 instead of Bilal. I know his character writing isn't perfect but it's a million times better compared to Bilal if anything
• This is also a big change in season 3 but Omar's parents will be the conflict from Omander as Omar was still estranged from them. The drama unfolding between Ander and Omar's family would have been too good to see. Omar realizes his self worth and leaves him, and it's up to Ander to fight for him this time. The Omar and Yusef storyline will still be there. Eventually Omar and Ander breaks up in the third episode of season 4 due to the same reason as Nuzman & Ander eventually graduates. Nadia consoles Omar
• The investigation of Polo's murder will continue and Caye is one of the suspects due to her blood in the bottle.
• Rebeka kills Armando

The Samuel-Ari-Guzman Love triangle
Samuel is still heartbroken about Carla and spends a lot of time in the first few episodes of the season checking her Instagram, sending her texts that's unanswered and drawing her, the same way there was a scene back in S1 of Sam drawing Marina. I'd also add a scene of Samuel seeing a blonde girl in Las Encinas from the back and sadly thinking about Carla, just to really emphasize that he really does miss her. Guzman isn't doing so well either. He would be drinking a lot, and concerning Ander, Samuel, and Omar. I'd have Guzman deal with the insecurity and pain of losing not only his sister and his best friend, but the girl that he thought he'd be with forever. Guzman checks Nadia's Instagram too, and noticing that Nadia is starting to post pictures with a new guy. This serves to fuel Guzman's loneliness and desperation to find someone new so he doesn't look pathetic still pining after Nadia while she has seemingly already moved on. Samu is physically attracted to Ari from the moment he sees her, but gets turned off from her classist attitude towards him and Caye and keeps his distance for a few episodes. A while later, after constantly having his texts ignored by Carla and even seeing that she has blocked him, have him realize that he has no choice but to move on. Have him and Ari bond over her mother's death. He notices Ari's bond to Mencia, which makes him think of his relationship with his Nano, and eventually makes him come to the realization that there is a lot more to Ari than meets the eye, and that they actually have some things in common. Everyday, Nadia is posting more and more with this new guy, which eventually pushes Guzman over the edge. He then becomes determined to be with Ari, now convinced that she is the only thing that can distract him from his heartbreak. Guzman notices how classist Ari is, and pretends to be classist as well, particularly to Samuel, Omar & Caye, just to win her over. This is successful, and Ari and Guzman become an item. Guzman immediately makes it Instagram official, mostly just to make Samu & Nadia jealous. Guzman proceeds to be classist towards Samuel, with the belief that that's what Ari wants him to act like. Later he apologize to Samuel in secret and let him know that he hates acting like that, but is only doing so out of fear of losing Ari. Have Guzman confide in Samuel and tell him that being around Ari is a big comfort for him and distracts him from thinking about how he's lost Polo, Marina, and Nadia. Have Samuel sympathize and forgive Guzman, but secretly be jealous as he has also begun to take comfort in Ari after having lost Carla.
Phillipe and Caye

• Season 5 will focus on Cayetana's mental health after her SA rather than Phillipe's redemption
• Caye has Ari and Rebe on her back. Rebeka even beats Phillipe to a pulp for what he did either on beginning of s5 or ending of 4th season.
• Patrick and Phillipe has more scenes together. Show that they're friends, not tell. Same with Cayetana with Rebeka or Ari.
• Isadora eventually apologizes to Cayetana and that's before her rape.
• Phillipe and Ivan reports the perpetrators while also turning himself in. Due to that, Phillipe ends up in a VIP prison or smth similar
• Phillipe calls Isadora out for bullying Cayetana

The show ends on the fifth season with maybe a few short stories. In season 5 there are scenes about the aftermath of Samu's death or the fire incident.

"Give me the man and I will give you the case against him," said Soviet secret police chief Lavrentiy Beria. They could find the defendant guilty of something if they so desired. Emotions over structure. A political game over justice. Corruption over truth. Ideology over everything.
I’m trying to understand what has happened to Donald Trump and how his conviction will affect America in the long run. He was convicted on all 34 charges and he probably will go to jail. Whatever they blame him for committing, they committed themselves. Trump didn’t jail his political opponent; they did, or at least they are openly trying to do so, as the Soviet Union leaders did in my home country.
I always thought that you must listen carefully to the political speech of anyone who runs for president. If his speech fills you with fear and hopelessness, if his ideas divide Americans, he shouldn’t be president of this great nation. I watched Trump and I felt love and pride for America, great unity. I watched Biden and I felt hopelessness and fear before this country in its racial and ideological division.
We are one step away from tyranny. We always are. So many of us are afraid to speak our minds. The line has been crossed. Trump in jail is a real possibility. Jailing your political opponents on trumped-up charges might become normal for this country, and what then? The Constitution, the Bill of Rights, everything that makes this country great would become irrelevant.
I love America. And when you truly love something, you have to be able to defend it. We have degraded love into promiscuous sex and true patriotism into fearful niceness. So many of us pretend to be free until one day you decide to exercise your freedom, and what then? It’s like having a wife who cheats on you, but you pretend that she’s not, and you both keep living in this denial until one day it’s too hard not to notice the reality of your miserable existence. The same with freedom. You have to fight for what you believe. Today you might be banned from social media for your views or lose your job. Tomorrow you might lose your freedom or your life.
Freedom is something that must be constantly defended. Don’t give away your freedom for comfort; you might end up with neither. Who said that? Benjamin Franklin? Weakness runs on emotions and ignorance. Have you seen Robert DeNiro’s attempt to speak up in front of the courthouse? Quite pitiful.
I don’t understand this hate toward Donald Trump. As an immigrant and an American citizen, I voted for him once and I will vote for him again. We mustn’t be afraid to express ourselves because if we are, we already aren’t free but chained to a train that is going straight toward an authoritarian regime. And let me tell you, it’s no fun to live under it. I know; I was born in the Soviet Union.
And if you think guns would help you, think again. At first, they would make laws confusing and selective. This would train you to doubt common sense and the idea of self-defense in general. Then they will begin putting people in jail for their ideas and for exercising their rights. Gradually, you will notice that you are afraid to express your ideas and begin self-censoring yourself. They will get into your head with their repetitive slogans until you realize that you’re afraid to think outside the box of the ideology enforced on you. People who are afraid to think have no ground under their feet. If you have no ground under your feet, a gun in your hands is just a useless toy that would never dare to fire because the finger on the trigger is being controlled by a mind that, in turn, is being controlled by the government.
George Washington said, “A free people ought not only to be armed, but disciplined; to which end a uniform and well-digested plan is requisite.” Yes, we are well-armed, but are we disciplined? Are we disciplined enough to understand the importance of the current situation? Will we vote knowingly and reasonably, or emotionally and angrily, or not vote at all? Washington also said, “The value of liberty was thus enhanced in our estimation by the difficulty of its attainment, and the worth of characters appreciated by the trial of adversity.” The trial is here. We will see if we truly value our liberty and have characters in us that are worth it. We will see if we are still truly Americans in the sense the Founding Fathers saw Americans. We will see if we are still worthy of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Not the right to be happy, but the right to pursue our own individual happiness, which makes us happy in the pursuit. We will see if we are still worthy to have the idea of the United States of America.
It’s not enough to be an American just because you happened to be born in this country. To be truly American, you have to love your freedom and be willing to die for it. To be an American is to love individuality, independence, and strength. Why did the bald eagle become a national American symbol? Because it flies high and alone. Because it has pride and independence. Because it never feeds off someone’s hand. It always gets its food by itself. Because it can never be domesticated and turned into a chicken.
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There is now a new historical parallel to Gaza in Donald Trump being found guilty of 34 felonies. It's an example where in Gaza there was no way to stop before starting. Jury Duty service, I'm old enough to have experience with. As long as you're physically able we have a civic responsibility to report when called to the Jury Pool. Once there they play a video of how there is a good chance they will not need us. Once they played a good part of the Spider Man movie I never saw before, good versus evil theme just right for the occasion. One time I was called as a juror. It was an easy case to decide, done that day.
There is no dictator deciding. It's what I as juror decided, happy to have served in. At first I wished I could stay home. Feel good once there. Not as boring as I thought. They try to make it a fun learning experience about how the judicial system works.
Gazans wanting this judicial system in the government to replace Hamas dictatorship, would be something the free-world would be excited by. Want to invest in the fastest rebuild in history. Otherwise the Republican plan looks better all the time. Instead get UN tents to match the "refugee" status Hamas depended on for charity money. Made it seem like all wanted to leave Gaza anyway. The image made it easy for that to be stolen by the real estate sharks already swimming around offshore. The biggest of them all just had a jury of peers bring him down. Moral lesson of King Nothing plays on.
Rebuilds for Gaza can include modern court buildings planned for jury pool comfort. In getting back to WW2 the very lenient denazification method of the French might work as long as they can take their place in it. Can help now by figuring out how to adapt the USA material to educate and entertain a jury pool. Judges and all others are just to make sure we the jury get all the facts.
Those who are waiting out the battle together can use the time to plan for when its time for the IDF to be their entourage back home to safely implement. It's not what Israel would have come up with. But they have to love them, or even President Biden might get angry. He's into history, reminds us it's watching. A Reddit sub for doing what Ben Franklin would do looks like is not exactly what President Biden was imagining either. With all said, it's even better. Gaza and the USA are for different reasons both back to the scientist founder of this nation. Independence was from British colonialism, while for Gaza it's a WW2 German taxation without representation colonialism controlled in the Middle East through the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem then later Hamas.
Colonists want adherence to their religion and rules no choice. Jury system does the opposite by giving that power to we the people. It's then an in it together sort of thing, not something unique to Gaza, at just the right time in history to help Gazans prepare for rebuilding society with them in control of important court actions this time. Colonists like Christian nationalists were using Trump to impose a religious dictatorship.
The more a shared history the better, for planning strategy where on side the only orders in the (as in psychology for this purpose) parallel culture/structure/society to find sanity and reason inside are from Sheryl Crow to Lighten Up and Soak Up the Sun plays on!
What matters for Gaza and the USA is presented in a video with a famous history professor, Allan Lichtman, who for Times Radio brilliantly answers questions we most need answered for how the jury system relates to the future of the USA, Gazans who want Hamas to stay gone also need to know. Goes with the stickied on top strategy from Korean War success that led to K-Pop then "election fever" in South Korea. The best way to present this became in an environment where these parallels make sense together, in context of a much larger biblical sized united Palestine. Think big!
https://www.reddit.com/UnitedStatesPalestine/comments/1d4qada/selfdenazification_of_the_united_states_of/
There has been enough positive response to know I am not alone, I am confident the message is making it through to Gaza, and Democratic Party where Donald's example likewise connects their example into what is going on regarding culture change of both happening in parallel. It's then not an issue the Democratic Party is stuck in the middle of with no other way to really help them at the people level. It's then their example, where they here forward can keep in mind Gazans having a worse but same problem. It's outside "colonialism" from a scientist who knew religious "colonists" and would likely be here at this sub right now helping to explain all this to us. He was such a role model to me, my earlier posting of WW2 history at Palestinian made it easy to see by thinking of a United States of Palestine, by the year 2100..Thanks to Donald it's simpler than ever. Before then not even I was sure what next, in that to some crazy sounding direction, then there it was!
I have been watching how for many here the "Free Palestine" movement ended up turning you off after seeing the trouble it led. Needed a new direction. Good time to explain where what I have been working on, has just gone. In this case, we don't need politicians. IDF soldiers are already showing off their dancing skills, and have a fun new way to help end the war for good. They only have to combine with the emerging sound of Gaza towards a K-Pop but higher level science, history, and working together to end the latest echo of WW2 before it's a WW3. Already have the To Gaza with Love playlist to help get the party started. Another for WW2 era Andrews Sisters into Trump family history.
IDF troops are already singing and dancing on the battlefield. They don't need permission to do more, Gazans invited. Maybe compose a catchy welcoming song that invites them to make new music together towards a united Palestine by 2100, see what happens. Israel already has a close enough system, not for them. It's from Reddit for the other four states involved in the same conflict. By example Gaza uniting with Israel shows the way for the other three, or more possible states in the union, Israel already fits into when the time comes. Can do without the fence.
To a Gazan youngster not old enough to have been fully indoctrinated into the Hamas conditioning (to make them hate others instead of normal accepting) it's a life changer to sense the war is not against them. Palestine as Hamas saw it is replaced with a map of Palestine in Biblical days with various states in it. A teaching moment for the IDF to surprise with. Are then obviously are not against Palestine either. Otherwise they have to try making them stop believing, not work.
It's a tradeoff the IDF entertainers can live with, will control, towards rebuilding their culture with new role models like Ben Franklin and required jury duty. It's then possible to explain WW2 history of the Middle East holocaust that Israelis are frustrated by not being able to accept when it comes from them.
Reddit's /Palestinian is in no denial. Credit to subs in the network the IDF can give credit back, to avoid Israeli politicians from having to come up with strategy from their state government model or UN. It's a Palestinian cause they can personally support, and are at liberty to discuss with those who need to know. Best for Hamas to not know. Mostly kids who are impressed by their music and want to help make more. Something worth giving a try when IDF are outside of direct combat with Hamas. I hope you agree it is, or at least is not object.

Let’s say essentially identical powers are granted via a filed will to an appointed PR and via a trust instrument to a (appointed/accepted) trustee of an inter vivos trust, concerning the last decedent’s digital assets (access email, delete this, unsave that…search for immorality in the last 10 years of web searches… whatever…).
The PR and trustee are not the same person, and do not get along. The PR in particular was dis-inherited from the trust, but exists as PR because of estate planning oversight (or unwillingness of the trustee to file any succeeding will (if any :-) ), for weird reasons involving the desire to be an intestate case).
How are electronic assets to be treated - when one is trying to saving what the other is trying to delete?
Is it simply a race to who can make the first copy of everything?
Any interesting cases of disputes, or case studies?

/uw A long one today. Special thanks to u/Lilith_Anorthosite who co-wrote this with me. Previous post here.
Vashric rips through the City of Dis like a jagged knife. Having been discovered by the horde of demons, stealth is no longer an option. Disintegration rays fly wildly through the air. War devils are broken down and blown apart. Walls and frames are atomized, several buildings collapse around them. He wants to fly out of the chaos but his telekinesis is still focused on stabilizing his body, a constant effort even now. He extends his wings to take off but the war devils dog him down. The fight devolves into a grapple as the horde piles onto Vashric, stabbing, slashing, tearing.
A violet light emanates from the pile, then a massive flash. The closest devils are vaporized immediately, the rest are blinded and stunned. With his psychomantic power severely hindered for the moment, Vashric resorts to hand-to-hand combat. Punches, kicks, claw slashes, tail whips, even in his weakened state Vashric is a force to be reckoned with. As strikes land, the fiends are reduced to bloody mists and fileted corpses.
Hundreds of the demons are felled before an opening presents itself. He throws his wings out, knocking multiple fiends away, and takes to the sky. The smoke-laden clouds of Dis parts ways before him as he reaches hypersonic speeds. The leftover war devils make chase, but quickly disappear behind the horizon, unable to keep up with Vashric’s sheer velocity. The eyes on his wings open again, scanning the ground below for any hell gates. He soars over the city, on and on. His frustration nearly rises to a boiling point, before he finally notices a gate on the outskirts, guarded by four large devils. He lands immediately, the force shakes the ground around him. He approaches the enforcers.
The largest, a massive, scarred pit fiend, calls to him, “Hark, grey devil, what business do you have-”
“I don’t have time for this, get out of my way.”
The pit fiend only smirks, “Your insubordination offends, whelp. Your skull will make a fine addition to my collection.”
The fiend motions to the other three demons, they draw their weapons and move in on Vashric. One to his left readies to bring down its cleaver but freezes, “I really don’t have time for this,” in a blur, Vashric had buried his hand in the demon’s chest, gripping around its spine, crushing it. He lets go and the demon slumps onto the dirt. The other two are dazed. “Kill him!” the pit fiend snarls at his soldiers. They regain some resolve and move in for the attack. The exchange is short lived, however. Vashric grasps the forearm of one demon, tearing it off, then thrusts their blade through the eye socket of the other. The first demon clinches its bloody stump before Vashric removes its head.
The pit fiend growls at him as he approaches, “Perhaps you’re a little more than just a whelp,” the massive hellspawn lunges at Vashric, letting loose with a flurry of practiced cuts. They miss, though, Vashric weaves through each attack. An opportunity presents itself, one punch shatters ribs, the other causes skull fractures. The fiend falls to the ground with a low thud. It tries to curse him, but can’t form words as it fades into unconsciousness. Without a word, Vashric steps through the hell gate.
He’s brought to the next layer through a tunnel of fire. He gets that same, fleeting sense of nostalgia. The portal opens up to a mountainside overlooking the outskirts of another city, this one gothic in appearance. Tortured souls adorn the buildings, their bodies melded into the stone, whispering pleads. From his position, Vashric can barely see a group of sinners and demons. He uses his ESP to get a closer look, and it reveals an enslaved workforce of the damned. They’re being whipped and abused by their infernal masters as they’re forced to pull around large stones. They haul the masonry to a large monument under construction. A statue to some sort of leonide figure it seems.
“So, this is Pri-”
He keels over, hugging his chest. The pressure returns, he can feel the changes again, somehow spurred on by his traveling to another circle of Hell. His rematerialization kicks into overdrive trying to fight back the demonic transformation. He falls to the ground, totally immobile. After a few moments of pure agony, he finds the strength to send out a telepathic signal, hoping Lilith is close enough to hear him, hoping this too isn’t jammed.
“Rghhh, gods d-damn, that’s going to h-hurt in the- RGGHH- in the morning. An assist would be really nice right about now.”
Meanwhile, Lilith is roaming the streets of Pride in search of her friend. Having arrived not long ago after receiving Vashric’s nebulous message. Midstep she’s struck by his psychic call and responds immediately after catching herself, “I got your message. I came as fast as I could, but, from what I saw on the news, I don't know if I can help. Where are you right now? The city is huge.”
Vashric is confused for a moment, “The news? RGGHH! O-Okay, n-not important. I could use some h-help getting this demon magic un-under control. H-Hang on,” Vashric expends just enough energy to send out a psychic ping to Lilith, “There, did-did you f-feel that? That’s me.”
A silver cloud appears in front of Vashric, it quickly dissipates to reveal Lilith still in her work attire, “I'm here! Vashric, what's happening?!”
Vashric is spasming on the ground, his body ripping itself apart and desperately trying to put itself back together. Muscles tearing out of skin, bones contorting into unnatural shapes, a horrible sight. His voice grates past his teeth, “The ch-changes are b-back. They won’t s-stop.”
“This isn't normal! This is too much demonic energy for most demons to handle. That includes me.”
“L-Lilith, ple-ease. Anything w-will help. I’ve had t-t-to shatter a-nd rebuild my skel-skeleton like three times n-now,” Vashric motions to the bones jutting out of his arm.
Lilith’s mind races with potential solutions. She flips through years of magical knowledge in her mind but almost every solution she can think of requires time. Time she doesn't have. Only one seems feasible at the moment.
“I'm going to get in trouble for this but it's the only thing I can think of. I’m going to use some of your energy for a summon spell.”
“T-Trouble? Summon who?- No, it d-doesn’t matter. I’ll take the blame, I-I don’t care. How f-f-fast can you s-summon them?”
“The summoning should be quick. The main issue is that what I'm doing is illegal and may cause some issues,” Lilith begins preparing the spell.
Vashric gets to his hands and knees with a growl of pain, small fissures form across his skin as magenta hellfire streams out from the wounds. He tries to stand, “I’m n-n-ot very m-mobile at the moment, sor-sorry, you’ll h-have to for-forgive me.”
Lilith scans the area for a moment. She sees nothing, but decides to set a silence spell around the two, just in case. “I can't have others hear this chant.” She then starts to speak in Infernal tongue. As she does, the energy streams from Vashric into a singular spot. A deep red rift forms in the air. A clawed hand grips the edge, enlarging the tear. The massive and broad figure of a warrior demoness walks out.
Vashric growls in pain as the magenta flames burn ever brighter. His skin chars as he does his best to hold back further demonic transformation. Totally unconcerned with the she-devil exiting the portal.
The demoness speaks, her voice not of brimstone and fire but of care and worry, “Lilith why are you trying to summon me? You know you can just call me?
Fully stepping out of the rift Asmodian General, Liliana Obsidiantail finally gets a proper look at the mutating grey devil, “Lilith, what's going on?”
Lilith addresses her mother in a panic,“I'm sorry mama, but it’s my friend, Vashric. The one that absorbed all of that demonic energy. He’s changing again! It was manageable the first few times but something is different now!”
Vashric struggles to address Lilith’s mother, “H-H-ello, I’m Vash-ric. F-Friends call me Vash. It’s n-nice to finally m-meet you.” Vashric waves with a flame wreathed hand, “I c-c-could use some help.”
Liliana’s voice becomes rougher once talking to him, “We can leave introductions for later.”
She turns to the rift she came through and with a wave of her hand the destination changes to a military base. Her voice becomes a deep demonic growl as she yells orders. Lesser demons run about grabbing brimstone pylons from what look like weapons. The demons swiftly and efficiently set the equipment up.
“This should contain the excess energy. This isn't going to be pretty, though.”
Vashric lets out an otherworldly snarl as his jaws and teeth begin to extend past his lips, splitting the skin of his mouth, “Do it!”
“Lilith, make sure none of this magic is discharged into the surrounding area. The equipment isn’t made for this. If the energy doesn’t flow directly from him to the pylons something could explode. Either the pylons or your friend.” Her mother's command shocks Lilith out of her nervous panic as she prepares herself.
Liliana then turns to Vashric with a sharpened spike connected to the pylons by metal chains and stabs it into his chest. He barely winces at the stabbing, initially, but forms a low, rumbling grow as the siphoning begins.
The energy emanating from Vashric is continually guided into the pylons but it starts to affect everyone in the area. Lilith attempts to form a barrier to seal in the surge, increasing the intensity for everyone inside. Shadowy tendrils rise up from the ground, writhing and pulsing. The pylons begin to glow with the same searing magenta. If all present weren’t fiends, they would surely burn alive inside the barrier. Faint, infernal whispers become audible.
The lesser demons that set up the pylons grip their heads as they topple over. Lilith’s eyes go wide as she recognizes the voices from her dreams. Her mother's eyes become fiercer as she forces the spike deeper into Vashric’s chest. He howls as his eyes become pits of fire, the burning continues but the bodily changes seem to slow. The whispers rise in volume, now. They assault Lilith and Liliana. Only they can hear its message, “The black waters rise. Rejoice in His work.”
Liliana yells to Lilith, “Who or what did you get involved with? What in the Nine Hells is speaking to us?”
“Liliana, soldier of Hell. His kingdom is imminent. Join Him in the black waters, where the blood collects. Rejoice in His work.”
Her response is quick,“I’m loyal to Asmodeus and to my family. Burn your heinous tongue in the eternal fires.”
Their minds are filled with insidious laughter, “The black waters rise. Rejoice in His work,” With that, the voice fades away. Vashric comes back to consciousness, spasming slightly. The pylons are burning like suns, but his transformation seems to stabilize for now.
Lilith releases the barrier, exhausted. Liliana pulls the spike out of Vashric and drops it to the ground. She grabs him by the collar and her voice becomes like brimstone, “You have some explaining to do.”
Vashric turns his head, taking a moment to spit a black, tar-like substance onto the ground. It writhes like the shadows from earlier. His voice is raspy and haggard, “I appreciate your assistance, truly, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.” This was a half-truth, Vashric had a good idea as to what she meant.
“Now, could you put me down? I’ll repay you when I can, but I have to continue my journey.”
“You’re not going anywhere that isn't a holding cell.”
“...I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m sorry, I know this probably isn’t how you wanted to spend your day. Why don’t we talk things out before someone does something they regret,” Vashric gestures to Lilith, “We shouldn’t fight in front of your daughter, my friend.”
Lilith speaks up, “Mama, could you put him down?”
Liliana’s voice softens a bit, “Lilith, your ‘friend’ has caused major destruction in Dis. Multiple laws have already been broken. I'm not even supposed to be in this circle. So, no, I'm not going to put him down.”
She yells at the demons under her command to get up and take the pylons back to base as she chains Vashric.
He struggles against her hold, “Hey! Excuse me, I’m going to meet Astaroth, grand duke of the 9th. I’m sure he’ll clear everything up when I get there,” Vashric grips Liliana’s arm, then speaks to her, both verbally and telepathically, “Now. Put. Me. Down. Please.”
His telepathy collides with Liliana’s warded mind, “We’ll send a message to the grand duke when we get to your cell. If what you say is true, you should have no worries waiting for his response.”
Vashric glares at her, but doesn’t want to make a scene in front of Lilith, and doesn’t have enough strength to fight back anyway, “Fine. I’m not going to move rings yet, though. Not until I have time to meditate and replenish some of my psychomancy. Every time I’ve traveled between layers so far, this has only gotten worse.”
“I wasn't planning to. Now, where is the enforcement in this city?”
Liliana looks to the horizon and eventually sees the group of sinners in the distance, still lugging around large stones, headed by their demonic overseers. She spreads her massive wings and turns to her daughter, “Lilith, hold on.” She scoops her up and flies towards the demons, Vashric dangling in her other hand.
Liliana flies low enough to speak to the overseers, hovering just above them, she calls out, “I am Liliana, Guardian of Debauchery. I need to know where the nearest prison is.”
One of the demons motions for the sinners to halt and looks to Liliana, “What’cha be doing in Pride? We’re a long ways away from your circle.”
“Doing the job of whoever’s guarding this entrance.”
The demon gives her a defiant look, but doesn’t argue, too busy with its tasks. It points towards a large black spire in the center of the city. “Most prisoners are taken to the citadel, Sabnock will want a word, but he ain’t here at the moment. The lieutenant can see you for now.”
“Thank you,” Liliana turns and starts to fly in the spire's direction, Lilith and Vashric in tow.
Vashric chimes in, “This is really quite unnecessary, I can fly myself,” But Liliana ignores him. He turns to Lilith and speaks telepathically, “Lilith, I was expecting your mother to be a lot kinder, like you…”
Lilith, in a slightly quivering voice, “Well, if this introduction had been over some tea she’d likely be much nicer. She’s supposed to be on the job right now.” As the mental conversation continues, Lilith’s appearance starts to change.
“Why didn’t you say anything? I could have conjured tea-” Vashric stops, “Were your antlers always that long?”
“My antlers shouldn't be your concern at the moment! What happened back there? This wasn't like your other transformations.”
“It’s been getting worse the deeper into Hell I’ve traveled. I don’t know why. What’s more, the-” He pauses, contemplating how much he should divulge, “I never told you, but there have been…whispers, voices. This isn’t the first I’ve dealt with them, but they’ve been getting worse ever since I turned. Don’t worry about me, though, I’ll be fine. It’ll take more than hell magic to put me down.”
“Whispers? We heard whispers when we were siphoning your magic. They spoke exactly like a figure in the dream I had last night.”
“You’re serious? They talked to you? They talked to you in a dream? What did they say? Lilith, I need you to tell me exactly what they said.”
“They just said a lot about a ‘Herald’ and ‘black waters rising.’ That ‘He’ will make things start anew. Also, they repeated ‘rejoice in His work’ a lot.”
“They mentioned black waters?... Shit. Lilith, you need to leave, you can’t be around me. If it’s spreading, you won’t be safe near me.”
“Is this a disease? What is going on? This is clearly a threat and I can’t just turn my back. I won't let more people I care about get hurt because I'm too weak to help.”
“This isn’t a discussion, Lilith, this isn’t a suggestion. I’m telling you, when we get to this spire and your mother so graciously locks me up, you leave and go back to the Prime. I’ll meet Atsaroth as soon as I can and get this sorted out.”
“Ok, fine, but can you at least tell me what’s happening? I prefer to be informed of danger.”
“Lilith I-” he takes a moment to compose himself, “I’m not sure. It’s something I’ve been dealing with for a long time. Well before all this devil transformation nonsense. Just let me handle it.”
“You were literally tearing apart from the inside! Vashric, what would have happened if you hadn't called me?”
“I would’ve figured out something else…”
The trio breaks through a thick layer of smog, the Citadel of Pride reveals itself. A massive spire, made of dread iron and twisted souls, overlooks the ring. A beacon of hellfire lights the top, everburning, its flames shriek with the voices of the damned. The tower is surrounded by a fort, walled off from the city. Soldiers and guards can be seen beyond the bulwarks, some training, some prodding sinners and prisoners along. Liliana lands just outside the main gate. A large, imposing devil stands before them.
“You there, what is your business?”
“I am Lilliana Asmodi Obsidiantail, Asmodean General and Guardian of Debauchery. I come with a prisoner and I need to meet with the lieutenant.”
The demon eyes her, “Highly irregular. You’re not supposed to be in Pride, general. I’ll call the lieutenant, he’ll surely want to speak. So will Lord Sabnock when he returns.” It activates a sigil on the wall behind it, sending a message inside.
“I didn’t expect to be here, but it appears that someone has been failing to do their job.”
The fiend snorts, “We do not fail, blame the other rings for dumping their trash in our layer. And I suggest you hold your tongue. This isn’t your territory, and we don’t take kindly to such accusations. Especially not Lord Sabnock. Now, the lieutenant will meet you inside, mind your damn manners.” The demon gestures towards the guard house at the top of the wall, the gate creaks open. It then motions for the group to head inside, scowling at them all the while.
Liliana resists the urge to reduce the demon to a stain and drags Vashric in as Lilith follows behind her, “I now remember why I don't visit Pride.”
Lilith attempts to soothe her, “Mama, you're about to be in a meeting. The calmer you are, the faster you can get back to Debauchery and, in turn, the faster you can see Mother again.”
“Yes, I’d like to see her soon. This day has been… less-than-joyous,” she seems to grip Vashric a bit harder.
Vashric scoffs at Liliana, “Don’t be upset with me, I’ve been pretty cordial considering the circumstances.”
Their bickering is cut short, however. A portly Amnizu robed in fine clothes approaches the trio. Its rich adornments stand in stark contrast to its grotesque figure. It addresses Liliana alone, paying no mind to Vashric or Lilith, “General Obsidiantail, what a pleasure to meet you, I’m Lieutenant Tg’grax. I understand you have a prisoner you wish to deposit in our fine citadel?”
“Yes.” Liliana holds Vashric out, “This was just outside the city. The smell of blood lingers on it. I believe it’s the fugitive that tore through Dis.”
“I won’t ask what you were doing on our layer, I’m sure you had your reasons… Hmm, a grey skinned devil. Yes, perhaps this is the one that cut swathes through Dispater’s realm, Lord Sabnock will want to see for himself. Very well,” Tg’grax motions to Vashric and a pit fiend tears him out of Liliana’s hold. “This one will be kept in a holding cell, as for the two of you, you’ll have to wait until Lord Sabnock arrives.”
Liltih sighs, “At least I’m already off work.”
Liliana's face turns sour, “Well, I'm not. Asmodeus isn't going to be happy that I'm gone from my post for so long.”
Vashric is hauled off to a warded cell, “What a fine fucking predicament you’ve gotten yourself into this time, Vashric... Oh well, not much I can do until I recharge,” he thinks to himself, before assuming a meditative stance. He begins to gather psychic energy from his surroundings, unbeknownst to the guards, “And now we wait.”

1. First the words, then the world
2. Create a god in your own image
3. Coin the realm to own it
4. Create chaos; divide to conquer
5. Impose ‘solutions’ to problems you cause

1. first the words, then the world

• words are creation, in the beginning …
• Latin is a synthetic language with no mother tongue
• Rome was a military outpost who kidnapped and raped women for continuity
• Ashkenazi Yahwists derive only their male DNA line from the Middle East—another military outpost?
• Ron Unz theorizes that the origin of Ashkenazi Yahwists in the ME was Phoenician. I add, from whom our alphabet comes.

2. make a god in your own image

What draws people to Yahwism and a sociopathic god? Whenever we see the word ‘Jew’, it’s a trick to conflate a genealogy, an ethnicity, territorial claims, and a religion. We need to flip that puzzle piece over in order to put it in the right color section to solve the puzzle.
Matt Orfalea on The Laws of War: this is a 3 minute video that I highly recommend. No one exposes hypocrisy through juxtaposition like Matt. His footage on Palestine is heartrending. YT made it age-restricted, so it needs to be watched on their site. As we know, pre-teens are always trying to watch fathers crying over their murdered children. They have to be herded back to sexually inappropriate content.
Thanks to thanks Greg (Walking the Dog) for the reference:
For every Jewish Zionist there are 30 Christian Zionists, and Netanyahu exploits this :
… the Israeli government led by Benjamin Netanyahu continues to employ an unapologetic rhetoric, invoking biblical references to sell his war to the ultra-right not just in Israel but also in the US, where he is enjoying the support of Christian Evangelists, a majority of whom identify with the global Zionist movement for a ‘Jewish homeland’. Their belief comes from the end-of-the-world interpretation of the bible leading to the second coming of Jesus Christ.
This belief is not just theological but also has created significant support for Israel in the political circles of the United States. Under the Donald Trump regime, evangelists took their seats in the power corridors with the likes of Vice President Mike Pence and US Secretary of State Mike Pompeo. In fact, Donald Trump also mentioned in a rally that the move to shift the US Embassy in Israel from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem was ‘for the evangelicals.’
Even the current US President Joe Biden has publicly identified himself as a ‘Zionist’ and at least 100 members of Congress are avowed evangelicals.
TRT World spoke to Stephen Sizer, the former Vicar of the Church of England. A peace activist authoring three books on the Christian Zionist movement and its support for the state of Israel, Sizer was recently banned from licensed ministry in the Church of England until 2030 for his views on Zionism and Israel’s policies in the Middle East.
SS: Christian Zionism is actually the dominant form of Zionism. It has been since before the Zionist movement emerged in the 1870s, 1880s – there were Christians calling for the restoration of the Jews to Palestine from the 1820s, 1830s and the Balfour Declaration with the demise of the Ottoman Empire that Britain's entry, if you like, into the Middle East having defeated the French was to colonise Palestine. And he saw the role of the Jews as serving the best interests of the British Empire. Christian Zionism predates Jewish Zionism by at least 50 years and today dominates the Zionist movement at least 10 to 1, probably nearer 20, 30 to 1. For every Jewish Zionist, there are 20 or 30 Christian Zionists and therefore Netanyahu knows he needs the Christian, particularly the Christian right in America, Canada, Sweden, Holland and in much of Europe in order to maintain his position and to continue the expansion of the Zionist agenda in Palestine.
When Netanyahu uses terms like the Amalek regarded as the staunch enemies of the Biblical Israelites, is he ascribing that term to the Palestinian Arabs?
SS: Yes, he is. The other one that’s used quite a lot is the Philistines. The Philistines were the traditional enemies of the Jews or the Israelites. And so they are painted as the bad guys. The Samaritans again were the bad guys in Israelite history. And so it’s no surprise the Samaritans today, those on the West Bank fulfil that negative role. So the Amalekites and the other Arab tribes that populated the coastal plain into which the 12 tribes of Israel were seeking to settle are seen as the enemy. So it’s an easy, superficial, simplistic way. It’s a kind of a dualism, Manichean worldview, the good guys and the bad guys, we are the good guys, God is on our side. And the bad guys are whoever we want to take out. So it’s convenient in the genocide that’s taking place, the ethnic cleansing in Gaza to demonise the Palestinians as either they’re all Hamas or they are the embodiment of the traditional enemies of the Jewish people in history.
God said to Abraham in Genesis 12, “I will make you a great nation. I will bless those who bless you, and I will curse those who curse you.” Now, what Christian Zionists have done is they’ve taken that promise that was made by God to Abraham and no one else, and they’ve universalised it. They’ve made it an eternal principle. So as long as we bless Israel today, God will bless us. If a nation a community or an individual curses Israel, God will curse them.
And so it’s called a prosperity gospel. The belief that America is a great nation, is a prosperous nation because it defends Israel. So there’s a vested self-interest. If I want to be a healthy, wealthy individual, if I want to be a prosperous person and my clergy and my pastor tells me, bless Israel and God will bless you, I’ll do it because it comes from that crude, self-centred desire, the belief that, you know, it’s like the lucky rabbit’s foot. If I rub the lucky rabbit’s foot, I will have luck

• velocity of money—which I call the ‘speed of egress’ in my book, as the number of times that money changes hands before being siphoned out.
• the insecurity of securities and clearing house depositories
• planned bank closures and superpriority of derivatives
• central bank hegemony and mortgage tranches
• solution—tell all the CEOs you know, pay off your debts, invest in real estate and food production, use legal means to change the laws.

To David Webb, things have only gone wrong relatively recently and can be fixed by the people near the top of the system, if they can be made to understand what’s happening. His solutions, like those of Catherine Austin Fitts and others, work for people who have investment wealth to move around.. Not ordinary people.
My book, How to Dismantle an Empire, starts 3500 years ago with the invention of coinage and taxation as a new form of feudalism. In the section Finance is an Extractive Industry, I detail the mechanisms that David talks about, including derivatives, the interest rate’s relationship to money creation, and bank deposits as unsecured obligations that are ‘shares’ in the bank, which can go down to nothing.

4. create chaos; divide to conquer

From Pepe Escobar’s Russia and China have had enough:
Corbett Report on The Rwandan Genocide is a Lie

5. impose ‘solutions’ to problems you cause

Theirs are not the only solutions. Gabriel, one of my heroes, has written What is Digital Autonomy? When their parasitic paradigm falls apart, it shows that we have the knowledge and the will to put back together what has been torn asunder.

By Jacob Crosse
This past weekend, the “People’s Conference for Palestine” was held in Detroit, Michigan over three days, from May 24 through May 26. Organizers for the event stated that over 3,500 people attended.
The steering committee for the conference included 15 organizations, among which were the Palestinian Youth Movement, National Students for Justice In Palestine, the ANSWER Coalition (associated with the Party for Socialism and Liberation), Arab Resource and Organizing Society (AROC), Writers Against the War on Gaza, and Healthcare Workers for Palestine.
Despite the peaceful character of the event, police were a constant presence on the streets and outside the convention center. Several Palestinian speakers slated to appear at the event were delayed or were not able to attend in person, due to fascistic restrictions imposed on their travel by the US/NATO governments.
The stated goal of the conference, according to a program signed by the Steering Committee, was to provide “a space to assess, strategize and prepare for what is required for us in the next phase of the struggle.” However, the political perspective that dominated did not present a viable way forward.
Several panels did feature harrowing testimony of the situation in Gaza. In a recorded video message, Hind Khoudary, a journalist in Gaza who has been displaced since November 2023 said, “We are not only fearing air strikes, we are fearing famine.” She documented the catastrophic situation produced by Israel’s bombardment and the difficulties confronting journalists, who have themselves been targeted by airstrikes.
In a session titled, “Cutting Ties with Zionism in the Workplace,” former Google worker Ariel Koren discussed her experience trying to fight back against the implementation of Project Nimbus, a $1.2 billion contract between Google, Amazon and the Israel Defense Forces that provides the military a suite of computer and artificial intelligence tools used to facilitate the oppression and extermination of the Palestinian people.
Koren explained that as part of the contract, Google is required to build “whatever cloud tools and AI tools the Israeli government and military ask for without asking any questions themselves. Google has no right to regulate or oversee or even know anything about how these get used on the ground and which government and military agencies are the beneficiaries of these tools.” Among the tools provided to the IDF are “facial detection, automatic image categorization, object tracking, and even sentiment analysis.”
Taghreed Ahmed, a member of the Palestinian Transport Union, explained that “Israel controls the conditions of workers” and that “over 9,000” workers were taken prisoner by Israel following October 7. While in Israeli custody, many workers were tortured and “over 80” are still missing.
Despite the IDF offensive on Gaza, Ahmed said that after workers were released they asked to return to the city to be with their families.
Before October 7, Ahmed said that over 32,000 workers in Gaza were granted permits to work in Israel, but not a single permit has been granted in over seven months. In order to survive, Ahmed said many working class families have resorted to selling their possessions, including furniture.

A political orientation to the Democratic Party

Despite the objective and empirical testimony provided by many of the panelists and speakers, the basic political perspective that emerged was thoroughly bankrupt: that of pressuring the Democratic Party.
The opening plenary event set the framework for the conference that followed. References to the crimes of the Israeli regime were combined with a great deal of chanting and slogans.
To the extent that anything was said about the background of the genocide, it was only in relation to the history of the Palestinian struggle. But even here, there was no examination of the essential experiences of this history, including the role of the bourgeois nationalist states in the Middle East in facilitating the repression of the Palestinians by Israel and imperialism.
In her keynote speech, Yara Shoufani of the Palestinian Youth Movement spoke of “historic revolutions” from “the Great Arab Revolution of 1936” … to “the popular revolution launched in the camps of Lebanon and Jordan”… to “the first and second intifadas.” Another speaker suggested that the “resistance” would last another “100 years” before victory.
To be blunt, the people in Gaza do not have another 100 years. The genocide in Gaza has already led to the deaths of over 36,000 people officially, a significant under-count, while hundreds of thousands are on the brink of famine.
Neither in the introduction nor in any of the panels and plenary sessions was there a single reference to the broader war of which the genocide is a part. In particular, no speakers addressed the escalating US-NATO war against Russia over Ukraine, backed by the Democratic Party, which threatens to develop into a nuclear exchange.
Israel’s genocide, supported by the US and NATO imperialist powers, cannot be defeated by the resistance of the Palestinian people alone, no matter how self-sacrificing. It is necessary to mobilize the international working class, which has the social and economic power to oppose imperialism.
The political perspective presented at the conference, however, worked against this. On Saturday, the conference organizers welcomed a “guest appearance” by Michigan Democratic Rep. Rashida Tlaib.
In his last social media post before he was assassinated by the US-backed Israel Defense Forces last December, Prof. Refaat Alareer, tweeted, “The Democratic Party and Biden are responsible for the Gaza genocide perpetrated by Israel.” Why a member of the party responsible for not only backing Israel for decades, but murdering Alareer and tens of thousands of other Palestinians, would be welcomed into the conference was never explained.
In her brief comments, Tlaib attacked Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, calling him a “war criminal.” She refused to apply the same label to Netanyahu’s patron and top weapons supplier, President Joe Biden. Instead she appealed to the president she helped elect in 2020, imploring him: “I hope you hear us loud and clear.”
Tlaib did not attempt to provide an explanation as to why the Biden administration and her “colleagues” in the Democratic Party have not only refused to listen to over eight months of sustained peaceful protests, but instead have overseen the police repression of the protests.
Tlaib said it was “shameful” that her “colleagues” voted to send “$14 billion to the apartheid regime,” while “seniors” in her district ask her, “When are we going to get an increase in Social Security?”
While Tlaib and a few other Democrats voted against providing military funding to Israel, she said nothing about her “yes” vote in the same $95 billion package to send over $61 billion to the fascistic Ukrainian government in order to continue the proxy war against Russia.
The deliberate omission of Ukraine on the part of Tlaib and the conference organizers was not a mistake. By presenting the genocide in Gaza, which is one front in the US/NATO global re-division of the world that includes Ukraine and the conflict with Iran and China, as an isolated episode, the organizers and participants could present different factions of the capitalist ruling class, and their adjuncts in the trade union bureaucracy, as “allies” to the Palestinian people, and to the “revolution.”

PSL backs “Uncommitted” trap

Joining Tlaib at the conference was her sister, Layla Elabed, who, alongside Party for Socialism and Liberation co-founder and ANSWER National Coordinator Brian Becker, led the penultimate plenary on Sunday, titled “Uncommitted Votes and the Fracturing of the Two Party System.”
As the WSWS has previously explained, the purpose of the Uncommitted campaign is to promote the illusion that the Democratic Party and Biden can be “pressured” from below via symbolic votes or empty ceasefire resolutions. Organizers for the Uncommitted campaign, including Elabed, who told the New York Times in February that she “has not ruled out” voting for Biden in November, have been clear that the purpose of “uncommitted” is not to “Abandon Biden” or the Democratic Party, but to “push” him to adopt their position.
Despite tens of thousands of people voting “uncommitted,” the Biden administration, with the support of both the Democrats and Republicans, continues to send weapons to Israel which are being used to ethnically cleanse Rafah. This did not prevent Elabed from presenting the campaign as a success. Speaking next to Becker, she said it sent “a clear message to Biden and the Democratic Party.”
Elabed said, “This is our way of telling Joe Biden he is being held accountable. That he needs to do, in order to save...if he really believed in saving his re-election, if he really believed in fighting fascism, if he believed in fighting for democracy, then he should be pro-Palestinian. He should be demanding a ceasefire now.”
Elabed cautioned against breaking with the Democratic Party, “before November we have a number of primaries happening, state house elections and congressional and senate seats. We need to protect our ceasefire candidates, if anything you come out and you vote and you send people like Rashida and [Missouri Rep.] Cori Bush and our pro-peace anti-war folks back to Capitol Hill and back in our state house.”
Lending support to Elabed and the Democratic Party’s electoral campaigns, Becker replied, “I want to shout out the Listen to Michigan campaign, and the Uncommitted campaign because given the available options, which are so limited in this tortured form of democracy, these women the other organizers have used the electoral arena to register something that Biden couldn’t ignore, which is the majority of the base of the Democratic Party in particular says ‘no’ to his policy in Palestine.”
Working in tandem with the Democrats to divert energy towards protest stunts, and away from building an independent movement in the working class, Becker later revealed that the same forces behind the Palestine Conference will be organizing a June 8 demonstration at the White House.

The promotion of the UAW apparatus

Several panels at the Palestine Conference featured the words “labor” and “Zionism” without ever critically examining the role of the US-based trade unions in supporting US imperialism and Israel’s genocide. There was no discussion on current UAW president Shawn Fain’s endorsement of “Genocide Joe.”
The conference featured various “reform” union factions, including Unite All Workers for Democracy (UAWD), and several current and retired union bureaucrats, including UAW Local 4811 president Rafael Jaime and former president and bargain chair of UAW Local 909 in Detroit, Frank Hammer.
UAW Local 4811 comprises 48,000 graduate student workers and researchers in the University of California. Pressure from the rank-and-file compelled the UAW to initiate a strike, but the apparatus has sought to limit it to a handful of campuses, employing the “stand-up strike” tactic used to shut down the auto strike last year. It has also done nothing to inform autoworkers and other members of the union outside California about this highly significant political strike against the genocide in Gaza
Speaking in a panel, “The Role of Labor Unions in Palestinian Struggle,” Jaime tried to take credit for “organizing” the union in order to put it into a position to strike.
The chasm between workers’ desire to fight and the union bureaucrats’ reticence was present throughout Jaime’s comments. After joining what would become Local 4811 in 2016, Jaime admitted that even by 2018 “most workers didn’t even realize they had a union. And so, what we were able to win in 2018 was very limited.” Turning to the current struggle, Jaime said,

I think that the media will focus mostly on the strike and make it seem like all you have to do is press a button and it happens. And I just want it to be, very emphasized, that the work that’s taken to organize, to be able to actually respond to the moment with this kind of action, it’s been years of tireless work.

Near the end of his presentation, Jaime listed the various circumstances through which the union was prepared to call off the strike: “If the university doesn’t resolve its [Unfair Labor Practices], if it doesn’t guarantee the right to peacefully protest, allow protesters to speak up for justice in Palestine, then more campuses are going to go out on strike.”
Throughout his entire presentation Jaime never once mentioned that UAW President Shawn Fain endorsed Biden and stood by as UAW members protesting the genocide were dragged out of the convention where this nomination was announced.

The way forward

The perspective advanced at the “People’s Conference for Palestine,” in which ANSWER and the PSL play a dominant role, is a dead-end. It is not through appeals to the political establishment and the trade union apparatus that the fight against the genocide must be developed, but through a political struggle in the working class.
For nearly eight months, millions of people around the world have taken to the streets, campuses and government centers to demand an end to the genocide. Despite the overwhelmingly peaceful character of the protests, thousands have been arrested and assaulted by police.
Young people and workers opposed to the genocide, outraged by the daily atrocities, sickened by the support for Israel’s actions by the Biden administration and the imperialist powers, confront serious political questions that require serious and revolutionary answers.
The perspective of “pressuring” governments and corporations to adopt more humanitarian policies has proven to be less than useless. At the same time, the trade union apparatus, integrated into the state, is working to suppress the class struggle and subordinate workers to the ruling class policy of global war.
As WSWS International Editorial Board Chairman David North explained in a lecture in March on the suicide of Aaron Bushnell, the basic and urgent task is to mobilize “the only social force which actually has in its power, in its objective role in the whole process of capitalist production, in its position in the forces of production, its potential economic strength, its global character, the ability to bring capitalism to its knees, to destroy the very foundations of militarism.”
The political program upon which the struggles of the working class must develop is the program of socialist revolution.

Trying to improve my quality of life again. I don't really have a support network. I thought I did. The short version. I was drinking with my sister and mom. They said they hate me when I drink because I act feminine and get emotional. Gender wasn't even a topic of discussion. This is my attempt at finding a place where I can be me. My story so far:
I was a sheltered child in a very religious household. The only entertainment allowed was Christian channels. I didn't spend much time with people outside my family. My mom was very particular about who I was exposed to. I've always seen myself as a woman. When I was a toddler, it wasn't much of an issue. My parents didn't think much of me "pretending" to be a girl. I had an active imagination. I was always making up stories and playing various roles, even animals.
It wasn't until just before kindergarten that things changed. I was imitating the female vocalist in my favorite song at the time, "He Loves Me" by Kirk Franklin. My mom asked, "Why are you always pretending to be a girl?" My answer was, "That's what I want to be when I grow up." Her reaction wasn't particularly harsh. She said that God made me perfect the way I am and I don't have to be anyone else. I internalized that. My perspective changed. It wasn't that I was or could be. It was that I am what I am, and I'm just pretending.
That way of thinking stayed with me for a long time. When public school started, I began to understand my role in this world. I began to bury parts of myself. I started having nightmares all the time. They weren't anything out of the ordinary, usually being chased by monsters or shadows. In order to cope with the nightmares, I learned to become lucid. At the very least, I could wake myself up. An ability I still have to this day. It also had one more benefit: In my dreams, I could forget about my waking life and be whoever I wanted to be. I would call these no-memory dreams. I spent more and more time sleeping and daydreaming, altering my perception of my waking life to match my internal world. A separation began to happen. My "core" was only for me to see in my dreams. My waking self increasingly became devoid of emotions: cool, logical, the epitome of reason. At least that was the goal. The world around me slowly began losing its color.
I lived this way until I discovered the internet. One day in a Yahoo chat, a random stranger I met suggested that we pretend to be girls and trick all the desperate guys. I thought it would be an interesting perspective to gain, so I went along with it. Something clicked. Something my waking mind had been suppressing all these years. I immediately devoted myself to my online presence. Day in and day out, I lived to get home and pretend. I still viewed it that way. Part of me still denied it all. "I just feel more comfortable," I'd tell myself.
Another few years in stasis and I discovered that there are people who are the same as me, who felt the same way. That there was a name for it and I could be myself in real life, not just in my dreams, but I didn't view it that way at the time. I still couldn't shake the feeling that I was just pretending, like I used to do when I was younger.
Even with that, I seriously began to plan every detail of my pretend transition. I would practice my voice every day. I would exercise every day, so when I started HRT, I would be healthy. I looked for ways to grow breasts naturally. Looking back, I don't know how I saw it as pretending.
I felt great in those days, like I had a future. I want to get that feeling back. Even though I called it pretending, deep down I genuinely believed that someday everything would be right. I'd be happy. Truly happy. The world would have color, just like it used to, just like in my dreams.
Unfortunately, my core began to spill into my waking life. I met someone. A man who was exploring his sexuality. I told him everything. He was trying to find himself, like me. The short version is he toyed with me. He made me believe he accepted my authentic self, but when it came time to actually date, he drifted away. He started making fun of me.
Looking back now, I realize that was the moment my plans for the future died. I threw it all away. It felt like a delusion: I'm ugly, I'm worthless, no one will ever accept me, I'm wasting my time. I'm also realizing this is the source of those thoughts I still struggle with to this day.
I quit my job and locked myself in my room for the next two years. I started having panic attacks every day and developed agoraphobia. I still maintained my online presence. Eventually, with the support of my family and CBT, I was well enough to venture back out into the world. I never mentioned my core in therapy. It was all just pretend anyway. I just wanted to stop freaking out all the time.
I went back to the same dynamic as before: me in my dreams, me online, me in the world with no color. Until I met someone. My ex-husband. I discovered another world I never knew existed. LGBTQ+ is a thing. There are places you can go to meet real people. It wasn't just text on a page, and most importantly, no one made fun of me. We were all just in the same place, trying to find our way in this colorless world. Things were great. I had a blast!
There was only one problem: my ex-husband drank and used substances heavily, and I followed him. Right down to the bottom until we were both broke and barely functioning. We had a house at least. Eventually, my mom convinced me to come back home. Many things happened, but I'm more financially successful—the colorless me, that is. People seem to love and respect it so much. I can't just take it away from them.
And so here we are today. My colorless self is back in control. I feel empty most days. Apparently, that's emotional dissociation. When I can feel, I feel like I'm drowning and usually end up crying. I honestly don't know where to go beyond this point, but maybe this is the first step.
"Fallen like an angel, who forgot how to fly. Like a stranger that I've seen too many nights. And all these layers building up over time."
"Redefined" by tyDi feat. Melanie Fontana—one of my favorites at the moment. I'm glad I was able to put this in words.

As the title says, some info about Old English and Welsh and a few other names. That either have some kind of historic context in the UK, mostly England and Wales. Or evolved from Old English etc. Some go into more detail than others so please forgive the odd layout as a result. If I missed anything about the names listed or made a mistake despite my best efforts of double checking. Which I would encourage anyone reading this to do, please let me know.
Also based on the context after the info, please could you suggest which of these names I should keep? Just in case I ever end up being a parent? Which should I consider using in current or future writing projects? If any?
FHB means it was suggested by my other half as a potential baby name when I asked him what he likes. He is from wales so I was curious in that respect also.
Boys:

• Glenn (Gleh-N),

Most likely derived from the Gaelic Gleann and is both Scottish (often but not always spelt with just one n), and Irish in origin in this form. In Welsh the name Glyn ( GLihN), has the exact same meaning as Glenn. That being Valley/ Narrow Valley/ Valley of water. Among the many famous Glenn's there are also at least two Welsh rugby players I know of. That being Glenn Maxwell George aka Glen George and Glen Webbe. With Rugby being invented in England but a fairly large if not huge part of Welsh culture.

• Rhodri (Rohd-ree)

Rhodri Mawr, full name Rhodri ap Merfyn (Rohd-ree app Meer-vin) aka Rhodri the Great. Was a King of Powys (Po-wis), Deheubarth (De-hi-barth) and Gwynedd (Gwi-neth). Starting with the last one from 844 after succeeding his father to 877 upon his death. He would go onto have many victories against various Vikings, including but loosing his life to the Danish client King Ceolwulf. Having first lost and then sent to exile in Ireland before returning a year later to defeat Ceolwulf.

• Gwylan (GWI-lan), A Welsh name similar to Dylan in pronunciation and means Seagull.
• Bleddyn (BLETH-in), A Welsh name similar to Kevin in pronunciation and means Wolf/Wolf like.
• Conan
• Lyall (Ly-all), rare English and a Scottish surname that has origins in Old Norse (Liulfr). It means Wolf.
• Wolfgang Sounds as it is spelt, used in Germany, Switzerland and Austria mostly. Another name I just liked while in School.
• Wulfgar (Wahlf-Gar)

A Saxon/high German name. Which was brought over by the Saxons during the Anglo-Saxon period and became a part of old English as a result. With some exmaples of the name being had by Bishops in both Lichfield and Ramsbury as well as Wulfgar of Abington. Who was a real life Abbot of Abington from 990 to 1016. It means Wolf spear.

• Wulfric (Wul-fric)

An Old English, and yes every name that means Wolf power. It is the name Ulric is thought to be derived from or at least one of them.

• Myrddin (Mur-thin)

A Welsh name, based on and an alternative version to Merlin. Both character and the Falcon.

• Bran

A welsh name that means Raven. It is also the name of a character from the Mabinogion (Mah-bin-OG-yawn. Or at least that is as close as I can get), Bran the Blessed

• Benjamin (FHB)
• Rhys (FHB) (Reese)
• Caleb
• Magnus
• Lysander (lye-SAN-der), not really related compared to the rest since it is Greek in origin, meaning Liberator. I just really like the name and have done since I was in school.

Girls:

• Willow
• Kestrel
• Bethan (FHB)
• Hazel (FHB)
• Gwennol (GWEN-nol) A Welsh name that means Swallow, as in the bird not the action.
• Branwen A Welsh name that means beautiful/ fair raven and was also the name of Bran the Blessed's sister in the Mabinogion.

Wulfrun
Old English name and also after lady Wulfrun who is closely connected to the founding of Wolverhampton.
Morwenna (Morwehn-aa)
for context see St Morwenna, means maiden of the sea/ white sea in Welsh and Breton and is the name of a St in North Cornwall. Of the civil parish Morwenstow.

• Heddwen (Heth-wen or Hev-when if that helps)

Also spelt Heddwyn if on a boy since in Welsh Wen/en is normally the feminine name and Wyn/yn is the masculine version. It means fair peace.

• Rhianwen (Re-an-wen), (FHB) partly, he actually suggested Rhian but wasn't sure on which longer version to use. Means white maiden and is also Welsh.
• Eirlys (Eye-r-liss based on the south Wales, further north has more of an Aye sound at the front instead). It means snowdrop, with Eira (Ay-rah) being the word in Welsh for snow as well as another girls name.
• Seren (Se-Ren) A Welsh name that means star, both our first names start with S.
• Avonlea (Avon-lee), a rare English name curtesy of L. M. Montgomery and her work Anne of Green Gables.
• Elowen (Elo-wen) Actually Cornish in origin, means Elm.
• Revna (Rev-na), means Raven and is a Danish/ Old Danish, Faroese name.
• Mariela (Mari-ell-a) Danish means Star of the sea.

Now for the rather long context in regards to the child name part of the title. TL;DR other half (FHB) has asked me ages ago though probably won't remember now. Recently when asked gave a few name suggestions which are also on the list:
Both of us are in our early 30's, still no closer to being able to try without going into any more detail then that. He is Welsh and potential children would be born and raised in Wales. So ideally any hypothetical kids would at least have a middle name if not a first name that is Welsh. I am from Kent but have family that I visited on the regular before Secondary, In the Scarborough and Yorkshire area.
Most of my life, including college and work related things has been spent around animals of various descriptions. Both wild and domestic. Also some geography but mostly animal care. He knows snippets of other languages Vocabulary (Swedish mostly). He also is collects and can play some musical instruments.
Both of us also like visiting costal places or wildlife parks. We also both have some interest in certain mythologies, but are not experts in anything. So names that loosely tie into any of that are also an option.
vetoed: Ayden, Brayden or Cayden, Harper, real place names in general, Harrison, Freddie, Alfie, Jude, Jaxon, Tobias, Myles, Chelsea, Rita, John (to many of them we know of already), Bear. All but the last four are what FHB disliked and I didn't care for.
Surname starts with a J so in theory initials won't be a problem. Unless there is a combination I am unaware of? It is also for this reason I will be avoiding J names though, since fun as alliteration can be I can see it getting old fast for the hypothetical child turned adult.
I am in the process of trying to write, both fiction which applies here and hopefully non fiction by way of nature writing for the most part.
So with that out of the way, which of these names mentioned above should I keep for a potential child in the future and which should I keep in the for fiction pile list? I would like at least three from each to be kept for a potential child, even if it is just as a middle name. Five from each would be ideal. Any not used I will keep to maybe use in my writing later.
Also if you have any name suggestions to add that you think would be better or similar sort of style to those listed below that I might of missed. Please state those instead if you feel they would be a better option. I will be assuming unless stated otherwise they are suggestions for an actual child rather then a fictional one though.