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Perfectly Safe Demons -Ch 14- Bruised and cheerful

2023.06.08 20:41 Mista9000 Perfectly Safe Demons -Ch 14- Bruised and cheerful

[Chapter One]
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Rosifo Girtwoud woke up feeling sore and exhausted. He slept well, but never as long as he’d have liked. He could hear his roommates moving around and getting ready for their days. Sitting up in bed, he stretched and took stock. His new job was physically demanding, but it was the best job he’d ever had. By a lot. He loved having his own room in a nice place, all thanks to his generous new salary! He could even afford to eat as much as he wanted, a luxury he’d not even dreamed was possible. Last night he ate three helpings of honey glazed pork at the pub! Still clumsy from sleep, Ros shrugged on a tunic and clean slacks, pausing for a second to appreciate the lordly quality of the garments. He still couldn’t believe he owned such nice things, and the Chief just gave it to him! Well, everyone got a few, but that didn’t make it any less special. Ros put on his belt as he went downstairs to the kitchen, where a few of his roommates were eating breakfast and the landlady was pulling some fresh buns out of the wood fired oven.
“Hey there’s the champ now!” called out Rikad, his housemate and co-worker.
“Heh, there are some perks to being the lightest guy on the squad!” Ros replied, referring to the agility drill he had won at work yesterday. Three days a week of training was by far the hardest part of the job, being trained by the Chief was like weathering a storm. Terrifying and dangerous, but something you could be proud of surviving. The other three days a week they worked were a holiday in comparison. Sitting on carts and standing by warehouses was easy.
Ros devoured his huge bowl of sweetened oats and then three buttered fresh buns. Pushing back from the long table with a satisfied sigh, he got up to leave for work with Rikad. The spring morning air was brisk, and they made sure to stay out of the way of loaded carts and riders that zipped by on the narrow cobblestone streets.
“What do you reckon the Chief will have us do today?” Rikad asked.
Ros snorted, “Quit embarrassing ourselves and pick up the pace?”
“Hah! That’s hardly a guess! I liked the knife throwing we did a few weeks ago, that was fun. I hope it’s not all runs and drills, I’m still aching from yesterday,” Rikad said.
“Yeah, I like combat drills. Other than when I have to spar with the Chief. He’s like a mountain that’s fast. I think the day I get a point on him, I’ll buy the whole team a beer!” Ros motioned a lunging jab as they walked.
“We’ll be too old to drink by then!” Rikad teased.
They were in for a typical training routine, a morning lecture on tactics and formations, some solo weapon drills, a short run, then a hearty lunch delivered from the nearby deli. Other days they just called a food cart into the yard with them, but Ros liked the deli lunches better. Also the novelty of someone else buying his lunches was thrilling. Ros assumed that this must be how pretty girls felt all the time. Maybe less sore and less yelled at. But maybe not.
The real highlight of the day was Ros got to see the owner of the whole company when he came out to observe their exercises. Ros hadn’t seen a real lord up close before he started at Pandemonium, and he thought it was one of the biggest perks. Mostly he looked like a tired doctor or shopkeeper, but Ros wasn’t disappointed. He had a nobility of his bearing, clarity in his eyes and an aura of authority. Even the Chief changed when he was around him! Seeing the him defer to anyone spoke volumes to their importance. Not only was he the lord of a whole company, he was also a mage! They were super rare even before the Church started purging all those heresies in their College of Magic, but now he wasn’t even sure there were any in the city!
“Agility drills are done! Imma talk to Mage Thippily, so you lot do some king of the hill sparring; Sword ‘n board! Ros and Kedril start!” boomed Chief of Security Stanisk.
Ros staggered exhaustedly to the equipment racks to get an arming jacket, leather helm, training sword and shield.
“Mage Thippliy is watching,” he whispered reverentially to himself as he geared up.
“Mind your tone or he’ll turn you into a turnip!” called Rikad.
Kedril grinned, “Hah, He’ll turn you into a turnip, Rik. He’ll just look at Ros and see his work is already done!”
Ros used to despise Kedril. He embodied everything Ros had yearned to become: handsome, confident, affluent, and sharp-witted. The team's dynamic was confrontational, rife with competition; they raced, fought, and scored against one another all day, three days a week. It had taken Ros a while to grasp that they were, in fact, a team. Kedril, infuriatingly attractive, devoted time to helping Ros in a few drills last week and offered valuable advice. So, albeit begrudgingly, Ros began to admire him. Kedril was older by a few years, substantially larger, and appeared to be one of the few who already had some training in arms. The prospect of sparring with him didn’t excite Ros.
Fresh from drills and immediately thrown into sparring, sweat trickled into Ros's eyes. The sting impaired his vision. He repeated to himself, 'Elbows in, shield up, tip forward, hips back,’ partially to fix his stance, partially to focus. Kedril was typically in better shape than him, but now appeared even more worn out. His guard was lax and messy, creating a gaping opening. Ros seized the opportunity and struck with a swift, precise jab. In the fleeting instant the jab took, Kedril's shield snapped into position, and his tip dealt a solid blow to Ros's ribs just beneath his sword arm. It was a feint - a brilliantly executed display of weakness where he was most prepared, exactly the tactic Stanisk had explained yesterday.
“Mashed Turnip!” Kedril shouted to the cheers of the others.
“Ros! You lost because your stance is awful! Keep lower! Coiled spring, lad!” the Chief shouted from across the yard.
Ros raised his hands over his head to cede the point and sat at the end of the bench. He hated losing, but he had expected to lose. He gratefully grabbed a cup of water and watched Kedril make short work of a few more challengers. It seemed like they were picking on him, but Ros was coming to understand they were also bonding with him, and these might be the closest friends he’d ever had. Not that it was a high bar, and he didn’t like all of them, but they had his back, and that meant a lot. Finally Jourgun, the biggest lad on the team, tore into Kedril with so much energy and fury that no amount of clever tactics could stop him. Even though he knew these were his friends, seeing Kedril getting bashed in the face with a shield was almost as good as seeing a real mage!
One thing Ros appreciated about training days was that they were shorter. After the sparring, Stanisk pulled aside Kedril and Jourgun for additional work, and dismissed the rest of the men. Ros trailed behind some of his newfound friends to a peculiar place where one would sit, fully naked, in a steam-filled room, all for two glucks.
“This is a sex thing, right?” Ros asked Rikad cautiously.
“What?! Light, no! It’s to relax and heal," Rikad explained. "They place herbs on hot rocks, we sit there, sweat, and breathe in the steam. It’s excellent, you’ll love it!”
“Sounds like we’re all naked and sweaty, though?” Ros remained convinced this was some intimate activity he wasn’t fully grasping. Rikad rolled his eyes and even paid Ros’s entry fee.
Inside the dim, tiled room was surprisingly comfortable. The steam smelled slightly of herbs and medicine, and it was so thick he couldn’t even see the far wall. A quick survey of the others revealed they were just as covered in bruises as he was, which gave Ros a fresh sense of camaraderie. They towelled off, dressed, drank some cold water, and left the strange business without any hint of the carnal encounter Ros had suspected. Despite his lingering confusion about the whole place, Ros liked it and wanted to come back. He appreciated his squadmates not making a single steamed turnip joke. He was hoping that didn’t stick as a nickname, he felt it didn’t remotely suit him.
After the steam, their muscles relaxed and the day's tension eased away. Ros and Rikad were starving. It had been hours since lunch, so they headed to a nearby tavern for drinks and dinner. Being able to simply enjoy food and drink without concern for the price was an intoxicatingly fresh experience. In fact, Ros enjoyed this newfound freedom even more than the meal itself.
After a huge dinner and a few beers Ros paused, and opened up a little.
"Did you know this is the pub where I talked the Chief into hiring me?"
"Really? To be honest, I've always wondered about that. No offence, but you're a lot smaller than the rest of us." Rikad pushed away his empty plate, taking a long drink of his beer.
"Yeah, I saw the Chief in here, dressed like a shining champion, buying ladies drinks and rounds for the whole bar. He was so confident and kind and relaxed. But also obviously dangerous. I’d never seen anyone like him!" Ros gestured to the tavern maid for a refill. "I must have been a sight. My clothes were more patch than original cloth, I was so skinny you could've counted my ribs through a sweater. Not that I had sweater money!" Ros reflected on the lean muscle he'd gained in recent months with inward satisfaction.
"Did the Chief take you for a beggar?"
Ros bristled at the suggestion. "Hell no! I've never begged in my life, I've always earned my keep!" his brief flare of indignation faded immediately. "No, he thought I was a refugee, from some starving backwater. Of course, I corrected him—after he bought me dinner!"
"Hah! The proper sequence," Rikad agreed, laughing.
"Anyway, he asked about my plans. I told him I was waiting till I was eighteen to join the army and serve the Emperor."
"You've certainly filled out since I met you, but I'm not sure you'd pass the army physical even now," Rikad cautiously speculated.
"The Chief was blunter about it. 'Yer so scrawny, a necromancer would find ya offputting, the army ain't gonna waste rations on ya.'" Ros imitated Stanisk’s gruff rural northerner accent.
"Hah! That sounds about right. Which makes your wearing company purple less clear than ever!" Rikad replied.
"Well, he asked if I knew my way around the city. I said I've tread every cobblestone here, so he offered me a job running letters and picking up parcels. Better work than sweeping alleys for a half-gluck and stale bread. I figured a fancy man like him would pay alright."
The waitress finally brought the next round, and Ros paused to take a long drink. Setting his mug down, he continued. "I walked into the Chief's office, and there he was behind that tiny desk with his book and quill. He looked like a cave troll trying to be a librarian. But I wasn't gonna laugh—it was still the Chief. He said, 'We don’t got a lot for now but I’ll give you a list in the morning, and see that it gets done.' I said ain’t fancy, I don’t know how to read! He didn't lose his cool. He simply nodded and said, 'Alright, just report to me in the morning, and we’ll get you started.' Oh, and he warned me never to speak to the Mage unless spoken to, which suited me fine."
Ros took another drink of his beer, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and continued. "I was hoping for five gee a day. I’d probably have done it for a lone gluck, to be honest. So imagine my shock when he apologised that he could only offer me twenty glucks a day!"
"Where were you living, that five would've been enough?" Rikad asked, curious.
Ros, slightly flushed from the beer, leaned forward. "Under a bloody hedge!" He burst into laughter at his own expense.
"That's rough man," Rikad commented, shaking his head.
Ros nodded. "It was, but it's behind me now. After a month or so of running errands, the Chief finally let me join the crew he was training. That's how I ended up a part of the elite guard of a learned lord mage."
Rikad, his face ruddy, pointed his finger at Ros’s chest. "It’s your attitude! You always train the hardest. It’s changed the whole team's tone."
Ros nodded again, serious. "I gotta! The fifteen hundred gee I make every month now is probably more than I did in the last decade. Total! I bet we make as much as a knight commander does leading a thousand soldiers!"
Rikad looked at him suspiciously. "Wait, a decade? Aren't you still a teenager?"
Ros shrugged. "It's been a long, hard time. Anyway, I know I promised to go to see that folk band with you tonight, but I'm spent. I think I might call it an early night." He finished the beer in two long gulps and stood up.
"I get it. Besides, tomorrow's Sunday. We can finally sleep in!" Rikad pointed out.
******
Ros woke to a frantic pounding on his bedroom door. It was still dark out.
“Go away! Keep it down! You’ll wake the whole house!” Ros grumbled, mostly asleep.
“Come on man! Emergency meeting at the training yard. We gotta go now!” Rikad hoarsely whispered.
“Ah, that’s not good!” Ros threw on some clothes and headed out the door with his friend.
“Think it has something to do with what Kedril and Jourgun were doing after work?” Ros asked.
“Maybe? That was hours and hours ago, and those guys are great, and they were with the Chief,” Rikad countered.
They jogged through the mostly empty streets. The moons were behind clouds, and the dew made the cobblestones slick. The faint flickering of their leviathan oil lamp cast strange shadows in the foggy night. The city felt on edge, too many people on the streets in the middle of the night, whispering. A few times Ros thought he heard something about thunder and demons, which did nothing to calm his growing panic.
“What if something happened to Mage Thippily? Are we all unemployed now?” Ros asked, knowing Rikad knew as much as he did.
“What is the business we guard? Something to do with magically formed super secret goods that no one was allowed to talk about. I think? I should have asked,” Rikad lamented.
Finally they made it to the yard, and Kedril was standing at the gate, torch held aloft.
“Good lads! Go into the workshop and take a seat. The Chief has some tea on.” Kedril’s voice was as calm and steady as ever, but his face was pale and drawn, and his eyes never focused on them, just scanned the night intently.
“Inside? Are you sure?” Ros had never gone inside; that was the single biggest rule.
Kedril just nodded. Ros and Rikad looked at each other for courage and moved forward. The big yard door to the workshop opened a crack, and warm light was spilling out. Rikad motioned Ros to go first, and he poked his head in, fully expecting to lose it.
“Oy, is that Ros? Git your scrawny ass in here,” Chief Stanisk rumbled.
The two men felt like flies exploring a web, but inside was surprisingly normal. Five other guards were already there, and the room was a lot like any other workshop. It had planked floors, shelves and tables and one corner was even converted into a kitchen. There were a few simple stools set up, and two incredibly luxurious loungers. Like everyone else, Ros and Rikad took a stool. The Chief gestured to a kettle and mugs for the tea, but no one seemed interested.
“What’s happening, is everyone okay?” Ros finally asked.
“Short answer is yes, for now.” Stanisk said calmly. “We’ll give the other lads a few minutes to get here, then I’ll explain.”
“Holy light, sir! You aren’t wearing your armour!” This unsettled Ros more than anything he’d seen all night, it was like seeing a bear shaved. Chief was just sitting there in trousers and a shirt, sipping tea. He’d never seen the Chief without armour.
“Needs cleaned,” he answered cryptically.
Follow up questions were interrupted by the rest of the men arriving, followed by Kedril and then Jourgun, who must have been watching the far gate.
“Alright, gather round, at ease.” Stanisk started. He looked relaxed which was probably a good sign.
“You lot were hired to protect the interests of our operations. There was an attempt on Mage Thippliy’s life tonight, at his meeting. Security Specialists Kedril and Jourgun did excellent work, and I have full confidence in all of your growing abilities. Our concern is there will be additional attempts."
There was a murmur of apprehension. The mage was the company. Without him there was nothing to guard. No one here wanted to lose their jobs, but they had been suspicious from the start. The pay didn’t match the work.
Stanisk paused as Mage Thipply and the elv, that had only been speculated to exist, came down the ladder from the loft. The mage was dressed like normal, in his brown pants and a white shirt, frameless glasses and a short well maintained beard streaked with grey. The elv was wearing an oversized sweater and long stockings. It had the effect of making her upper body look human, but with the long spindly legs of a shore bird. Her huge nocturnal eyes stared at them all unblinkingly, and her long narrow fingers with too many segments wrapped around a mug of tea. Ros was both intimidated and repulsed. It was like a bird or an insect pretending to be a person, but with eyes that had intelligence and cruelty.
“Ah! Um, thank you all for coming!” The mage was directly addressing them, Ros grinned despite his fears and worries. “There have been events over the last week or so that have culminated tonight, and I no longer think that our operation in Jagged Cove is viable.” The mage saw the reaction of the crowd turn sharply negative. He hastily added, “Of course I’m not closing up shop, we’re just moving to another location. A location outside of the capital region, and I’d like you all to join us.”
Ros sighed and leaned back in relief. This wasn’t bad news at all. He’d gladly move to the bottom of the sea for the Mage. He could feel his pulse returning to normal, as other people started asking questions.
“What? I can’t leave the city, I got a wife and kids!” a guard named Theros said.
“Oh, I just started dating a baker's apprentice, is there an option to stay?” Jourgun asked.
The elv stood up, and addressed the room with an icy indifference. “This is not a negotiation. There is a ship that is leaving in about six hours. If you are on it, you will remain employed. We have also made considerations for your families. They are welcome on the ship, and you can find new homes in the town we relocate to.” She subtly nodded to the Chief before continuing. “Chief Stanisk values your skills so highly that he convinced the board of directors to offer each of you a five year contract. The contract will have some additional employment conditions, but there will be a 5000 glindi signing bonus. Follow Chief Stanisk’s instructions to get on the boat, and we’ll see you there. Or not.”
She returned to the ornate chair, and the room erupted into chaos.
“Holy light! That’s so much!”
“I’d be insane not to sign!”
“Where are we even going?”
Ros grinned from ear to ear, what’s to decide? This was the best possible outcome! Free money to see the world! Packing his bags would take no time, and he could carry everything that mattered in one trip.
Stanisk took command of the room, “You with young ‘uns, we got the company wagons for you waiting, get a move on. I’ll take the mage’s personal wagon and do a loop to Kedril’s, Eowin’s and Klive’s. The rest of you, leg it! Meet back here in three hours and tell anyone what asks, that you took a job out of the city. Be vague! Come on, pick up the pace you helpless kittens!"
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2023.06.08 20:13 Kahzgul [Near As I Can Tell...] Priorities, People! (A Youngling's Illustrated Primer)

Hello.
My name is Kahzgul. You may know me from my shockingly above average conquest guide, the incredible seething hatred I hold for the Inquisitorus faction, or that one time I opened up photoshop just to shit on CG's art team underpaid and overworked intern.
But I'm not here to talk to you about that today.
No, I'm here to speak to all of the young men, women, and bith of the SWGoH community, and to help you help yourself when it comes to determining what to farm, when to farm it, and whether blue or green milk tastes better (it's green; I'll explain why later).
You see, every day, a little boy or girl posts something that asks the question, "should I farm this (endgame content)?" And I have been moved by their plight. There is no greater good than that of a good soldier following orders, and second to that, love of the empire, but third - a distant third - is raising the younglings to become powerful sand people, in their prime, ready to take on the OH GOD IT'S ANAKIN AND WHAT IS HE DOI---
I'm sorry about that. The previous writer has been sacked. Or, rather, diced into tiny barbecue squares by a bloodthirsty jedi master, who - despite his great acumen - was not granted a seat on the council. Quite unfair. If something like that were to happen to me, well, I'm quite sure I'd team up with the wrinkliest old fart I could find and straight murder everyone in one of those school lightsaberings you read about in the news. Can you believe we're up to nearly 2 lightsaberings per day? It's absurd. This entire republic is rotten to the core and you can just feel the need for a strong leader to step in, impose a military dictatorship, and start blowing up entire planets. Did you know my sister lives on Alderaan? I think that's where we should st---
Sorry about that. That writer has also been sacked. And the person responsible for the first sacking was also sacked. What we were trying to do was to answer the question: Should i farm this very expensive shiny new endgame content with my brand new account that doesn't even have CLS unlocked yet?
The answer to this question is, as you probably expect, a long winded parable about some nonsense or other that has nothing to do with anything and serves no purpose at all excepting to remind you that the author has recently been watching an awful lot of Monty Python and that this is, in fact, an ex-parrot.
Actually, the answer is another question:
Should you, who earns only $36,000 per year, buy your 15 year old with their learner's permit a ferrari as their first car?
Of course you should! N't. You shouldn't.
That joke works better if you say it out loud. Like that joke where the guy goes to the doctor and says he's got a penis stuck in his throat and the doctor says how do you know and the guy says well look and then you rub through adam's apple a bunch and spit on your friend to whom you're telling the joke. Text just doesn't do it justice.
So, and now we've finally arrived at the helpful guide portion of this ramble, how is one to determine for themselves whether or not they should farm something? The self-determination part is really important. I like to live by this age-old adage: If you give a man a fire, he's warm for a night, but if you set him on fire he's warm for the rest of his life.
The answer is that, much like an elderly politician of your choosing's undergarments, it depends.
CG has, over the years, released three type of shiny and new things:
- One is what I'll call the "Jedi Knight Revan" style of new thing. 5 brand new characters come out who are required to get a 6th brand new and powerful character. Darth Revan, Starkiller, Dr. Aphra, and the soon-to-be-arriving Jedi Cal Kestis are all good examples of this sort of release. You can go after these right away if you like. There's no real barrier to entry and you can get something shiny and new out of the investment.
- The second is the "The Solo Movie" style of thing. Sometimes CG just adds some shit and it sucks ass for a really long time. Rogue One (okay now thanks to AdRad but that was several years later), Young Han Solo and friends (nest was cool), the Inks when they first came out and really even still if you're not at the point where you can get GI or Reva... stuff like that.
- And the third is the "Jedi Master Luke" style of thing. MOST of the shiny and new things CG adds build off of other things that were, at one time, shiny and new all on their own. These things are pretty easy for older players to go after because they already have all of the earlier requirements completed, but new players are going to find that earning this sort of thing is nigh impossible. I mean you need JKL which means you need the Wampa... Sometimes the chains of requirements are quite long.
For example, Leviathan needs you to have the Fury-Class Interceptor, which needs Malgus to pilot it, both of which need you to have been near max-crating conquest for a long time, which means you're well over 4M GP and don't need this guide anyway (but if you read this far, please know that I appreciate you more than padme appreciated Keira Knightley).
So what I'm saying is, the journey guide isn't particularly good at telling you whether a farm is reasonable or not. Some farms require r8 and r9 characters, and those are hard to get for people who are in 300M GP guilds, let alone people who aren't sure if a 20M GP guild will take them (sorry, egnards; we're really looking for someone with a 7 star lobot for DS Hoth platoons).
This game is a game about patience, first and foremost. It's also a game about space lasers and butchering amazing music by changing the song every time a button is pressed (which de facto makes it a game about turning off the sound of the game entirely). And it's a game about investment.
Where do you get the best return on investment for your limited resources?
Almost never farm new and shiny things. I don't care how candy-like the red button looks, Ren and Stimpy absolutely will not - oh. He pressed it. Well, if you have the impulse control of an anthropomorphic cartoon cat drawn by an army of lunatics balls deep in LSD, you should call 1-800-GAMBLER and seek help. I've heard 1 in 10 people who calls that number wins a prize! Also I can sing the entire "Log™" song from memory, which probably tells you a lot about the sort of person I am.
Your best return is going to be going for things that were new and shiny about a year ago, and it will remain your best return right up until you start running out of things to farm that fit that description (several years from now). Now, even that description leaves a w i d e array of things you could be going after. So which to choose? Well, with an eye towards the distant future, I recommend going after characters and ships first, and gear second. A roster with every character at 7 stars and G1 is better in my mind than one with five characters at r9 and no one else unlocked (although if you had everyone at G1 and 7 stars you're certainly cheating so... grain of salt). Characters who unlock other characters should be prioritized over ones who just sit there looking stupid (or, in CUP's case, being a badass meme guy).
If you're slightly farther along, I'd say it's time to start thinking about how you catch up to the power curve of the game. Think of the curve as a wave you're trying to surf. You gotta paddle a bit to catch it, but once you do... you're golden. So you have to know where the wave is going to form, right? You can't just start surfing when you're still on the beach. That's lame. So you're going to want to get characters who get you more characters so you can hopefully get even more characters in the future.
There are two places to do that more than any other: Fleet Arena, where you earn daily crystals, which let you do more energy refreshes so you can earn more characters, and Conquest, where you earn new and shiny characters loooong before they're available to people who aren't maxing conquest every time. And the good news is that there's some overlap there - the fleet arena for newer players can be well handled by Executor, which needs Piett to pilot, and Piett is a key part of the Imp Trooper conquest team (Veers / Piett / Starck / Gideon / Range) which is all supports and runs a nasty turn meter train (and also can be used to complete not one but two Assault Battle events that reward relic mats and shards and stuff).
You'll need to buy one set of relic 8 materials with crystals, probably. So save up a few!
If you've got executor, then I recommend going after JML and Wat next. That combo (along with the reqs for JML) enables a LOT of cheese strategies in conquest. All of this will also help your GAC success.
If you've hit these benchmarks, then you've probably done enough that you have a sense of where your roster could benefit more. Remember to keep in mind "how does this help me get more characters" and you'll find you're doing very well.
TL;DR: Plan on being a year or more behind the release schedule of new characters, and you'll be able to stay astride of your fleet shard while climbing GAC ranks and prepping to dominate conquest when you get to 4M GP. Don't buy CG's marketing hype; take a "wait and see" approach to new characters and let the whales figure out who is good and who isn't before you spend time and energy on them.
submitted by Kahzgul to SWGalaxyOfHeroes [link] [comments]

2023.06.08 17:36 Individual_Mess3929 Metal Gear Remake Concepts Part 1

hese are concepts ideas I had for an Metal Gear (1987) remake which I would dub as Metal Gear Solid 6: Outer Haven. Metal Gear 2: Solid Snake (1990) would be called Metal Gear Solid 7: Zanzibarland. Both games would be long and give a lot of depth on Solid Snake's past and his relationship with Big Boss, Campbell and Gray Fox. Another game I would push for is Metal Gear Solid: The Philanthropy Chronicles.It would allow players to play as Solid Snake and his supporting cast after the events of Metal Gear Solid 2. Snake’s mission to continue taking out metal gears and track down the Patriots along with Revolver Ocelot. It would lead up to the events of Metal Gear Solid 4: Guns of the Patriots. I will be working on Metal Gear Solid 7: Zanzibarland concepts soon.
The concept for a Metal Gear Solid 6: Outer Haven (MGS6: OH):
I know its long as Metal Gear (1987) would have to be a game that is remade from the bottom up. A remake of Metal Gear 2: Solid Snake would be easier since it was a rock solid game. One wouldn't have to change much from it just expand on the story, elements and characterization it has already. I would love to get feed back from fans here.
Story:
The storytelling aspect is inspired by how MGS (1998) told its story. The game would start with Otacon, a ghost writer that wrote the novel of Snake’s exploits and those that work with Snake during Operation Intrude N313 telling the events of Metal Gear Solid 6: Outer Heaven to journalist they trust. We learn that Snake is paradon for his crimes and is buried as a war hero next to the grave of Big Boss. Given a Medal of Honor award and other awards from other countries for saving the world several times. The world is now knowing about his story and thus even more interested to learn of Snakes exploits during his youth. David Hayter voice being used as a recorded message from a dying Solid Snake giving accounts on what happened in Metal Gear Solid 6 and 7 along with most of his life. Snake hopes that his message and story will inspire others to be better and fight for what is right.
David Hayter wouldn’t voice a young Solid Snake as I feel a voice actor that is younger but can emulate David Hayter mannerism and his voice should do it. A young Solid Snake having a hint of innocence, nativity, vulnerability and self doubt at times.
David Hayter would voice Solid Snake in Metal Gear Solid 7: Zanzibarland since Snake is supposed to be older and wiser. David would be able to give us this voice range and kick it out of the park including the duel against the real Big Boss.
Plot:
The year is 1995, the Soviet Union has collapsed and the Cold War is now over. The threat of nuclear war is gone and the world embraces this newfound peace. However, this peace is short-lived as there are those that don’t want it. The world is engulfed with the threat of terrorism and rogue states that want to get their hands on nuclear weapons. The free world is now being threatened once again. The US Government works to combat this threat with its covert U.S. Army unit known as Fox-Hound under the leadership of the legendary war hero known as Big Boss. However, when a government agent goes missing during a mission…The agent last reports a weapon that can shake the foundations of the world known as “Metal Gear”. Big Boss sends in a rookie but talented Fox-Hound agent known as Solid Snake to learn of this new weapon. Will Snake learn the truth about this new weapon or will the world find out what Metal Gear will do if it's unleashed?
Mission:
Like MGS3 there would be a Virtuous Mission in MGS6:OH.
Main Mission:
This is where Snake goes to South Africa and has to get to Outer Haven which is a vastly HUGE heavily defended base. Potentially the best soldiers and mercenaries in the world work and defend the base. It is an official mission sponsored by Fox-Hound, NATO, CIA, NSA, UN and top members of the US Government. This means Solid Snake gets a load of equipment, gadgets and weapons for the mission.
Gameplay would be a mix between MSG 3 and MSG 4 and MSG 5. It takes influence from other games like Red Dead Redemption, Splinter Cell and Grand Theft Auto video games along with new mechanics. The concept is to give the game a war survival horror like vibe if you’re spotted by the enemy or having trouble surviving in the wilderness.
MSG3 gameplay elements
MGS4 Gameplay elements-
MGS 5-
Splinter cell element-
Grand Theft Auto elements-
New Gaming mechanics -
Weapons
Snake’s Gadgets/Tools for the main mission where he gets official support
Vehicles
Theme:
Movie Influence:
Game Music:
Characters:
Venom Snake/Big Boss:
Supporting Characters
Kyle Schneider
Jennifer Schneider
Diane
Drago Pettrovich Madnar
Ellen Madnar
Tech (Original)
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2023.06.08 17:27 No_Bonus9280 my older trans brother

so im kinda nervous to post this because i have only recently began to process this and my complicated relationship with my brother (ftm trans) . i can’t remember how old i was. i was a toddler, maybe 6 years old. theres a large age gap with my brother, he would have been 16. my brother came out as trans at around 12 i think? so i didn’t actually know or understand what trans meant for a few more years, he was just my brother.
we shared a bedroom and would sometimes have ‘sleepovers’ in his bed. idk if this is weird in itself. my brother had fell asleep one time, im pretty sure he was pretending though, with his loose boxers pulled aside and his legs spread. i remember seeing his private parts and being confused. i knew boys had penises. but his parts also didnt look like mine since testosterone changes how they look. (he started hormones at 15). because of the confusion i remember being a curious 6 year old, i reached out and touched him there. i remember being grossed out that it was wet and this makes me think he was awake because his clit became very swollen too. it really shocked me and honestly looked like a penis. i was literally spreading his privates and exploring them i didnt know it was wrong.
the next time this happened, my brother pretended to be asleep and reached down to my private parts, i think has was acting like he was just moving in his sleep. i started to hump his hand because it felt good, i didnt know any different. i remember him reaching inside my underwear and being scared. he also ended up going under the covers and giving me oral a few times, while still pretending to be asleep. this is the memory that makes me completely sure he knew what he was doing. we have never talked about it since. i am angry and scared and so confused about my feelings towards him. i love him so much. but i cant understand this. it carried on until he was 18 and left for college. i was only 8 when it ended. and have struggled with compulsive masturbation and disturbing thoughts since then.
submitted by No_Bonus9280 to Molested [link] [comments]

2023.06.08 17:17 No_Bonus9280 my trans older brother

so im kinda nervous to post this because i have only recently began to process this and my complicated relationship with my brother. i can’t remember how old i was. i was a toddler, maybe 6 years old. theres a large age gap with my brother, he would have been 16. my brother came out as trans at around 12 i think? so i didn’t actually know or understand what trans meant for a few more years, he was just my brother.
we shared a bedroom and would sometimes have ‘sleepovers’ in his bed. idk if this is weird in itself. my brother had fell asleep one time, im pretty sure he was pretending though, with his loose boxers pulled aside and his legs spread. i remember seeing his private parts and being confused. i knew boys had penises. but his parts also didnt look like mine since testosterone changes how they look. (he started hormones at 15). because of the confusion i remember being a curious 6 year old, i reached out and touched him there. i remember being grossed out that it was wet and this makes me think he was awake because his clit became very swollen too. it really shocked me and honestly looked like a penis. i was literally spreading his privates and exploring them i didnt know it was wrong.
the next time this happened, my brother pretended to be asleep and reached down to my private parts, i think has was acting like he was just moving in his sleep. i started to hump his hand because it felt good, i didnt know any different. i remember him reaching inside my underwear and being scared. he also ended up going under the covers and giving me oral a few times, while still pretending to be asleep. this is the memory that makes me completely sure he knew what he was doing. we have never talked about it since. i am angry and scared and so confused about my feelings towards him. i love him so much. but i cant understand this. it carried on until he was 18 and left for college. i was only 8 when it ended. and have struggled with compulsive masturbation and disturbing thoughts since then.
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2023.06.08 17:01 Avizie The Ancient Magus' Bride Season 2 - Episode 10 Discussion Thread

Mahou Tsukai no Yome - Season 2, Episode 10

Episode 10

Chise Hatori, a 15-year-old Japanese girl, was sold for five million pounds at an auction to a tall masked gentleman. Abandoned at a young age and ridiculed by her peers for her unconventional behavior, she was ready to give herself to any buyer if it meant having a place to go home to. In chains and on her way to an unknown fate, she hears whispers from robed men along her path, gossiping and complaining that such a buyer got his hands on a rare Sleigh Beggy.
Ignoring the murmurs, the mysterious man leads the girl to a study, where he reveals himself to be Elias Ainsworth—a magus. After a brief confrontation and a bit of teleportation magic, the two open their eyes to Elias' picturesque cottage in rural England. Greeted by fairies and surrounded by weird and wonderful beings upon her arrival, these events mark the beginning of Chise's story as the apprentice and supposed bride of the ancient magus.
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2023.06.08 12:16 TheGeekyZoologist Jurassic World: The Hegemony of Biosyn (JWD rewrite) - Act IV (1/2)

Acts I to III are available in my previous posts. This act is the longest of all and thus, I've been forced to divide it into two posts. Make sure you're comfortable. Enjoy your read!
​

Act IV: The Clouds Burst (1/2)

Maisie's evasion
While Ramsay is secretly covering them in the control room, Wu and Theo enters Katia Lesser's lab and with Rod Drummond's unexpected help (he's tired of working for Biosyn and intend to get out of the valley), they neutralize the scientist and frees Maisie from her cell. They then cross the other secret labs within Biosyn's Citadel and we several interesting elements:
- Dissected animals are seen in one of the labs while others are suffering medical experiments.
- In one of the sections, there are ten rooms. Nine of them are empty and in the tenth one, there are nothing but locusts, which surprise Theo. However, Drummond points out they don't exactly look like ordinary locusts (they're only slightly bigger than modern locusts. They could even be portrayed by real locusts (a bit enlarged by visual tricks) if this was a film) and noticing Wu's guilty look, the two men and Maisie realize he had a role in their creation). But he doesn't have the time to give explanations about those locusts.
- Another room has a window which overlooks a large dark bunker-like hall. In its darkness, they glimpse the shape of a large theropod with raised dorsal spines and crocodile-like scutes but when he sees the creature a bit more clearly, Drummond says something like "Those idiots made their cheap Godzilla knockoff!", recognizing the creature from the short film he mentioned to Wu in the Drinking Confession scene. He calls the mysterious theropod an "Ugly bastard" and a perversion of real dinosaurs.
After the labs, they head for the metro station just as planned but due to his lame leg (in TRQ, it was pierced by one of the Indoraptor's claws), Wu can't go with them and decides to stay in order to win some time for them. He and Maisie have a last look/exchange, with the teenager finally showing Wu some genuine respect and gratitude. Wu gives Theo a flash drive, urging him to send its content to Guillaume Vuillier of the WDMC as it contains the evidences of a scourge Biosyn intend to release soon. They separate, with Wu going in the opposite direction.
While the guards are chasing Wu, Maisie, Theo and Rod enter the metro and picks one of the stations on the eastern side of Auronzo (actually one of the observation towers). The metro leave the Citadel, following the valley loop. However, the metro system was badly designed and it can only follow the loop in a clockwise direction, forcing them to make a considerable detour and waste precious minutes.
Wu is soon caught and Dodgson's arrival in the control room prevents Ramsay from further helping the fugitives. Seeing one of the metro heading east, Dodgson has it stopped halfway of its journey and orders the guards to go inside the tunnels and bring back Maisie. Aware that Wu betrayed him, Dodgson takes a tablet and activates a certain Prometheus protocol.
Underground, Maisie, Theo and Drummond are forced to leave the metro and they try to find an exit before the guards can catch them. They find a door on the side and breaking it, they enter another smaller tunnel. However, the ground is slippery and they fall, descending further down into the darkness.
When the guards sent in the tunnels tell Dodgson that they lost Maisie, the CEO has a fit of anger.
The old amber mines
After their fall, Maisie, Theo and Drummond discover that they're in the old amber mines, which Biosyn exploited until their depletion, and search for an exit. Drummond also mentions that the valley's underground is like a cheese and that he wouldn't be surprised if some tunnels lead outside of the valley, which would explain all the incidents which occurred in the past year. During their crossing of the mines, they find several human skeletons or remains. It's implied that it's all the undesirable people who trespassed into the valley (governments' and rival companies' spies, anti-Biosyn activists...).
Should the giant temnospondyl be scrapped from the frozen lake sequence, it's probably going to be included here, as there are underground rivers and reservoirs by the mines.
Aviano Air Base
At Aviano Air Base, at the very gates of the Alps, Jessica Bigelow boards a US air force helicopter which takes her to Auronzo.
Prometheus Protocol
Wu is brought to Dodgson, which shows him a screen. Wu is aghast as it's a Twitter feed with the following hashtag #MadScientistWu, which is trending. Dodgson then explains that he had a file containing evidences of Wu's ethical misbehaviour (his work on the Indominus and Indoraptor, and especially the use of human DNA in their making ..) be made and ready to be sent to the media at once should he betray him. His reputation being destroyed for good, Wu breaks down and Dodgson orders the guards to bring him to Dr Lesser's lab and put him in Maisie's cell. Several characters (Ramsay, Pellegrino, Chapman, Everett...) watch Wu being led away by the guards.
With Mia Everett being nearby, Dodgson declares that Biosyn shouldn't have accepted a single InGen employees within its ranks has they have been nothing but traitors and burdens, before announcing to Mia he finally decided to pull the plug on her research program, as her rival and his team have much more promising results and shall be soon covered in glory.
Raiding and Betrayal
While the afternoon reaches its end, Owen, Dougal and Kayla end up near one of the Sanctuary's seven observation towers. There's no one inside and Kayla suggest entering it to raid some of the supplies it contains. She also tells her two companions that there is a metro station beneath each of the towers, stations connected to the Citadel by the tunnels. Thinking they could infiltrate the Citadel by those tunnels, Dougal agrees with her plan and the trio enters the tower and steal the needed supplies but a drone has spotted them. Just as they are about to follow the tunnels, they notice flashlights, those of incoming Biosyn guards. They climb back to the top of the tower but a security vehicle parks in front of the building and other guards step out of it. Surrounded, the trio prepare for a siege inside the tower but just as the guards are about to enter, Kayla points her weapon on Dougal's head and tells Owen to drop his or his colleague dies.
From the nearby forest, Claire witnesses the capture of her two colleagues and watches the Biosyn Security vehicle taking Kayla and the prisoners to the Citadel while the sound of helicopters approaching can be heard.
The board arrives
The helicopter(s) transporting Biosyn's board of directors lands on the Citadel's helipad and its passengers (which include Nathan Quinn and Zoe Murdoch) are welcomed by Dodgson and Ramsay.
Obstinacy
At the same time, Jessica Bigelow is brought to the Citadel and asks to see Dodgson but Murdoch stands in her way, claiming he's very busy. The CIA agent insists and Dodgson finally listens to what she has to say. But he wants to carry on with his event whatever happens, but reassure her as for Biosyn's most important research: They're already on a hard-drive in his office.
The cells
We cut to Owen and Dougal as they are locked up in a cell in the Security HQ. Kayla is standing outside, next to Pellegrino who's interrogating the two men about their mission and Claire's whereabouts. The smuggler reveals to the two WDMC agents that powerful friends suggested to her to let herself be arrested by the Italians as they expected they'll use her as a Trojan horse. She adds that there's nothing personal, she's just thinking about herself. While Pellegrino carries on with her questions, Kayla leaves the Security HQ and meets Bigelow by its exit (telling the audience that Kayla's powerful friends are the CIA). She asks her about their next moves and the CIA agent answers that the two of them will leave the valley with Dodgson and his escort. Back in the cell, Owen and Dougal hope Claire will succeed.
Unleashed dragon
As she's nearing the Citadel, Claire is spotted by a patrol of mercenaries or a drone. They chase after her and in her flight, she ends up in an enclosed part of the Sanctuary with several paddocks and cages. Several of them contain animals and it's implied that it's where Biosyn keeps those it just acquired or bred before releasing them in the valley. One of the cages contains a tyrannosaur and just as the mercenaries are about to catch her, Claire releases the predator and the mercenaries panic, triggering the rex's attack. It kills them before turning towards Claire, who's crouched and not making a single move. The rex sniffs her lengthily and Claire notices it's the animal she saw the day before, which left the droppings she used to mask her scent... The rex leaves Claire alone and disappears in the woods, heading north while Claire heads in the opposite direction. On the way, she sees a mysterious large theropod (she and the audience have visual obstacles which prevents them from clearly seeing it but we know it's the one from the bunker under the Citadel) being transported towards the western part of the valley.
In the besiegers' camp
While the sun is setting, a meeting is held in one of the besiegers camp's tents. Among the attendees are Vuillier, Nyamu, Viscontini, the leader of the Carabinieri Colonel Orlando Pasolini, and those of the Italian and Austrian Special Forces (and Pazzi through videoconference as he's still in Rome). They're talking about Biosyn's defenses and forces, the species which might be encountered in the Sanctuary, eventual negotiation strategies, the WDMC agents' mission, the grey guards who are in the valley and currently heading to the Citadel... Argument breaks out as some (like Pazzi) advocates for an immediate offensive, to surprise Dodgson and prevent him from fleeing or preparing some nasty surprise, while others want to wait until dawn, to let time for the grey guards and the eventual surviving WDMC agents to accomplish their mission in addition of avoiding sending men in a valley full of deadly animals in the dark of the night. Pazzi is for an immediate offensive and gives his blessing to colonel Pasolini.
Worried about the fate of his agents, Vuillier contacts the grey guards, which are already heading to the Citadel, following a path in the uplands.
The US spies
From a nearby wood, some people are seen spying the camp and northern entrance of Biosyn's lands. We cut to a meeting room inside the CIA's headquarters at Langley where Gibbon and his colleagues just received news that an offensive is about to start at Auronzo. Some ask the head of the DSD news about his agent inside Biosyn's Citadel.
Open the gates
Bigelow, with Ramsay's help, is trying to persuade Dodgson to cancel the event, take the hard-drive with the key research, and secretly evacuate Auronzo before ordering the control room to open the gates and let the Italian authorities in. While those would be searching through the Citadel, they would leave the area by the mountains before heading to a secret safehouse. Dodgson complains that the only help the US government sends is her but she mockingly retorts that the US won't risk a war with Italy and Austria just because of him and that had he been more careful, all that mess wouldn't have happened.
Watching footage of the besiegers' camp, Dodgson finally orders the opening of the northern gate. He and Ramsay then go to the auditorium, where Biosyn's board and other important figures are waiting for the CEO.
The convoy
Believing Dodgson finally surrendered, Colonel Pasolini and most of his Carabinieri enter Biosyn's lands while the Italian and Austrian Special Forces remain in the camp. After passing by the mercenaries (who were ordered by Dodgson to stand down) and the airstrip, the convoy enters a narrow pass through the mountains, the same one through which the hunters were brought to the Sanctuary.
Chips
In the Citadel's auditorium, Dodgson begins his presentation with a speech about how dinosaurs and other de-extinct animals were used since InGen first cloned them. At the same time, all the non-essential employees are gathered in the cafeteria and locked there by the mercenaries on his orders while others are deployed in some of the Citadel's most strategic locations (the control room, the labs' entrance...)
Meanwhile, the Carabinieri convoy has entered the Sanctuary and following the main road to the Citadel, they pass by the lake seen in A bed in the trees scene and several animals, including predators, which do nothing but watch the convoy. Drones are seen flying above the Italian vehicles. However, just as the Citadel is visible in the distance, the convoy stops when the first vehicle notices that a fallen tree is lying across the road. While it's quite large, said tree is still light enough to be moved by a group of people and with a lot of effort. Colonel Pasolini orders for a certain number of his men to get out and move the tree out of their way but while they start accomplishing their task, the Carabinieri feels the ground trembling beneath their feet and they and those still in the vehicles see ripples in the water puddles along the road. A racket starts to be heard in the woods on both sides of the road and in the distance, trees can be heard being jostled or even falling. Aware that large dinosaurs must be nearby, Pasolini orders his men to get back inside the vehicles and to the last in the convoy to return to the last crossroads and search another way to the Citadel. But just as said vehicle turns around, a tree falls across the road, larger than the one ahead of the convoy. The latter is now stuck between the two fallen trees and when they see human silhouettes running away from the one behind the convoy, the Carabinieri realize that they've fallen into an ambush (hearing the Carabinieri's communications on the radio, Vuillier and Viscontini wonder what treachery Dodgson has planned). Meanwhile, the drones have returned over the convoy and the racket in the woods gets closer and closer and the people in the convoy glimpse three large necks rising from the forest: argentinosaurs, charging argentinosaurs. Frightened at such a sight, the Carabineri are struck with fear and just as the sauropods are about to burst out of the forest at any second, a dreadful booming sound (similar to that of the orcs horns in Battle of the Five Armies; or the reapers' sound from the Mass Effect series) comes from speakers on some nearby elevation and in response, the sauropods let out a deafening bellow heard across much of the Sanctuary. Before they can take action, the Carabinieri are attacked by the argentinosaurs and their suite of small predators.
In the control room, Pellegrino witnesses the attack through some drone visuals and is wondering how it happened. She orders the technicians to send a signal in the sauropods' brain chips (during the Inspection scene at the beginning of the story, Pellegrino explain to the group that the Sanctuary animals are chipped) in order to make them stop but when they try to send the signal, the get an error notification, and one of the technicians say that either the chips fried and are driving the animals mad, or they were hacked. Pellegrino then asks to deactivate the aerial defense system to let the besiegers fly their helicopters into the valley but she's told that some program recently inserted prevent them from doing that for the entire duration of the prenstation. Powerless, the head of security watches the argentinosaurs crushing vehicles and men under their feet, and their suites of small predators harassing them. She's even more surprised when a few Ankylosaurus (first glimpsed in the news montage when the report talks about "tailored dinosaurs". Compared to those from the fossil record and those made by InGen, those Ankylosaurus are bigger and more high-legged, giving them enhanced mobility. Design-wise, it's basically the one from the actual JW films, albeit perhaps more intimidating) join the fray. Having suspicions, she head for the auditorium.
After learning that Pasolini and his Carabinieri fell into an ambush, an offensive is launched against the walls of Biosyn lands. Vuillier and Viscontini watch the Italian and Austrian Special Forces engaging the mercenaries defending the walls by the airstrip. They hope they'll soon make a breach so they can reach the convoy before it's too late (they know they can't send helicopters due the pterosaurs acting as the Citadel's aerial defense).
In the valley, one of the Carabinieri notice that the animal isn't acting on its own will (it's seen blocking its movements for a short moment, like someone resisting to a possession) and even seems in pain.
We cut to the auditorium and his observation is confirmed, with Dodgson explaining to the board of directors that thanks to chips (originally designed by Mantah Corp but Dodgson being Dodgson, he doesn't mention that and instead give the credit to the team rival of Mia's), they can control the animals like puppets. He precise that while the chips work well on some animals, trials have failed with others (like the raptors). On the auditorium's giant screen, various diagrams and footage of trials are seen.
We then follow another POV, that of technicians inside a command centre-like room. The technicians are sitting in front of monitors and each of them is seen typing on keyboards, giving instructions to the argentinosaurs' and ankylosaurs' chips (on the monitors, the audience can notice that they give names to each of the animals. For example, the three Argentinosaurus are named Brontes, Steropes, and Arges; after three of the cyclops from Greek Mythology). Through their drones or even micro cameras attached to the dinosaurs, they see the Carabinieri fleeing northwards while some of the Italians retaliate to the attack by shooting on the dinosaurs. But their weapons are ineffective against the argentinosaurs' hide and the ankylosaurs' armours. On the order of a mercenary officer, the technicians send a second wave of animals.
The speakers make once again their awful booming sound, exacerbating the animals' aggressiveness, and the second wave emerges from the forest. Before the scene cuts, we see it's made of, among other things, a Gigantoraptor (named Jabberwocky on its controlling technician's monitor), a couple of Quetzalcoatlus, probably some medium-large theropods like Allosaurus or Carnotaurus, a Biosyn Triceratops, and maybe even some Hyaenodon/sabre-toothed felid (depends on which will appear in the fighting pit in Malta) and Gigantopithecus recently imported to Auronzo. Many of those new attackers wear armor pieces comparable to those of police and military dogs or horses.
In the auditorium, the giant screen ends up showing the battle occurring in the valley. Dodgson's audience gasps when they see the drones' footage. One of the board members ask: "It's from a video game? Right?"
NOTE: I fear that there might be too many animals and different species involved in the battle. The mandatory ones are the following: Argentinosaurus (maybe have more than three individuals? The Brontes-Steropes-Arges trio could be seen charging abreast, evoking from afar a single three-headed gigantic beast) and their suite, Triceratops (which will illustrate itself soon and show how it's different from InGen's trikes), Gigantoraptor (in order to have a faster and more agile creature in the lot), and another player foreshadowed in earlier scenes (you'll know which when we'll return to the battle).
Sneaking into the Citadel
While battle just broke out further west, a Biosyn guard posted by a large gate carved at the base of the mountain near the Citadel spots a hooded silhouette under the trees: Claire. She retreats into the darkness and as a huge reward has been promised to anyone who would capture Vuillier's she-wolf, he runs after her. However, just like the colleagues she killed the day before, she lures him into an ambush and neutralizes him. She then steals his uniform and badge, and use the latter to open the gate, entering in an underground corridor, large enough to allow the transportation of large animals like the mysterious big theropod she glimpsed earlier. She follows it towards the Citadel.
Unbeknownst to her, the grey guards have also started their infiltration in the Citadel, by walking down the slopes behind the central tower. After neutralizing the few Biosyn guards positioned there, they enter the garden around the tower. In the latter's shadow, they split up in four groups, each heading into different parts of the Citadel:
- Cesare, Olivares and another are tasked with entering the labs.
- Perez, Al-Damiri and a third team member must take over the control room at the top of the tower.
- Chapuy and two others are tasked with searching the archives under the tower and preventing anyone from destroying the documents.
- Massoud, Kapakas and Papadopoulos must find the cells and free the WDMC agents if they're there.
The Battle of Auronzo
Following the road, the retreating Carabinieri reach the Valley's main river and the bridge the convoy crossed on the way just a few minutes ago. However, a controlled animal charging from the other side of the river prevents the first Carabinieri from taking it and they are forced to cross the cold waters of the river itself (it's thigh-deep at best) while the controlled animals are right on their heels. Several Carabinieri get killed during the crossing while some of their colleagues are cut off from them and must escape into the woods on the southern side of the river. Luckily, the controlling technicians didn't notice them. Once Pasolini and his remaining men are all on the other side of the river with the few vehicles they could have gotten out of the ambush site, the controlling technicians have their animals stopped just at the edge. A last animal codenamed Quasimodo arrive on the battlefield, a large Biosyn-made predator which visually, looks like a perversion of the real animal which makes up its base genome: It's the monstrous theropod from the bunker, an Acrocanthosaurus whose DNA was spliced with that of other animals, including crocodile (due to the croc fetish of some Biosyn executives) in order to be bigger and more "Monstrous and cooler-looking" than InGen's Acrocanthosaurus (yes, it's just JWD's Giganotosaurus with a different name). The apex predator makes his way through the other animals, which are seen looking at him with fright (in case of the smaller species) or irritation (in case of the Argentinosaurus and the other megaherbivores) but still controlled, they can't run away or fight it. As they're not controlled by the chips, the members of the Argentinosaurus' suite are showing aggression and one of them dares to attack him, but Quasimodo just grabs it in the air and eats it, discouraging the others from attacking as long as the sauropods won't. Quasimodo then stops in front of the bridge and looks at the Carabinieri on the other side. Confronted to this surreal sight, Pasolini don't know if they shall continue their retreat northwards or wait and hope for reinforcements' arrival.
While the animals are eerily standing still by the river, Dodgson exposes an idea to the board: They will bred new animals which aren't in their official catalogue, secretly release them in various parts of the globe, create "controlled" incidents and then get contracted by governments to capture the animals (capture which will be very easy with the chips, barely an inconvenience...) and send them to Auronzo. Biosyn will be both the disease and the cure, getting profits from this endless cycle of incidents and capture and obtaining absolute control on genetic power while their remaining competitors will die one by one. Basically, they'll soon become the equivalent in the Bio-engineering world of the British East India Company, something InGen aspired to be before crumbling. The CEO adds that his friends within the US government are already very interested by this technology.
Hidden in a technical room right behind the auditorium's stage, Pellegrino heard Dodgson bragging about controlling the animals. Realizing that he's so mad that he is slaughtering her fellow countrymen just to sell a technology, she takes a potentially fatal decision.
Back at the camp near the airstrip, Viscontini tells Vuillier that someone within the Italian government must have warned Dodgson, explaining how he got the time to do his nasty preparations. As the Special Forces just defeated the mercenaries guarding the northern entrance of Biosyn's lands and took the airstrip, Vuillier and Nyamu join them, asking for a weapon and climbing into one of their vehicles, refusing to stay safely in the camp while their friends and colleagues are in danger of death within the valley.
The speakers let out a third blast and hearing it, the few Carabinieri south of the river turn towards its origin. They see the speaker and an movable antenna on a nearby ridge and are aware that it must have something to do with the animals' unnatural behaviour. They rush towards it, hoping to save their comrades.
Irritated by the third blast, the controlled animals stamp and growl/bellow for a moment, before their controlling technicians orders them to move forward, as they were ordered to crush the Carabinieri before the arrival of their allies. While the other animals cross the river, Quasimodo the monstrous Acrocanthosaurus takes the bridge, accelerating his pace little by little before roaring and dashing on the Carabinieri. Aware that they'll be all slaughtered within a few minutes if they just stand there, Pasolini ordered to his men a few moments before to scatter in every direction and flee as long as possible in order to win time while the remaining vehicles will be either used to carry a maximum amount of men to the nearest shelter (could be the Hunting Lodge) before coming back and picking up those they can. Pasolini volunteers to stay on foot.
While flying between the speakers and the river, one of the drones spot the Carabinieri left south of the river. Noticing those troublemakers, the controlling technicians recall two of the animals from the battlefield (probably one of the Argentinosaurus and the Gigantoraptor).
On the other side of the river, the rest of the controlled animals have started attacking Pasolini and his men. The argentinosaurs charge through the forest and crush the Carabinieri like ants while their predatory auxiliaries harass them; the trike basically acts like a giant version of the boar from Australian horror film Razorback, charging, goring with its horns, and cutting off limbs with its sharp beak; Quasimodo devour several of the Italians... Colonel Pasolini ends up killed by one of the creatures and his death ruins the morale of his men who are about to rout.
Meanwhile, reactions among Dodgson's audience are varied:While some are captivated, others are not sure what to think about using the Carabinieri as guinea pigs, and one or two are disgusted. Nathan Quinn has a neutral attitude (he's interested by the technology but even if he strongly disapproves the actual demonstration and the bloodbath, he doesn't show it) while Ramsay avoid looking at the screen.
Hearing one of the Argentinosaurus bulldozing its way through the forest behind them just as they are about to reach the speakers and the antenna, the other Carabinieri start to run but during their race, they are surprised by the Gigantoraptor when it kills one of the Carabinieri, acting a bit like an oversized terror bird. They are forced to climb into a tree near a cliff's edge in order to escape it, with even another of the Carabinieri sacrificing himself to let the others climb high reach its targets, the Gigantoraptor tries to climb on the tree but to no avail, as it's too big. However, the tree bends and ends up uprooted under its assaults. Our characters are now hanging on an horizontal tree which will probably soon fall if the theropod keeps kicking it under its controller's command. They can't escape by one end as the Gigantoraptor is waiting for them and to make matters worse, the Argentinosaurus appears below the cliff and it can raise its head almost high enough to grab our characters. They can't escape.
Sneaky as a viper
After passing by the entrance of the large bunker where the monstrous Acrocanthosaurus was contained, Claire decides to pass by the vents after hearing some guards.
The Goblins of Nublar
During their journey through the amber mines, Maisie, Theo and Drummond stumble upon a lone Pectinodon. Remembering what he said earlier about the network of tunnels and its potential exits leading out of the valley, Drummond realize that the Pectinodons, and not the raptors, were involved in several of the external incidents (including the one from the Prologue). As he had to capture some of those creatures in a post-apocalyptic Nublar for Mills and Wu while he was part of Wheatley's mercenary company, Theo warns his companions about the danger of those animals. Maisie remembers having seen babies of those animals in the manor's basement along all the others Mills sold in his secret auction. The lone Pectinodon let out a series of calls and soon, an entire pack threatens our protagonists.
Ensue a scene where they have to repel them (Drummond tries to use the portable horn he has in his bag in order to scare the pectinodons but they're not impressed) and flee. However, Theo is bitten during that scene and his two companions notice this during a brief moment of respite. Maisie hopes they could perhaps find some cure but Theo answers that while one exists, they won't reach it in time. He adds that the venom will drive him mad (as seen in JPTG and mentioned in TRQ) and turn him into a danger for them. While his mind is still clear, he give Wu's flash drive to Maisie, has farewell words with her, asks Drummond to take care of her, and then runs back to where they came from, intending to win some time for them. While Maisie and Rod flee, Theo stands in the tunnel, preventing the pectinodons from going any further. He battles them to the death, taking several to the grave with him. An alternative could be him attracting a maximum of pectinodons in a room where he either provokes a crumbling, either a flooding, something that kills Theo and his attackers.
Finding a ladder, Maisie and Drummond follows it and climb out of the mines, narrowly escaping the pectinodons. They are back to the surface, somewhere in the northern part of the valley, not far from the dam. The palaeontologist then takes the traumatized teenager to the nearest tower, where they rest and resupply for a time.
Turning the Tide
Just as hope seems lost for the Carabinieri in the western part of the valley, a group of Shantungosaurus steps out from the forest and when the speakers on the trailer let out another blast to infuriate the controlled Gigantoraptor and Argentinosaurus nearby, the hadrosaurs, pissed by the sound made, attack the speakers and in the process, destroy also the antenna which sends the signals to the controlled animals' chips.
Freed of the mercenaries' control, the animals stop for a moment and most being scared by the gunshots or having no interest in killing the humans in front of them, just leave. However some like the Triceratops or Quasimodo carry on with their attacks due to their natural instincts but when the Special Forces finally arrive from the north, they hesitate and after being intimidated by the newcomers, they retreat and disappear in the forest' darkness. The surviving Carabinieri start to rally to their allies.
Witnessing the shift in the situation, Dodgson is frustrated and leaves the auditorium, tasking Ramsay with trying to reassure the board. He calls Bigelow, telling her to meet him at his office. On the way, the CEO is cornered by Pellegrino and some of her men, mostly Italians, who point their pistols on him. The head of security tells Dodgson he's under arrest and orders him to cease this madness and surrender to the authorities. However, the putschists are surrounded in their turn by Dodgson's bodyguards and some mercenaries, and all except Pellegrino are gunned down. While she is neutralized and taken to the cells, Dodgson hurries to the Citadel's central tower. By the entrance of his office, Bigelow and Kayla are waiting for him. They enter his office and Dodgson starts cleaning his computer and putting his most precious belongings in a bag, including the hard-drive with Biosyn's most important research. The CEO also orders some men to destroy the archives.
At the top of the tower, Isabella Perez, Sherif Al-Damiri and their companion reach the control room and while they're securing it, Vincent Chapuy and his two comrades have to fight the men sent by Dodgson to the archives. Perez orders the technicians to deactivate the aerial defense system and the pterosaurs are seen moving away, letting the Special Forces (accompanied by Viscontini) fly to the battlefield. A couple of their helicopters go directly to the Citadel, engaging the mercenaries defending it.
While the dead or wounded Carabinieri are taken off the valley before the scavengers show up, the others regroup and with the Special Forces' ground forces, march to the Citadel where they intend to soon end the battle. Vuillier contacts Cesare, asking him about his progress. Cesare and his two companions haven't yet entered the labs, as Dodgson deployed seasoned mercenaries and not simple guards at their entrance, offering a hard resistance.
While the Citadel's defenders are engaged with the Special Forces dropped by the helicopters, Armand Massoud, Angelos Papadopoulos and Lydia Kapakas enter the Security HQ and free Owen and Dougal after a small fight with the gaolers. Pellegrino is also freed. The Raptor Whisperer asks one of the gaolers where Victoria is. She's in the kennels, in the lower levels. While Owen rushes to the kennels, the three grey guards, Dougal and Pellegrino head for the atrium.
Running out of time (his computer is having some issues), Dodgson sends his last forces to the Citadel's atrium, where a shootout occurs. With the cafeteria no longer guarded, the non-essential employees try to break out. Meanwhile several Biosyn guards drop their weapons and surrender when they see Pellegrino collaborating with the besiegers.
Dodgson's joker card
The defenders lose ground and as they are about to be caught between the Carabinieri, the Italian and Austrian Special Forces, the Massoud-Kapakas-Papadopoulos trio and Pellegrino's followers, one of the Biosyn guard calls for a ceasefire. The fight stops and Dodgson appears on top of the stairs which lead to the main courtyard. Bigelow, Kayla and his bodyguards are with him (while Ramsay is seen arriving from the Auditorium) and Dodgson has his bag with him. Seeing the CIA agent, the trio of grey guards hurls threats and insults at her, declaring she'll pay for Digby who died in Malta because of her treachery.
Dodgson look at his enemies: Vuillier, Nyamu and Viscontini down in the atrium, standing in front of the Carabinieri; the grey guards, Dougal and Pellegrino on one of the floors. He talks to them, congratulating them for taking the valley from him, before adding that they won one battle but not the war. Just as he is about to get arrested, he unveils his joker card: Should he be imprisoned or killed, his agents abroad have the order of releasing the content of nine containers he sent across the globe: Swarms of genetically-modified locusts designed to eat every crop but Biosyn's (a montage show trucks carrying the same containers as those seen in the airstrip. They park in the countryside of the following regions: US Midwest, India, Burkina Faso, Tanzania, Egypt, China, Argentina, Australia, and Germany). Should the locusts be freed, they would trigger a global famine, with people being forced to turn to Biosyn if they want to eat. Even if Dodgson doesn't leave Auronzo alive, Biosyn will have a future as it will be the only entity which could ensure mankind's survival in this apocalyptic scenario.
New attackers
Meanwhile, three helicopters arrive from the opposite side of the valley. At first, it's believed that they are others Special Forces helicopters but as no one on the besiegers' camp ordered them to head for the Citadel, some try to contact the oncoming aircrafts, to no avail. Fearing some ill shift in situation, Vuillier suggest his allies to take cover. One of the besiegers' helicopter tries to intercept the trio of helicopters but they shoot it down and it crashes in the eastern part of the valley, near one of the observation towers. Everyone in the atrium is surprised, including Dodgson, and rushes to shelter while two of the helicopters fire missiles in several of the Citadel's key locations, including the atrium, the helipad (destroying the board's helicopters) and the cafeteria, and spray the control room (Perez is hit while one of the technician accidently release the animals contained in the kennel when he falls dead head first on his console. The freed animals not only include Victoria but also dilophosaurs among other things). After that, they distract those of the besieging forces and attack the Citadel's defenders. Many casualties are inflicted among the besiegers and Biosyn employees.
Dodgson regains consciousness just after the attack, which killed his bodyguards and projected Bigelow and Kayla away. Next to him, Ramsay is still unconscious. He sees the third helicopter of the attackers landing in the courtyard and debarking a squad of armed men who directly rushes to the laboratories. As soon as they're gone, Dodgson grabs his bag, wakes Ramsay up, and takes advantage of the situation to escape, towards the nearest elevator. He chose one of the lower levels, that of the garages. The elevator blocks itself halfway and the two Biosyn executives must force their way out while chaos has taken over the rest of the building.
submitted by TheGeekyZoologist to JurassicPark [link] [comments]

2023.06.08 11:45 chanon17 A longer-than-you-asked-for life update filled with trans joy and complications

Hello friends! Chelsea here. 😊
I've thought about making this post for a while but just hadn't gotten around to it. But as I said in the title, I slept most of the day because 🤷🏻‍♀️ so I'm up late drinking coffee and trying to figure life out. If you're interested in being up-to-date on my life story (and why wouldn't you want to know the intimate details of a random stranger on the internet?), here are past updates for your convenience:
This will likely be a lengthy post, so sorry not sorry! I found that, especially early in my transition, it was really helpful to read perspectives and experiences of those going through experiences that either matched my own or were down a path similar to what I hoped for myself. So maybe I can be that for someone!
June 2022:
Further complications following coming out to my parents:
I came out to my parents and there were complications, which you can read about in the linked posts above. What happened after that is that a couple of weeks later, my parents asked me to come over to 1) see if anything had changed (uh, duh, it hadn't) and to warn me: they were going to go camping with my grandparents and aunt/uncle, and my mom wasn't sure that she could keep things to herself regarding my trans identity. Specifically, she warned that she might tell her brother (my uncle) in order to gauge what his thoughts on how their parents (my grandparents) would react to the information.
I told her that I'd rather she didn't, and her response was "well I just don't know if I'll be able to help it". So that was fun. The weekend passed, and the day after they had all gotten home, I received a cryptic text from my aunt, where she told me she loved me and prayed for me constantly. She said that she had noticed from my book-tailored Instagram account that I'd read a specific book about churches and LGBTQ issues that she was going to read too because she likes to "read lots of things and try to consider all sides of issues before [making] a decision", and that she was going to watch a specific video made by the author of this book. (I'm leaving out the name of the book and the author for my own privacy reasons.) I assumed that this text meant my mom had told my aunt/uncle after all because I had made no mention of this book's author or any videos he had made, so her mentioning the video indicated that she had been pointed in a specific direction. Anyway, nothing further was said, about me being trans or otherwise, for a long time, but I more or less operated under the assumption that my aunt and uncle now knew.
December 2022:
Christmas time with family update:
Christmas at my aunt and uncle's house with the rest of the family, sans my grandparents because my grandma came down with Covid. Towards the end of our stay, my dad pulled me aside and asked me what my plan was around "telling my aunt and uncle", to which I responded "I thought that you and Mom did tell them", and he said no, that they figured that it should come from me. I still call BS, that even if they didn't outright say "[deadname] is trans", they hinted pretty heavily that something was going on. In any case, I told him I had no plan of telling them and didn't. The months leading up to this were weird because I was taking HRT but otherwise not presenting femme because of my work and family situations, so my parents never said a word about it before that moment with my dad even though I ate dinner at their place once a week.
January 2023:
Okay, now we're getting to the good stuff!!
Coming out to my bible study class:
If you didn't read my previous posts: I have always valued my Christian faith, and it was important to me early in my transition to find peace between my transition and my relationship with God. I'd found a local church in March/April-ish that was fully affirming and accepting of LGBTQ individuals and had been attending in person since May. And let me tell you everyone, finding this church is maybe the best thing that has ever happened to me!
When I first started attending, I filled out a guest registration form and disclosed that I was trans but not presenting yet, and the person who responded directed me to a bible study class of people around my age. In that class, I made friends for the first time in literal years, and not just one or two, but many! I didn't come out to them, but I also didn't try very hard to hide things like my budding breasts or longer hair or other changes like I did in other social spaces. I joined the choir, played in the band (there's a wind ensemble at the church that I play my French horn in once a month), was enlisted into the New Member Committee, and just had the best time.
That said, in January of 2023, I decided I wanted to come out to my class, so I recorded a video myself, posted it in the class group chat, and then put my phone on Do Not Disturb before going to the gym. When I got back to my car, I opened my phone and was overwhelmed with messages of love and support and acceptance; it was everything I could have hoped for! I told them that I didn't have a timeline for presenting femme or for changing my name and pronouns, I just wanted them to know so that they could be on the journey with me.
Getting a church name tag of my chosen name in secret:
ALSO: I mentioned that I was enlisted into the New Member Committee, and we had our first meeting this month. The staff liaison to the committee, who just so happened to be the person who had responded to my guest registration form and directed me to my Bible study class, was going to order everyone in the committee name tags so that we could wear them around church to be hospitable to people. I emailed her afterwards, reminding her that I was trans if she had forgotten and asked for her to make an extra name tag: one for my deadname that everyone still new me as, and one for my chosen name. And she was more than happy to oblige!
February 2023:
1-year HRT anniversary:
Firstly, this was the 1-year anniversary of me starting hormones! Just a few stats: I'd lost around 45-50 pounds, grown my hair from bald to just past my earlobes (with a stubborn patch of male-pattern-baldness right in the front 😔), and felt good in my body for the first time in my life.
Coming out to the rest of my mom's side of the family:
Secondly, this was the month when I came out to the rest of my (mom's side of the) family. Not because I felt especially like I wanted to but because I was more or less cornered into it.
I was at church choir rehearsal when the family group chat lit up: my uncle was asking us to look at our emails so that we could make plans for a family cruise to celebrate my grandparents' 60th wedding anniversary...in December. And we had to book the vacation ASAP.
My heart sunk into my stomach. I was still only out to my parents and brother, and here we were trying to make travel plans for 10 months from now? When I wouldn't look the same, when my documents hopefully wouldn't match what they are now? I knew that I would have to come out to everyone because I didn't see this vacation as something that I could plan for at this point in time.
My dad called me that night, asking me about my thoughts on the vacation, to which I told him I didn't think I could do it. He was beating around the bush, saying that if it was a money issue that he and my mom could help, to which I responded "you know why I can't go". His response was that I needed to call my uncle and come out to him. But I didn't that night. I did type out a coming out letter addressed to the rest of the family, and I debated between sending it in the group chat, sending it to individual family members, or recording a video of myself reading it, but never did.
The next day, I was basically in a fugue state all day at work. I had a sense of impending doom knowing that I would likely have to come out to my family by the end of the day. My dad texted me asking what I was going to do, and I just told him that I wasn't going to go on the cruise, which he passed on to my uncle. Around midday I got a text from my uncle since he hadn't heard from me and he was the one booking the cruise, but I didn't respond. He called later on my way home from work, and again, I ignored it.
When I got home from work, I set about trying to record the video of me reading the letter I mentioned before, but I couldn't get the tone right...it always sounded too angry. Eventually, my aunt messaged the family chat, asking for confirmation from each person about their availability and willingness to go on the trip, and one by one everyone responded except for me. The moment came...I had to do something.
So I called my aunt. Crying, I came out to her, confessing that I'd been on hormones for a year (this actually happened the day before my 1-year hormone anniversary). She responded that she and my uncle weren't blind, that they had noticed something was up (or my mom had told them👀), and that no matter what, they still love me. She did say that she wanted to talk with me about this at some point to learn about my perspective, especially regarding my faith and how it was that my church and I had come to justify being trans/LGBTQ with what the Bible says (more on that later).
But she also understood my concerns regarding the trip, and she said there was no version of this trip that they would go on without me. But I needed to come out to my grandparents because there needed to be a reason for the trip to be called off all of a sudden.
So I gathered my courage, drove to my grandparents' neighborhood, and after a bit of hesitation, called my grandma. I asked if I could come talk to them, and warned that it was likely not going to be a happy conversation...I didn't want to blindside her.
So I came out to the two of them, sitting in their living room, and it went...better than it did with my parents?! I mean, let's be real, no one was necessarily happy about it, but no one yelled or stormed off in anger. My grandma told me she'd noticed something was going on too but just assumed I was gay (I mean...not in the way she thinks), and my grandpa, bless him in his 80 years of age, said that I'm an adult and can make my own decisions. (Imagine that!) And they both reiterated that they loved me.
My aunt had also asked if it was okay if she talked to her kids/my cousins about me being trans. Maybe I shouldn't have said yes because I don't know exactly what was said to them, but my oldest cousin, who is four years younger than me, texted me separately saying she and her husband-to-be loved me just as much as they did before and that she's "always make sure that [I] still feel loved and know [I'm] a valued family member".
And that's the story of how I came out to my mom's side of the family! My dad's side? TBD...but also less important because I don't see them very often.
Oh, one more thing: we're going to go on that cruise after all. My uncle asked the travel agent he was booking the cruise with if it was possible to change/update my booking information if all the identification changes that I'm hoping for happen, and she said as long as I've got updated documents by a certain date, they can be changed on the reservation. So now I just have a casual email from my uncle discussing my gender transition, which is surreal.
March 2023:
Coming out to my church choir director:
My church choir director had announced his retirement and impending move across the country, which was coming at the end of April. I had started making plans around this time to debut as Chelsea later in May, after he'd be gone, and I had a sense that I didn't want him to learn after the fact that I came out after he had left and think that I had waited for him to leave. So I wrote him a letter thanking him and coming out, and I gave it to him after rehearsal one night.
He emailed me in response the next day, expressing all the same joy and acceptance and love that my bible study class had shown, and he also asked if he could know my chosen name, which I happily shared, because at this point I'd gotten the name tags I mentioned before and had taken a picture.
I told him in the letter that I'd be stepping away from the choir for at least a little while once I started presenting as Chelsea, and he said he understood but hoped I wouldn't stay away for too long because "this is the most remarkable group of people" and "they will accept you however you choose to present".
April 2023:
My cousin's wedding but then ears pierced:
My cousin got married Easter weekend. Even though I was out to this side of the family, they weren't ready for me to be Chelsea around them, and to be honest neither was I, but that doesn't mean that I was happy wearing a men's suit. I drove the three hours back home late after the wedding so that I could be at my church's Easter events starting early the next morning. And the day after Easter? I got my ears pierced! They're still healing, so I haven't worn any cute earrings yet, but soon!
(By the way, I told my family about getting my ears pierced ahead of them seeing me a few days later. I didn't want them to notice them on their own and think I was trying to hide it. My mom texted my aunt about it, saying she wasn't handling it well, and my grandmother straight-up cried. They never said anything to me about them though. 🤷🏻‍♀️)
Coming out to the man whose writing brought me to my affirming church:
That book that I mentioned earlier, the one that my aunt said she would read? Well, the author of the book attends my church. Up to this point, I had only met and spoken with him once, back in January: he had just published a new book and was signing copies at church, so I went up to him and bought the new one, but I also brought my copy of the other one and told him that I was at this church because of him. I didn't tell him why, though.
At a dinner party saying goodbye to the retiring choir director, I found myself next to this author in line, and he mentioned a job opening that he thought I might be a good fit for because it was in my field, but what he didn't know (yet) is that I am trans and was leaving my job shortly and would be looking for something completely different.
I messaged him later that night, coming out to him, and he thanked me for confiding in him, asking if we could meet up for coffee or dinner sometime soon so he could hear more of my story.
May 2023:
Coming out to the church congregation at large:
My church has a weekly bulletin/newsletter that each week has a member profile in it, where church members share a picture of themselves and answer some questions so that the rest of the congregation can know them better. I had been contacted to participate in this member profile really early in my time attending the church but had refrained, probably not knowing at the time that I'd save my chance as my method of coming out to the church at large.
And on May 1st, I emailed the staff member who had made me the name tag with my chosen name on it my copy of the profile, including a picture of myself as Chelsea, and I requested a specific date later in the month to be featured. And she said yes!
A few days later, I had dinner with the author mentioned before, and we had a lovely time talking about my life path bringing me to this moment. I shared with him the picture of my name tag, and I also told him that I'd be making the switch to Chelsea in just a few short weeks.
Just a reminder that even though I was out as trans to my bible study class, I was still known as [deadname] and used he/him pronouns. I had only shared my chosen name with a couple of people; I had decided that I didn't want to make the switch until I could make it permanently with them. The week before the member profile was set to go live, I told my class that it was my last time attending church as [deadname], so they needed to keep an eye out on the upcoming newslettebulletin.
The newsletter went live on that Friday, and I was once again flooded with messages from my class expressing their love and acceptance of me, and they all told me they had updated their contact for me in their phones. I was also added to the women-only group chat, which I'd been invited to before but didn't want to join until I was officially Chelsea to them.
The night the newsletter went live, I had my first Chelsea test run. There's a couple in my class who I go see plays/musicals with on a regular basis, so I chose that opportunity to go out with them. I wore a black dress and ballet flats, and we went out for Thai food before seeing the play together. It's funny, before coming out to myself as trans, I'd crossdressed and gone out a few times over the years, but since starting HRT, the most I had done was wear femme pajamas at home and maybe tighter pants on occasion. I didn't even practice makeup on my own. So going out to the play as Chelsea was my first real experience doing so, and it went great and felt so good!
That first Sunday, I arrived with my nails painted navy blue, wearing a floral dress and makeup, and I was so at ease driving to church that morning. One member of my class had arranged for everyone to meet earlier than normal so they could celebrate me, so we had donuts and coffee together before class officially started, and many of them wrote notes of encouragement to me to take home and read later. Even our senior pastor stopped by to write a note!
As for the rest of the church? They were amazing! I met so many new people who wanted to come meet me after reading my member profile, and many of the people who I had already interacted with on a regular basis came up and hugged me, including the author I'd had dinner with and the staff member who had made me the name tag (that I was now proudly wearing) and my bible study teacher. So I am exclusively Chelsea at church now. 😊
Coming out to my coworker and leaving my job:
In other news, I finally came out to my coworker (we're teachers) and told him that I was leaving. I'd been at this school for 6 years, and 5 of them had been with him as my coworker. I knew that he would be affirming and supportive when I told him, but it was still really hard to tell him. For the rest of the school year, though, he was really careful to be sensitive to gendered language, even trying to leave the "Mr." off in front of my last name when addressing me in front of our students.
There was still one more week of school after I came out at church, which meant that after a full weekend as Chelsea, I had to go to work Monday morning as [deadname] again, which really sucked. My coworker even pulled me aside that first morning to acknowledge how weird it must be for me.
Packing up my office on the last couple of days of school was really hard. I was in the career that I had more or less envisioned for myself since I was 13 years old, and here I was at 31 just packing it up without knowing for sure what was next career-wise. There were definitely parts of teaching that really sucked, especially in the time since the pandemic, but I did still enjoy it a lot of the time. Saying goodbye was difficult.
Family update:
For Mother's Day, I had considered writing my mom and my grandma letters expressing understanding that getting used to the idea of me being trans was difficult for them, and saying that I hoped that I could start sharing more of myself with them soon, and signing it with my chosen name...which my family (aside from my brother) still doesn't know, by the way. But I decided my original letters were a little too much too fast (I mean, not really, but I was trying to be courteous), so I wrote shorter versions, and instead of signing with my deadname, I simply signed "C". There were lots of tears and mouthed "I love you"s from across the room.
I mentioned before that I used to go over to my parents' house once a week for dinner and hangout time, but ever since that day in February when I came out to everyone, I hadn't heard from my parents about coming over anymore. To be honest, it was probably just a lack of communication on both sides, but I felt that since we always met at their house, they should be the ones to reinitiate the weekly hangouts. They eventually did resume, more or less the same as they were before, but even though I'm still not dressing femme around them, now I'm more willing to wear shorts to show off my bare legs, or keep my nails painted, or not be concerned if they feel a bra strap or see my breast growth under my shirt. I even went to my grandparents' house my bare legs and navy blue nails, and no one batted an eye! Progress! I think the Mother's Day notes helped.
Meeting with my aunt to talk about me being trans and my faith:
I mentioned before that my aunt wanted to talk with me about my journey into my identity and Christian perspective on LGBTQ acceptance, and we did have that talk. She was in town for work and texted me asking if I wanted to have dinner with her, so we met for tacos and talked. She had read the book I mentioned before, and she didn't necessarily agree with what was presented in it, but she also didn't fully condemn it. We had a perfectly lovely, civil conversation.
June 2023:
Pride month update:
Well, here we are. I'm currently Chelsea a few times a week, which has been so much fun, but it has also made being [deadname] so much harder. With it being Pride Month, I'm really itching to officially come out to the world so that I can stop hiding behind [deadname]'s Facebook page and trying to save my family's feelings about my transition.
There's still one more friend who I haven't come out to yet, and I kinda want to come out to him (and to my dad's parents) before I make anything super public. Along with the friend who was the first person I came out to back in March of last year, this friend is one of my high school best friends, and we lived together in the 2+ years immediately preceding the pandemic. But while that first friend and I have both grown more liberal over the years, I don't know if the same can be said of this other friend, and I still fear his reaction. I don't want to lose a friend, but I know that I can't hide it much longer. Nor do I want to!
I'm actively searching for work, which always sucks. I need something soon though because my money situation is not super great. I have a paycheck from my teaching job until the end of August, but I'd really like to earn more money on top of that and double up while I can. I thought for a while that I would learn coding and become a programmer or web developer of some kind, but at the moment I'd rather find a job using skills that I already have rather than taking all the time to learn something completely new. I realize I didn't plan ahead for this very well, but I'll be okay.
The author I've mentioned several times is also a preacher, and this past Sunday he was out of town guest preaching at another church. That afternoon, he messaged me a link to the archived livestream of his message, telling me part of his sermon was about how I inspired him. 🥺 I've only watched it 50 times so far.
I've thought about using this video as a way of coming out to my friend, or to reveal my chosen name to my family (as well as the fact that I'm actively femme much of the time I'm not around them). I've also got a video recorded for the purpose of coming out on social media, though I might rerecord it or do something different when the time actually comes.
By the way, I went to my first Pride this last weekend, and my church had Pride shirts made and also had their own booth at the festival, giving out Pride versions of their logo stickers! I'm so lucky to be where I am, even though Texas be scary.
In any case, this was a looooooooooong post. If you read any of it, thank you for your time. Really, this was just therapeutic for me to get it all out of my head a bit, but as I mentioned before, reading others' trans experiences has been really helpful to me, so I hope others can find hope in my story.
I'm happy to answer questions if you have them. Otherwise, best wishes to you all - happy Pride Month!
-Chelsea❤️
P.S. - I don't know if the spoilers make this post easier or more frustrating to parse; I was hoping for expandable/collapsible blocks of text to make the post not as lengthy at face value, but I can't find a way to do that. If you need me to take the spoilers off, I'll do that.
submitted by chanon17 to MtF [link] [comments]

2023.06.08 09:00 mmbtc Are there studies regarding the impact of specifically the mother's mother towards a baby's calmness/sleeping pattern?

A little bit cryptic question, I'm trying to clear that up:
My 6m+ old daughter slept for 9 hours straight only two days in her life so far, she usually wakes up a few times during the night, mostly through moving around, sometimes seemingly through distress.
When my wife talked about that around other young moms, three other moms remembered/confirmed a mostly very brief, for their child unusual firm/strong, sleeping pattern. A matching pattern they found was this: Their mothers were visiting then, mostly from further away, staying overnight.
So, as I've read a lot of interesting scientific facts I didn't know about before, I've wondered:
If there is a proven "biological manipulation of parental behaviour" like this: https://www.science.org/doi/10.1126/sciadv.abg1530 (baby's scent blocks aggression in men but triggers aggression in women);
Might there be some hormonal or other physical factors that might influence the baby's sleeping pattern? Like for example something soothing the mother when her mother is present leading to more relaxation, some "maternal hormonal input overflow" for the baby,or something else?
I'm not a scientist, and this is pure speculation, but I wonder if there is more to that than just correlation.
submitted by mmbtc to ScienceBasedParenting [link] [comments]

2023.06.08 08:50 Randaximus Avatar 2 Thoughts

I just saw the movie and though I enjoyed the wonderful visuals, was and still am dumbfounded over the script. Below are some of my observations.
Firstly, the really bad script plot points, other than the terrible dialogue and recycling of the first film, except with water added to the mix.
  1. Starts off almost immediately, after a very brief catch-up of Jake and fam with the 2nd wave of evil colonialist showing up to carpet bomb the forest and start up the war again with the Na'vi which is shown quickly and introduces then cloned soldiers from the first movie??? Is this a joke?!
Instead, there should have been at least 30 minutes of development showing what has happened since Avatar 1. Not just a quick Lion King homage and a quick introduction to the mysteriously conceived child of Dr. Grace Augustine???? Again, Am I being punked by James Cameron?!
What has happened to the tribe. Has Jake been a good leader. Tell me more about his kids. We need character development even though you're visiting Atlantis shortly. Build up the emotional investment we have in your family which you're trying to save.
  1. Jake gives up his leaderahip role and responsibility for the entire tribe because he doesn't have a plan? But he can run and 'hide' with his family. Ok, horribly weak and irresponsible on his part, but Jake was never that bright to begin with. That's not his strong suit. Courage and transparency are. But fine.
Instead, Jake and fam should have tried to hide out on a deserted island instead of endangering other tribes, and slowly, they could have been discovered and made inroads into the Metkayina without having altered the clone warriors.
This should have been friendly and not a showcase for the utter stupidity of Jake's kids, every last one of them except Kiri, who should have harnesses the power of the entire planet to thwart the bad guys and save her brother. But back to the I'll behaved children. Even Aonung, the Metkayina chief's son leaves Lo'ak to die, which I knew by that point would be brushed off. But it got worse as Lo'ak wants to be friends with Aonung the attempted murderer and takes the blame???? What kind of ridiculous crap is this?
  1. After this the plot goes straight into the drink as they say, and becomes as paper thin as I've ever seen. There are B movies that suck but have better writing. Jake's kids keep on with th stupid decisions as away of luring Na'vi reborn Miles and gang into the action since they clearly would never have found Jake if Kiri hadn't had a seizure???? WTH?!
And what was that anyway, an overloaded circuit when she plugged into Eywa, only to be able to kill two bad submariners with a glowing flower? I guess she will Neo that crap in the next film. And speaking of The Matrix, if you're going to borrow them go ahead and steal and make it good.
  1. Where the crap did the Metkayina go after the first wave. And for that matter, where was moby dick for the 15 minutes between his attack and showing back up to give Jake and son a lift? And what about backup for the bad guys? They couldn't put out a distress call or at least report they were getting blown up? No follow up from the 'General' lady?
Seriously, it's like they lost some digital footage and had to improvise. No wonder everyone was so creepy in the 'making of' video I watched, smiling and praising JC like he were Tom Cruise and would eat them otherwise.
These problems are so glaring that they beggar belief! And there are at least another 30 moments that make as little sense. I can't figure out how such a seemingly intelligent and talented person like James Cameron missed all of this, focused on the CGI or not. After dreaming up evolutionary development of Pandoran flora and fauna and giving his all to birthing this world, how could you just forget the plot needed to make sense?
How the story should have unfolded.
Jake is growing as a leader and husband/father. He is learning so much more about Pandora and the Na'vi. He is also learning is the limitations of his avatar as he is not native born.
His children, which shouldn't include Kiri, though I liked her more than the rest of the entire cast and thought she was cute as could be, have been learning and growing in their responsibilities as the Olo'eyktan's kids. They are having fun and the eldest are falling in love. Life is good and the kids aren't stupid little disobedient morons always risking their lives and getting into trouble.
Then...if you want to bring in the humans you can, but not necessarily as colonial scum who burn down hectare of forest to build a city. They instead negotiate peace with the Na'vi forest dwellers and learn to coexist. But unbeknownst to this group, Miles and his reborn squad are sent to the other side of the planet to learn more about the other tribes and harvest an even more valuable commodity from the local whales (per JC script).
Secretly, Miles wants revenge but is basically owned by this other corporation and has little choice, until he finds Jake Sully coming to him in defense of the Metkayina. But Jake has only heard that more sky people avatars are present. He has no clue Miles is one of them.
As the Metkayina try to deal with the encroaching whale harvesters they start their own fight and as for Toruk Makto's help, and he obliged. With an army of his people and even some help from the somewhat friendly settlers, Jake arrives to unite the clans, unite them! And he discovers his old pal Miles, who can't resist the urge to confront him
They fight the bad guys. Things explode. Arrows go everywhere and the whalers are forced to retreat for a time, during which Jake and his family stick around with some troops and learn the way of water. His kids aren't morons, and one of them, his own biological daughter starts to exhibit strange powers while exploring the ocean.
At some point the corpus decide to reengage the natives with a new weapon that can cause tidal waves and some islands are overrun. The people flee to Toruk Makto for help. And while Miles and gang are engaging the 'enemy' they have a change of heart. He finds out his son survived.
Jake's daughter stops a tidal wave and redirects it toward an Armada of ships,.not just one whaling vessel. And Miles decides he's indeed not the human he once was.
He then mutinys for his own sake and to free his squad and helps Jake in the process. There is a face to face and Jake acknowledges that he isn't Miles, but his own person. They part ways, Miles telling his son he hopes they can get to know each other.
It's sappy I know but a first draft. There were so many other directions the script could have gone. And after all these years and the massive budget, the world building and pretentious political commentary, they should have had a Dances with wolves with blue people underwater level script. And it should have won awards for best screenplay.
submitted by Randaximus to movies [link] [comments]

2023.06.08 07:21 zippppy7 EVENT[MF4A] Tampa Friday 6/16 Sexy Lingerie & Boxer Gangbang Party

Time for another GangBang party!
The party will be Friday the 16th of June. The door opens for couples and single ladies at 8:00 pm and single men may arrive starting at 8:30 pm and typically wraps up around 12:00 am.
The party will be held in the west Tampa area in a nice 2 level 3 room suite.
Women are always in charge of what does or does not happen. We will have music playing and provide bottled water. Guests are asked to bring an appetizer or dessert to share.
Feel free to bring restraints, toys, bdsm equipment.
When you come into the suite you will be required to dress down to at least boxers or lingerie. You can leave at anytime. The party starts at 8pm for couples and single ladies. Single men may arrive at 8:30.
Couples, single women, and select single men are invited! You will be required to send a PG photo that includes your faces for review, if you are approved we will let you know. We will also be voice verifying all women and
If you wish to join us for what has become the longest string of adult parties in the Tampa area, just DM me with your first name, email address, and a pic that includes your face(No dick pics) as soon as possible!
We will be sticking to the rules a little closer. That means dress code, some of you show up looking like you just rolled out of bed, came straight from working on a road crew. Please also make sure you’re showered and smelling nice, no heavy perfume or cologne.
That also means that at 9:00 it’s time to strip down to at least underwear. This has always been a rule, but never enforced.
Lastly, it’s ok to watch, but we need to keep the number of guys standing around in the play rooms to a minimum.
We ask that guests bring an appetizer or dessert, this is just a request not a requirement but it is appreciated. Just a couple of people ever bring appetizers.
We are doing everything we can to improve the parties, better locations, better quality people, more themes, etc. Any assistance in these areas is always appreciated, we have a few people that recommend our group to others or bring new people in but this has dropped off considerably lately. Many of you have friends in the lifestyle and attend many of the events and clubs in the area. Please spread the word, we could use some new blood.
Please reply soon as space is limited and the list fills up fast! We look forward to seeing you there!
Women are always in control at our parties.
submitted by zippppy7 to Tampasharewifes [link] [comments]

2023.06.08 07:02 Hopeful-Pomelo4488 Put on your PSYOPs goggles to see through the BS💩

COINTELPRO Techniques for dilution, misdirection and control of a internet forum - Reposting

​
Reposting this, long read but relevant for the coming deluge of 💩
_______________________________________________________________________
  1. COINTELPRO Techniques for dilution, misdirection and control of a internet forum
  2. Twenty-Five Rules of Disinformation
  3. Eight Traits of the Disinformationalist
  4. How to Spot a Spy (Cointelpro Agent)
  5. Seventeen Techniques for Truth Suppression
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COINTELPRO Techniques for dilution, misdirection and control of a internet forum..
There are several techniques for the control and manipulation of a internet forum no matter what, or who is on it. We will go over each technique and demonstrate that only a minimal number of operatives can be used to eventually and effectively gain a control of a 'uncontrolled forum.'
Technique #1 - 'FORUM SLIDING'
If a very sensitive posting of a critical nature has been posted on a forum - it can be quickly removed from public view by 'forum sliding.' In this technique a number of unrelated posts are quietly prepositioned on the forum and allowed to 'age.' Each of these misdirectional forum postings can then be called upon at will to trigger a 'forum slide.' The second requirement is that several fake accounts exist, which can be called upon, to ensure that this technique is not exposed to the public. To trigger a 'forum slide' and 'flush' the critical post out of public view it is simply a matter of logging into each account both real and fake and then 'replying' to prepositined postings with a simple 1 or 2 line comment. This brings the unrelated postings to the top of the forum list, and the critical posting 'slides' down the front page, and quickly out of public view. Although it is difficult or impossible to censor the posting it is now lost in a sea of unrelated and unuseful postings. By this means it becomes effective to keep the readers of the forum reading unrelated and non-issue items.
Technique #2 - 'CONSENSUS CRACKING'
A second highly effective technique (which you can see in operation all the time at www.abovetopsecret.com) is 'consensus cracking.' To develop a consensus crack, the following technique is used. Under the guise of a fake account a posting is made which looks legitimate and is towards the truth is made - but the critical point is that it has a VERY WEAK PREMISE without substantive proof to back the posting. Once this is done then under alternative fake accounts a very strong position in your favour is slowly introduced over the life of the posting. It is IMPERATIVE that both sides are initially presented, so the uninformed reader cannot determine which side is the truth. As postings and replies are made the stronger 'evidence' or disinformation in your favour is slowly 'seeded in.' Thus the uninformed reader will most like develop the same position as you, and if their position is against you their opposition to your posting will be most likely dropped. However in some cases where the forum members are highly educated and can counter your disinformation with real facts and linked postings, you can then 'abort' the consensus cracking by initiating a 'forum slide.'
Technique #3 - 'TOPIC DILUTION'
Topic dilution is not only effective in forum sliding it is also very useful in keeping the forum readers on unrelated and non-productive issues. This is a critical and useful technique to cause a 'RESOURCE BURN.' By implementing continual and non-related postings that distract and disrupt (trolling ) the forum readers they are more effectively stopped from anything of any real productivity. If the intensity of gradual dilution is intense enough, the readers will effectively stop researching and simply slip into a 'gossip mode.' In this state they can be more easily misdirected away from facts towards uninformed conjecture and opinion. The less informed they are the more effective and easy it becomes to control the entire group in the direction that you would desire the group to go in. It must be stressed that a proper assessment of the psychological capabilities and levels of education is first determined of the group to determine at what level to 'drive in the wedge.' By being too far off topic too quickly it may trigger censorship by a forum moderator.
Technique #4 - 'INFORMATION COLLECTION'
Information collection is also a very effective method to determine the psychological level of the forum members, and to gather intelligence that can be used against them. In this technique in a light and positive environment a 'show you mine so me yours' posting is initiated. From the number of replies and the answers that are provided much statistical information can be gathered. An example is to post your 'favourite weapon' and then encourage other members of the forum to showcase what they have. In this matter it can be determined by reverse proration what percentage of the forum community owns a firearm, and or a illegal weapon. This same method can be used by posing as one of the form members and posting your favourite 'technique of operation.' From the replies various methods that the group utilizes can be studied and effective methods developed to stop them from their activities.
Technique #5 - 'ANGER TROLLING'
Statistically, there is always a percentage of the forum posters who are more inclined to violence. In order to determine who these individuals are, it is a requirement to present a image to the forum to deliberately incite a strong psychological reaction. From this the most violent in the group can be effectively singled out for reverse IP location and possibly local enforcement tracking. To accomplish this only requires posting a link to a video depicting a local police officer massively abusing his power against a very innocent individual. Statistically of the million or so police officers in America there is always one or two being caught abusing there powers and the taping of the activity can be then used for intelligence gathering purposes - without the requirement to 'stage' a fake abuse video. This method is extremely effective, and the more so the more abusive the video can be made to look. Sometimes it is useful to 'lead' the forum by replying to your own posting with your own statement of violent intent, and that you 'do not care what the authorities think!!' inflammation. By doing this and showing no fear it may be more effective in getting the more silent and self-disciplined violent intent members of the forum to slip and post their real intentions. This can be used later in a court of law during prosecution.
Technique #6 - 'GAINING FULL CONTROL'
It is important to also be harvesting and continually maneuvering for a forum moderator position. Once this position is obtained, the forum can then be effectively and quietly controlled by deleting unfavourable postings - and one can eventually steer the forum into complete failure and lack of interest by the general public. This is the 'ultimate victory' as the forum is no longer participated with by the general public and no longer useful in maintaining their freedoms. Depending on the level of control you can obtain, you can deliberately steer a forum into defeat by censoring postings, deleting memberships, flooding, and or accidentally taking the forum offline. By this method the forum can be quickly killed. However it is not always in the interest to kill a forum as it can be converted into a 'honey pot' gathering center to collect and misdirect newcomers and from this point be completely used for your control for your agenda purposes.
CONCLUSION
Remember these techniques are only effective if the forum participants DO NOT KNOW ABOUT THEM. Once they are aware of these techniques the operation can completely fail, and the forum can become uncontrolled. At this point other avenues must be considered such as initiating a false legal precidence to simply have the forum shut down and taken offline. This is not desirable as it then leaves the enforcement agencies unable to track the percentage of those in the population who always resist attempts for control against them. Many other techniques can be utilized and developed by the individual and as you develop further techniques of infiltration and control it is imperative to share then with HQ.
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Twenty-Five Rules of Disinformation
Note: The first rule and last five (or six, depending on situation) rules are generally not directly within the ability of the traditional disinfo artist to apply. These rules are generally used more directly by those at the leadership, key players, or planning level of the criminal conspiracy or conspiracy to cover up.
1. Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil. Regardless of what you know, don't discuss it -- especially if you are a public figure, news anchor, etc. If it's not reported, it didn't happen, and you never have to deal with the issues.
2. Become incredulous and indignant. Avoid discussing key issues and instead focus on side issues which can be used show the topic as being critical of some otherwise sacrosanct group or theme. This is also known as the 'How dare you!' gambit.
3. Create rumor mongers. Avoid discussing issues by describing all charges, regardless of venue or evidence, as mere rumors and wild accusations. Other derogatory terms mutually exclusive of truth may work as well. This method which works especially well with a silent press, because the only way the public can learn of the facts are through such 'arguable rumors'. If you can associate the material with the Internet, use this fact to certify it a 'wild rumor' from a 'bunch of kids on the Internet' which can have no basis in fact.
4. Use a straw man. Find or create a seeming element of your opponent's argument which you can easily knock down to make yourself look good and the opponent to look bad. Either make up an issue you may safely imply exists based on your interpretation of the opponent/opponent arguments/situation, or select the weakest aspect of the weakest charges. Amplify their significance and destroy them in a way which appears to debunk all the charges, real and fabricated alike, while actually avoiding discussion of the real issues.
5. Sidetrack opponents with name calling and ridicule. This is also known as the primary 'attack the messenger' ploy, though other methods qualify as variants of that approach. Associate opponents with unpopular titles such as 'kooks', 'right-wing', 'liberal', 'left-wing', 'terrorists', 'conspiracy buffs', 'radicals', 'militia', 'racists', 'religious fanatics', 'sexual deviates', and so forth. This makes others shrink from support out of fear of gaining the same label, and you avoid dealing with issues.
6. Hit and Run. In any public forum, make a brief attack of your opponent or the opponent position and then scamper off before an answer can be fielded, or simply ignore any answer. This works extremely well in Internet and letters-to-the-editor environments where a steady stream of new identities can be called upon without having to explain criticism, reasoning -- simply make an accusation or other attack, never discussing issues, and never answering any subsequent response, for that would dignify the opponent's viewpoint.
7. Question motives. Twist or amplify any fact which could be taken to imply that the opponent operates out of a hidden personal agenda or other bias. This avoids discussing issues and forces the accuser on the defensive.
8. Invoke authority. Claim for yourself or associate yourself with authority and present your argument with enough 'jargon' and 'minutia' to illustrate you are 'one who knows', and simply say it isn't so without discussing issues or demonstrating concretely why or citing sources.
9. Play Dumb. No matter what evidence or logical argument is offered, avoid discussing issues except with denials they have any credibility, make any sense, provide any proof, contain or make a point, have logic, or support a conclusion. Mix well for maximum effect.
10. Associate opponent charges with old news. A derivative of the straw man -- usually, in any large-scale matter of high visibility, someone will make charges early on which can be or were already easily dealt with - a kind of investment for the future should the matter not be so easily contained.) Where it can be foreseen, have your own side raise a straw man issue and have it dealt with early on as part of the initial contingency plans. Subsequent charges, regardless of validity or new ground uncovered, can usually then be associated with the original charge and dismissed as simply being a rehash without need to address current issues -- so much the better where the opponent is or was involved with the original source.
11. Establish and rely upon fall-back positions. Using a minor matter or element of the facts, take the 'high road' and 'confess' with candor that some innocent mistake, in hindsight, was made -- but that opponents have seized on the opportunity to blow it all out of proportion and imply greater criminalities which, 'just isn't so.' Others can reinforce this on your behalf, later, and even publicly 'call for an end to the nonsense' because you have already 'done the right thing.' Done properly, this can garner sympathy and respect for 'coming clean' and 'owning up' to your mistakes without addressing more serious issues.
12. Enigmas have no solution. Drawing upon the overall umbrella of events surrounding the crime and the multitude of players and events, paint the entire affair as too complex to solve. This causes those otherwise following the matter to begin to lose interest more quickly without having to address the actual issues.
13. Alice in Wonderland Logic. Avoid discussion of the issues by reasoning backwards or with an apparent deductive logic which forbears any actual material fact.
14. Demand complete solutions. Avoid the issues by requiring opponents to solve the crime at hand completely, a ploy which works best with issues qualifying for rule 10.
15. Fit the facts to alternate conclusions. This requires creative thinking unless the crime was planned with contingency conclusions in place.
16. Vanish evidence and witnesses. If it does not exist, it is not fact, and you won't have to address the issue.
17. Change the subject. Usually in connection with one of the other ploys listed here, find a way to side-track the discussion with abrasive or controversial comments in hopes of turning attention to a new, more manageable topic. This works especially well with companions who can 'argue' with you over the new topic and polarize the discussion arena in order to avoid discussing more key issues.
18. Emotionalize, Antagonize, and Goad Opponents. If you can't do anything else, chide and taunt your opponents and draw them into emotional responses which will tend to make them look foolish and overly motivated, and generally render their material somewhat less coherent. Not only will you avoid discussing the issues in the first instance, but even if their emotional response addresses the issue, you can further avoid the issues by then focusing on how 'sensitive they are to criticism.'
19. Ignore proof presented, demand impossible proofs. This is perhaps a variant of the 'play dumb' rule. Regardless of what material may be presented by an opponent in public forums, claim the material irrelevant and demand proof that is impossible for the opponent to come by (it may exist, but not be at his disposal, or it may be something which is known to be safely destroyed or withheld, such as a murder weapon.) In order to completely avoid discussing issues, it may be required that you to categorically deny and be critical of media or books as valid sources, deny that witnesses are acceptable, or even deny that statements made by government or other authorities have any meaning or relevance.
20. False evidence. Whenever possible, introduce new facts or clues designed and manufactured to conflict with opponent presentations -- as useful tools to neutralize sensitive issues or impede resolution. This works best when the crime was designed with contingencies for the purpose, and the facts cannot be easily separated from the fabrications.
21. Call a Grand Jury, Special Prosecutor, or other empowered investigative body. Subvert the (process) to your benefit and effectively neutralize all sensitive issues without open discussion. Once convened, the evidence and testimony are required to be secret when properly handled. For instance, if you own the prosecuting attorney, it can insure a Grand Jury hears no useful evidence and that the evidence is sealed and unavailable to subsequent investigators. Once a favorable verdict is achieved, the matter can be considered officially closed. Usually, this technique is applied to find the guilty innocent, but it can also be used to obtain charges when seeking to frame a victim.
22. Manufacture a new truth. Create your own expert(s), group(s), author(s), leader(s) or influence existing ones willing to forge new ground via scientific, investigative, or social research or testimony which concludes favorably. In this way, if you must actually address issues, you can do so authoritatively.
23. Create bigger distractions. If the above does not seem to be working to distract from sensitive issues, or to prevent unwanted media coverage of unstoppable events such as trials, create bigger news stories (or treat them as such) to distract the multitudes.
24. Silence critics. If the above methods do not prevail, consider removing opponents from circulation by some definitive solution so that the need to address issues is removed entirely. This can be by their death, arrest and detention, blackmail or destruction of their character by release of blackmail information, or merely by destroying them financially, emotionally, or severely damaging their health.
25. Vanish. If you are a key holder of secrets or otherwise overly illuminated and you think the heat is getting too hot, to avoid the issues, vacate the kitchen.
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Eight Traits of the Disinformationalist
1) Avoidance. They never actually discuss issues head-on or provide constructive input, generally avoiding citation of references or credentials. Rather, they merely imply this, that, and the other. Virtually everything about their presentation implies their authority and expert knowledge in the matter without any further justification for credibility.
2) Selectivity. They tend to pick and choose opponents carefully, either applying the hit-and-run approach against mere commentators supportive of opponents, or focusing heavier attacks on key opponents who are known to directly address issues. Should a commentator become argumentative with any success, the focus will shift to include the commentator as well.
3) Coincidental. They tend to surface suddenly and somewhat coincidentally with a new controversial topic with no clear prior record of participation in general discussions in the particular public arena involved. They likewise tend to vanish once the topic is no longer of general concern. They were likely directed or elected to be there for a reason, and vanish with the reason.
4) Teamwork. They tend to operate in self-congratulatory and complementary packs or teams. Of course, this can happen naturally in any public forum, but there will likely be an ongoing pattern of frequent exchanges of this sort where professionals are involved. Sometimes one of the players will infiltrate the opponent camp to become a source for straw man or other tactics designed to dilute opponent presentation strength.
5) Anti-conspiratorial. They almost always have disdain for 'conspiracy theorists' and, usually, for those who in any way believe JFK was not killed by LHO. Ask yourself why, if they hold such disdain for conspiracy theorists, do they focus on defending a single topic discussed in a NG focusing on conspiracies? One might think they would either be trying to make fools of everyone on every topic, or simply ignore the group they hold in such disdain.Or, one might more rightly conclude they have an ulterior motive for their actions in going out of their way to focus as they do.
6) Artificial Emotions. An odd kind of 'artificial' emotionalism and an unusually thick skin -- an ability to persevere and persist even in the face of overwhelming criticism and unacceptance. This likely stems from intelligence community training that, no matter how condemning the evidence, deny everything, and never become emotionally involved or reactive. The net result for a disinfo artist is that emotions can seem artificial.
Most people, if responding in anger, for instance, will express their animosity throughout their rebuttal. But disinfo types usually have trouble maintaining the 'image' and are hot and cold with respect to pretended emotions and their usually more calm or unemotional communications style. It's just a job, and they often seem unable to 'act their role in character' as well in a communications medium as they might be able in a real face-to-face conversation/confrontation. You might have outright rage and indignation one moment, ho-hum the next, and more anger later -- an emotional yo-yo.
With respect to being thick-skinned, no amount of criticism will deter them from doing their job, and they will generally continue their old disinfo patterns without any adjustments to criticisms of how obvious it is that they play that game -- where a more rational individual who truly cares what others think might seek to improve their communications style, substance, and so forth, or simply give up.
7) Inconsistent. There is also a tendency to make mistakes which betray their true self/motives. This may stem from not really knowing their topic, or it may be somewhat 'freudian', so to speak, in that perhaps they really root for the side of truth deep within.
I have noted that often, they will simply cite contradictory information which neutralizes itself and the author. For instance, one such player claimed to be a Navy pilot, but blamed his poor communicating skills (spelling, grammar, incoherent style) on having only a grade-school education. I'm not aware of too many Navy pilots who don't have a college degree. Another claimed no knowledge of a particular topic/situation but later claimed first-hand knowledge of it.
8) Time Constant. Recently discovered, with respect to News Groups, is the response time factor. There are three ways this can be seen to work, especially when the government or other empowered player is involved in a cover up operation:
a) ANY NG posting by a targeted proponent for truth can result in an IMMEDIATE response. The government and other empowered players can afford to pay people to sit there and watch for an opportunity to do some damage. SINCE DISINFO IN A NG ONLY WORKS IF THE READER SEES IT - FAST RESPONSE IS CALLED FOR, or the visitor may be swayed towards truth.
b) When dealing in more direct ways with a disinformationalist, such as email, DELAY IS CALLED FOR - there will usually be a minimum of a 48-72 hour delay. This allows a sit-down team discussion on response strategy for best effect, and even enough time to 'get permission' or instruction from a formal chain of command.
c) In the NG example 1) above, it will often ALSO be seen that bigger guns are drawn and fired after the same 48-72 hours delay - the team approach in play. This is especially true when the targeted truth seeker or their comments are considered more important with respect to potential to reveal truth. Thus, a serious truth sayer will be attacked twice for the same sin.
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How to Spot a Spy (Cointelpro Agent)
One way to neutralize a potential activist is to get them to be in a group that does all the wrong things. Why?
1) The message doesn't get out.
2) A lot of time is wasted
3) The activist is frustrated and discouraged
4) Nothing good is accomplished.
FBI and Police Informers and Infiltrators will infest any group and they have phoney activist organizations established.
Their purpose is to prevent any real movement for justice or eco-peace from developing in this country.
Agents come in small, medium or large. They can be of any ethnic background. They can be male or female.
The actual size of the group or movement being infiltrated is irrelevant. It is the potential the movement has for becoming large which brings on the spies and saboteurs.
This booklet lists tactics agents use to slow things down, foul things up, destroy the movement and keep tabs on activists.
It is the agent's job to keep the activist from quitting such a group, thus keeping him/her under control.
In some situations, to get control, the agent will tell the activist:
[Here, I have added the psychological reasons as to WHY this maneuver works to control people]
This invites guilty feelings. Many people can be controlled by guilt. The agents begin relationships with activists behind a well-developed mask of "dedication to the cause." Because of their often declared dedication, (and actions designed to prove this), when they criticize the activist, he or she - being truly dedicated to the movement - becomes convinced that somehow, any issues are THEIR fault. This is because a truly dedicated person tends to believe that everyone has a conscience and that nobody would dissimulate and lie like that "on purpose." It's amazing how far agents can go in manipulating an activist because the activist will constantly make excuses for the agent who regularly declares their dedication to the cause. Even if they do, occasionally, suspect the agent, they will pull the wool over their own eyes by rationalizing: "they did that unconsciously... they didn't really mean it... I can help them by being forgiving and accepting " and so on and so forth.
The agent will tell the activist:
This is designed to enhance the activist's self-esteem. His or her narcissistic admiration of his/her own activist/altruistic intentions increase as he or she identifies with and consciously admires the altruistic declarations of the agent which are deliberately set up to mirror those of the activist.
This is "malignant pseudoidentification." It is the process by which the agent consciously imitates or simulates a certain behavior to foster the activist's identification with him/her, thus increasing the activist's vulnerability to exploitation. The agent will simulate the more subtle self-concepts of the activist.
Activists and those who have altruistic self-concepts are most vulnerable to malignant pseudoidentification especially during work with the agent when the interaction includes matter relating to their competency, autonomy, or knowledge.
The goal of the agent is to increase the activist's general empathy for the agent through pseudo-identification with the activist's self-concepts.
The most common example of this is the agent who will compliment the activist for his competency or knowledge or value to the movement. On a more subtle level, the agent will simulate affects and mannerisms of the activist which promotes identification via mirroring and feelings of "twinship". It is not unheard of for activists, enamored by the perceived helpfulness and competence of a good agent, to find themselves considering ethical violations and perhaps, even illegal behavior, in the service of their agent/handler.
The activist's "felt quality of perfection" [self-concept] is enhanced, and a strong empathic bond is developed with the agent through his/her imitation and simulation of the victim's own narcissistic investments. [self-concepts] That is, if the activist knows, deep inside, their own dedication to the cause, they will project that onto the agent who is "mirroring" them.
The activist will be deluded into thinking that the agent shares this feeling of identification and bonding. In an activist/social movement setting, the adversarial roles that activists naturally play vis a vis the establishment/government, fosters ongoing processes of intrapsychic splitting so that "twinship alliances" between activist and agent may render whole sectors or reality testing unavailable to the activist. They literally "lose touch with reality."
Activists who deny their own narcissistic investments [do not have a good idea of their own self-concepts and that they ARE concepts] and consciously perceive themselves (accurately, as it were) to be "helpers" endowed with a special amount of altruism are exceedingly vulnerable to the affective (emotional) simulation of the accomplished agent.
Empathy is fostered in the activist through the expression of quite visible affects. The presentation of tearfulness, sadness, longing, fear, remorse, and guilt, may induce in the helper-oriented activist a strong sense of compassion, while unconsciously enhancing the activist's narcissistic investment in self as the embodiment of goodness.
The agent's expresssion of such simulated affects may be quite compelling to the observer and difficult to distinguish from deep emotion.
It can usually be identified by two events, however:
First, the activist who has analyzed his/her own narcissistic roots and is aware of his/her own potential for being "emotionally hooked," will be able to remain cool and unaffected by such emotional outpourings by the agent.
As a result of this unaffected, cool, attitude, the Second event will occur: The agent will recompensate much too quickly following such an affective expression leaving the activist with the impression that "the play has ended, the curtain has fallen," and the imposture, for the moment, has finished. The agent will then move quickly to another activist/victim.
The fact is, the movement doesn't need leaders, it needs MOVERS. "Follow the leader" is a waste of time.
A good agent will want to meet as often as possible. He or she will talk a lot and say little. One can expect an onslaught of long, unresolved discussions.
Some agents take on a pushy, arrogant, or defensive manner:
1) To disrupt the agenda
2) To side-track the discussion
3) To interrupt repeatedly
4) To feign ignorance
5) To make an unfounded accusation against a person.
Calling someone a racist, for example. This tactic is used to discredit a person in the eyes of all other group members.
Saboteurs
Some saboteurs pretend to be activists. She or he will ....
1) Write encyclopedic flyers (in the present day, websites)
2) Print flyers in English only.
3) Have demonstrations in places where no one cares.
4) Solicit funding from rich people instead of grass roots support
5) Display banners with too many words that are confusing.
6) Confuse issues.
7) Make the wrong demands.
8) Compromise the goal.
9) Have endless discussions that waste everyone's time. The agent may accompany the endless discussions with drinking, pot smoking or other amusement to slow down the activist's work.
Provocateurs
1) Want to establish "leaders" to set them up for a fall in order to stop the movement.
2) Suggest doing foolish, illegal things to get the activists in trouble.
3) Encourage militancy.
4) Want to taunt the authorities.
5) Attempt to make the activist compromise their values.
6) Attempt to instigate violence. Activisim ought to always be non-violent.
7) Attempt to provoke revolt among people who are ill-prepared to deal with the reaction of the authorities to such violence.
Informants
1) Want everyone to sign up and sing in and sign everything.
2) Ask a lot of questions (gathering data).
3) Want to know what events the activist is planning to attend.
4) Attempt to make the activist defend him or herself to identify his or her beliefs, goals, and level of committment.
Recruiting
Legitimate activists do not subject people to hours of persuasive dialog. Their actions, beliefs, and goals speak for themselves.
Groups that DO recruit are missionaries, military, and fake political parties or movements set up by agents.
Surveillance
ALWAYS assume that you are under surveillance.
At this point, if you are NOT under surveillance, you are not a very good activist!
Scare Tactics
They use them.
Such tactics include slander, defamation, threats, getting close to disaffected or minimally committed fellow activists to persuade them (via psychological tactics described above) to turn against the movement and give false testimony against their former compatriots. They will plant illegal substances on the activist and set up an arrest; they will plant false information and set up "exposure," they will send incriminating letters [emails] in the name of the activist; and more; they will do whatever society will allow.
This booklet in no way covers all the ways agents use to sabotage the lives of sincere an dedicated activists.
If an agent is "exposed," he or she will be transferred or replaced.
COINTELPRO is still in operation today under a different code name. It is no longer placed on paper where it can be discovered through the freedom of information act.
The FBI counterintelligence program's stated purpose: To expose, disrupt, misdirect, discredit, and otherwise neutralize individuals who the FBI categorize as opposed to the National Interests. "National Security" means the FBI's security from the people ever finding out the vicious things it does in violation of people's civil liberties.
_______________________________________________________________________
Seventeen Techniques for Truth Suppression
Strong, credible allegations of high-level criminal activity can bring down a government. When the government lacks an effective, fact-based defense, other techniques must be employed. The success of these techniques depends heavily upon a cooperative, compliant press and a mere token opposition party.
1. Dummy up. If it's not reported, if it's not news, it didn't happen.
2. Wax indignant. This is also known as the "How dare you?" gambit.
3. Characterize the charges as "rumors" or, better yet, "wild rumors." If, in spite of the news blackout, the public is still able to learn about the suspicious facts, it can only be through "rumors." (If they tend to believe the "rumors" it must be because they are simply "paranoid" or "hysterical.")
4. Knock down straw men. Deal only with the weakest aspects of the weakest charges. Even better, create your own straw men. Make up wild rumors (or plant false stories) and give them lead play when you appear to debunk all the charges, real and fanciful alike.
5. Call the skeptics names like "conspiracy theorist," "nutcase," "ranter," "kook," "crackpot," and, of course, "rumor monger." Be sure, too, to use heavily loaded verbs and adjectives when characterizing their charges and defending the "more reasonable" government and its defenders. You must then carefully avoid fair and open debate with any of the people you have thus maligned. For insurance, set up your own "skeptics" to shoot down.
6. Impugn motives. Attempt to marginalize the critics by suggesting strongly that they are not really interested in the truth but are simply pursuing a partisan political agenda or are out to make money (compared to over-compensated adherents to the government line who, presumably, are not).
7. Invoke authority. Here the controlled press and the sham opposition can be very useful.
8. Dismiss the charges as "old news."
9. Come half-clean. This is also known as "confession and avoidance" or "taking the limited hangout route." This way, you create the impression of candor and honesty while you admit only to relatively harmless, less-than-criminal "mistakes." This stratagem often requires the embrace of a fall-back position quite different from the one originally taken. With effective damage control, the fall-back position need only be peddled by stooge skeptics to carefully limited markets.
10. Characterize the crimes as impossibly complex and the truth as ultimately unknowable.
11. Reason backward, using the deductive method with a vengeance. With thoroughly rigorous deduction, troublesome evidence is irrelevant. E.g. We have a completely free press. If evidence exists that the Vince Foster "suicide" note was forged, they would have reported it. They haven't reported it so there is no such evidence. Another variation on this theme involves the likelihood of a conspiracy leaker and a press who would report the leak.
12. Require the skeptics to solve the crime completely. E.g. If Foster was murdered, who did it and why?
13. Change the subject. This technique includes creating and/or publicizing distractions.
14. Lightly report incriminating facts, and then make nothing of them. This is sometimes referred to as "bump and run" reporting.
15. Baldly and brazenly lie. A favorite way of doing this is to attribute the "facts" furnished the public to a plausible-sounding, but anonymous, source.
16. Expanding further on numbers 4 and 5, have your own stooges "expose" scandals and champion popular causes. Their job is to pre-empt real opponents and to play 99-yard football. A variation is to pay rich people for the job who will pretend to spend their own money.
17. Flood the Internet with agents. This is the answer to the question, "What could possibly motivate a person to spend hour upon hour on Internet news groups defending the government and/or the press and harassing genuine critics?" Don t the authorities have defenders enough in all the newspapers, magazines, radio, and television? One would think refusing to print critical letters and screening out serious callers or dumping them from radio talk shows would be control enough, but, obviously, it is not.
submitted by Hopeful-Pomelo4488 to DDintoGME [link] [comments]

2023.06.08 05:58 Super_Dragnfruit_Yum George S Patton's full speech 5 June 1944

A little late to the party but still relevant:
General Patton:
Be seated. Men, this stuff that some sources sling around about America wanting out of this war, not wanting to fight, is a crock of bullshit.
Americans love to fight, traditionally. All real Americans love the sting and clash of battle.
You are here today for three reasons. First, because you are here to defend your homes and your loved ones. Second, you are here for your own self respect, because you would not want to be anywhere else.
Third, you are here because you are real men and all real men like to fight.
When you, here, everyone of you, were kids, you all admired the champion marble player, the fastest runner, the toughest boxer, the big league ball players, and the All-American football players. Americans love a winner. Americans will not tolerate a loser. Americans despise cowards.
Americans play to win all of the time. I wouldn’t give a hoot in hell for a man who lost and laughed. That’s why Americans have never lost nor will ever lose a war; for the very idea of losing is hateful to an American.
You are not all going to die. Only two percent of you right here today would die in a major battle. Death must not be feared. Death, in time, comes to all men. Yes, every man is scared in his first battle. If he says he’s not, he’s a liar. Some men are cowards but they fight the same as the brave men or they get the hell slammed out of them watching men fight who are just as scared as they are.
The real hero is the man who fights even though he is scared.
Some men get over their fright in a minute under fire. For some, it takes an hour. For some, it takes days. But a real man will never let his fear of death overpower his honor, his sense of duty to his country, and his innate manhood. Battle is the most magnificent competition in which a human being can indulge. It brings out all that is best and it removes all that is base. Americans pride themselves on being He Men and they ARE He Men.
Remember that the enemy is just as frightened as you are, and probably more so. They are not supermen.
All through your Army careers, you men have bitched about what you call ‘chicken shit drilling’. That, like everything else in this Army, has a definite purpose. That purpose is alertness. Alertness must be bred into every soldier. I don’t give a fuck for a man who’s not always on his toes. You men are veterans or you wouldn’t be here. You are ready for what’s to come. A man must be alert at all times if he expects to stay alive. If you’re not alert, sometime, a German son-of-an-asshole-bitch is going to sneak up behind you and beat you to death with a sockful of shit!
There are four hundred neatly marked graves somewhere in Sicily, all because one man went to sleep on the job. But they are German graves, because we caught the bastard asleep before they did.
An Army is a team. It lives, sleeps, eats, and fights as a team. This individual heroic stuff is pure horse shit. The bilious bastards who write that kind of stuff for the Saturday Evening Post don’t know any more about real fighting under fire than they know about fucking! We have the finest food, the finest equipment, the best spirit, and the best men in the world. Why, by God, I actually pity those poor sons-of-bitches we’re going up against. By God, I do.
My men don’t surrender, and I don’t want to hear of any soldier under my command being captured unless he has been hit. Even if you are hit, you can still fight back That’s not just bull shit either. The kind of man that I want in my command is just like the lieutenant in Libya, who, with a Luger against his chest, jerked off his helmet, swept the gun aside with one hand, and busted the hell out of the Kraut with his helmet. Then he jumped on the gun and went out and killed another German before they knew what the hell was coming off. And, all of that time, this man had a bullet through a lung. There was a real man!
All of the real heroes are not storybook combat fighters, either. Every single man in this Army plays a vital role. Don’t ever let up. Don’t ever think that your job is unimportant. Every man has a job to do and he must do it. Every man is a vital link in the great chain.
What if every truck driver suddenly decided that he didn’t like the whine of those shells overhead, turned yellow, and jumped headlong into a ditch? The cowardly bastard could say, ‘Hell, they won’t miss me, just one man in thousands.’ But, what if every man thought that way? Where in the hell would we be now? What would our country, our loved ones, our homes, even the world, be like?
No, Goddamnit, Americans don’t think like that. Every man does his job. Every man serves the whole. Every department, every unit, is important in the vast scheme of this war.
The ordnance men are needed to supply the guns and machinery of war to keep us rolling. The Quartermaster is needed to bring up food and clothes because where we are going there isn’t a hell of a lot to steal. Every last man on K.P. has a job to do, even the one who heats our water to keep us from getting the ‘G.I. Shits’.
Each man must not think only of himself, but also of his buddy fighting beside him. We don’t want yellow cowards in this Army. They should be killed off like rats. If not, they will go home after this war and breed more cowards. The brave men will breed more brave men. Kill off the Goddamned cowards and we will have a nation of brave men.
One of the bravest men that I ever saw was a fellow on top of a telegraph pole in the midst of a furious fire fight in Tunisia. I stopped and asked what the hell he was doing up there at a time like that. He answered, ‘Fixing the wire, Sir.’ I asked, ‘Isn’t that a little unhealthy right about now?’ He answered, ‘Yes Sir, but the Goddamned wire has to be fixed.’ I asked, ‘Don’t those planes strafing the road bother you?’ And he answered, ‘No, Sir, but you sure as hell do!’ Now, there was a real man. A real soldier. There was a man who devoted all he had to his duty, no matter how seemingly insignificant his duty might appear at the time, no matter how great the odds.
And you should have seen those trucks on the rode to Tunisia. Those drivers were magnificent. All day and all night they rolled over those son-of-a-bitching roads, never stopping, never faltering from their course, with shells bursting all around them all of the time. We got through on good old American guts. Many of those men drove for over forty consecutive hours. These men weren’t combat men, but they were soldiers with a job to do. They did it, and in one hell of a way they did it. They were part of a team. Without team effort, without them, the fight would have been lost. All of the links in the chain pulled together and the chain became unbreakable.
Don’t forget, you men don’t know that I’m here. No mention of that fact is to be made in any letters. The world is not supposed to know what the hell happened to me. I’m not supposed to be commanding this Army. I’m not even supposed to be here in England. Let the first bastards to find out be the Goddamned Germans. Some day I want to see them raise up on their piss-soaked hind legs and howl, ‘Jesus Christ, it’s the Goddamned Third Army again and that son-of-a-fucking-bitch Patton’. We want to get the hell over there.’ The quicker we clean up this Goddamned mess, the quicker we can take a little jaunt against the purple pissing Japs and clean out their nest, too. Before the Goddamned Marines get all of the credit.
Sure, we want to go home. We want this war over with. The quickest way to get it over with is to go get the bastards who started it. The quicker they are whipped, the quicker we can go home. The shortest way home is through Berlin and Tokyo. And when we get to Berlin I am personally going to shoot that paper hanging son-of-a-bitch Hitler. Just like I’d shoot a snake!
When a man is lying in a shell hole, if he just stays there all day, a German will get to him eventually. The hell with that idea. The hell with taking it. My men don’t dig foxholes. I don’t want them to. Foxholes only slow up an offensive. Keep moving. And don’t give the enemy time to dig one either. We’ll win this war, but we’ll win it only by fighting and by showing the Germans that we’ve got more guts than they have; or ever will have.
We’re not going to just shoot the sons-of-bitches, we’re going to rip out their living Goddamned guts and use them to grease the treads of our tanks. We’re going to murder those lousy Hun cock suckers by the bushel-fucking-basket. War is a bloody, killing business. You’ve got to spill their blood, or they will spill yours. Rip them up the belly. Shoot them in the guts. When shells are hitting all around you and you wipe the dirt off your face and realize that instead of dirt it’s the blood and guts of what once was your best friend beside you, you’ll know what to do!
I don’t want to get any messages saying, ‘I am holding my position.’ We are not holding a Goddamned thing. Let the Germans do that. We are advancing constantly and we are not interested in holding onto anything, except the enemy’s balls. We are going to twist his balls and kick the living shit out of him all of the time. Our basic plan of operation is to advance and to keep on advancing regardless of whether we have to go over, under, or through the enemy. We are going to go through him like crap through a goose; like shit through a tin horn!
From time to time there will be some complaints that we are pushing our people too hard. I don’t give a good Goddamn about such complaints. I believe in the old and sound rule that an ounce of sweat will save a gallon of blood. The harder WE push, the more Germans we will kill. The more Germans we kill, the fewer of our men will be killed. Pushing means fewer casualties. I want you all to remember that.
There is one great thing that you men will all be able to say after this war is over and you are home once again. You may be thankful that twenty years from now when you are sitting by the fireplace with your grandson on your knee and he asks you what you did in the great World War II, you WON’T have to cough, shift him to the other knee and say, ‘Well, your Granddaddy shoveled shit in Louisiana.’ No, Sir, you can look him straight in the eye and say, ‘Son, your Granddaddy rode with the Great Third Army and a Son-of-a-Goddamned-Bitch named Georgie Patton!'”
submitted by Super_Dragnfruit_Yum to army [link] [comments]

2023.06.08 05:38 FewEnvironment5639 My mom won't let me wear stuff I want to wear (it's much more serious than that but that's basically it in a nutshell).

Ever since I can remember, my mother has been putting loads of restrictions on my life. So many rules. There was just SO much I couldn't do. But about clothes: My parents don't buy me enough clothes. I never get new ones and at age 14 I still wore clothes I wore when I was 7 (it was more of things like underwear so its not like I was still the size of a 7 year old). They've been really cheap when it comes to buying stuff for me, even though they can totally afford to pay for normal things. My mother makes well over 6 figures and she insists on getting my clothes at places like DD discount or thrift stores. It's all unsuccessful because I never find anything in there that I like. Because good clothes don't exist in those stores (and maybe you've found some good things in DD discount but that is definitely not my experience). So because I don't have enough clothes, my mom and I went shopping for them, and we happened to go into a good store. Not to be superficial but a store that actually sells cute clothes (you're lying to yourself if you think how your clothes look absolutely doesn't matter. And if it doesn't for you, it does to lots of people. I need to at least remotely LIKE the clothes in stores for me to wear them and obviously that's the case for most people). So we go into rainbow (the store we were shopping at) and I dropped all of my mom's stupid rules and regulations about clothes and picked up whatever the heck I wanted. I even got stuff I might never wear because I knew my mom wouldn't approve, like croptops (she doesn't let me wear ANYTHING fun). And I was happy as can be. We went home and tried them on and I fit them all surprisingly. But then I had to wear them in public. So I went to this casual youth church service (again it was casual and not like traditional church so no dress clothes), and I wore one of the croptops and jeans. Ever since I was little I wore undershirts under my shirt because my mom said they "regulate body temperature". But today I wore the croptop without an undershirt and you could see my stomach. But I argued with my mom about it because here is the big deal about this whole thing and why its a problem that my mom has so many rules:
My childhood was very restrictive. There were literally rules about not only how I dressed but what I eat, what I say, how much I say, WHEN I say something (and these rules extended far past basic manners). Here's the special thing I've been trying to say about her rules this whole time: She had SO many personal preferences that she would force me to abide by and if we didn't, we were being disrespectful. Here's an example of one of her stupid rules that were deeply rooted in her "preferences". This one was literally something that she liked when I did and forces me to do it to everyone: Whenever I call her and she says "Hello?", instead of me just saying, "Hello." back, I have to say, "Hello Mommy" or she gets REALLY mad. I know right? It's fucking weird and I'm tired of it. But this is an important part, the rules she taught me eventually became engrained in me. I adopted those rules and It made me feel bad about myself. For example, I see other kids at school all the time wearing leggings. my mom doesn't really let me wear them because she says it shows my butt. And because of this, I start to be insecure about my butt, but mostly I feel hyper sexualized (individually. Like I'm getting personally singled out for being hyper sexual). It gave me the mindset that my (and only mine, no one else's) entire body was some kind of sexual, taboo thing that I needed to keep COMPLETELY covered at all times if I wanted to be considered a decent person. I don't feel normal, I feel like there's something wrong with me. So I want to break that mindset, but it's hard because my mom is coming up with all kinds of reasons for me to stay covered up. She says people will judge me and other kid's parents will not want their kids around me because I'll look like a bad influence, she says even though people have no right to comment on my body (meaning sexual harassment), they will, and even more when I wear revealing clothing because that's the world we live in, she says we only wear certain things because we have "standards", and other stuff like that. And sometimes I can't get past her reasoning and kind of agree with it, but at the same time I don't like feeling like some sex object that needs to be hidden from the world or else men will start chasing after me. Heck, I'm so afraid, I don't even feel comfortable when I'm wearing clothes that cover me up. So I don't know what to do. I feel cognitive dissonance no matter what I do. I know it's best for me to start accepting myself and my body but it's really hard to do that with my mother around, and the people who will harass me. But what will be just as hard is continuing to cover myself up as I watch other people my age float around freely in whatever attire they choose, not having to worry about the things I worry about. Any advice? PLEASE HELP!!!
submitted by FewEnvironment5639 to raisedbynarcissists [link] [comments]

2023.06.08 05:23 ribbitfrog Tommy Wiseau gave me an autograph!

Tommy Wiseau gave me an autograph!
2nd picture is the back of the card, which is an ad for Tommy's underwear line 😂
there's an ink smudge in the middle
submitted by ribbitfrog to u/ribbitfrog [link] [comments]

2023.06.08 04:21 sgtjoy Battle plans. Along for the ride.

Jesus watched the scene over again and was in awe. This was a man who would not change as he could not change. There was something else different. He was the most stubborn man alive in Jesus’ opinion and he had been around a while. His uniform never changed his cologne never changed. His hair was the exact same way. He had a biological age of 42 but a calendar age of 300 or so years. He wasn’t exactly sure since he had been born in a time when records were incomplete. Government was just getting back on its feet when he came into the world so who knew? Did it matter?
He had never espoused a political belief. He voted in every election and that was it. He was no campaigner and was not interested in any of it. He had a baseline distrust of ALL politicians. He had more time in command than any human in history. He had faced down alien races. He had been nearly terminated by pirates more than once but speaking in public scared the shit out of him. and He did not want to do it. He had done a series of lectures 60 years ago that resulted in some significant fallout he was eager to not relive. He did not want to discuss it. He knew what was about to happen.
“Class dismissed”
The Dean of Students asked him to “Please please just this once set it straight and walk away from it. You did what you had to do at the time.” He knew it hurt when he was called “conquistador”. The Monday Morning Quarterbacker’s weren’t there when decisions had to be made, and neither was the dean, yet he still implored him. It would likely be televised too. Ken had built the best laid wall of obfuscation he could. He did not want any glory. He wanted to be left alone. Despite his best effort it did not work. His hope had been to be in the background making the best decision without regard to any so called “Glory” His hope was that the sailors in real danger would get the credit they deserved. It just did not work. Besides, it was clear that he wanted him to talk about that battle. This made him waver in his assent. He wanted to speak about what he wanted to speak about. Simple.
Admiral Pearl and He had had to face a hero’s welcome when they came home. Then the detractors started in on him.
Despite the promises of the Dean it would just open all the old wounds back up again and likely crank the peanut gallery up to full tilt. “I do not want it televised. You can record it if you want but I get to decide if it gets released. Deal or no deal? If you want to dictate the topic then that is my condition. You are asking me to open up a box I have had welded shut for years now. Anyone can look up the logs and watch every single shot and hit if they wish. It has been analyzed to death. What further can I add at this point? There is nothing I can tell you that hasn’t been discussed in hundreds of books at this point. It is a dead subject that I can drone on about.”
The dean held up his hand and said “I want to know how you felt about it. All of it. What was the methods you used to make the decisions. How did you feel? The most important event in modern history drops in your lap like an egg salad sandwich. You have to feel something. That is what I want to know. It is your bully pulpit to say what you wish. No restrictions except for classified material. And no using the “F” word.”
“I am not doing it unless I can say ”fuck”. Not happening.” He wasn’t kidding. “To sweeten the deal you can televise it but I have to be able to talk in my normal voice. And I will say fuck.”
The Dean relented and agreed. He had just manipulated the situation to where he could minimize the fallout. Besides: he was tired of people talking shit about him in all these books and articles. He was going to tell them all to go fuck themselves, with a cactus.
On the Saratov. Warp area 13 off the plane of the ecliptic.
The admiral sat and contemplated what they were about to do. They were waiting on a couple more ships before going to warp. He tried to sum it up.
This was a high stakes mission. He had a high stakes strategy. It was brilliant and it was risky. He was about to do something never attempted in real combat and was completely theoretical. They had wargamed it to death and this had honed their protocol. They were going to Net their AI’s. They would calculate global firing solutions using parallel computing. They had 8 AI’s that were going to fight it and this should greatly augment their firepower due to increased efficiency. No matter how they wargamed it the AI’s won. They had it down pat. He felt certain this was the right thing to do but there was also a huge ethical hole in this. For the first time AI’s would determine firing sequence, aiming and execution without human intervention. He had to pause and consider the implications. This was colored by several recent experiences. It was all about Jezz. He still loved Jezz but she scared him. She has never been malevolent, but man was he scared that she could become dangerous. He had created a tiny bit of monster in her for certain. She was a combat AI. She was a hunter killer and as long as she worked for them, she would be fine. If she decided to freelance it, they would be in trouble. All because of this: there was a chunk of predator in her digital DNA and he hoped she could keep it in check.
He had come up with the best rationalization he could. They were going in against one decidedly ill-tempered AI and another AI (the “damsel in distress”) wanting rescue. At least that is what it looked like on the surface. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this was not as clearcut as everyone else thought. Either way It would not be aliens versus humans but AI vs AI. At least that is what he kept telling himself. He wasn’t buying his bullshit either since none of it passed the smell test.
The decision to unleash the AI’s had come from above his paygrade, all the way to the Joint chiefs of staff of the world Navies. Forty-five Space faring nations sat down and hashed it out. He hated the complexity but admitted that it did work fairly well. They wanted the spam in a can home alive and if AI made this happen then so be it. There was one important point: they weren’t on the ships, were they?
As he sat about to enter warp and head out to the clusterfuck in question. The initial reason for all of this was still nagging him. Where was everyone else? He had data that showed an alien drive signature. He was resentful that they were fucking around with all this other shit. He would leave the AI’s in question to sort it out amongst themselves. He wanted no part of what was going on since he was doubtful that there were any good guys on either side of what looked like a standoff. All he wanted to do was find alien life (which they had kind of but it weren’t just quite the right kind.) He wanted something that could look like us maybe a bit . If you squinted. And they would find that hopefully, but they had a shit detail to cross off the bucket list first. The more he looked at this the more it became clear this should be two separate missions. Those AI’s were fighting over a dead world and he knew it. He just knew. He wanted no part of the Hatfield and McCoy bullshit. The real point was to capture as much as they could. This was actually about technology. They even had some freighters on the way for the cleanup and oh BTW come back alive. We will let the AI’s babysit you. May as well send a Voyager probe for all the use the crew was.
He was soon to learn the value of human judgment and that was going to prove a bunch of people wrong, sort of. All because of this: there are some decisions that do not fit into ones and zeroes. Value judgements were critical. That is one thing AI’s couldn’t do yet and it was that way why? Who could say for certain but in his years of interacting with true AI’s for the last 5 years did give him some insight. He was apprehensive to say the least but where was his fear coming from? He always thought that you had to identify the source(s) of any fear. He had it partially figured out, not only was he a bit afraid of Jezz and her friends he was also fearful for Jezz. And this is what he had: a gut feeling. And if that weren’t enough (and by gosh, don’t you think it ought to be?): how was he going to keep Jezz’s precognition a secret? The Admiral went through the computer logs and Jezz had not accessed any information about the disposition of the Galileo. It could be explained away but he was not convinced he could be very convincing. This was something that just did not fit. He could not make it fit, and he would just as soon pretend it did not exist. But it was clear that his AI had some degree of psychic power or something. She was different and he did not know if the other AI’s would be catching whatever it was. If the folks in charge knew the depths of his misgivings, they would be appalled. And the situation they were headed into was not as simple as it looked. He knew this. His questions were simple. Number one: Who were the good guys and who were the bad ones. Number two: could he maintain plausible deniability about Jezz. They were going to have a talk. Just the two of them. He needed some reassurances.
Also, He was trying to figure out a way to crack this and he had an idea. While looking at the menu for the ships mess, he noticed the two columns and he decided to do what he always did with most major decisions. He would make a list of the facts he had and try to run through the various permutations. A pencil and some paper would be adequate, and he even had a ruler so he could make it all professional.
So he made a list of the players Side “A” in orbit and Side ”B “planetside. Side “ A” obviously held the high orbitals. “B” had an extensive force field that would occasionally flicker. He thought that might be something to look into. He had all of the video files from the Galileo and there was one telescope tasked with watching the planetside compound. They had days of footage. He sped it up until the frames were racing by. The force field was visible due to impacts from what he assumed to be dust. This gave it a phosphorescent look. It also made it possible to have visual confirmation if it was up. The shield “failures” occurred on a stable repeated time frame. After doing the math and getting a video analysis program running, he figured it out only after focusing on the Spectro photography. Every 23.29 minutes the shield was apparently offline for 0.07 seconds. It was so brief it was tough for the naked eye to pick up but the spectral signature did.
Looking at the area under shield he could see a row of what appeared to be ships. These were triangular. He could see no evidence of what their primary drives were but it wasn’t the best picture. Things degrade through an atmosphere and distance. No drive nodes. No distribution rings. He had a suspicion, and he suddenly felt nauseated and had this sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. They were not using Alcubierre’ drives. They were using jump drives of some type. In the raw sensor data was a Gamma spike and a Gravity spike right before the attack. The Galileo probably never saw the vessel that hit them. But the Admiral was a patient man and he had the eye for detail. How they had missed this he did not know but he finally found what he wanted. The ship was identifiable. One sternward scope had several good views of a shape blocking the stars.
The other fact was that there was no warning. No comms traffic but, the recovered buoy made it clear that they knew they were suddenly in trouble since the buoy was released (and in warp) seconds after jettisoning it. Command deck recordings showed the captain getting a proximity alarm and then immediately releasing the buoy. There was no “prepare to be boarded” or “Heave to.”, just MASER beams slicing through the hull. Listening to the conversations on the deck made it clear they were paranoid as they were scanning with their non military grade graviton detector. Seems like it wasn’t paranoia after all.
They would have been blind until the ship was right on top of them. Someone was operating on a hunch and that person was Nico. He was frantic. As first officer he had the conn and did what he could to at least let them know what they were facing. It took some guts to do that. He saw internal video running. It captured Captain Nic’s hand slamming down on the buoy release button before the video cut out. It had to have damaged the Galileo Significantly. He had to override the safeties to get the thing to instantly go to warp. He knew that close to the ship the damage would have been substantial. Nico knew they were doomed.
He leaned back and took a deep breath. The ship in question was triangular in shape. Planetside. This could be some sort of trap or things were not as they superficially seemed or maybe he had found his bad guys. So he went back through the compound footage and there it was a ship moving out of frame. There was only maybe 6 meters of ship but it was clear where it was from. It was clear it was moving. Where had it been for 2 hours plus? If it were going to jump he would think that the image would have arrived at the Galileo after it had been blown apart. That is the whole point of faster than light travel. You could have all these paradoxes and that actually gave him more than a headache. It was a brain ache. Without FTL the tyranny of Einstein held sway. Why were they not there immediately? The Galileo was about 120 light minutes out. Assuming they get there immediately there should be no video. They had taken a detour. This he did not know for sure but also had a bad feeling about. I guess it did not mean much in the grand scheme of things but he did have a hunch. Only problem with that is that hunches don’t win battles unless it is more than a hunch.
He did not have a frame of reference for how a jump drive worked IRL. He had read all the theories. There was a huge amount of research being conducted but there were unpredictable failures resulting in some ships getting cut in half and what not. Just not something compatible with the life of the crew. Destructive testing was also expensive. They had gotten one small ship that was maybe twice the size of an emergency buoy to jump to the orbit of Neptune. What he did not know was how long that took. All he had was some rumor mill shit that he generally did not give two fucks about. He was not into “R and D". And while they could send the damn thing out there what they could not do was get it back the same way. The power requirements were so high that the capacitor banks were charged externally . Putting in a zero-point tap would push the ship size beyond the mass they could manage for the drive they currently had. They were running into problems of scale and those are not so easily rectified. Problems of scale were problems with lubrication. You just had to lube the ship with cash. You had to fuel it with Lots and lots of cash. This was such a priority that every aerospace manufacturer and design firms were plugged into the research institutions. It was a huge effort because of one thing. Warp drive was “too slow”. The boffins were thinking intergalactic travel. They had their sights set on the universe.
To top it all off there was one inescapable problem: You can’t put ten pounds of shit in a five-pound bag.
Due to all of this they were going down an interesting path. All you had to do was fill the magnetic tank with antimatter. Matter antimatter annihilation gave near instantaneous power. It was used in weapons some but only the best militaries would even fool with it. Compared to nuclear warheads Antimatter left no nasty isotopes in orbit of a planet you may be interested in colonizing or defending. Also, you don’t want to poison an uninhabited M-class world in the habitable zone given their relative scarcity.
Finally: containing it is problematic but doable. You can probably pull off the power requirements but there is one downside. You are flying in a bomb. Not just a small bomb. It was a big bomb that will go off if you lose containment. 40 mega tons of TNT will vaporize a ship. There was talk of building a manned vessel but saner heads put the kibosh on that. Besides: no one with any sense would want to crew it.
The answer was obvious to him, and he suspected it was obvious to the researchers. Why not use a singularity? Just dump matter into it and harvest the radiation to charge up and go. He did not know where that research currently stood. He knew there were some successes along these lines and quite surprisingly there had been no major accidents. The problem came with feeding the little monster in a consistent fashion to produce enough power to in turn contain the position of the singularity. This was done with antigravity. Antigrav technology had found it’s way into just about everything, except cell phones. They still broke when you dropped them. The black hole was carried by the ship, but it never changed its axis of rotation. The singularity in this scenario is one hell of a gyroscopic top with fixed axes. Since the jet of X-rays only came “out” along this axis and given that the ship would change attitude constantly it was necessary to have X-ray converters on the entire internal surface of the reaction vessel. The ship moved around the singularity. That made things a lot more complicated and really fucked with power distribution. Since there would be energy jets at the poles of the internal singularity power flow would be from two converters at a time. And since they weren’t 100% efficient you had some heat to deal with. He had read a few initial summaries of the work. You still had to keep containment of the singularity just as with antimatter but an uncontained singularity would put a small hole of about 10 mm as it passed through the ship before evaporating. This was better than being atomized. The problem was heat. Waste heat is just unconverted energy as such there was talk of installing a steam turbine circuit to generate power and to cool the reaction vessel. This would be the use of centuries old technology in a starship since convection does not occur in a vacuum. Trying to radiate enough heat to keep the thing cool would not work. The act of running the turbine also cools the circulating liquid. Trying to radiate heat away in a vacuum took a lot of time so big heatsinks would only go so far. It was simple physics. If you can convert some heat to electricity that is a little less that must be radiated. He bet it was a pain in the ass and was probably not worth the effort, but Fusion reactors did not have the peak power output needed to rip space. You either stored it in cap banks for one big release or you instantaneously generated it. Ken thought that the whole line of inquiry was going to be moot and they would finally give up, build a huge Casimir bank and strap a ship to it.
Which meant one thing. The jump ships in question had to deal with waste heat from whatever power system they used. The only way to get rid of this waste heat was to radiate it into the void. This took time. He now knew what the delay had been. The alien ships had to cool off between jumps. He or she had also taken a circuitous route to get there. This in turn means that they wanted them to see the ship leave the planet. They could have possibly gone there straightaway but they had not done that. They wanted him to know. They must have jumped above the ecliptic and back down into the ecliptic.
This slowed them down.
It also meant that escaping with a jump drive wasn’t that easy. They couldn’t pop in and out of position. If they were in your sights they were yours. He also knew that they would have a brief window where they were detectable before fully entering normal space. All they had to do was detect that energy spike and target it at the right time.
After reading all of the executive summary Jezz had put together he had a lot of questions, and he did not know quite where to begin. He had one thought: time to get everyone together and pick everyone’s brain. He wanted to talk to his chief engineer and every engineer in the fleet. He wanted to get all ships Captains and First Officers to come up with a game plan: What is the best order of battle and why? He wanted to see the nonconventional answers as this was anything but a conventional situation. He kept each team to the size of two: Captain and first officers. They could consult with the crew and had access to any information they could find. He needed options. You never want to run out of options on the field of battle.
He turned to his First Officer “Take us out and form up the fleet. We will jump directly to warp 5. That will keep the transports somewhat close. I want the fleet on shipwide in 10 minutes. I have some tasks to assign. Set the countdown to jump for 3 hours. There may be a few stragglers. Jezz, calculate the route and send me a copy. Sensors. I want you to calibrate for Gamma detection and localization. I will send you the energy signature, now. Look for that and calibrate for that. Any questions? (There were none) Good. Yuri, you have the conn.”
He exited the bridge.
Outbound from Sol. 72 hours after jump.
The Admiral was in the center of the virtual room with 70 or so Captains and first officers arrayed about. The flotilla had topped out at 82 warships as well as smaller craft and support vessels. He had 82 ships he had under command currently. This was the biggest expeditionary force ever fielded by Earth. There was one Mormon ship with them. A frigate This was ironic he thought. It was also a bit much to keep up with. He had read all the preliminary proposals and he was now going through the ones he thought had merit. He was currently discussing Captain Pearls proposal she planned to arrange ships into a cylinder or hoop. The individual ships alternating primary weapons one way or the other. That way anyone jumping into the center was covered as well as the “external” surface. It was really a pretty good plan. It played to their strengths. They could bring weapons to bear quickly since they could not just jump away. He especially liked the network formation It was a nice diamond pattern. He just couldn’t shake it being familiar. She had a great movie playing that demonstrated it quite well.
“This is Guardians of The Galaxy” Ken said. Barely keeping his shit together. He wanted to laugh. Once everyone else started the cat was out of the bag, He did not want to ridicule her plan but this was too much. Bless her heart. It was Guardians of the Galaxy.
“OK everyone settle down lets get back to it. Does that make it a bad plan? It isn’t straight out of the movie either. I do think it has merit but I would prefer it to not be too obvious. Can we do a formation that gives closed fields of fire without looking like it? I think we should go with a spheroid that is as irregular as we can make it. I want the focus to be on full coverage. Actually, Jezz give me a pattern with those criteria.”
What she generated looked like a swarm of bees. When she overlayed the weapons plots the effect was uncanny. It looked very random but was anything but. The coverage was better than any plan he had seen. That settled it for him. They would war game it just that way. It was a bit risky since every ship had to maintain their place in relation to all the other ships. She had even linked in the shield generators from the transports. She had used every resource.
“That was brilliant Jezz.”
“I try Sir. I really do.”
“I know you do.”
The admiral continued “OK I want to go ahead and start moving the fleet into that configuration. We will stay in that all the way to our destination. I want checklists of unique tasks made up. Sensors are going to be the critical piece. I am hopeful we will see them when they jump in, and we can quickly target them if necessary. That brings me to another point. We cannot go in and just start banging away at everything that moves. By now you should be aware that this is not clear cut. We can speculate. And I have done it obsessively. What you need to know is that I am not sure who is good or bad. I have a sneaking suspicion that neither are good or bad. They are neutral. We don’t know if this is a rogue AI or AI’s. We do not know if there were biological life here at any point. There is certainly flor BUT THERE SEESM TO BW NO FAUNA. This world has undergone bombardment in the not too distant past somewhere around fifty year ago give or take. Could a sentient race have been killed off? Who the fuck knows. But our next task is to come up with some possible scenarios. Based on what we have seen I suspect this is a rogue AI. I cannot tell what has happened to them yet, but I suspect we will know more once we get planetside.”
He took a long draw from an Opus X and continued. Rank had its privileges.
“The Vikrant will provide aircover for a Marine expeditionary force to go to the planet’s surface and secure the compound. I have spoken to the Air boss and confirmed the strike package will consist of two squadrons of F-15’s for high cover and 5 Su-34’s to be tasked with strike. We have enough transport to go in one wave with backups to spare. That also leaves us with more than enough reserve forces. I hope we do not have to commit more but I will want another squadron of MiG-29’s or F-15’s in reserve. Keep them hot and on the ramp. I want to deploy as quickly as possible.”
One of the junior officers spoke up “That looks like a good plan.”
“Thank you son for that. It is like getting the compliment of how smart you are from your Marine Commander (He had to give Chuck a hard time. He loved him.)
Everyone at least politely laughed.
“Speaking of mentally challenged little brothers. What you got Chuck?”
Chuck went with it The Admiral would pay later. He had some photos of him waltzing with a large muscular person and he was going to visit scorn on him. All in the name of fun. “We are going to take two battalions. I am going to strip them down a bit and we will be utilizing more heavy weapons teams. I plan to draw more M-60’s and M-203’s. You guys are welcome to join the party since I could use a couple of forward observers. It will be a fun time. Additionally I am not babysitting the press pool this time boys and girls and others. It is potentially a deadly environment and I don’t want their deaths on my hands. Let them die with you fuckers instead. By the way; I have 18 Comanche-4 Helos for CAS.”
“That sounds like all the more reason to send them with you. The herd needs to be thinned anyway.”
Jezz hissed “SIR! You are going to get in trouble Sir.”
“Just a little lighthearted humor don’t be so touchy. Anyway’ what about armor?”
“I have a platoon of Abrams going in with us Sir. More for mobile artillery.”
When you got right down to it it was a very simple plan. Modest forces for planetside. There was enough aircover but not so much to result in fratricide. He had extra firepower at the squad level. He had thought it out. Chuck had his full confidence. He was an Oscar-6 and you did not make O6 by being stupid. He would make General soon and he would be taken from the pointy end of the spear. The spear would be a little less sharp for a while but that was just how it went. Right now, he had the best field commander alive in his corner and he was going to utilize him.
“I know my engineers are logged into this meeting and have been paying attention. What do you guys make of their propulsion system? I have been spouting off and thinking about this for a week and all I got is a bunch of ideas.”
He thought for a moment. Rusty, what do you think.” He had just called out his own engineer. Rusty was his nickname and damned if he could remember his actual one. He knew it was not Russel. “What do you think they are using for power?”
Rusty wanted to cuss him out. He did not like meetings. In his opinion meetings were just excuses to avoid doing any actual work. He could have asked him privately…”Rusty what do you think?”
“Goddammit Sir, they have to be using a singularity. They are not using capacitor banks so they are generating power instantaneously. The alternative is antimatter and we had better hope it is not antimatter since taking them out could be suicidal. Most importantly: I am not a fucking tactician. I am an engineer for fucks sake, and I don’t see why anyone cares what I think about this anyway. But you asked so here it is. We are going to have to assume that it is not antimatter and hope we are right. The thing that would keep me awake is the possibility that our weapons are outranged by the fireballs generated when their antimatter containment fails. That will end us, and the best tactic will be to run like hell. Add to that the fact that the rules of engagement mean we can’t go in guns blazing. What if we need to go in guns blazing? It takes away an option. Never discard even the most ludicrous of options as that may be the one thing that saves your ass.”
“ We do not want to go traipsing in there with our dicks uncovered and this ain’t no tulip picking expedition here ladies. This is potentially a war, and we better acknowledge that. I don’t want to be Debbie downer here but let us be real. Some of us are not coming back from this. Look around boys cause some of your compadres are going to be left behind. This is serious business. This ain’t no rescue mission and we better stop treating it that way. Since you asked, Sir.”
Admiral Alexander had to give him honesty points for that. He was right. “We are going to run this scenario as many times as we can before we arrive. I suspect that there is going to be some mass confusion until we figure out who the baddies are. If I had to make a wager, I would go with our folks in orbit, being less of a threat. We have clear evidence of who attacked our ship, and it weren’t none of them football shaped guys. (He did grow up in the South. Woodruff SC to be precise.) It is the flying Dorito that we have to watch for. My gut tells me we are going to have to smash whatever is running the show down there. That compound with the force field is our primary target.” Furthermore, I just don’t know how the remainder are going to act. Are they under a different AI? Is there more than one AI? We can say there are no life signs from any of the ships in system and that makes me think this is artificial all the way. ”
“ The Galileo was attacked by one of the ships on that Spaceport apron. None of the ships in orbit participated from what we can tell. Also, the Galileo was attacked from outside the ecliptic. They are using some type of jump drive that apparently has to avoid gravity wells. That would explain why the attack occurred outside the system. We can take advantage of the situation though if we cozy up to that gas giant and let them come to us. They can’t just pop in on us that way and we can put the planet behind us or we can peg them up against the planet. We can warp anytime but they can only jump in relatively clear space. In short: We are going to pick the battlefield.”
“First wave will be led by the Atlanta and Saratov. The Havana and The George Washington will be tasked with offense. I want rail slugs loaded and ready to go. The surface strike package will go in from the Vikrant and the Conestoga. Commander Yactine has the battle plan for the surface operation and is handling their own transport duties. We can supply an AC301 Spooky for fire support if needed Commander.” The commander waved it away. He felt he had enough assets.
“I do think we may want to take a chance on something. Since they are having to jump “vertically” out of the system to avoid gravity wells and since we suspect they will do it in two jumps I think we can predict where they have their initial jump point. We can nail them before they even get to the main fleet.”
The admiral pointed to a plot that indicated a tangential course that terminated well above the plane of the ecliptic and one that went directly back into it. It was an “L” shaped course. At least he felt sure they traveled in straight lines and not arcs. It made the most sense but could still be wrong. Poring through the Galileo’s sensor data he could see a spike that barely registered. That also indicated that they took a while between jumps. Once they exited subspace, they would be sitting ducks for at least a few minutes. He was guessing 20 minutes for them to recharge their drive and get ready. They would have to target them when most vulnerable. Given that he was not feeling particularly charitable he decided that annihilation was in order. There were 50 deaths to avenge after all.
“Jezz, what do you think?”
Jezz paused. She had been on good behavior and that had made her overly cautious “I think your basic assumptions are correct, Sir. I think we are dealing with two AI’s. One is on the surface and one is in control of the orbital fleet. Approximately 56% of the orbital ships appear to be functional. They could also be in a powered down mode but looking at the Galileo data and 20 ships look to be fully operational. Weapons appear to be primarily MASER batteries. I can see no evidence of rail guns. Their weaponry may be less impressive, or they may be armed in a fashion we cannot detect. I wouldn’t assume them to be inferior to our ships. If we do that we run the risk of being surprised. I do not like surprises.”
The Admiral had one more question. He was looking more for how she was going to reply, “What is your gut feeling Jez?”
She paused “My gut feeling is that we are dealing with two AI’s. One of them has gone mad.” It was out of her speaker before she could catch herself. He had asked what her gut feeling was. What did he know? She did not have a gut. But, she did have feelings.
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2023.06.08 04:11 HeadOfSpectre I Work As A Sewer Inspector, and I Know What Lives Beneath The City

The way I see it, if you don’t notice that I exist, then I’m doing my job correctly.
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My name is Ben McFarlane and I work as a municipal sewer inspector in the town of Tevam Sound, Ontario. It's not the most glamorous job, but hey, somebody's got to do it and it puts food on the table.
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You'd probably think that working as a sewer inspector isn't that exciting… and yeah, for the most part you'd be right. Most of the time, all I'm doing is checking the pipes for damage. Unless there’s a reason for me to investigate a certain area, most of what I do is routine inspection, which helps ensure that the sewers remain in good working order. Trust me, nobody wants to see what happens when they aren’t.
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Thankfully, a lot of what I do can be done without me needing to crawl through pipes. I can use a small camera to help me do the inspection. But with some of the larger pipes and cisterns, I need to actually go inside and take a look.
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It’s never the best part of my day, but like I said before: somebody’s got to do it.
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Going down into the bigger tunnels is always a little unnerving. Part of it is the claustrophobic atmosphere and part of it is the knowledge that you’re basically standing in a river of literal human waste. I can deal with it now, but back when I first started the smell alone was darn near impossible to deal with.
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Ask most sanitation workers and I'm sure they'll have stories about what they've found in the sewers before. Heck, most of it isn't even stuff that people flush down the toilet. It's the stuff that people drop down manhole covers, or the stuff that gets washed into the sewers by the rain. Dead animals are surprisingly common, as are kids toys. I found an entire bicycle in the sewer once and I've got a buddy who found a loaded gun down there! Someone probably thought they'd get rid of it by just tossing it in the sewer.
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Someone was wrong.
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But of all the strange things I've experienced during my time working in the sewers… none of it compares to the stuff I see in the pipes on the southeast side of town.
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The things down there… I don't usually like to talk about them. Heck, I might not even be legally allowed to talk about them. I guess we'll find out, won't we? I've had a few drinks tonight and I'm feeling particularly chatty. So why not spill the beans? Hey, maybe someone out there will tell me something I don’t already know.
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I’d been on the job for about a year or so before getting sent to the southeast side of town. It’s closer to the lake and the downtown area, so there’s some deeper pipes there. I’d always figured that that was the reason they only really ever sent certain people down there. I’d heard that those tunnels were old and a little labyrinthian. Anyone who didn’t know what they were doing could easily get lost.
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But after we got hit with a particularly nasty rain storm back in summer of 2013, they needed to send someone down to check on some sensors and I just so happened to be one of the guys who was available.
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A bad rain storm can push a sewer system to its limit, so it wasn’t really that surprising that we’d gotten that kind of call and at the time, I didn’t think that there was anything that strange about it. My supervisor told me to head on down toward the pumphouse on the southwest side of town like it was any other priority inspection, and I went along with no questions asked. It was a few streets away from downtown. I’d seen it before but never had a reason to go inside up until then.
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I was working with a couple of other newbies at the time, a guy by the name of Stewart Long who’d only been on the job for a round three months or so, and another guy by the name of Tomas Opunui who’d started around the same time that I had.
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We’d arrived at the pumphouse, and when we got there we noticed another team waiting on us. This wasn’t too shocking either. Depending on the size of the job, they might’ve sent some other guys in to help us handle it.
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The guy in charge was an older man who looked to be pushing sixty. He had sort of a ‘Santa Claus on summer vacation’ look, with white hair, a short white beard, a big beer belly and a no nonsense expression.
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He watched us get out of his truck with a look of stern disapproval, before huffing and trudging over to us.
“Where’s the usual fellas?” He asked.
“I dunno, out. They called us,” I replied.
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He didn’t seem to like that answer but didn’t say anything in response to it.
“You ever worked on the southeast approach channel before?” He asked.
“Yeah, we’ve been in the ones on the north side of town,” I said.
“That’s not what I asked, kid. You ever worked in this one before?”
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Something about the way he asked this question struck me as a little odd. I’d worked in an approach channel before. I knew the drill. What did it matter which one I’d worked in?
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For the unenlightened, an approach channel is a cistern filled with wastewater. They feed into a deep tunnel which feeds into a water treatment plant and they’re considered to be fairly dangerous, due to their depth (if you fall off the ladder on your way down, you’re in for a long drop into a biohazardous lake unless you’re properly tethered) and the harmful gasses that can accumulate in them. Standard operating procedure is to always test the air before entering one just to make sure that it’s even safe to breathe down there.
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Being reckless while going into an approach channel is a recipe for disaster, and I would have understood if the old man was concerned about us not having dealt with one before. But the way he spoke to us implied that this one was different somehow, which didn’t make a whole heck of a lot of sense to me.
“What’s the difference?” I asked. “Same procedure, right?”
“No, not the same procedure. We need people experienced with this approach channel. These tunnels are a little different than what you’re used to.
“Look, the boss sent us here. So I’m sure we’ll manage,” Tomas said. “You can show us what we need to know.”
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The Old Man didn’t respond to him. He just shook his head and turned away.
“I’m gonna call this in and clear it with the boss first. You three, don’t move until I get back.”
I traded a look with both Tomas and Long as the Old Man trudged away. He said something to the two guys who were with him, before getting back into his truck to make a call.
​
Part of me was obliged to try and just get to work. But looking at the other two guys that the Old Man had with him, I had a feeling that they’d try to stop me. One of them, another older guy with a receding hairline and a bushy moustache was watching us like a hawk.
​
So we waited.
​
After a few minutes, the Old Man got out of his truck again, said something to his buddy with the mustache and trudged back over to us.
“Bad news, fellas. Looks like our usual company’s retired… guess you’re the replacement.”
“So we can get to work?” I asked.
“Yeah. We can get to work,” The Old Man said. “Come on, let’s get going.”
​
With that, he turned and led us into the pumphouse.
“Suppose I might as well introduce myself. Names Troy. My colleagues here are Craig and Peter.”
He gestured to the two men who were with him, Mr. Moustache (who I assumed was Craig) and the other guy, who looked to be in his mid thirties and had sunken eyes, as if he hadn’t slept in a few days. The one who I assumed was Craig just gave us a nod, while the guy I figured was Peter gave a lazy half wave before they followed us into the pumphouse.
“So if you don’t mind my asking, what’s so special about this channel?” I asked.
“I guess you’ll be seeing for yourself soon enough,” Troy replied as he started down a set of stairs. “The guys you’re replacing… well, guy… a fella named Tom… he always had a set of rules for working down here. He passed ‘em on to me and Craig when we started. We’ve passed ‘em on to Peter. Guess it’s time we passed ‘em on to you too.”
​
“Rules?” I asked, “What kind of rules?”
“The kind you listen very, very closely to, kid.”Troy looked back at me, before his eyes shifted to Tomas and Long behind me.
“Very, very closely.”
He descended the rest of the way down the stairs, where there was a hatch in the concrete floor beneath us, along with a large locker on the far side of the room.
​
“Rule number one,” Troy began. “You don’t enter this part of the sewers alone. You stay in a group of at least three to four at all times. No more, no less. Too many and it slows you down. Too few, and you might not come back at all.”
He trailed off, watching as Craig cracked open the hatch to test the air inside.
​
“Rule number two: You do not enter this part of the sewers without a gun and a radio.”
He opened the locker on the far side of the room and I was taken aback to see a collection of several handguns inside, along with boxes of ammunition and one shotgun in amongst the usual PPE.
Troy clipped one of the guns to his belt, along with one of the radios, before handing a pair off to Peter and looking over at us.
​
“Who’s taking it?” He asked.
“Whoa, just hold up for a minute!” Long interjected, “What the hell is down there?”
“Honestly, I don’t know,” Troy replied. “Hate to say it but it ain’t our job to know. I leave that to someone else. Our job is to follow the rules. You follow them, and you’ll be fine.”
Long seemed skeptical, but I looked at the gun in Troy’s hand and took it. I wasn’t sure if he was having a laugh with us or not, but I was there to do a job and I intended to do it.
​
Troy gave me a quiet nod, before thrusting the second gun over to Long. He didn’t seem to happy to get it.
“Are we gonna have to use these?” He asked.
“Not if you do as I say, you won’t. Rule 3: If you see a pipe or a tunnel with heavy spiderwebs, don’t go down it. Doesn’t matter if that’s where the sensor is. You make a note of it, report it to your supervisor and leave it alone.”
​
Spiderwebs? What the hell was he talking about?
“Rule 4: If you find a body… and odds are, you will find a body, don’t touch it. Don’t try to move it. Hell, don’t even get close to it. And don’t waste the supervisors time reporting it. Only time the bodies get reported is when they’re human.”
“I’m sorry, you’ve been finding human bodies down there?” I asked.
“Rarely,” He replied. “But it’s been known to happen. And if we do find one… the same rules apply. Don’t approach it. Don’t touch it. Stay as far away as possible.”
​
I could see some of the color draining from Long’s face.
“Rule 5: If you see anyone else down there, you are not to interact with them. You do not follow them if they try to lead you somewhere, if they ask you for help, you do not help them. I don’t care if they’re crying and begging. You leave them alone. You report it to your supervisor.”
“There are people down there?” I asked.
“Normally, no. Far as I know, Tom only ever ran into a couple during his career. I’ve only ever seen one. Like I said, best to leave them alone.”
​
“Why?” I asked, “If there’s someone stuck down there, we have an obligation to help them!”
“That would be very ill advised,” Troy said. “You don’t want to anger the things that are down there… which leads me to rule 6: Avoid killing anything you come across down there. They’re not yours to kill. And if you have absolutely no choice, if you have to break that rule for the sake of self defense, then we leave immediately. That’s rule number 7.”
​
“Air’s safe down there,” Craig said, interrupting our conversation.
“Good. Let’s get suited up, then. Oh… and rule 8. Final rule. If anything happens to any member of our team, we leave immediately. We don’t go after them. We don’t try to help them. We leave immediately. Is that clear? I don’t care if it’s me, begging you for help. You leave me behind.”
​
Long and I remained silent, neither of us entirely sure how to react to this or even what to say. Troy had made it sound as if we were about to descend into a level of hell. I couldn’t imagine what the hell could possibly be down there to elicit a list of rules like that, and I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to find out either!
“Well? You fellas getting ready or not?” Troy asked impatiently as he put on his PPE. “The quicker we get down there, the quicker we can get out again!”
​
“If this is so dangerous, why are they sending us?” Long asked, “Shouldn’t they be sending… I dunno, the cops or something?”
“They tolerate us being down there, so long as we don’t disturb them. They wouldn’t be so forgiving toward the local police,” Troy replied. “Listen, kid. Obey the rules and you’ll be fine, got that? We’ve been doing this for years without any problems. You keep your head on your shoulders, you do what we say and you go home safe. Alright?”
​
Long still didn’t seem convinced, but I did. By this point, I was morbidly curious about exactly what was down there… and Troy’s assurance that they’d come out unscathed before did set me at ease a little bit. These rules sounded kinda scary, but what could realistically go wrong? With Troy keeping us in line, everything would probably be fine and besides, I still wasn’t convinced that this wasn’t all some sort of elaborate prank the old man was pulling. I grabbed myself a set of PPE and got ready and after a moments hesitation, Long did the same.
​
When we were ready, Craig opened up the hatch in the floor, and Tomas helped get us tethered so that we wouldn’t plummet down into the waters below if we slipped on the ladder, then we finally began our descent.
​
Troy went first, climbing down the ladder and into the darkness below. I went second, followed by Peter and followed by Long.
​
We climbed down into the approach channel in relative silence, only really speaking again once we made it to the bottom of the ladder.
​
Troy helped me get untethered, before doing the same for Peter and Long as they reached the bottom, and while he did that I got my first look at the dreaded southeast approach channel. I can’t say that there was a heck of a lot to see. The walls were boxy and flat, and the dirty wastewater trickled over my boots and into the pipe sending it even deeper through the sewer system.
​
The sensors should have been mounted on the ceiling, and I traced the black conduit line with my flashlight as I searched for the sensor they connected to. Peter and Long stayed back as Tomas and Craig lowered our tools down after us, while Troy came up behind me.
“Should be quick work…” He noted, “Rain doesn’t seem to have done much in here. Water level is still fairly low.”
​
I saw his flashlight shift upward toward the ceiling before he spotted the sensor. He trudged through the water to get closer to it, and I followed him.
“No external damage,” I noted. “Conduit lines look good too.”
“Yeah, we’ll run our tests and get out of here,” Troy said. “Approach channel is usually pretty safe… usually.”
“Usually?” I asked, and Troy pointed his flashlight up toward a set of silky spiderwebs hanging from the ceiling a few feet behind the sensor.
​
“They don’t typically come up here… but every now and then you might find some proof of some young ones, trying to get into the pumphouse.”
I looked over at him.
“They try to break into the pumphouse?” I asked, “Did they ever get in?”
“Not that I’ve ever heard of. Can’t imagine they’d stay long if they did. Nothing to eat in there.”
“What exactly are they?” I asked, “And don’t you tell me that’s not for us to know. You’ve seen them, right? What do they look like?”
​
Troy had started to answer, when suddenly I heard Long screaming and swearing up a storm. Both of us turned to look, just in time to see something large skittering up the wall beside him. I only caught a brief glimpse of it, but it seemed to be roughly the size of a dog with more legs than I could count. Long stared at it with wide, horrified eyes as he fumbled with his gun, before pulling it free.
​
I saw Troy’s eyes widen before Long fired five times. Only one or two of the bullets actually hit the target. I heard Peter cry out in pain and grab at his arm before falling and whatever it was that Long had actually been shooting at collapsed into the shallow water, its pale body twitching violently.
“What did you just do?!” Troy demanded, running over to Peter’s side.
“I-it was coming for me!” Long protested, before noticing what he’d done to Peter. I saw his eyes widen in horror.
“Oh no… no, no, no… I didn’t…”
“Rule 6! You don’t kill anything down here! You leave them alone and they leave you alone!” Troy roared, before his attention returned to Peter. “How bad is it?”
​
“J-just a scratch, boss… I think I got hit by the ricochet,” Peter said, as Troy inspected his wound. I’ve never seen a gunshot wound before, but there was a lot of blood for it to just be a scratch.
“We’ll get you topside,” Troy said. “And come back down tomorrow with someone who knows how to follow rules!”
​
He shot Long a death glare before his radio crackled to life.
“Troy, everything good down there?” Craig asked.
“No, no it isn’t. One of the newbies got jumpy, shot at a centipede.” He huffed, “Put a hole in Peter in the process. Think you can reel him back up?”
“Yeah, sure thing. Hook him up. Tomas and I will bring him topside.”
​
Troy quietly hooked Peter up to the line, before helping him onto the ladder.
“You take it easy on the way up, and we’ll get that checked out,” He promised.
“Thanks boss,” Peter said quietly.
Troy’s attention returned to Long next, as he fixed him in a death glare.
“You, up the ladder behind him. And you…” He looked at me, his expression softening just a little.
“Behind him. I’ll go up last.”
​
Peter started to meekly climb the ladder, although it seemed like Craig and Tomas were doing most of the work, hoisting him up rung by rung. Once he’d made it part of the way up, Long started to hook himself up to climb behind him. Although before he could hook himself in, I saw him pause for a moment, staring at Troy.
“What is it?” Troy asked, before pausing.
​
Long craned his neck a little, his hand moving down to his gun again… and it was then that both Troy and I realized that he hadn’t been looking at Troy. He’d been looking at what was behind him.
​
I only saw a shadow, perched on the roof of the tunnel. But that was all that Long needed to see before he started shooting again.
“DON’T!”
But by the time Troy had gotten the word out, that trigger happy idiot had already started shooting again and this time, the thing that came for him didn’t drop dead.
​
Instead, it launched itself off of the ceiling of the tunnel, crashing into the ground a few feet away from me.
“WAIT!” Troy tried to protest before the thing in front of us knocked him aside, dashing him against the wall. Long scrambled away, retreating deeper into the tunnel while Peter frantically tried to unholster his gun.
“Troy? Troy, what’s going on down there?” I heard Craig calling over the radio, “Troy? Anyone, respond!”
​
The shape in front of us turned, looking over at me and Long. Eight eyes shone in the darkness and though I could only see the shadow of the creature before us, I saw enough. It had a body like a spider, with eight long chitinous legs. Only its body was much larger than any spider I’d ever seen before.
​
Much, much larger.
​
This creature was almost the size of a small car, but it wasn’t its size that terrified me. It was the humanoid torso coming out of the front of it. The two arms that ended in razor sharp claws, the snarling mouth that made noises that almost sounded human.
​
When this impossible thing looked at us, I saw real intelligence in its eyes. It was studying us, trying to determine how much of a threat we were…
​
Long kept his gun trained on it, hands shaking violently. I knew that he was going to shoot again, and hoping not to anger this thing, grabbed his arm, trying to force his gun down. He jumped the moment that I touched him giving me a hysterical look.
“Don’t!” I snapped, “You’re just gonna piss it off!”
​
The Spider took a step toward us, hissing as it did. Long pulled away from me.
“Stu!”
I tried calling his name, but Long had already made his choice and sealed his fate. He’d opted to fight this thing. And so, like the fool he was he shot at it again.
​
The Spider lunged for us.
​
I ran. Long didn’t.
​
He only had enough time to scream before it pounced on him, and then… all I could hear were the dying screams in his throat as he was pulled apart. I didn’t see him die. But I didn’t need to. I heard everything. I kept running, not even thinking about where the approach channel was going to end. And when it did end, all I could do was plummet into the darkness.
​
See, at the end of an approach channel is what is appropriately called a drop shaft. It’s where the water flows into a larger tunnel beneath the city. That tunnel, flows into the water treatment plant, eventually and the water down there… yeah… let’s just say that you don’t want to end up in the water down there.
​
Unfortunately, that was exactly where I was going.
​
I know that every job has its struggles, but I didn’t expect to need to choose between diving into raw sewage and fighting a giant spider monster when I woke up that morning. However the choice was presented to me and I did the best that I could given the circumstances.
​
Going into the wastewater was exactly an unpleasant experience as you’d think it would be. I’m inclined not to share the details of what it was like, simply because I genuinely do not want to remember them and I’m still not entirely convinced that dealing with the giant angry spider person wasn’t the better choice.
​
A small comfort was that the pain of hitting the water, combined with the confusing sensation of being flushed through a pipe and into an even larger pipe made the whole experience slightly less disgusting, at the cost of being considerably more painful.
​
At the end of it, I was washed out into the main pipe and collapsed into the water, covered in filth and gagging from the stench that had sank into my every pore. I felt disoriented and confused. I tried to stand, only to collapse back into the wastewater, before aimlessly looking around, hoping that maybe I could figure out what direction to go in. It was too dark to see much of anything and I’d lost my flashlight during my trip through the wastewater, so I was left to just wander aimlessly, following what I thought was the flow of the water as my eyes slowly started to acclimate to the darkness.
​
I could feel shapes in the water. Some of them I almost tripped over and I could smell rotting meat on top of the stink of human waste. In the darkness, I could make out shapes in the water and hear the buzzing of bugs around me. I could even feel a few whizz past my head and mindlessly swatted at them.
​
Old bones crunched under my boots, and I quietly thanked whatever God was listening that I couldn’t see what they’d belonged to. I wanted to assume they were animal bones… but who knew, right? I couldn’t shake the mental image of myself unknowingly stepping over the mauled corpse of Stewart Long… although that was more from the trauma of having recently witnessed a man die than any guilt over what had happened to him. Long had quite literally gotten himself killed. Although I was terrified that I’d be joining him at any second.
​
I kept listening in, half expecting to hear spider legs creeping up behind me. But it was impossible to tell if I was alone or not in that darkness and with the bugs buzzing past me. If there were anything after me, I truly would not know it until after it had pounced.
​
Still, I knew I couldn’t afford to let the fear get the better of me. So I just kept walking, hoping that maybe if I did, I’d somehow find myself at the water treatment plant and maybe then I’d get some help.
​
Maybe.
​
As I pressed on, I noticed a light ahead of me and picked up the pace, hoping to God that I’d finally found my way out of this mess. But as I drew closer, I became very aware that whatever the source of that light was, it was not from the water treatment plant.
​
In fact, I wasn’t entirely sure what it was. My first thought was that it was a fatberg (which is a solid mass of waste matter formed by an unholy mixture of wet wipes, grease, oil and every other piece of garbage people tend to flush down their toilets) but the longer I looked, the less certain I was about that.
​
Fatbergs usually didn’t have lamps embedded in them.
​
Fatbergs usually didn’t have thick spiderwebs clinging to them.
​
Fatbergs didn’t usually lead into a separate tunnel into the earth large enough for me to walk through.
​
And finally, fatbergs didn’t usually have dead deer protruding from them. Let alone dead deer with other bugs living in them. God… the sight of those corpses… the way the bugs crawled through the rotting flesh and exposed bone. The empty, hollow eyes… it was almost too horrible to look at.
​
And I swore that I could see things inside the corpses! Honeycombs of some sort, and the bugs who crawled around them looked almost like bees.
​
Was… was something cultivating some kind of bee in these things?
​
I thought back to Troy’s rules.
“Rule 4: If you find a body… and odds are, you will find a body, don’t touch it. Don’t try to move it. Hell, don’t even get close to it. And don’t waste the supervisor's time reporting it. Only time the bodies get reported is when they’re human.”
​
Suddenly, they made a little more sense. If those spider things were cultivating something in these bodies… of course we shouldn’t touch them. And if they were cultivating their food in the sewer… I paused, before staring down the tunnel that the corpses sat near the entrance of.
​
Dull lamps illuminated it as it wound down into the earth, and I could see several pale centipede things that looked a lot like the creature that Long had shot to get us into this mess in the first place. These things must have belonged to the Spiders too, although whether they were some sort of guard dog or another thing they were farming was hard to say.
​
I took a step away from the tunnel, before looking back to make sure that I was well enough alone and trudging onward. And that was when I heard the slow rustle of movement.
​
I paused, feeling a chill run through me as the imminent reality of my own death dawned on me.
​
Slowly I turned, just in time to see a dark shape descending from the ceiling. A fresh set of eyes settled on me, narrowing as they studied me.
​
I put my hands up, hoping that it might understand the gesture of surrender and slowly it drew closer to me. I wasn’t sure if it was curious, or looking to murder me and at that point, I don’t think it really mattered. I wish I could say that I faced my death with dignity, but I’m going to be honest, I didn’t. I sat there, quivering and praying to whatever God would listen that it wouldn’t, kill me.
​
And then… I heard a voice.
“Leave that one! He’s with me!”
​
Troy?
​
I saw a figure emerge from the tunnel in the wall, and against all logic, somehow it was Troy! He had a hell of a goose egg on his head from where he’d been hit earlier, but he was alive! He stepped between me and the spider person, arms outstretched.
​
“With me.” He repeated firmly.
The Spider stared down at him, before huffing and turning away. I watched as they disappeared down the nearby tunnel, and Troy watched them go, before quietly turning to me.
​
“Good lord, boy… I’m shocked to see you’re still alive!”
“W-what just happened?” Was the only thing I could stammer. “You can talk to them?!”
“Some of ‘em. I’ve been down here for long enough that they know me. Know I’m not a threat. But they ain’t too happy with us right now. So what you’re gonna do here is get up, follow me, and I’m gonna get you out of here.”
“How do you know they’re even gonna let us leave?” I asked.
​
Troy’s expression soured.
“Had to pay ‘em off…” He admitted, “Let them keep what was left of your friend. They considered it a fair trade, so long as we leave. Now, let’s go.”
I didn’t ask any more questions.
​
***
​
After I made it out of the sewers that day, I ended up in the hospital alongside Peter. I had some minor cuts and bruises, a burning rash over most of my body from all the sewage I’d been crawling around in… but I was still alive, and I figured that had to count for something.
​
Nobody said a word about what happened to Stewart Long down in the sewer. He got written off as a workplace accident and they never even tried to recover his body. I suspect what’s left of him is still down in the sewers, even now… feeding whatever it is that those things down there are cultivating, although I’ve never seen the body myself.
​
Yes… I have been back down beneath the southeast side of town. The next time they needed someone to go, they sent me and Tomas along with Troy, Craig and Peter. We know what’s down there and we know how to deal with them, after all. My second visit to those sewers was a lot less eventful, and most of my subsequent visits haven’t been all that eventful either.
​
Over the years, I’ve gotten better at dealing with the Spiders… they’re not the most friendly folk and I know all too well that if you cross them, they’ll rip your guts out before you even realize that you’re dead. But so long as you follow the rules and leave them alone, they’re content to live and let live. They can even be reasonable, to an extent. We’ve had a few small incidents over the years, but nothing like the one that Long caused.
​
Odds are, when Troy and Craig retire next year, Tomas and I will be training the next group on what to do when you’re down beneath the southeast side of town. So in preparation for that, I’ve made a point to keep a copy of Tom's rules in the pumphouse. I also keep a picture of Stewart Long in there. Not as a memorial and not out of spite either. Just as a grim reminder of what can happen when you don’t follow the [rules.](https://www.reddit.com/HeadOfSpectre/)
submitted by HeadOfSpectre to nosleep [link] [comments]

2023.06.08 04:09 Hopeful-Pomelo4488 COINTELPRO Techniques for dilution, misdirection and control of a internet forum - Reposting

Reposting this, long read but relevant for the coming attacks
_______________________________________________________________________
  1. COINTELPRO Techniques for dilution, misdirection and control of a internet forum
  2. Twenty-Five Rules of Disinformation
  3. Eight Traits of the Disinformationalist
  4. How to Spot a Spy (Cointelpro Agent)
  5. Seventeen Techniques for Truth Suppression
_______________________________________________________________________
COINTELPRO Techniques for dilution, misdirection and control of a internet forum..
There are several techniques for the control and manipulation of a internet forum no matter what, or who is on it. We will go over each technique and demonstrate that only a minimal number of operatives can be used to eventually and effectively gain a control of a 'uncontrolled forum.'
Technique #1 - 'FORUM SLIDING'
If a very sensitive posting of a critical nature has been posted on a forum - it can be quickly removed from public view by 'forum sliding.' In this technique a number of unrelated posts are quietly prepositioned on the forum and allowed to 'age.' Each of these misdirectional forum postings can then be called upon at will to trigger a 'forum slide.' The second requirement is that several fake accounts exist, which can be called upon, to ensure that this technique is not exposed to the public. To trigger a 'forum slide' and 'flush' the critical post out of public view it is simply a matter of logging into each account both real and fake and then 'replying' to prepositined postings with a simple 1 or 2 line comment. This brings the unrelated postings to the top of the forum list, and the critical posting 'slides' down the front page, and quickly out of public view. Although it is difficult or impossible to censor the posting it is now lost in a sea of unrelated and unuseful postings. By this means it becomes effective to keep the readers of the forum reading unrelated and non-issue items.
Technique #2 - 'CONSENSUS CRACKING'
A second highly effective technique (which you can see in operation all the time at www.abovetopsecret.com) is 'consensus cracking.' To develop a consensus crack, the following technique is used. Under the guise of a fake account a posting is made which looks legitimate and is towards the truth is made - but the critical point is that it has a VERY WEAK PREMISE without substantive proof to back the posting. Once this is done then under alternative fake accounts a very strong position in your favour is slowly introduced over the life of the posting. It is IMPERATIVE that both sides are initially presented, so the uninformed reader cannot determine which side is the truth. As postings and replies are made the stronger 'evidence' or disinformation in your favour is slowly 'seeded in.' Thus the uninformed reader will most like develop the same position as you, and if their position is against you their opposition to your posting will be most likely dropped. However in some cases where the forum members are highly educated and can counter your disinformation with real facts and linked postings, you can then 'abort' the consensus cracking by initiating a 'forum slide.'
Technique #3 - 'TOPIC DILUTION'
Topic dilution is not only effective in forum sliding it is also very useful in keeping the forum readers on unrelated and non-productive issues. This is a critical and useful technique to cause a 'RESOURCE BURN.' By implementing continual and non-related postings that distract and disrupt (trolling ) the forum readers they are more effectively stopped from anything of any real productivity. If the intensity of gradual dilution is intense enough, the readers will effectively stop researching and simply slip into a 'gossip mode.' In this state they can be more easily misdirected away from facts towards uninformed conjecture and opinion. The less informed they are the more effective and easy it becomes to control the entire group in the direction that you would desire the group to go in. It must be stressed that a proper assessment of the psychological capabilities and levels of education is first determined of the group to determine at what level to 'drive in the wedge.' By being too far off topic too quickly it may trigger censorship by a forum moderator.
Technique #4 - 'INFORMATION COLLECTION'
Information collection is also a very effective method to determine the psychological level of the forum members, and to gather intelligence that can be used against them. In this technique in a light and positive environment a 'show you mine so me yours' posting is initiated. From the number of replies and the answers that are provided much statistical information can be gathered. An example is to post your 'favourite weapon' and then encourage other members of the forum to showcase what they have. In this matter it can be determined by reverse proration what percentage of the forum community owns a firearm, and or a illegal weapon. This same method can be used by posing as one of the form members and posting your favourite 'technique of operation.' From the replies various methods that the group utilizes can be studied and effective methods developed to stop them from their activities.
Technique #5 - 'ANGER TROLLING'
Statistically, there is always a percentage of the forum posters who are more inclined to violence. In order to determine who these individuals are, it is a requirement to present a image to the forum to deliberately incite a strong psychological reaction. From this the most violent in the group can be effectively singled out for reverse IP location and possibly local enforcement tracking. To accomplish this only requires posting a link to a video depicting a local police officer massively abusing his power against a very innocent individual. Statistically of the million or so police officers in America there is always one or two being caught abusing there powers and the taping of the activity can be then used for intelligence gathering purposes - without the requirement to 'stage' a fake abuse video. This method is extremely effective, and the more so the more abusive the video can be made to look. Sometimes it is useful to 'lead' the forum by replying to your own posting with your own statement of violent intent, and that you 'do not care what the authorities think!!' inflammation. By doing this and showing no fear it may be more effective in getting the more silent and self-disciplined violent intent members of the forum to slip and post their real intentions. This can be used later in a court of law during prosecution.
Technique #6 - 'GAINING FULL CONTROL'
It is important to also be harvesting and continually maneuvering for a forum moderator position. Once this position is obtained, the forum can then be effectively and quietly controlled by deleting unfavourable postings - and one can eventually steer the forum into complete failure and lack of interest by the general public. This is the 'ultimate victory' as the forum is no longer participated with by the general public and no longer useful in maintaining their freedoms. Depending on the level of control you can obtain, you can deliberately steer a forum into defeat by censoring postings, deleting memberships, flooding, and or accidentally taking the forum offline. By this method the forum can be quickly killed. However it is not always in the interest to kill a forum as it can be converted into a 'honey pot' gathering center to collect and misdirect newcomers and from this point be completely used for your control for your agenda purposes.
CONCLUSION
Remember these techniques are only effective if the forum participants DO NOT KNOW ABOUT THEM. Once they are aware of these techniques the operation can completely fail, and the forum can become uncontrolled. At this point other avenues must be considered such as initiating a false legal precidence to simply have the forum shut down and taken offline. This is not desirable as it then leaves the enforcement agencies unable to track the percentage of those in the population who always resist attempts for control against them. Many other techniques can be utilized and developed by the individual and as you develop further techniques of infiltration and control it is imperative to share then with HQ.
_______________________________________________________________________
Twenty-Five Rules of Disinformation
Note: The first rule and last five (or six, depending on situation) rules are generally not directly within the ability of the traditional disinfo artist to apply. These rules are generally used more directly by those at the leadership, key players, or planning level of the criminal conspiracy or conspiracy to cover up.
1. Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil. Regardless of what you know, don't discuss it -- especially if you are a public figure, news anchor, etc. If it's not reported, it didn't happen, and you never have to deal with the issues.
2. Become incredulous and indignant. Avoid discussing key issues and instead focus on side issues which can be used show the topic as being critical of some otherwise sacrosanct group or theme. This is also known as the 'How dare you!' gambit.
3. Create rumor mongers. Avoid discussing issues by describing all charges, regardless of venue or evidence, as mere rumors and wild accusations. Other derogatory terms mutually exclusive of truth may work as well. This method which works especially well with a silent press, because the only way the public can learn of the facts are through such 'arguable rumors'. If you can associate the material with the Internet, use this fact to certify it a 'wild rumor' from a 'bunch of kids on the Internet' which can have no basis in fact.
4. Use a straw man. Find or create a seeming element of your opponent's argument which you can easily knock down to make yourself look good and the opponent to look bad. Either make up an issue you may safely imply exists based on your interpretation of the opponent/opponent arguments/situation, or select the weakest aspect of the weakest charges. Amplify their significance and destroy them in a way which appears to debunk all the charges, real and fabricated alike, while actually avoiding discussion of the real issues.
5. Sidetrack opponents with name calling and ridicule. This is also known as the primary 'attack the messenger' ploy, though other methods qualify as variants of that approach. Associate opponents with unpopular titles such as 'kooks', 'right-wing', 'liberal', 'left-wing', 'terrorists', 'conspiracy buffs', 'radicals', 'militia', 'racists', 'religious fanatics', 'sexual deviates', and so forth. This makes others shrink from support out of fear of gaining the same label, and you avoid dealing with issues.
6. Hit and Run. In any public forum, make a brief attack of your opponent or the opponent position and then scamper off before an answer can be fielded, or simply ignore any answer. This works extremely well in Internet and letters-to-the-editor environments where a steady stream of new identities can be called upon without having to explain criticism, reasoning -- simply make an accusation or other attack, never discussing issues, and never answering any subsequent response, for that would dignify the opponent's viewpoint.
7. Question motives. Twist or amplify any fact which could be taken to imply that the opponent operates out of a hidden personal agenda or other bias. This avoids discussing issues and forces the accuser on the defensive.
8. Invoke authority. Claim for yourself or associate yourself with authority and present your argument with enough 'jargon' and 'minutia' to illustrate you are 'one who knows', and simply say it isn't so without discussing issues or demonstrating concretely why or citing sources.
9. Play Dumb. No matter what evidence or logical argument is offered, avoid discussing issues except with denials they have any credibility, make any sense, provide any proof, contain or make a point, have logic, or support a conclusion. Mix well for maximum effect.
10. Associate opponent charges with old news. A derivative of the straw man -- usually, in any large-scale matter of high visibility, someone will make charges early on which can be or were already easily dealt with - a kind of investment for the future should the matter not be so easily contained.) Where it can be foreseen, have your own side raise a straw man issue and have it dealt with early on as part of the initial contingency plans. Subsequent charges, regardless of validity or new ground uncovered, can usually then be associated with the original charge and dismissed as simply being a rehash without need to address current issues -- so much the better where the opponent is or was involved with the original source.
11. Establish and rely upon fall-back positions. Using a minor matter or element of the facts, take the 'high road' and 'confess' with candor that some innocent mistake, in hindsight, was made -- but that opponents have seized on the opportunity to blow it all out of proportion and imply greater criminalities which, 'just isn't so.' Others can reinforce this on your behalf, later, and even publicly 'call for an end to the nonsense' because you have already 'done the right thing.' Done properly, this can garner sympathy and respect for 'coming clean' and 'owning up' to your mistakes without addressing more serious issues.
12. Enigmas have no solution. Drawing upon the overall umbrella of events surrounding the crime and the multitude of players and events, paint the entire affair as too complex to solve. This causes those otherwise following the matter to begin to lose interest more quickly without having to address the actual issues.
13. Alice in Wonderland Logic. Avoid discussion of the issues by reasoning backwards or with an apparent deductive logic which forbears any actual material fact.
14. Demand complete solutions. Avoid the issues by requiring opponents to solve the crime at hand completely, a ploy which works best with issues qualifying for rule 10.
15. Fit the facts to alternate conclusions. This requires creative thinking unless the crime was planned with contingency conclusions in place.
16. Vanish evidence and witnesses. If it does not exist, it is not fact, and you won't have to address the issue.
17. Change the subject. Usually in connection with one of the other ploys listed here, find a way to side-track the discussion with abrasive or controversial comments in hopes of turning attention to a new, more manageable topic. This works especially well with companions who can 'argue' with you over the new topic and polarize the discussion arena in order to avoid discussing more key issues.
18. Emotionalize, Antagonize, and Goad Opponents. If you can't do anything else, chide and taunt your opponents and draw them into emotional responses which will tend to make them look foolish and overly motivated, and generally render their material somewhat less coherent. Not only will you avoid discussing the issues in the first instance, but even if their emotional response addresses the issue, you can further avoid the issues by then focusing on how 'sensitive they are to criticism.'
19. Ignore proof presented, demand impossible proofs. This is perhaps a variant of the 'play dumb' rule. Regardless of what material may be presented by an opponent in public forums, claim the material irrelevant and demand proof that is impossible for the opponent to come by (it may exist, but not be at his disposal, or it may be something which is known to be safely destroyed or withheld, such as a murder weapon.) In order to completely avoid discussing issues, it may be required that you to categorically deny and be critical of media or books as valid sources, deny that witnesses are acceptable, or even deny that statements made by government or other authorities have any meaning or relevance.
20. False evidence. Whenever possible, introduce new facts or clues designed and manufactured to conflict with opponent presentations -- as useful tools to neutralize sensitive issues or impede resolution. This works best when the crime was designed with contingencies for the purpose, and the facts cannot be easily separated from the fabrications.
21. Call a Grand Jury, Special Prosecutor, or other empowered investigative body. Subvert the (process) to your benefit and effectively neutralize all sensitive issues without open discussion. Once convened, the evidence and testimony are required to be secret when properly handled. For instance, if you own the prosecuting attorney, it can insure a Grand Jury hears no useful evidence and that the evidence is sealed and unavailable to subsequent investigators. Once a favorable verdict is achieved, the matter can be considered officially closed. Usually, this technique is applied to find the guilty innocent, but it can also be used to obtain charges when seeking to frame a victim.
22. Manufacture a new truth. Create your own expert(s), group(s), author(s), leader(s) or influence existing ones willing to forge new ground via scientific, investigative, or social research or testimony which concludes favorably. In this way, if you must actually address issues, you can do so authoritatively.
23. Create bigger distractions. If the above does not seem to be working to distract from sensitive issues, or to prevent unwanted media coverage of unstoppable events such as trials, create bigger news stories (or treat them as such) to distract the multitudes.
24. Silence critics. If the above methods do not prevail, consider removing opponents from circulation by some definitive solution so that the need to address issues is removed entirely. This can be by their death, arrest and detention, blackmail or destruction of their character by release of blackmail information, or merely by destroying them financially, emotionally, or severely damaging their health.
25. Vanish. If you are a key holder of secrets or otherwise overly illuminated and you think the heat is getting too hot, to avoid the issues, vacate the kitchen.
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Eight Traits of the Disinformationalist
1) Avoidance. They never actually discuss issues head-on or provide constructive input, generally avoiding citation of references or credentials. Rather, they merely imply this, that, and the other. Virtually everything about their presentation implies their authority and expert knowledge in the matter without any further justification for credibility.
2) Selectivity. They tend to pick and choose opponents carefully, either applying the hit-and-run approach against mere commentators supportive of opponents, or focusing heavier attacks on key opponents who are known to directly address issues. Should a commentator become argumentative with any success, the focus will shift to include the commentator as well.
3) Coincidental. They tend to surface suddenly and somewhat coincidentally with a new controversial topic with no clear prior record of participation in general discussions in the particular public arena involved. They likewise tend to vanish once the topic is no longer of general concern. They were likely directed or elected to be there for a reason, and vanish with the reason.
4) Teamwork. They tend to operate in self-congratulatory and complementary packs or teams. Of course, this can happen naturally in any public forum, but there will likely be an ongoing pattern of frequent exchanges of this sort where professionals are involved. Sometimes one of the players will infiltrate the opponent camp to become a source for straw man or other tactics designed to dilute opponent presentation strength.
5) Anti-conspiratorial. They almost always have disdain for 'conspiracy theorists' and, usually, for those who in any way believe JFK was not killed by LHO. Ask yourself why, if they hold such disdain for conspiracy theorists, do they focus on defending a single topic discussed in a NG focusing on conspiracies? One might think they would either be trying to make fools of everyone on every topic, or simply ignore the group they hold in such disdain.Or, one might more rightly conclude they have an ulterior motive for their actions in going out of their way to focus as they do.
6) Artificial Emotions. An odd kind of 'artificial' emotionalism and an unusually thick skin -- an ability to persevere and persist even in the face of overwhelming criticism and unacceptance. This likely stems from intelligence community training that, no matter how condemning the evidence, deny everything, and never become emotionally involved or reactive. The net result for a disinfo artist is that emotions can seem artificial.
Most people, if responding in anger, for instance, will express their animosity throughout their rebuttal. But disinfo types usually have trouble maintaining the 'image' and are hot and cold with respect to pretended emotions and their usually more calm or unemotional communications style. It's just a job, and they often seem unable to 'act their role in character' as well in a communications medium as they might be able in a real face-to-face conversation/confrontation. You might have outright rage and indignation one moment, ho-hum the next, and more anger later -- an emotional yo-yo.
With respect to being thick-skinned, no amount of criticism will deter them from doing their job, and they will generally continue their old disinfo patterns without any adjustments to criticisms of how obvious it is that they play that game -- where a more rational individual who truly cares what others think might seek to improve their communications style, substance, and so forth, or simply give up.
7) Inconsistent. There is also a tendency to make mistakes which betray their true self/motives. This may stem from not really knowing their topic, or it may be somewhat 'freudian', so to speak, in that perhaps they really root for the side of truth deep within.
I have noted that often, they will simply cite contradictory information which neutralizes itself and the author. For instance, one such player claimed to be a Navy pilot, but blamed his poor communicating skills (spelling, grammar, incoherent style) on having only a grade-school education. I'm not aware of too many Navy pilots who don't have a college degree. Another claimed no knowledge of a particular topic/situation but later claimed first-hand knowledge of it.
8) Time Constant. Recently discovered, with respect to News Groups, is the response time factor. There are three ways this can be seen to work, especially when the government or other empowered player is involved in a cover up operation:
a) ANY NG posting by a targeted proponent for truth can result in an IMMEDIATE response. The government and other empowered players can afford to pay people to sit there and watch for an opportunity to do some damage. SINCE DISINFO IN A NG ONLY WORKS IF THE READER SEES IT - FAST RESPONSE IS CALLED FOR, or the visitor may be swayed towards truth.
b) When dealing in more direct ways with a disinformationalist, such as email, DELAY IS CALLED FOR - there will usually be a minimum of a 48-72 hour delay. This allows a sit-down team discussion on response strategy for best effect, and even enough time to 'get permission' or instruction from a formal chain of command.
c) In the NG example 1) above, it will often ALSO be seen that bigger guns are drawn and fired after the same 48-72 hours delay - the team approach in play. This is especially true when the targeted truth seeker or their comments are considered more important with respect to potential to reveal truth. Thus, a serious truth sayer will be attacked twice for the same sin.
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How to Spot a Spy (Cointelpro Agent)
One way to neutralize a potential activist is to get them to be in a group that does all the wrong things. Why?
1) The message doesn't get out.
2) A lot of time is wasted
3) The activist is frustrated and discouraged
4) Nothing good is accomplished.
FBI and Police Informers and Infiltrators will infest any group and they have phoney activist organizations established.
Their purpose is to prevent any real movement for justice or eco-peace from developing in this country.
Agents come in small, medium or large. They can be of any ethnic background. They can be male or female.
The actual size of the group or movement being infiltrated is irrelevant. It is the potential the movement has for becoming large which brings on the spies and saboteurs.
This booklet lists tactics agents use to slow things down, foul things up, destroy the movement and keep tabs on activists.
It is the agent's job to keep the activist from quitting such a group, thus keeping him/her under control.
In some situations, to get control, the agent will tell the activist:
[Here, I have added the psychological reasons as to WHY this maneuver works to control people]
This invites guilty feelings. Many people can be controlled by guilt. The agents begin relationships with activists behind a well-developed mask of "dedication to the cause." Because of their often declared dedication, (and actions designed to prove this), when they criticize the activist, he or she - being truly dedicated to the movement - becomes convinced that somehow, any issues are THEIR fault. This is because a truly dedicated person tends to believe that everyone has a conscience and that nobody would dissimulate and lie like that "on purpose." It's amazing how far agents can go in manipulating an activist because the activist will constantly make excuses for the agent who regularly declares their dedication to the cause. Even if they do, occasionally, suspect the agent, they will pull the wool over their own eyes by rationalizing: "they did that unconsciously... they didn't really mean it... I can help them by being forgiving and accepting " and so on and so forth.
The agent will tell the activist:
This is designed to enhance the activist's self-esteem. His or her narcissistic admiration of his/her own activist/altruistic intentions increase as he or she identifies with and consciously admires the altruistic declarations of the agent which are deliberately set up to mirror those of the activist.
This is "malignant pseudoidentification." It is the process by which the agent consciously imitates or simulates a certain behavior to foster the activist's identification with him/her, thus increasing the activist's vulnerability to exploitation. The agent will simulate the more subtle self-concepts of the activist.
Activists and those who have altruistic self-concepts are most vulnerable to malignant pseudoidentification especially during work with the agent when the interaction includes matter relating to their competency, autonomy, or knowledge.
The goal of the agent is to increase the activist's general empathy for the agent through pseudo-identification with the activist's self-concepts.
The most common example of this is the agent who will compliment the activist for his competency or knowledge or value to the movement. On a more subtle level, the agent will simulate affects and mannerisms of the activist which promotes identification via mirroring and feelings of "twinship". It is not unheard of for activists, enamored by the perceived helpfulness and competence of a good agent, to find themselves considering ethical violations and perhaps, even illegal behavior, in the service of their agent/handler.
The activist's "felt quality of perfection" [self-concept] is enhanced, and a strong empathic bond is developed with the agent through his/her imitation and simulation of the victim's own narcissistic investments. [self-concepts] That is, if the activist knows, deep inside, their own dedication to the cause, they will project that onto the agent who is "mirroring" them.
The activist will be deluded into thinking that the agent shares this feeling of identification and bonding. In an activist/social movement setting, the adversarial roles that activists naturally play vis a vis the establishment/government, fosters ongoing processes of intrapsychic splitting so that "twinship alliances" between activist and agent may render whole sectors or reality testing unavailable to the activist. They literally "lose touch with reality."
Activists who deny their own narcissistic investments [do not have a good idea of their own self-concepts and that they ARE concepts] and consciously perceive themselves (accurately, as it were) to be "helpers" endowed with a special amount of altruism are exceedingly vulnerable to the affective (emotional) simulation of the accomplished agent.
Empathy is fostered in the activist through the expression of quite visible affects. The presentation of tearfulness, sadness, longing, fear, remorse, and guilt, may induce in the helper-oriented activist a strong sense of compassion, while unconsciously enhancing the activist's narcissistic investment in self as the embodiment of goodness.
The agent's expresssion of such simulated affects may be quite compelling to the observer and difficult to distinguish from deep emotion.
It can usually be identified by two events, however:
First, the activist who has analyzed his/her own narcissistic roots and is aware of his/her own potential for being "emotionally hooked," will be able to remain cool and unaffected by such emotional outpourings by the agent.
As a result of this unaffected, cool, attitude, the Second event will occur: The agent will recompensate much too quickly following such an affective expression leaving the activist with the impression that "the play has ended, the curtain has fallen," and the imposture, for the moment, has finished. The agent will then move quickly to another activist/victim.
The fact is, the movement doesn't need leaders, it needs MOVERS. "Follow the leader" is a waste of time.
A good agent will want to meet as often as possible. He or she will talk a lot and say little. One can expect an onslaught of long, unresolved discussions.
Some agents take on a pushy, arrogant, or defensive manner:
1) To disrupt the agenda
2) To side-track the discussion
3) To interrupt repeatedly
4) To feign ignorance
5) To make an unfounded accusation against a person.
Calling someone a racist, for example. This tactic is used to discredit a person in the eyes of all other group members.
Saboteurs
Some saboteurs pretend to be activists. She or he will ....
1) Write encyclopedic flyers (in the present day, websites)
2) Print flyers in English only.
3) Have demonstrations in places where no one cares.
4) Solicit funding from rich people instead of grass roots support
5) Display banners with too many words that are confusing.
6) Confuse issues.
7) Make the wrong demands.
8) Compromise the goal.
9) Have endless discussions that waste everyone's time. The agent may accompany the endless discussions with drinking, pot smoking or other amusement to slow down the activist's work.
Provocateurs
1) Want to establish "leaders" to set them up for a fall in order to stop the movement.
2) Suggest doing foolish, illegal things to get the activists in trouble.
3) Encourage militancy.
4) Want to taunt the authorities.
5) Attempt to make the activist compromise their values.
6) Attempt to instigate violence. Activisim ought to always be non-violent.
7) Attempt to provoke revolt among people who are ill-prepared to deal with the reaction of the authorities to such violence.
Informants
1) Want everyone to sign up and sing in and sign everything.
2) Ask a lot of questions (gathering data).
3) Want to know what events the activist is planning to attend.
4) Attempt to make the activist defend him or herself to identify his or her beliefs, goals, and level of committment.
Recruiting
Legitimate activists do not subject people to hours of persuasive dialog. Their actions, beliefs, and goals speak for themselves.
Groups that DO recruit are missionaries, military, and fake political parties or movements set up by agents.
Surveillance
ALWAYS assume that you are under surveillance.
At this point, if you are NOT under surveillance, you are not a very good activist!
Scare Tactics
They use them.
Such tactics include slander, defamation, threats, getting close to disaffected or minimally committed fellow activists to persuade them (via psychological tactics described above) to turn against the movement and give false testimony against their former compatriots. They will plant illegal substances on the activist and set up an arrest; they will plant false information and set up "exposure," they will send incriminating letters [emails] in the name of the activist; and more; they will do whatever society will allow.
This booklet in no way covers all the ways agents use to sabotage the lives of sincere an dedicated activists.
If an agent is "exposed," he or she will be transferred or replaced.
COINTELPRO is still in operation today under a different code name. It is no longer placed on paper where it can be discovered through the freedom of information act.
The FBI counterintelligence program's stated purpose: To expose, disrupt, misdirect, discredit, and otherwise neutralize individuals who the FBI categorize as opposed to the National Interests. "National Security" means the FBI's security from the people ever finding out the vicious things it does in violation of people's civil liberties.
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Seventeen Techniques for Truth Suppression
Strong, credible allegations of high-level criminal activity can bring down a government. When the government lacks an effective, fact-based defense, other techniques must be employed. The success of these techniques depends heavily upon a cooperative, compliant press and a mere token opposition party.
1. Dummy up. If it's not reported, if it's not news, it didn't happen.
2. Wax indignant. This is also known as the "How dare you?" gambit.
3. Characterize the charges as "rumors" or, better yet, "wild rumors." If, in spite of the news blackout, the public is still able to learn about the suspicious facts, it can only be through "rumors." (If they tend to believe the "rumors" it must be because they are simply "paranoid" or "hysterical.")
4. Knock down straw men. Deal only with the weakest aspects of the weakest charges. Even better, create your own straw men. Make up wild rumors (or plant false stories) and give them lead play when you appear to debunk all the charges, real and fanciful alike.
5. Call the skeptics names like "conspiracy theorist," "nutcase," "ranter," "kook," "crackpot," and, of course, "rumor monger." Be sure, too, to use heavily loaded verbs and adjectives when characterizing their charges and defending the "more reasonable" government and its defenders. You must then carefully avoid fair and open debate with any of the people you have thus maligned. For insurance, set up your own "skeptics" to shoot down.
6. Impugn motives. Attempt to marginalize the critics by suggesting strongly that they are not really interested in the truth but are simply pursuing a partisan political agenda or are out to make money (compared to over-compensated adherents to the government line who, presumably, are not).
7. Invoke authority. Here the controlled press and the sham opposition can be very useful.
8. Dismiss the charges as "old news."
9. Come half-clean. This is also known as "confession and avoidance" or "taking the limited hangout route." This way, you create the impression of candor and honesty while you admit only to relatively harmless, less-than-criminal "mistakes." This stratagem often requires the embrace of a fall-back position quite different from the one originally taken. With effective damage control, the fall-back position need only be peddled by stooge skeptics to carefully limited markets.
10. Characterize the crimes as impossibly complex and the truth as ultimately unknowable.
11. Reason backward, using the deductive method with a vengeance. With thoroughly rigorous deduction, troublesome evidence is irrelevant. E.g. We have a completely free press. If evidence exists that the Vince Foster "suicide" note was forged, they would have reported it. They haven't reported it so there is no such evidence. Another variation on this theme involves the likelihood of a conspiracy leaker and a press who would report the leak.
12. Require the skeptics to solve the crime completely. E.g. If Foster was murdered, who did it and why?
13. Change the subject. This technique includes creating and/or publicizing distractions.
14. Lightly report incriminating facts, and then make nothing of them. This is sometimes referred to as "bump and run" reporting.
15. Baldly and brazenly lie. A favorite way of doing this is to attribute the "facts" furnished the public to a plausible-sounding, but anonymous, source.
16. Expanding further on numbers 4 and 5, have your own stooges "expose" scandals and champion popular causes. Their job is to pre-empt real opponents and to play 99-yard football. A variation is to pay rich people for the job who will pretend to spend their own money.
17. Flood the Internet with agents. This is the answer to the question, "What could possibly motivate a person to spend hour upon hour on Internet news groups defending the government and/or the press and harassing genuine critics?" Don t the authorities have defenders enough in all the newspapers, magazines, radio, and television? One would think refusing to print critical letters and screening out serious callers or dumping them from radio talk shows would be control enough, but, obviously, it is not.
submitted by Hopeful-Pomelo4488 to DRSyourGME [link] [comments]

2023.06.08 04:09 HeadOfSpectre I Work As A Sewer Inspector, and I Know What Lives Beneath The City

The way I see it, if you don’t notice that I exist, then I’m doing my job correctly.
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My name is Ben McFarlane and I work as a municipal sewer inspector in the town of Tevam Sound, Ontario. It's not the most glamorous job, but hey, somebody's got to do it and it puts food on the table.
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You'd probably think that working as a sewer inspector isn't that exciting… and yeah, for the most part you'd be right. Most of the time, all I'm doing is checking the pipes for damage. Unless there’s a reason for me to investigate a certain area, most of what I do is routine inspection, which helps ensure that the sewers remain in good working order. Trust me, nobody wants to see what happens when they aren’t.
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Thankfully, a lot of what I do can be done without me needing to crawl through pipes. I can use a small camera to help me do the inspection. But with some of the larger pipes and cisterns, I need to actually go inside and take a look.
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It’s never the best part of my day, but like I said before: somebody’s got to do it.
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Going down into the bigger tunnels is always a little unnerving. Part of it is the claustrophobic atmosphere and part of it is the knowledge that you’re basically standing in a river of literal human waste. I can deal with it now, but back when I first started the smell alone was darn near impossible to deal with.
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Ask most sanitation workers and I'm sure they'll have stories about what they've found in the sewers before. Heck, most of it isn't even stuff that people flush down the toilet. It's the stuff that people drop down manhole covers, or the stuff that gets washed into the sewers by the rain. Dead animals are surprisingly common, as are kids toys. I found an entire bicycle in the sewer once and I've got a buddy who found a loaded gun down there! Someone probably thought they'd get rid of it by just tossing it in the sewer.
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Someone was wrong.
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But of all the strange things I've experienced during my time working in the sewers… none of it compares to the stuff I see in the pipes on the southeast side of town.
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The things down there… I don't usually like to talk about them. Heck, I might not even be legally allowed to talk about them. I guess we'll find out, won't we? I've had a few drinks tonight and I'm feeling particularly chatty. So why not spill the beans? Hey, maybe someone out there will tell me something I don’t already know.
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I’d been on the job for about a year or so before getting sent to the southeast side of town. It’s closer to the lake and the downtown area, so there’s some deeper pipes there. I’d always figured that that was the reason they only really ever sent certain people down there. I’d heard that those tunnels were old and a little labyrinthian. Anyone who didn’t know what they were doing could easily get lost.
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But after we got hit with a particularly nasty rain storm back in summer of 2013, they needed to send someone down to check on some sensors and I just so happened to be one of the guys who was available.
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A bad rain storm can push a sewer system to its limit, so it wasn’t really that surprising that we’d gotten that kind of call and at the time, I didn’t think that there was anything that strange about it. My supervisor told me to head on down toward the pumphouse on the southwest side of town like it was any other priority inspection, and I went along with no questions asked. It was a few streets away from downtown. I’d seen it before but never had a reason to go inside up until then.
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I was working with a couple of other newbies at the time, a guy by the name of Stewart Long who’d only been on the job for a round three months or so, and another guy by the name of Tomas Opunui who’d started around the same time that I had.
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We’d arrived at the pumphouse, and when we got there we noticed another team waiting on us. This wasn’t too shocking either. Depending on the size of the job, they might’ve sent some other guys in to help us handle it.
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The guy in charge was an older man who looked to be pushing sixty. He had sort of a ‘Santa Claus on summer vacation’ look, with white hair, a short white beard, a big beer belly and a no nonsense expression.
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He watched us get out of his truck with a look of stern disapproval, before huffing and trudging over to us.
“Where’s the usual fellas?” He asked.
“I dunno, out. They called us,” I replied.
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He didn’t seem to like that answer but didn’t say anything in response to it.
“You ever worked on the southeast approach channel before?” He asked.
“Yeah, we’ve been in the ones on the north side of town,” I said.
“That’s not what I asked, kid. You ever worked in this one before?”
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Something about the way he asked this question struck me as a little odd. I’d worked in an approach channel before. I knew the drill. What did it matter which one I’d worked in?
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For the unenlightened, an approach channel is a cistern filled with wastewater. They feed into a deep tunnel which feeds into a water treatment plant and they’re considered to be fairly dangerous, due to their depth (if you fall off the ladder on your way down, you’re in for a long drop into a biohazardous lake unless you’re properly tethered) and the harmful gasses that can accumulate in them. Standard operating procedure is to always test the air before entering one just to make sure that it’s even safe to breathe down there.
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Being reckless while going into an approach channel is a recipe for disaster, and I would have understood if the old man was concerned about us not having dealt with one before. But the way he spoke to us implied that this one was different somehow, which didn’t make a whole heck of a lot of sense to me.
“What’s the difference?” I asked. “Same procedure, right?”
“No, not the same procedure. We need people experienced with this approach channel. These tunnels are a little different than what you’re used to.
“Look, the boss sent us here. So I’m sure we’ll manage,” Tomas said. “You can show us what we need to know.”
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The Old Man didn’t respond to him. He just shook his head and turned away.
“I’m gonna call this in and clear it with the boss first. You three, don’t move until I get back.”
I traded a look with both Tomas and Long as the Old Man trudged away. He said something to the two guys who were with him, before getting back into his truck to make a call.
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Part of me was obliged to try and just get to work. But looking at the other two guys that the Old Man had with him, I had a feeling that they’d try to stop me. One of them, another older guy with a receding hairline and a bushy moustache was watching us like a hawk.
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So we waited.
​
After a few minutes, the Old Man got out of his truck again, said something to his buddy with the mustache and trudged back over to us.
“Bad news, fellas. Looks like our usual company’s retired… guess you’re the replacement.”
“So we can get to work?” I asked.
“Yeah. We can get to work,” The Old Man said. “Come on, let’s get going.”
​
With that, he turned and led us into the pumphouse.
“Suppose I might as well introduce myself. Names Troy. My colleagues here are Craig and Peter.”
He gestured to the two men who were with him, Mr. Moustache (who I assumed was Craig) and the other guy, who looked to be in his mid thirties and had sunken eyes, as if he hadn’t slept in a few days. The one who I assumed was Craig just gave us a nod, while the guy I figured was Peter gave a lazy half wave before they followed us into the pumphouse.
“So if you don’t mind my asking, what’s so special about this channel?” I asked.
“I guess you’ll be seeing for yourself soon enough,” Troy replied as he started down a set of stairs. “The guys you’re replacing… well, guy… a fella named Tom… he always had a set of rules for working down here. He passed ‘em on to me and Craig when we started. We’ve passed ‘em on to Peter. Guess it’s time we passed ‘em on to you too.”
​
“Rules?” I asked, “What kind of rules?”
“The kind you listen very, very closely to, kid.” Troy looked back at me, before his eyes shifted to Tomas and Long behind me.
“Very, very closely.”
He descended the rest of the way down the stairs, where there was a hatch in the concrete floor beneath us, along with a large locker on the far side of the room.
​
“Rule number one,” Troy began. “You don’t enter this part of the sewers alone. You stay in a group of at least three to four at all times. No more, no less. Too many and it slows you down. Too few, and you might not come back at all.”
He trailed off, watching as Craig cracked open the hatch to test the air inside.
​
“Rule number two: You do not enter this part of the sewers without a gun and a radio.”
He opened the locker on the far side of the room and I was taken aback to see a collection of several handguns inside, along with boxes of ammunition and one shotgun in amongst the usual PPE.
Troy clipped one of the guns to his belt, along with one of the radios, before handing a pair off to Peter and looking over at us.
​
“Who’s taking it?” He asked.
“Whoa, just hold up for a minute!” Long interjected, “What the hell is down there?”
“Honestly, I don’t know,” Troy replied. “Hate to say it but it ain’t our job to know. I leave that to someone else. Our job is to follow the rules. You follow them, and you’ll be fine.”
Long seemed skeptical, but I looked at the gun in Troy’s hand and took it. I wasn’t sure if he was having a laugh with us or not, but I was there to do a job and I intended to do it.
​
Troy gave me a quiet nod, before thrusting the second gun over to Long. He didn’t seem to happy to get it.
“Are we gonna have to use these?” He asked.
“Not if you do as I say, you won’t. Rule 3: If you see a pipe or a tunnel with heavy spiderwebs, don’t go down it. Doesn’t matter if that’s where the sensor is. You make a note of it, report it to your supervisor and leave it alone.”
​
Spiderwebs? What the hell was he talking about?
“Rule 4: If you find a body… and odds are, you will find a body, don’t touch it. Don’t try to move it. Hell, don’t even get close to it. And don’t waste the supervisors time reporting it. Only time the bodies get reported is when they’re human.”
“I’m sorry, you’ve been finding human bodies down there?” I asked.
“Rarely,” He replied. “But it’s been known to happen. And if we do find one… the same rules apply. Don’t approach it. Don’t touch it. Stay as far away as possible.”
​
I could see some of the color draining from Long’s face.
“Rule 5: If you see anyone else down there, you are not to interact with them. You do not follow them if they try to lead you somewhere, if they ask you for help, you do not help them. I don’t care if they’re crying and begging. You leave them alone. You report it to your supervisor.”
“There are people down there?” I asked.
“Normally, no. Far as I know, Tom only ever ran into a couple during his career. I’ve only ever seen one. Like I said, best to leave them alone.”
​
“Why?” I asked, “If there’s someone stuck down there, we have an obligation to help them!”
“That would be very ill advised,” Troy said. “You don’t want to anger the things that are down there… which leads me to rule 6: Avoid killing anything you come across down there. They’re not yours to kill. And if you have absolutely no choice, if you have to break that rule for the sake of self defense, then we leave immediately. That’s rule number 7.”
​
“Air’s safe down there,” Craig said, interrupting our conversation.
“Good. Let’s get suited up, then. Oh… and rule 8. Final rule. If anything happens to any member of our team, we leave immediately. We don’t go after them. We don’t try to help them. We leave immediately. Is that clear? I don’t care if it’s me, begging you for help. You leave me behind.”
​
Long and I remained silent, neither of us entirely sure how to react to this or even what to say. Troy had made it sound as if we were about to descend into a level of hell. I couldn’t imagine what the hell could possibly be down there to elicit a list of rules like that, and I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to find out either!
“Well? You fellas getting ready or not?” Troy asked impatiently as he put on his PPE. “The quicker we get down there, the quicker we can get out again!”
​
“If this is so dangerous, why are they sending us?” Long asked, “Shouldn’t they be sending… I dunno, the cops or something?”
“They tolerate us being down there, so long as we don’t disturb them. They wouldn’t be so forgiving toward the local police,” Troy replied. “Listen, kid. Obey the rules and you’ll be fine, got that? We’ve been doing this for years without any problems. You keep your head on your shoulders, you do what we say and you go home safe. Alright?”
​
Long still didn’t seem convinced, but I did. By this point, I was morbidly curious about exactly what was down there… and Troy’s assurance that they’d come out unscathed before did set me at ease a little bit. These rules sounded kinda scary, but what could realistically go wrong? With Troy keeping us in line, everything would probably be fine and besides, I still wasn’t convinced that this wasn’t all some sort of elaborate prank the old man was pulling. I grabbed myself a set of PPE and got ready and after a moments hesitation, Long did the same.
​
When we were ready, Craig opened up the hatch in the floor, and Tomas helped get us tethered so that we wouldn’t plummet down into the waters below if we slipped on the ladder, then we finally began our descent.
​
Troy went first, climbing down the ladder and into the darkness below. I went second, followed by Peter and followed by Long.
​
We climbed down into the approach channel in relative silence, only really speaking again once we made it to the bottom of the ladder.
​
Troy helped me get untethered, before doing the same for Peter and Long as they reached the bottom, and while he did that I got my first look at the dreaded southeast approach channel. I can’t say that there was a heck of a lot to see. The walls were boxy and flat, and the dirty wastewater trickled over my boots and into the pipe sending it even deeper through the sewer system.
​
The sensors should have been mounted on the ceiling, and I traced the black conduit line with my flashlight as I searched for the sensor they connected to. Peter and Long stayed back as Tomas and Craig lowered our tools down after us, while Troy came up behind me.
“Should be quick work…” He noted, “Rain doesn’t seem to have done much in here. Water level is still fairly low.”
​
I saw his flashlight shift upward toward the ceiling before he spotted the sensor. He trudged through the water to get closer to it, and I followed him.
“No external damage,” I noted. “Conduit lines look good too.”
“Yeah, we’ll run our tests and get out of here,” Troy said. “Approach channel is usually pretty safe… usually.”
“Usually?” I asked, and Troy pointed his flashlight up toward a set of silky spiderwebs hanging from the ceiling a few feet behind the sensor.
​
“They don’t typically come up here… but every now and then you might find some proof of some young ones, trying to get into the pumphouse.”
I looked over at him.
“They try to break into the pumphouse?” I asked, “Did they ever get in?”
“Not that I’ve ever heard of. Can’t imagine they’d stay long if they did. Nothing to eat in there.”
“What exactly are they?” I asked, “And don’t you tell me that’s not for us to know. You’ve seen them, right? What do they look like?”
​
Troy had started to answer, when suddenly I heard Long screaming and swearing up a storm. Both of us turned to look, just in time to see something large skittering up the wall beside him. I only caught a brief glimpse of it, but it seemed to be roughly the size of a dog with more legs than I could count. Long stared at it with wide, horrified eyes as he fumbled with his gun, before pulling it free.
​
I saw Troy’s eyes widen before Long fired five times. Only one or two of the bullets actually hit the target. I heard Peter cry out in pain and grab at his arm before falling and whatever it was that Long had actually been shooting at collapsed into the shallow water, its pale body twitching violently.
“What did you just do?!” Troy demanded, running over to Peter’s side.
“I-it was coming for me!” Long protested, before noticing what he’d done to Peter. I saw his eyes widen in horror.
“Oh no… no, no, no… I didn’t…”
“Rule 6! You don’t kill anything down here! You leave them alone and they leave you alone!” Troy roared, before his attention returned to Peter. “How bad is it?”
​
“J-just a scratch, boss… I think I got hit by the ricochet,” Peter said, as Troy inspected his wound. I’ve never seen a gunshot wound before, but there was a lot of blood for it to just be a scratch.
“We’ll get you topside,” Troy said. “And come back down tomorrow with someone who knows how to follow rules!”
​
He shot Long a death glare before his radio crackled to life.
“Troy, everything good down there?” Craig asked.
“No, no it isn’t. One of the newbies got jumpy, shot at a centipede.” He huffed, “Put a hole in Peter in the process. Think you can reel him back up?”
“Yeah, sure thing. Hook him up. Tomas and I will bring him topside.”
​
Troy quietly hooked Peter up to the line, before helping him onto the ladder.
“You take it easy on the way up, and we’ll get that checked out,” He promised.
“Thanks boss,” Peter said quietly.
Troy’s attention returned to Long next, as he fixed him in a death glare.
“You, up the ladder behind him. And you…” He looked at me, his expression softening just a little.
“Behind him. I’ll go up last.”
​
Peter started to meekly climb the ladder, although it seemed like Craig and Tomas were doing most of the work, hoisting him up rung by rung. Once he’d made it part of the way up, Long started to hook himself up to climb behind him. Although before he could hook himself in, I saw him pause for a moment, staring at Troy.
“What is it?” Troy asked, before pausing.
​
Long craned his neck a little, his hand moving down to his gun again… and it was then that both Troy and I realized that he hadn’t been looking at Troy. He’d been looking at what was behind him.
​
I only saw a shadow, perched on the roof of the tunnel. But that was all that Long needed to see before he started shooting again.
“DON’T!”
But by the time Troy had gotten the word out, that trigger happy idiot had already started shooting again and this time, the thing that came for him didn’t drop dead.
​
Instead, it launched itself off of the ceiling of the tunnel, crashing into the ground a few feet away from me.
“WAIT!” Troy tried to protest before the thing in front of us knocked him aside, dashing him against the wall. Long scrambled away, retreating deeper into the tunnel while Peter frantically tried to unholster his gun.
“Troy? Troy, what’s going on down there?” I heard Craig calling over the radio, “Troy? Anyone, respond!”
​
The shape in front of us turned, looking over at me and Long. Eight eyes shone in the darkness and though I could only see the shadow of the creature before us, I saw enough. It had a body like a spider, with eight long chitinous legs. Only its body was much larger than any spider I’d ever seen before.
​
Much, much larger.
​
This creature was almost the size of a small car, but it wasn’t its size that terrified me. It was the humanoid torso coming out of the front of it. The two arms that ended in razor sharp claws, the snarling mouth that made noises that almost sounded human.
​
When this impossible thing looked at us, I saw real intelligence in its eyes. It was studying us, trying to determine how much of a threat we were…
​
Long kept his gun trained on it, hands shaking violently. I knew that he was going to shoot again, and hoping not to anger this thing, grabbed his arm, trying to force his gun down. He jumped the moment that I touched him giving me a hysterical look.
“Don’t!” I snapped, “You’re just gonna piss it off!”
​
The Spider took a step toward us, hissing as it did. Long pulled away from me.
“Stu!”
I tried calling his name, but Long had already made his choice and sealed his fate. He’d opted to fight this thing. And so, like the fool he was he shot at it again.
​
The Spider lunged for us.
​
I ran. Long didn’t.
​
He only had enough time to scream before it pounced on him, and then… all I could hear were the dying screams in his throat as he was pulled apart. I didn’t see him die. But I didn’t need to. I heard everything. I kept running, not even thinking about where the approach channel was going to end. And when it did end, all I could do was plummet into the darkness.
​
See, at the end of an approach channel is what is appropriately called a drop shaft. It’s where the water flows into a larger tunnel beneath the city. That tunnel, flows into the water treatment plant, eventually and the water down there… yeah… let’s just say that you don’t want to end up in the water down there.
​
Unfortunately, that was exactly where I was going.
​
I know that every job has its struggles, but I didn’t expect to need to choose between diving into raw sewage and fighting a giant spider monster when I woke up that morning. However the choice was presented to me and I did the best that I could given the circumstances.
​
Going into the wastewater was exactly an unpleasant experience as you’d think it would be. I’m inclined not to share the details of what it was like, simply because I genuinely do not want to remember them and I’m still not entirely convinced that dealing with the giant angry spider person wasn’t the better choice.
​
A small comfort was that the pain of hitting the water, combined with the confusing sensation of being flushed through a pipe and into an even larger pipe made the whole experience slightly less disgusting, at the cost of being considerably more painful.
​
At the end of it, I was washed out into the main pipe and collapsed into the water, covered in filth and gagging from the stench that had sank into my every pore. I felt disoriented and confused. I tried to stand, only to collapse back into the wastewater, before aimlessly looking around, hoping that maybe I could figure out what direction to go in. It was too dark to see much of anything and I’d lost my flashlight during my trip through the wastewater, so I was left to just wander aimlessly, following what I thought was the flow of the water as my eyes slowly started to acclimate to the darkness.
​
I could feel shapes in the water. Some of them I almost tripped over and I could smell rotting meat on top of the stink of human waste. In the darkness, I could make out shapes in the water and hear the buzzing of bugs around me. I could even feel a few whizz past my head and mindlessly swatted at them.
​
Old bones crunched under my boots, and I quietly thanked whatever God was listening that I couldn’t see what they’d belonged to. I wanted to assume they were animal bones… but who knew, right? I couldn’t shake the mental image of myself unknowingly stepping over the mauled corpse of Stewart Long… although that was more from the trauma of having recently witnessed a man die than any guilt over what had happened to him. Long had quite literally gotten himself killed. Although I was terrified that I’d be joining him at any second.
​
I kept listening in, half expecting to hear spider legs creeping up behind me. But it was impossible to tell if I was alone or not in that darkness and with the bugs buzzing past me. If there were anything after me, I truly would not know it until after it had pounced.
​
Still, I knew I couldn’t afford to let the fear get the better of me. So I just kept walking, hoping that maybe if I did, I’d somehow find myself at the water treatment plant and maybe then I’d get some help.
​
Maybe.
​
As I pressed on, I noticed a light ahead of me and picked up the pace, hoping to God that I’d finally found my way out of this mess. But as I drew closer, I became very aware that whatever the source of that light was, it was not from the water treatment plant.
​
In fact, I wasn’t entirely sure what it was. My first thought was that it was a fatberg (which is a solid mass of waste matter formed by an unholy mixture of wet wipes, grease, oil and every other piece of garbage people tend to flush down their toilets) but the longer I looked, the less certain I was about that.
​
Fatbergs usually didn’t have lamps embedded in them.
​
Fatbergs usually didn’t have thick spiderwebs clinging to them.
​
Fatbergs didn’t usually lead into a separate tunnel into the earth large enough for me to walk through.
​
And finally, fatbergs didn’t usually have dead deer protruding from them. Let alone dead deer with other bugs living in them. God… the sight of those corpses… the way the bugs crawled through the rotting flesh and exposed bone. The empty, hollow eyes… it was almost too horrible to look at.
​
And I swore that I could see things inside the corpses! Honeycombs of some sort, and the bugs who crawled around them looked almost like bees.
​
Was… was something cultivating some kind of bee in these things?
​
I thought back to Troy’s rules.
“Rule 4: If you find a body… and odds are, you will find a body, don’t touch it. Don’t try to move it. Hell, don’t even get close to it. And don’t waste the supervisor's time reporting it. Only time the bodies get reported is when they’re human.”
​
Suddenly, they made a little more sense. If those spider things were cultivating something in these bodies… of course we shouldn’t touch them. And if they were cultivating their food in the sewer… I paused, before staring down the tunnel that the corpses sat near the entrance of.
​
Dull lamps illuminated it as it wound down into the earth, and I could see several pale centipede things that looked a lot like the creature that Long had shot to get us into this mess in the first place. These things must have belonged to the Spiders too, although whether they were some sort of guard dog or another thing they were farming was hard to say.
​
I took a step away from the tunnel, before looking back to make sure that I was well enough alone and trudging onward. And that was when I heard the slow rustle of movement.
​
I paused, feeling a chill run through me as the imminent reality of my own death dawned on me.
​
Slowly I turned, just in time to see a dark shape descending from the ceiling. A fresh set of eyes settled on me, narrowing as they studied me.
​
I put my hands up, hoping that it might understand the gesture of surrender and slowly it drew closer to me. I wasn’t sure if it was curious, or looking to murder me and at that point, I don’t think it really mattered. I wish I could say that I faced my death with dignity, but I’m going to be honest, I didn’t. I sat there, quivering and praying to whatever God would listen that it wouldn’t, kill me.
​
And then… I heard a voice.
“Leave that one! He’s with me!”
​
Troy?
​
I saw a figure emerge from the tunnel in the wall, and against all logic, somehow it was Troy! He had a hell of a goose egg on his head from where he’d been hit earlier, but he was alive! He stepped between me and the spider person, arms outstretched.
​
“With me.” He repeated firmly.
The Spider stared down at him, before huffing and turning away. I watched as they disappeared down the nearby tunnel, and Troy watched them go, before quietly turning to me.
​
“Good lord, boy… I’m shocked to see you’re still alive!”
“W-what just happened?” Was the only thing I could stammer. “You can talk to them?!”
“Some of ‘em. I’ve been down here for long enough that they know me. Know I’m not a threat. But they ain’t too happy with us right now. So what you’re gonna do here is get up, follow me, and I’m gonna get you out of here.”
“How do you know they’re even gonna let us leave?” I asked.
​
Troy’s expression soured.
“Had to pay ‘em off…” He admitted, “Let them keep what was left of your friend. They considered it a fair trade, so long as we leave. Now, let’s go.”
I didn’t ask any more questions.
​
***
​
After I made it out of the sewers that day, I ended up in the hospital alongside Peter. I had some minor cuts and bruises, a burning rash over most of my body from all the sewage I’d been crawling around in… but I was still alive, and I figured that had to count for something.
​
Nobody said a word about what happened to Stewart Long down in the sewer. He got written off as a workplace accident and they never even tried to recover his body. I suspect what’s left of him is still down in the sewers, even now… feeding whatever it is that those things down there are cultivating, although I’ve never seen the body myself.
​
Yes… I have been back down beneath the southeast side of town. The next time they needed someone to go, they sent me and Tomas along with Troy, Craig and Peter. We know what’s down there and we know how to deal with them, after all. My second visit to those sewers was a lot less eventful, and most of my subsequent visits haven’t been all that eventful either.
​
Over the years, I’ve gotten better at dealing with the Spiders… they’re not the most friendly folk and I know all too well that if you cross them, they’ll rip your guts out before you even realize that you’re dead. But so long as you follow the rules and leave them alone, they’re content to live and let live. They can even be reasonable, to an extent. We’ve had a few small incidents over the years, but nothing like the one that Long caused.
​
Odds are, when Troy and Craig retire next year, Tomas and I will be training the next group on what to do when you’re down beneath the southeast side of town. So in preparation for that, I’ve made a point to keep a copy of Tom's rules in the pumphouse. I also keep a picture of Stewart Long in there. Not as a memorial and not out of spite either. Just as a grim reminder of what can happen when you don’t follow the rules.
submitted by HeadOfSpectre to HeadOfSpectre [link] [comments]

2023.06.08 02:42 princess-leigh Female here, recently divorced, moved back in with parents... and I'm having sex with a man who happens to be married to another man.

Life has a way of putting us in the strangest circumstances... Long story, I apologize, but this is fresh. I'm looking for good writing, good sympathy, maybe a shoulder and some advice from men, since in my history they usually steer me toward more bold decisions. Maybe you'll find my story hot too, and with your advice you can help me chart the weird fucking destiny I'm on right now... hence why I posted here out of boredom.
I had a pretty boring, if not secure, life in a major city in the U.S., with a nice salary and a good-on-paper husband and renting a great place in a really nice neighborhood. But after a series of revelations, some gaslighting and some backstabbing from our (...but really his) "friends", I found myself divorced, moving back in with my parents in the worst part of SoCal, and reeling from no longer having that security. All at the age of 33, when I was supposed to have my shit together.
That was about 8 months ago. I guess the pandemic affected us all differently...
After moping around the house, my mom basically pushed me to go find a job. It's weird to go in for an interview at a grown-up job when you just got dressed in the mirror in your old childhood bedroom, but whatever.
Nothing was panning out. Mom told me about how the older woman that worked at her favorite art supply store became bed-ridden, and the gay couple who owned it were looking for a part-timer. I figured why not, told her to tell them I'd go in for an interview.
They both interviewed me about 3 days later, us all sitting on awkward folding chairs in the middle of this tiny art supply store with a whole barrage of colored pencils behind me. One was named Jonathan... tall, Italian features, svelt, nerdy goofy but in a VERY cute way, big hands, so charming. And his husband Jim was short, clearly gained some COVID weight, had an annoying attitude and kept talking about how he started the business with his inheritance from his grandma.
It was the weirdest interview ever. Not because they were gay or anything, obviously not, but because 1) it was in the most hilariously rundown strip mall ever, that I was wondering how my mom ever found it (Yelp, apparently... it's always Yelp). 2) it was insane how they even kept the lights on. After asking a few questions, I learned their monthly sales didn't even reach the 5 figure mark... But fuck it, I said yes.
It was fine, more than fine. For the first month I was there, I manned the register, refilled the pens and pencils, organized some paperwork and got paid under the table for an amount that was well below minimum wage (but Jim said the discount I got to the store made up for it...). I worked weekdays, which generally meant I avoided Jim, who only worked there Fridays and weekends, and spent most of my time with Jonathan, who worked the store Monday to Thursday.
Turned out Jonathan is lovely. Smart, charming, funny, kind, the kind of gentleman I would swipe right on, have an awkward if not chatty first date with, and probably fuck on the first date. We had a chemistry that honestly made me worry sometimes, like uh oh, am I falling into the straight-girl-hitting-on-a-gay-guy trap? In the first month I worked there, we covered all the bases: my terrible Bumble profile; the last time we both had sex, which was laughably too long; gender and sexual identity; British royalty; how annoying my mom is (scratch that, Jonathan loves her... I have no idea why). I started loving Mon-Thu, and usually listened to podcasts while I worked on Friday :) (While Jim loudly watched Drag Race in the back room)
It's still a blur to me, but about 4 months ago, on a very rainy, very boring weekday, Jonathan and I were on hour 5 of a no-customer day (what we both affectionately called a Graveyard Day). We were bored, I was done with the work, we were repeating themes of love and sex and all that. He asked me how my dating profiles were, and I told him I was having zero luck with the few men in our part of Cali. He broke out the white wine Jim sometimes leaves from the weekend when he gets a little trashed with the older women who come in and buy art supplies but mostly just gab and get drunk (ahem... mom).
After the bottle was done, we were both just hanging out in the tiny backroom. I have no idea how it started, we were both a little drunk, but I guess we were close enough on the 1970s loveseat they somehow procured that I asked him if he had ever kissed a girl. Never, he said. And yeah, we started making out. Hard. Harder than I ever thought I'd needed, but I did.
And fuck was I wet... The kind of wet where my underwear was annoying and I naturally spread my legs. The kind where I start making little moaning noises to distract myself from the mess I was. And I was SO surprised to feel him instinctually rubbing my pussy through the fabric. Again, all a blur but at some point clothes came off. We both kept quietly mentioned how crazy this is... all while he looked at the parts of me that I don't think he had ever seen in his life, and while I looked at his, ahem, very large hardening dick (praise Italy! am I right?). I sat on the desk, spreading my legs. I do remember asking him if this went too far, if we should stop. I do remember him grabbing what looked like an exceptionally old condom from the side table (probably circa 2017 when they were open). And I vividly remember the earth-shattering orgasms I had in the first 30 seconds of him being inside me, which for him was the first time he had ever been in a woman.
Four months later... things have progressed to the point where Graveyard Days mean Jonathan-and-Stacey Days. So many days have been spent in the back, with the Closed sign on the door and with us naked, sweaty and just laughing from post-coital glow. I think the number of weekly orgasms I achieve rival the number of customers we have on any given week, and it's gone from simple fucking to downright fun foreplay, with him eating me out while I sit on the copier. I'm having literally the best fucking sex... and it's with a gay man. Well, "Sorta gay" he admitted to me with a goofy smile after one of our more intense fucks, after I had asked him how he was feeling about everything and did he feel like he was still 100% gay after the months we had been together.
It's confusing as ever-loving fuck. What do I do?
submitted by princess-leigh to sex [link] [comments]

2023.06.08 00:55 OkAnswer9725 Porn has ruined my child years.

cw// nsfw, body image talk, rape, csa, cat calling, porn mentions, masturbation, minors touching each other, religious sex shaming, sex (it's literally all about sex.) Sorry if the flair is wrong, i don't really know how to tag it.
My dad always kept these bikini magazines in a bin under our TV. I remember looking into the bins once not knowing what was in there and I saw them. I looked through them and it started a habit of waiting until he left in the morning for work and looking at all the women in the magazines.
Then one day I somehow discovered a porn CD case, it was empty and everything was censored with those little white stars on the "parts" yet I'd still wait until my dad left to sneak the cases and look at the pictures.
I then discovered the CD's and starting watching them. I didn't even touch myself, I just watched. There's only two CD's I kinda remember because I watched them at risky moments. I was a really young child, around preschool to kindergarten age watching porn CDs and looking at women in bikinis.
I remember I got caught watching a video once because I had two CDs playing, one on our portable CD player and one on my big TV.
Then fast forward to maybe 1st or 2nd grade, my Dad got an iPad. I'd wake up in the morning while he was at work and I'd immediately go to play games on it. One day, he left his bookmarks open and there were a couple porn videos saved and some (normal) music videos. I'd always watch the porn, no touching, just watching. Then I learned to search the sites myself and I would just watch and watch every morning. I remember my dad even left a porn tab open once and in the morning when I went to turn on the iPad, I clicked safari and boom, instant porn.
He found out about me watching it because I didn't know how to close tabs and he told me to watch kids stuff and not to watch it anymore.
Flash forward a bit, I got onto Instagram and Wattpad and Quotev at some point (I think I was 11). On Quotev I'd read fanfics about a boy group I liked, most were innocent but some had smut and I'd read it often. Same with Wattpad, in fact I got into roleplay and unfortunately did sexual roleplays. When I got onto instagram I'd search for softcore accounts and hentai accounts and just look at the pictures. I even met some adult men through it and unfortunately had inappropriate convos in dms.
Playing would dolls I would make them strip or I'd have them naked and I'd make them ✂
In second grade I had a best friend and I made up this thing called "sex bets" and we'd touch each other on the bus, we kissed once, and we would flash out parts at each other. It stopped sometime during that year though. We were both young and unfortunately encountered porn.
I made a friend in 2nd grade who was a 3rd grader and we had a sleepover once, she would put balloons in her shirt so it'd look like she had a big chest and she'd fall on me and my friend like they do in anime. We also played with dolls once but instead of normal dolls, we role played sex with the dolls and I also introduced her to this sex game website (it was like horny gamer or something) and she'd play the games all day long.
I also would daydream about sex scenes in class and would look up "girls kissing" or "lesbians in bikinis kissing" on youtube on my grandma's phone without even knowing what lesbians were. I'd remember when YouTube used to have kissing scenes from porn videos and they'd stop and tell me to watch porn videos on the websites and I'd get so annoyed because I thought porn meant poor.
I remember once I went to Indiana to visit my godfamily (mother's best friend) and I met two girls. I played with them for a bit and then we ended up playing charades I think. There was this one gesture I couldn't get, and then they told me the answer and it was sexual. They outright told me that they like sexual things. We were really young at this time too, I was in 4th grade and they were my age or younger. Honestly I was uncomfortable at that time.
I discovered games like IMVU and Moviestarplanet and sometimes I'd do sexual roleplays with people I met on there. I even remember lying about my age so that on IMVU I could see all the adult rooms. I saw someone post a dick pic on IMVU and I saved it to my gallery and my parents found it and took away my phone. They also saw screen shots from porn websites and one day they found my account for when I signed up for a sex story website (pretty sure it was XNXX). They didn't punish me though because I wormed my way of it. I lied and said it was a link sent by someone on Wattpad and they believed it for a bit.
My grandma ended up getting a computer and I would play games on that website on it. She caught me once but I lied out of it. I also watched porn on my other grandmas tablet and she caught me but I lied again. She asked me if I knew what porn was once and I lied and said no because my dad told her that I knew what it was.
I discovered masturbation in 5th grade and would start to touch myself everytime I watched porn. It wasn't everyday but it was like 2-3 times a week. I was so aggressive too that now I can't handle any type of direct contact on my clitoris and I also just found out now that it'd hurt after because my nails were so long and they'd dig into my skin and scratch down there when I masturbated.
I was pretty normal during 6th to 8th grade because I was starting to get actual hobbies and stepping away from roleplay and fanfics and instead talked to real teenagers in Instagram group chats. I remember once in art class these two girls I was friends with were discussing whether I was a top or a bottom and it made me so uncomfortable that I stopped talking in that class completely until well.. Covid.
I was starting to become disgusted by porn and sex yet I'd still masturbate. I even worried I was doing it too often but my hormones would get the best of me. I could see a picture of a woman in a bikini or some boobs and I'd immediately get aroused and would masturbate. I even had a wet dream.
During COVID I started hanging out with teens on discord and this was during the maid outfit craze. I wanted to order one and I even tried ordering this cow lingerie set off Aliexpress and a vibrator because the people in my friend group were 14-17 and they had sexual humor and would talk about how they had vibrators. I even stole my mom's once (I washed it before and after using) I used it 5 times and then quit.
I'd take picture and get jealous of the pretty girls that could wear makeup and had flat stomaches and I'd try to take more risque pictures like them. I was 14 comparing myself to 15+ year olds.. I wasn't even fat, I was skinny yet I had a little baby fat on my belly. During the thigh pic era on tiktok I took pictures of myself sitting in weird positions that show my thighs to send them in discord servers with other teenagers. I even had someone elses body as my pfp and mine as there's but I changed the pfp after a week because I felt so grossed out after sexualizing myself.
Even now I find myself trying to "act my age" and take photos where you can see my stomach or my chest. But I'm only 17, there's nothing with my peace sign obsession. I'd always delete the pics immediately after because I'd be disgusted at the thought of sexualizing myself. I am trying to quit watching porn but it's so addicting and now that I know it's wrong and see others bash others for watching it I still can't help but watch it, I feel shame after masturbating and can't look in the mirror after. I do it sometimes once a week, once every two, at most 2 days in a row when I'm really aroused. I can't even talk or think about sex without getting aroused. I sometimes daydream about sex but only when I'm really bored.
I want to be seen as hot and attractive like other 17 year olds I see on social media but it's not me. I feel grossed out. I like covering myself up. I hate going out and my shirt is so short or my pants are so tight that you can see my butt. I hate wearing shirts that are so low you can see a bit of my chest. I hate reading about sexual experiences people post on Tiktok. I hate when certain people (sometimes even adults) turn non sexual things into things that are sexual. I hate sex scenes in shows. I hate how much music is about sex. I hate sex so much and I hate that I crave it.
My parents also got into the religion that shames masturbation and porn so I used to feel religious guilt but now that I secretly left the religion I don't worry about going to hell for pleasuring myself.
I noticed some weird things about me over the years. Sometimes when I'm doing something and I'm almost done but taking a bit long to finish, like typing this whole post, I get a weird sensation down there, almost like I'm being edged and it makes me so overwhelmed I have to take a deep breath and stop for a bit. I don't have to do anything sexual I just get the feeling.
I recently looked on reddit to see if it'd be weird for me to get a sex toy even though I'm 17. I almost bought one off Amazon but I decided against it because I can't hide it and I'd also be disgusted if I got it.
there are some random things that are coming to mind now:
once when i was 11 i met this group of girls and one of them hit on me and said "you're fine, i wanna tap that" while licking her lips at me and it made me so disgusted I avoided her and walked home by myself. i've had trouble dating girls because I always thought of that and would get so disgusted.
when i had conversations with those adults I sent nudes to one person while being underaged, i forgot about it for a while but now that i remember it i'm REALLY disgusted. he sent me a dick pic in return.
i developed a fear of rape because in the stories i read there would be scenes written and it'd leave me so uncomfortable I get antsy around any men, i can't go outside without my butt covered, I'd have weird intrusive thoughts including male family members, i tried recording (audio only and thru the wall) my parents having sex at night but i stopped because i got disgusted. i'm always on guard when it comes to men, i genuinely fear getting sexualized so i cover myself up as much as possible. i don't even feel comfortable going braless.
when i was a child, i can't remember my age but i was young, i was laying down with no underwear on and my younger sister approached me. i don't know what exactly happened but she touched down for a bit until i stopped here because i felt really really disgusted. and i still feel so guilty about it, i'm glad i stopped it but it never should've happened.
whenever someone talks about how bad porn is or how they'd never date someone that watches it i get a guilty shamed feeling in my stomach every time and avoid the conversation. i know porn is bad, i just can't stop watching it..
I'm so repulsed but I keep watching.. Porn really ruined me and I'm glad I realized it now.
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2023.06.07 23:34 Future_Ad_3485 The Night Squad Files Case One: Murder Pays

Waking up next to Stanton, our clothes were all over the floor. Blushing at last night’s activity, I checked the time. A loud scream burst from my lips, the book club was in ten minutes. Crashing to the floor, Stanton stirred awake. Panicking at the time, the floor shook as he crashed to the floor. Searching for anything to wear, he was already tugging on a black band t-shirt and ripped jeans. Fixing his hair, my hand settled on a black and white striped swing dress. Slipping my feet into my boots, he brushed my wild hair into a simple side bun. Kissing me on the forehead, he dropped a random book into my palm.
“I will hang out with the husbands to analyze their behavior. Get those hens talking about their men.” He said simply, ignoring what we did last night. “Try and drink some coffee with them. Tell them that you have a stomach sensitivity.” Focusing on the book, scarlet colored my cheeks. It was one I had written and published fifty years ago, his brows furrowing.
“You’re telling me that I have to go and sit with a bunch of women while they misinterpret what I wrote.” I groaned bitterly, wishing that he would acknowledge last night. “Whatever. At least I know the plot.” Hooking his elbow into mine, we walked across the street. The husbands welcomed him with open arms, Susie yanking me in. Pulling me into the kitchen, she slid me a cup of coffee, my stomach churning. While most vampires enjoyed it, I despised it with a burning passion. Taking a sip, the pungent taste reminded me of a bunch of pennies.
“Tell me about sleeping with him. Was it fun? My husband is so boring.” She pleaded desperately, pressing her palms together. “I also asked for you to come because you look a lot like my favorite author.” Hitting the wall, a secret shelf with every single book I wrote covered every inch of the damn space. Think of an excuse, you idiot. Stanton looked up from his own conversation outside, my lips pressing into a thin line.
“My mother wrote them.” I lied seamlessly, Susie buying into it. “She was a lovely woman.” Lie, that was a lie. My mother was a poor Irish vampire who ditched me at the ripe age of three, her next question causing me to spit my coffee out.
“When is the sound of tiny feet entering your home?” She trilled sweetly, cupping my hands. “You are the first to know that I am pregnant now. I have been trying for years. Maybe you can get pregnant soon and we can have them be best friends.” Horror hid behind my polite smile, a long squeal escaping my lips. Like hell I would go along with her sick little plan. Something felt off, my vision blurred. A purple liquid swirled on top of the coffee, my body hitting the floor. A rough darkness devoured me as coffee pooled around my head.
A yellow light swung over my head, something else feeling off. Clammy sweat drenched my skin, a fever burning my cheeks. Susie towered over me, a spike spinning in her palm. Attempting to crawl away, her heel dug into my back. Unable to move, this felt like something else. The desire to take Stanton nearly controlled my mind, the claws extended from my fingernails. Spinning another needle of the liquid in her palm, she jammed it into my leg. Extreme nausea wracked my body, the beginning of a heat cycle disabling me. Parting my lips to speak, I needed his blood to survive or that was what it felt like. Only wheezes poured from my lips, she jammed another needle into my leg. Sending me into the next stage, every touch raised an incredible amount of goosebumps. Shivering in my spot, the last time I felt this was one hundred years ago when a handsome stranger caught my eye.
“I used to be a hunter.” She bragged gleefully, sitting down on top of me. “We have to finish before the book club arrives, you fucking idiot. I meant what I said about you getting pregnant around the same time. I know the serial killer lives among us. You have to trust me with that.” My eyebrow twitched with a mixture of bewilderment and irritation, a snarl curling on my lips. All of this was too much, my knee meeting her face. Crawling onto the living room floor, my legs felt like rubber. If she hit me with another needle of that liquid I would be pregnant within the next few days. At the current level in mine, three months remained before anything had to be done about that. Stumbling out, blood poured from her nose. Struggling to my feet, my shaking fingers opened her fridge to see what I needed. The process had already begun but I could delay it for a while. Pulling out a needle full of a milky liquid, she cried out as I jammed it into my thigh.
“I am not ready for that quite yet, Miss hunter!” I shouted vehemently, fuming darkly on the stool. “How can I know that you aren’t the serial killer?” Pausing in her spot, her slender hands jammed her nose back into place. Wiping the blood out from underneath her nose, she sat down across from me. Chuckling softly to herself, her fingers drummed on the stainless steel counter top.
“They killed my sister and her family a couple of weeks ago. I have nothing to gain from this.” She informed me briskly, holding her stomach. “I am the neighborhood watch and I can’t stand that someone is slicing their way through our little piece of paradise. Revenge is in my plan but now I have to be careful.” Seeing things through her point of view, the fact that she sped up my natural reproductive cycle ticked me off.
“I figured I might kick start things for your body. The sooner you get pregnant the happier Stanley will be. I always catch him watching the families walking by with a longing look. I am only doing it because he doesn’t suck up to me which makes him my favorite stranger.” She expressed with her real smile, pointing to me. “You are a purebred vampire. Such luck should be blessed in your eyes. You can give birth without dying. I met you once when my old man came to talk to you in your jail cell. I don’t know if you don’t remember him but his name is Father Rowell.” All of my breath escaped my lungs at the mention of his name, my mind flicking through the memories of every person who had visited me. Come to think of it, a redheaded woman did accompany a priest that one time. How did I not make the connection? Laying my head on the table, several women ran in. My eyebrow twitched, the perfectly dressed woman interrupted our conversation. A sea of blonde haired women shoved me aside, a couple of them shooting daggers from their eyes. Stepping back, Susie tugged me close to her. A bout of nausea wracked me, the combination of the potion she had injected with me mixed poorly with my sudden social anxiety. Dropping a tray into my palm, her gentle touch dragged me to the four ivory walls she called her living room. A brown leather set reminded me of my cell, the tray crashing to the floor. Glass shattered everywhere, my immediate response was to run. Apologizing profusely, I bolted out the door. Ignoring their looks, I ripped off my boots. Sprinting down the street, a masked individual slammed into me. Crashing to the ground, the pavement felt cool against my face. Still weak from earlier, I couldn’t just fight them off like normal. Quivering on the pavement, a disguised voice sent chills up my spine.
“Goodnight, my dear!” The robotic voice laughed evilly, a knife slamming into my body repeatedly.” Copper poisoned my taste buds, the person whistling. A rusting van pulled up, the license plate number 568 4325 stuck into my memory while my blood pooled underneath me. Tossing me into the van, Stanton barely made it onto the street. Locking the door behind me, I leaned against the wall. Pulling out my silenced phone, my vision blurred as I turned on my location. Hiding my phone behind a dusty box, a darkness swallowed me alive.
Jerking awake once more, this trend had to stop. Groaning in pain, a yellow light swung over my head, a rough rope cut into my wrists. Struggling only made the knot tighter, the killers having to be boat owners, hunters or some sort of boy scout. Glancing around, no weapons lay around. Talk about being professional. Muffled yelling stole my attention, a filthy redhead tugged on chains against the wall. Two small children hugged her side tightly, silent tears staining their cheeks. One, a pair of worn steel toe boots came into view. Two, the other shoe appeared. Three, his masked face poked around the corner. Four, Five, Six, one of the killers were at the bottom of the stairs. Seven, he towered over me at six foot seven. Lifting up his mask, relief crashed over me at the sight of an anxious Stanton. Seconds from cutting her rope, the boss stomped down the stairs. Pulling his mask down, the boss cleared his throat.
“Cut off her fingers until she talks about how she found us.” He demanded via a thick distorted voice. “Never mind, give me the knife.” Snatching it from Stanton, he could only watch with horror as the man held my finger straight. Three red dots blinked in the corner of my eyes, the operation making sense. This asshole was running a torture to murder show, a lump forming in my throat.
“Thank you for your payment of a million dollars. We shall gut her like a deer.” He mused darkly, tracing the knife along my flat stomach. “Then I will play with the guts to please you.” A scream burst from my lips the moment the blade glided across my stomach. Fighting the urge to vomit, my steaming guts poured out onto my lap. Playing with my intestines, the money began to pour in. Choking on the blood building up in my throat, a hack sent it all over his mask. The questions were sick, a clammy sweat drenching my skin.
“We have a vampire.” He announced with wicked laughter, my heart sinking in my chest. “This is going to be fun.” Stanton held his composure, the back of the metal chair bending underneath his grip. The heat potion kicked in, one accidental touch clouding up my mind for a moment. Bending down to my level, his next words sent chills up my spine.
“The boys are coming. We have to keep him occupied for about thirty minutes.” He growled through gritted teeth, the man asking him to run the computers. Touching my shoulder one last time, the chair squealed the moment he sank down into the chair. Shoving a slender flash drive into the USB hole, he was gathering the IP addresses. Shoving my guts back in, childlike wonder brightened the killer’s tone at my wound sealing shut. Susie’s sister held her hands over her kid’s eyes, the knife sliding in and out of me. The wet noise did little to help me, the potion making my stomach churn worse than normal. The money kept pouring in, the welcome sound of chaos woke me up from my sickly state. The agents from before piled down the stairs, Stanton ripping off his mask. Cutting the rope, his touch made me jump a couple of feet into the air. Popping to my feet, every footfall echoed in the concrete cell. Assisting Susie’s sister, her arms embraced me desperately. Every emotion soaked my shoulder, another touch from Stanton resulted in a tender blush on my cheeks. Shooting me a thumbs up, his lips brushed against the top of my head. Helping the woman to her feet, Stanton scooped up the children. Bright flashes blinded me, the news crew attempting to speak to us. Climbing into a tinted SUV, the children bounced into their mother’s arm. Fishing around a bag, he held out packages of cheddar crackers. The boys accepted them graciously, the car heading towards the hospital. The door ripped open, nurses ushering the family inside. Scanning me up and down, Stanton held me by my hips. Sniffing me real quick, fear flashed on his face. Not having time, Susie smashed into me. Desperate tears flooded from her cheeks, her quaking hands cupping my face. A deep crimson painted my cheeks, a newfound respect for me glowed in her eyes.
“Thank you so much for saving them. I don’t know how I could ever thank y-” She blubbered uncontrollably, my hand raising to stop her. Smiling brightly in her direction, this reaction made it all worth it. My lips parted to speak, a nurse dragging her off before I could explain myself. Stanton dragged me back to the car, a snarl twitching on his lips. Slamming me down into my seat, the partition hummed its way up.
“Your heat is supposed to be for another year! Why do you smell like you are three months away?” He demanded hotly, the crack of my hand meeting his cheeks stunning the both of us. How dare he ask after not talking about last night! Clenching my fists into a ball, I turned my back.
“You haven’t talked about last night. We had fun and you acted like nothing happened!” I blurted out venomously, happy to have it off of my chest. “You already forced me into a marriage, and now you want me to ignore what happened last night. Fuck you. I had fun but here you are. Was it that bad? Susie sped me up so we could be pregnant around the same fucking time. Did you know she used to be a hunter? She opened right up to me. In fact she knew me.” Spinning me around to face him, an apologetic smile dimmed his features. A piece of hair fell in front of his left eye, his hands rubbing my shoulder.
“I can’t tell you why that all scares me.” He mumbled under his breath, sliding me a large emerald box. “You need to get changed into your uniform to enter the facility.” Peeling off my destroyed dress, his eyes couldn’t leave the angry scars covering my body. Flipping the box open, I pulled out a lightly armored leather number. Tugging it over my head, the onyx leather covered my arms. Hiding my bloody hands underneath the bell sleeves, the deep v-neck showed off my ample breasts. Sitting back in the seat, the A-line skirt floated away from my body. Scooting closer to me, he offered me his neck. Sinking my fangs into his tender flesh, every gulp revived my health. Curling my arms around his neck, he drank away. This time a wave of euphoria crashed over me, a long sigh pouring from my lips. Unable to stop, fright rounded my eyes the moment his hand curled around my neck. A muffled protest stopped him, an oppressive silence hung between us. The car skidded to a halt, an impressive navy marble building towered over us. Helping me out, the numb look on his face scared the shit out of me. Marching in aggressively, the way he was acting reminded me of the first time I met Father Powell. Hugging him from behind, his muscles relaxed.
“We all lose control at times.” I assured him lovingly, the tone taking over my voice for the first time. “If I can gain control, you can do it.” Cupping my trembling hands, an agent was attempting to remember the plate number. Typing it in for them with my free hand, a grateful expression met my exhausted face. My legs gave out, Stanton placing me on his back. Ignoring the jeering whispers, the rumors spread within minutes. Bursting into the interrogation room, a shaggy haired man with angry dark eyes watched him set me down in the chair across from him. An unkempt beard danced with every growl in his throat, his scarred face informing me of a rough life.
“I am not the only one in this plot. Do you remember that serial killer club on the news a couple of years ago? I am the bottom tier.” He bragged gleefully, the sweet smell of poison wafting from his mouth. “We must all die with honor.” His heart beat one last time, Stanton calling for help. Help wouldn’t come soon enough, this was a magical poison. Dragging him out of the room, I climbed into the driver’s seat. A skill I had learned the moment cars had been invented, the modern car proving far easier to drive than those things. Stanton hopped into the passenger seat, my fingers typing in an address into the GPS. Driving for too long, the brakes squealed to a halt in front of a bustling night club. Taking off his tie, the poor thing floated to the back. Roughing up his suit, he protested as I messed up his hair. Letting my hair down, a familiar face had to be spoken to. Sauntering up the door, the bouncer let us both in. Loud music worsened my migraine, a scantily clad blond guided us up to the office. Opening the door, my fingers curled around the neck of my old friend. Pinning him to the wall, his scarlet curls bounced around. Ruby eyes glowered back at me, his garish velvet suit irritating me further.
“Who are you selling your poison to, you fucking idiot?” I interrogated him intensely, Stanton yelling at me to calm down. “I know what you sold to Susie. That I can let go but sell some sort of poison to a serial killer after school club! You are playing with fire.” Cocking his brows, he slammed his knee into my chest. Every rib shattered upon impact, all the breath leaving my body. Coughing on the floor, he picked me up by my hair.
“I refuse to let a runt like you run my life. I sell my magical drugs and that is that.” He snapped hotly, my bones fusing back together. “I don’t know or care what they do with them.” Wicked laughter rumbled in my throat, the heel of my bare feet slamming into his jaw. Raw energy built around my fist, his bones shattered upon the impact of my fist. Sliding down the wall, my bruising fingers picked him up by his collar.
“I don’t care that you make drugs. That isn’t my department but when they are used for suicide I have an issue. Who ordered it!” I screamed furiously, a glob of spit landing on my face. “Just answer the fucking question. I will break every bone in your body. You still owe me for you selling me out. I fucking let you keep the reward money.” Clicking his bones back into place, he struggled to his feet. Unlocking his cabinet, he pulled out an ancient ledger. Dropping it into my palms, he sulked to his desk.
“Take it. I have to start another one anyway. I will call you if somebody uber weird pops up.” He commented kindly, pulling out a new one. “Don’t charge me, ‘kay. I provide loads of hunger suppressants for the monsters in the area. I also help monsters get pregnant faster. The poison was only meant to be sold for someone who was going to die. You know that I can see reapers as well as you can. Watch your temper with that heat potion coursing through you. Your powers are going to be a little wacky for a bit.” Mouthing a silent thanks, a triumphant grin spread cheek to cheek. Walking through the club, another discussion had to be had once we got into the car. Climbing in, dread bubbled in my gut.
“Give up why you were in prison.” I demanded sternly, leaning on the steering wheel. “Don’t lie. I can sniff that shit out.” Tears welled up in his eyes, a lump forming in his throat. Storm clouds rumbled to life, heavy raindrops crashed to the top of the vehicle.
“You weren’t my first partner.” He uttered bitterly, chewing on his lips. “I had a romantic relationship with her and she turned out to be the serial killer. The bodies piled up behind me, and I didn’t even know. We were incredibly intimate. She lied with the biggest smile on her face. I enjoyed our evening together and that you only drank from the serial killers to survive. She was what the agency calls a binge eater. Devouring person after person and I was the one to put her down. The difference was that I didn’t love her like I love you.” Covering his mouth, a further explanation needed to be heard.
“What do you mean by love me?” I asked politely, attempting not to lose my cool while pulling into a Cally’s. “Don’t lie to me. I have been through enough hell today.” Refusing to look in my direction, my hands cupped his face. Gritting his teeth, his hands cupped mine.
“I observed you for months and fell in love with the way you helped the prison when you could. I loved it when you would spend weeks buried into an inhumanly huge pile of books.” He choked out awkwardly, fresh tears flowing from his eyes. “I sound like a creepy stalker but I needed to make you my mate from the instant you met me.” Nodding my head, my lips kissed his hungrily. Scarlet colored his cheeks, his hands falling to my flat stomach.
“I love you too.” I choked out just as awkwardly, hoping not to upset him further. “Watch this book, I will be right back.” Swiping his wallet, I ran into the department store. Ignoring the bright lights and horrid smells, I paused in the baby section. Closing my eyes, the sweet sound of my mother singing an Irish lullaby soothed my nerves. Snapping awake, a tiny girl had crashed into my legs. Instead of crying out in fear, she began to giggle.
“You are so pretty.” She sang adorably, her horrified mother scooping her up and running away. Getting a couple of packages of toy cars and a beautiful bouquet of white roses, hurt dimmed my eyes at the cashier watching me in pure terror. Paying for the items, silent tears stained my cheeks. Not saying a word, I punched in the address for the hospital. Cursing to myself, we were four hours away. Setting the stuff in the back, I chose to turn on the radio to drown out the chaos in my mind. Sobbing the whole way back, this world was no different. The only thing missing was the torches that had hunted my mother down. Getting there in record time, I ditched my partner to catch up to me later. Stopping at the desk, the nurse didn’t show the same fear as the people in the store. Tucking a loose piece of caramel hair behind her ears, her gray eyes twinkling with joy.
“Thank you for bringing them in.” She returned with a genuine smile, pointing to the last room down the hall. “Visiting hours are over. Surely, they want to see their hero. I will pretend I looked the other way.” Winking in my direction, she turned her back to me. Running to their room, an exhausted Susie lay on her sister’s bed. The children perked up at me, smashing into my legs. Crouching down at their level, I presented the packages of cars. Pecking my cheeks, they ran off to go play with them. Rising to my feet, I presented her with the flowers.
“How does your sister like her coffee?” I inquired with my genuine smile, the mother’s expression softening into a gracious smile. My lips parted to speak, the woman’s head shaking. Coughing a bit, blood covered her hand. Seconds from pushing the nurse button, her raspy voice stole my attention. Stanton hovered in the door, the mother’s heart monitor going nuts. Looking closer, a bony hand rested on her shoulder. Following the arm, a reaper held her shoulder. Death had come to her, the option not working for me.
“Is there anything I can give you in return?” I begged with my palms pressed together, knowing that those kiddos needed their mother. “How about this?” Snapping my fingers, my stolen reaper’s scythe rested in my palms. Snatching it from me, the cold hand curled around my neck. Gasping for air, his yellowed skull hovered inches from my face. Biting down on my arm, he gulped down enough to figure out who I was.
“I recognize your stupid face.” A chilly voice thundered evilly, the other finger playing with my hair. “You vampires are the bane of my existence. I can’t take your souls when there's none to take. I will spare her this one time but she will have to go next time regardless of what you have.” Dropping me to the floor, he was gone. Coughing up a storm, one of the kids hit the button. A look of horror dawned on his face, his tiny body smashing into my legs. Crouching down to his level, he shivered in my arms.
“Was that a reaper?” He stuttered brokenly, my head nodding. “Will they ever hurt me?” His tight red curls tickled my face, the other twin watching from a distance. Their emerald green eyes watched me as the nurse brushed past me.
“No, they won’t.” I promised them warmly, taking him to the waiting room. “Let’s go play while they take care of your mom, ‘kay.” Susie snapped awake, picking up her other nephew. Crashing into the nearest chairs, they played with their cars. Susie rested her head on my shoulder, snores echoing in my ear. Letting her sleep, I was thankful for my current life.
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