Tattoos of money quotes

Hi all.
Now then, I have a good friend called Tim, he was forced into getting a spiderweb face tattoo on his 18th birthday, what happened was him and his friends went out, Tim got horrendously drunk and his so called friends took him to a backstreet tattoo parlour, one of his so called friends uncles owned the place and gave my friend a face tattoo.
His so called friends took him home and when he woke the next morning and looked in the mirror he nearly fainted in shock, it’s ruined his life, he’s 45 now and if it wasn’t for meeting his girlfriend Beth in 2011 he’d be swinging from a rope in the woods, she saw beyond the tattoo to the person underneath, love bloomed and they now live in a caravan in Sudbury, Tim is a Deliveroo rider, Beth has a small Etsy business.
Anyway things have been going sour, Tim only earns on average around £5 per hour, Beth earns £200 a month, with the rent on the caravan being £500 and with bills and everything this means Beth’s dad has been giving them £800-1000 a month, he owns his own roofing company and employs 9 men so he can well afford it.
The thing is, he detests Tim and calls him a lazy scumbag, Tim is in tears most of the time over it.
Tim has been discriminated against all his life, he’s never held down a job for more than a year or so, he went to an interview for Tesco and Sainsburys, they took one look at his tattoo and basically told him where to go, he was a chef in a country pub and the landlord brought in a new waiter who used to make fun of Tim, my friend told the landlord to sack the waiter, he didn’t, so Tim smashed up the kitchen and walked out, he couldn’t face the abuse from the waiter.
Anyway, Beth was looking online and saw a caravan up for rent in a village outside Chelmsford, it’s slightly cheaper at £475 a month, she could continue her Etsy business and Tim could do his delivering in Chelmsford, they said it would be busier than Sudbury and Tim would earn more money.
They asked me to see what people in Essex think, what would you do if you ordered something and my friend delivered it? He’s got long white hair, worry lines on his face, he’s usually in tears, his clothes are ripped and dirty as he can’t afford new ones and they don’t have a washing machine, and one of the soles is off his trainers.
Would you be pleasant and nice to Tim? Give him a nice tip?
Him and Beth want to know before possibly taking the plunge and moving to Essex.

My vet suggested euthanasia for my 15 year old Yorkie, she also said hospitalisation is an option but I wouldn't want him to spend his last few weeks on fluids in a vet hospital. I am currently not in a position to spend a lot of money on second opinions from other vets so I wanted to ask if these results can be indicative of anything else/potentially not as severe as kidney failure (to quote my vet, "it's a matter of days rather than weeks"). I've already booked him in for euthanasia on Monday but I'd appreciate any input. Thanks in advance.
Test results: https://imgur.com/a/bHAy0xq

• Species: dog
• Age: 15
• Sex/Neuter status: male/neutered
• Breed: Yorkshire terrier
• Body weight: 4.95kg
• Clinical signs: vomitting/lethargy
• Duration: started vomitting 2 days ago, been more lethargic for the past 2 weeks
• Your general location: UK

[INDEX]
I banked the fire and stared into the golden eyes of Beatale before I crept into my makeshift tent.
I still had my auric vision running and couldn’t help but notice the thin silver cord that ran from me to Horse. Firming up my aura, I reached out with my hand and grabbed it. I could feel the nearly imperceptible vibration between my fingers as I used my mind to probe at the thread. I could feel a bright spark of intellect, a light at the end of a tunnel. Pushing with my mind, I slid down the thread until the spark grew larger and eventually filled my inner vision with a hazy white light. Horsey thoughts nudged at me curiously.
I slid into the haze and immediately lost all sense of direction. If it wasn’t for the silver thread, I’d have no idea how to exit this shifting white fog. Horsey thoughts got stronger as I followed the thread while the haze thinned and cleared to reveal an endless prairie of green grass. I found myself standing before a naked man wearing a horse mask and I stared in shock. It was obviously me wearing a cheap costume horse mask — there was no mistaking my tattoos.
“What did you expect?” Horse neighed at me. “I am you and you are me and we are all together. Goo goo ga joob.”
Horse made a shooing motion with his hands and I accelerated backwards through the white haze and slammed into my own body with a gasp. I stared at the tarp overhead for a long minute, processing this new revelation. Horse was a part of me, a piece of my spirit. Whatever psychic stuff I did with that silver cord lead me into a house of mirrors where I got to look at myself pretending to be a horse. I can’t even deal with that right now.
Rolling into my blankets, I dropped off to sleep.
*Ding*
-=- - Welcome to the Dreamworld - Included in the Psychic Skills pack, the Inner Sanctum is your psychic domain. It is the mental fortress that you must secure and maintain to defend against psychic and spiritual assaults. All of your neurosis and fears are symbolised in this realm and must be defeated or subjugated before you can become master of the domain. Good luck. -=-
I banished the pop-up and looked around. I knew I was asleep, but everything was just as real as when I was awake. I was breathing, I could feel the floor under my feet, and if it weren’t for the pop-up, I would have sworn I had been teleported. The room I was in resembled an oversized luxury prison cell, maybe a thirty foot cube. No windows. Rough stone walls with thick mortar. Large brass wall sconces were set directly into the stone and suffused the room with a warm, golden light provided by glowing rocks. The stone floor had colourful Persian rugs tastefully placed. A high plaster ceiling was painted with a rendition of Michelangelo’s ‘Creation of Adam’, depicting me as both Adam and God.
There was a comfy sofa in front of a large screen television that hung from one wall and an ornate grandfather clock ticked loudly in the corner. It was currently 10:08 PM. Another wall was a floor to ceiling bookshelf, stuffed with books of varying sizes. The third wall was covered with pictures and I could see at a glance that they were images from my life. The fourth wall had a thick riveted steel door on the right side, a full sized mirror on the left, and a computer workstation in the middle.
The picture wall was my first target. A few were quite large, nearly life sized, while others were tiny prints no larger than the palm of my hand. Scenes of my life were displayed in each one. The largest was me riding Horse with a shit-scared expression, shooting at a pack of wolves. Others were smaller, each with different frames. Some ornate gold or silver, others plain wood, a few wrapped in briars or barbed wire. Nanny Ramsey holding me as a young child. My dog Jean with a red ball in his mouth. My parents, screaming at me. I turned my attention to the books. Books are safe. Books don’t judge you.
The sweet, musty scent of a used book store filled my nostrils as I drew close to the honey coloured shelves. Hundreds of volumes filled the wall from floor to ceiling, with a ladder that could be rolled along a rail to access the top. I smiled at the sight. I had always wanted a library like this. I pulled a book at random and read the title, “Confused Fantasies about Joseph Harris, part XXIV of the Middle School Years”.
I slid the book back onto the shelf. Let’s see what’s on TV.
The remote was a slim, futuristic looking affair with a minimum of buttons. I pointed it at the television and moments later the huge screen came to life and presented me with a simple menu for movies, divided into six categories: Happy, Surprised, Afraid, Disgusted, Angry, and Sad. I scrolled through the offerings for a minute, reading the titles and reviews about the movies of my life. It really bothered me that there were so few selections in the Happy section.
The number of Sad movies increased by one.
I walked over to the mirror and noticed there was a small sticky note pasted to it. “Astral Realm. Experienced users only.” I shoved the note in my pocket and stared at my image. Sturdy black boots, black denim jeans and shirt with mother-of-pearl buttons, deep brown gun belt slung at my hip, red bandanna and black felt hat. All I needed was a pencil moustache and I would look like the stereotypical villain in any spaghetti western. At that very moment I decided to grow out a goatee. I’d rather be mistaken for a bad guy than a victim.
So how does this astral realm thing work?
The mirror appeared to be nothing more than a mirror. It was cold, smooth glass surrounded by a wrought iron frame, and reflected my image. I didn’t necessarily want to go walking into danger, but I wanted to know how it worked. I pushed and prodded the glass in frustration until I noticed my image grinning at me. I jumped back in surprise and it doubled over in silent laughter.
“Hilarious, dude. You got me,” I huffed. “So how do I get in?”
My mirror-self tipped his hat and stepped to side.
I reached up to the mirror again and my hand passed through, vanishing as if cut off. Okay, just a quick peek and we’ll explore the rest of the room. I stepped through and the world shifted around me. I was standing back at the campsite. My body was insubstantial as a ghost and the tarp was a wisp of substance running straight through me. Non living things don’t seem to have much presence in this realm. Glancing down, I saw my sleeping body rolled up in the blankets, a thin silver thread running from it to me, and another thread running to Horse.
Looking around, I surveyed the campsite. My astral vision seemed to be on and had an unlimited range. I could see the life all around me, the distant forest was a sea of greenish-gold, grasses and brush nearby glowed with spectral light. Tiny ghost insects scurried while ghost mice nibbled at whatever ghost mice nibble on. Ghost seeds and ghost insects, I suppose. I turned my attention overhead and gaped at the sight of a monstrous serpentine spirit flying through the inky void. I dropped back through the tent and rolled inside my body. That was plenty enough for now.
I rolled through the mirror and landed flat on my back, staring at the fresco on the ceiling. Vinnie-God winked at me and Vinnie-Adam grinned. Climbing to my knees, I brushed non-existent dust from my trousers and watched mirror-me doubled over in soundless laughter.
“Hey, laughing-boy!” I yelled at him. “You’re like the guardian or something, right? You got it covered?”
Mirror-me stood and saluted with a smile, then gave me two thumbs up. A moment later, his face took on a serious expression and he wriggled his right hand in the ‘maybe’ motion. Then he pointed at me, tapped his wrist, and then a finger to his head.
It all depends on how fast I learn stuff, I guess.
Two thumbs up and a winning smile reflected back to me.
A large cork board was mounted to the wall over the computer and a small note was pinned to it. “Note to self: Don’t fuck with the Elvish womens.”
The computer screen featured a screensaver of me as Vitruvian Man doing callisthenics over the words ‘HumanOS’. I tapped the spacebar and was rewarded with the sound of powerful fans kicking to life as the computer emerged from sleep mode and prompted me for a password. Should I assume it’s the same as the password on the computer I pawned in my previous life?
Password: *******esi
I was rewarded with a sweet R&M desktop and a couple of icons. System, NeuralNet, My-Tunes, My-Movies, My-Office.
System was just what I expected, lots of .dna files and other confusing scariness that allowed me to tweak my physical body and mental state. My-Tunes was a collection of every song I’d ever heard and My-Movies was a collection of every movie I’d ever seen. Not that I’m complaining, but it would have been nice to have “My-Games” so I could play RDR. My-Office was a clone of the popular software by a similar name. I have no idea what I’ll ever need a spreadsheet for in this world.
NuralNet opened up a search engine called Me-Seeks, featuring a familiar blue guy.
I typed in “beer” and several thousand results were displayed, anything I’d ever read, heard, or watched about beer, including how to make it. This right here made the price of admission totally worth it, access to an exact copy of everything I’d ever read, and I was a voracious reader. Sadly, most of the stuff I read was futurology — solar panels, electronics, biotech advancements, quantum computing. The material for steam engines, blacksmithing, farming and the like, were slim pickings. That’s okay though, I could still reproduce the Gutenberg press, the cotton gin, simple internal combustion engines, and basic batteries along with some sketchy knowledge of metal alloys, acids, bases, and other things I had read over the years. All that wasted time watching “How Things Work” was finally going to pay off. I copied a few likely money makers to My-Office, saved the file, and exported to my Notes, just in case they didn’t exist on Aerth.
A popup covered the screen.
📱 [New Upgrade Available!] 📱
🎉 Enhance Your Experience with the Latest HumanOS Features! 🎉
🌟 Features Include:

• 🧠 Memory Booster: Increase your Memory for smoother multitasking and improved performance.
• 🔋 Energy Optimizer: Extend your battery life with advanced power-saving techniques.
• 🛠️ Utility Upgrades: Access new apps and utilities to enhance your daily life and adventures.
• 🗺️ Advanced Mapping: Never get lost again with enhanced GPS and location tracking.

🔥 Special Offer: Only 2000 credits for version 2.0 or 5000 credits for version 3.0! 🔥
[Upgrade Now ✅] [Remind Me Later ❌]
Apparently I could upgrade myself, which reduced the cost of using my Utilities while providing other minor benefits. My Utilities would level up as I used them, which would increase their battery cost, so if I didn’t keep pace with an update to the OS they could become prohibitively expensive to operate.
Stupid pay-to-win world.
So, do I pay 2000 credits for version 2.0 or 5000 credits for version 3.0?
I selected version 3.0 and klicked [Install]. After watching it download the update, it popped up another screen that asked if I wanted to update now, or wait until Midnight for the mandatory update.
I selected [No] just as the grandfather clock chimed 10:30 PM. I wondered if time ran slower in here, because it seemed like I had spent a lot more time on the computer than 15 minutes. Walking over to the imposing steel door, I noticed a bronze key with a thin chain in the lock. There was another sticky note on the door. “Subconscious. Please keep the key with you at all times.”
That’s not scary at all, is it?
I unlocked the door with a loud clunk and pulled it open to reveal a bedroom straight out of some royal castle. I could tell immediately that it had seen better days. The tapestries on the wall were frayed and fading. The canopy over the bed had a few holes in it. A thin layer of dust covered the mantle of a small fireplace set into the wall. There was a window letting in bright sunlight and I moved over to look outside.
I was on the third floor of a keep surrounded by the walls and turrets of a modest castle. A castle that had fallen into serious disrepair. Did this represent the state of my inner mind? One tower was shattered and the curtain wall under it damaged. The lower bailey was full of litter. I could see a few soldiers walking around the allure, keeping watch.
I have people in my subconscious?
Someone behind me cleared their throat.
Whirling, I discovered a familiar old man standing in the door of the bedroom. What was left of his hair formed a white halo around his head, his face was unshaven and covered with several days of growth. He was dressed like a poor and tattered manservant, but carried himself with a dignified air.
“Woodhouse?”
“It’s nice to see the master at home,” He said with a proper English accent. “There are many matters that require the master’s attention.”
“Uh, sure,” I said, hanging the key around my neck and tucking it in my shirt. “And who are you again?”
“Your personal manservant, of course” he said with a slight bow. Walking over to the steel door, he pulled it closed and it locked with a solid thunk. “Master should always keep his inner sanctum closed. One never knows if something nasty will creep in.”
“Thank you, uh, Woodhouse. I’ll remember that,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “So what needs tending and how do things work around here?”
He smiled and beckoned me with a white gloved hand. “If master would be so kind as to follow me, I’ll introduce him to the staff and explain the duties and obligations of his domain.”
I’m 99.9% certain that everyone here is just me wearing a mask, so I shrugged and followed Woodhouse out of the bedroom and into the rest of my subconscious.
Five minutes later I was on the ground floor and seated on a shabby throne with the cast of a popular —and probably very copyright protected— animation in front of me. Woodhouse was the head butler and my personal manservant. Pam was the cook and demanded that I start importing sugar and alcohol before she was shushed by Woodhouse. Carol was a maid. Krieger was chancellor and Cyril was the steward. Archer and Lana were in charge of security. Ray was the marshal in charge of everything from the stables to the blacksmith.
I stared in disbelief at the motley crew kneeling in front of me. No wonder my inner mind was in such shambles. I was overcome with an irrational sense of anger at myself.
“Arright, listen up,” I barked, my voice echoing around the room. “I swear to God that I will fire every single one of you and hire circus clowns to replace you if you keep fucking things up. No joke. Circus clowns, got it?”
I ran a hand over my face as Ray pissed himself. “The only reason I’m not putting a boot in your asses right now is because I realise that you’re aspects of me, and the people you represent are pretty damn good at their jobs when they give enough of a shit to actually do them. As a team, you’re dysfunctionally fantastic and always seem to come out ahead no matter the odds.”
Heaving a sigh, I continued. “Things have changed and I need to get my shit together. I’m going to need every one of you to pull your weight and help me help you. Get back to your duties, I’ll meet you one on one later.”
My subconscious caretakers scurried out of the room.
“I’ll have one of the maids tend to the piss,” Woodhouse assured me.
“Never mind that,” I snapped. “I honestly had no idea my mind was such a shit show. I’m very disappointed in myself.” I pictured the Angry, Sad, and Disgusted counters on my personal movies clicking up. “Show me what needs to be done and let’s get started.”
During Woodhouse’s walking tour, everything clicked into place. This was some altered version of Bodiam castle, a location that was on my bucket list of places to visit. The royal council room, located behind the throne room, contained a “living” tapestry on the wall that showed the castle and surrounding land in real time. The castle was located in the middle of a small lake, and a single wood bridge led to the mainland. A small town surrounded the lake and a wall encircled the town. Outside the wall, the land was an irregular patchwork of forest and field, with a stinking swamp to the south. The entire “kingdom” was maybe ten miles across, surrounded by impassable mountains with innumerable creeks that fed the lake which drained into the southern swamp.
“Zombies are the problem, sir.” Woodhouse said, as I surveyed the living tapestry of my mental domain.
“Zombies?” I prompted.
“Yes sir, Zombies” Woodhouse continued. “Nasty bitey things that come in from the mountains and harass the peasants. They’ve gotten especially worse over the last few months. The soldiers do what they can, but they seem to have lost all motivation. Probably because they haven’t been paid.”
“And who pays them?”
“Typically chancellor Krieger is in charge of financial matters, although Steward Figgis has taken over the duty, sir.”
“Then let’s make Figgis our first stop.”
“Very good, sir.”
The office of the steward was run by Cyril Figgis, who managed the kingdom in my absence. It was overflowing with paperwork and charts, books and scrolls piled high on every flat surface. Cyril was desperately attempting to tidy things when Woodhouse and I walked in.
“Yo..you..your majesty,” Cyril stuttered, bowing low. Scrolls fell from his overloaded arms, spilling across the floor. He dropped to his knees and scrambled to gather them up. “I didn’t expect you to visit so soon. Please forgive the mess, housekeeping has been slacking…”
This was the guy who ran things while I was conscious.
“Shut up, Cyril” I said. “You’re responsible for everything in this office. That includes keeping it organised and tidy.”
“Y..yes milord.”
“It’s my understanding that you’re in charge of making sure everyone gets paid. So why aren’t we paying people?” I asked.
“We’re nearly out of Fuks, your majesty. I’ve been saving them for emergencies.”
“Fucks?”
“Fuks,” Cyril explained, pushing a pile of books off a large chest and opening it. Reaching inside he pulled out two small bags and emptied them on top of his cluttered desk. “Gold and Silver Fuks, the currency of the kingdom. I can’t maintain the kingdom when I have no Fuks to give.”
Behold the subconscious kingdom of Vincent J. Carter, it runs on Fuks.
“So how do I get more fuks?” I asked, examining one of the coins. It had an image of me on one side and symbol on the other that could be interpreted as “peace among worlds”.
“You kill the zombies, your majesty.”
Of course I do.
Woodhouse and I left Cyril’s office and headed towards the office of the chancellor where Krieger worked. It seemed that Cyril took over financial matters when Krieger became erratic and proposed luring all the zombies into the city and setting it on fire. Not sure how that corresponds to my own self-destructive behaviour, but I’ve had some dark thoughts over the last couple of months and I’m sure they’re reflected here.
Krieger’s office was much neater in comparison to Cyril’s, but it wasn’t by much. Shelves lined the walls and were filled with an array of questionable items, including a still snapping zombie head in a jar. While the office of the chancellor was supposed to be in charge of financial matters, it looked more like a dodgy rummage sale.
Krieger was launching sword blades at a pig carcass when we walked in.
“What exactly are you doing?” I asked, standing in the doorway.
“Hm? Oh, your majesty!” he said, turning around and bowing deeply. “I’m testing a new invention. It’s a spring loaded hilt that shoots sword blades. Very useful for our soldiers.”
“Stupidest idea ever,” I snapped. “I hate everything about it.”
“Okay,” Krieger said, tossing the hilt into a nearby pile of junk. “But don’t blame me when you need to shoot a sword at a zombie and don’t have one.”
“So why aren’t you managing the financial affairs? Collecting taxes, paying people, stuff like that?”
“Because the population has declined so much none of that matters?”
“What do you mean?”
“Wellll, the population represents things you care about,” Krieger said, going into lecture mode. “And the zombies and other monsters are real or imagined problems in your way. Since you don’t care about too many things the population has shrunk to just what’s needed to keep everything running on the bare minimum of fuks. And since you don’t seem to have any long or short term goals, there’s no need to kill off the zombies and get more fuks. Everything is fine just the way it is.”
“No, it’s not Krieger” I said, grinding my teeth. “My mind is in a shambles. It’s a joke. I want it fixed. No, I want it better than fixed. I want it improved.”
“Oh! I’ve got just the thing for that!” He said, digging around in his pockets, “It’s a spring-loaded hilt that shoots swords!”
Pam and Cheryl were hanging out a gallery window jeering at Archer and Lana sparring in the inner courtyard.
“What the hell are you doing!” I snapped
They whirled in surprise and then dropped into deep curtseys.
“Your majesty!”
I took a deep breath, trying to regain my centre. “Get to work cleaning this place up. Find a room, clean it, and move on to the next. Start with my bedroom, then the throne room and the council chamber, then everything else.”
Cheryl spoke up. “Can’t do it. We got no fuks to clean with.”
“You need fuks to clean?”
“Gotta buy stuff,” Pam said. “Cleaning supplies, food. You wanna eat, you’re gonna have to spend some fuks.”
“Talk to Cyril,” I ordered. “Tell him I said to get you supplied.”
They ran off in the direction of the stewards office.
I watched Archer and Lana bashing each other enthusiastically through the window.
Several minutes later the sparring couple stopped and bowed when Woodhouse and I stepped into the inner courtyard.
“Your majesty”
“My liege”
“Enough,” I said. “If you have enough energy to smash each other, you have enough energy to smash zombies. Tell me what I need to know so I can start gathering fuks.”
Archer shrugged and spoke first. “You just kill the zombies and other monsters. They drop fuks.”
“Anything special about the zombies?” I asked. “Are they fast? Do people get turned into zombies when bitten?”
“Nope,” Lana said, resting her wooden sword on her shoulder. “Most of them are slow shamblers and just need a good wack to the head to kill them.”
“Some are special,” Archer interjected. “Occasionally you’ll have some fast ones, or those that need holy water to kill. They’re just bad memories, figments of your personality that need to be eliminated. Some are worse than others.”
“The zombies are bad memories?” I asked, imagining all the bad memories that I had.
“Memories, thoughts, insecurities, metaphysical mumbo-jumbo,” Woodhouse supplied. “They are endless, but constant vigilance can keep them under control.”
“So let’s get started,” I said. “Lead the way.”
Lana and Archer lead me up to the parapet over the front gate where I looked over at the dozens of zombies milling about aimlessly in front of the entrance to my mind. Pulling out my gun, I began to pick them off, easy as shooting fish in a barrel. The crack of my spell pistol attracted more zombies and I dispatched them with ease until no more were left around the gate. As I fired each shot I could feel some sort of existential energy flowing from me, draining some hidden reserve.
“Gather up the Fuks,” I commanded. “And Lana?”
“Mi’lord?”
“There’s no excuse for this. From now on, I expect the walls to be clear of all zombies.”
“Yes mi’lord,” she said, giving me a small bow.
Turning to Archer, I shook my head. “You’re obviously my personal narcissism, so just try to stay out of Lana’s way, or better yet - try to kill more zombies than her. If you think you can.”
Archer scoffed. “No contest. I took top marks in sharpshooting.”
“That means I should expect to see results by tomorrow. I look forward to it.”
Archer looked panicked for a moment then smiled. “Sure, I can give you results.”
Turning back to Woodhouse I said “Show me what else need attending.”
Woodhouse led me through the town that represented my mind, pointing out each business that had fallen into disrepair, suggested others that needed improvements, and additions that would benefit me. In the distance, I could hear Lana and Archer shooting at the crowd of zombies and with each echoing shot I felt a tiny bit better about everything.
[INDEX]

🚨Asian is looking for a husband!🚨
hello. I'm a Korean girl born in 2008. I live in Michigan, USA in a dormitory as an international student. I need citizenship badly. So I will get citizenship from marriage.
Some people ask me if this is too hasty, but I have my own personal reasons. I am more serious about getting citizenship than anyone else.
[ ME ] I am 5'5, 121 pounds. I will be attending University and working a part time job after graduation. I am a good cook. I am loyal and do not cheat. I can prove to you that I don't cheat by talking to you 24 hours a day on the phone if you want. I like children and I am open to raising children if you want. I am open to any religion, you can follow yours. I have never had plastic surgery or tattoos. My high school graduation will be in June 2026, and I will get married right after I graduate. I will be attending University as a social work major.
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Looking for my angel who can give me citizenship :)
🚨Never ask me for nude pictures.🚨

tldr; while my partner was visiting her sister last weekend, my sister in-law and her husband told her to break up with me. Now I don't trust them. We have a meeting today to discuss how to move forward. Help!
Background:
My (32M) partner (30F) and I met in 2011 at university. We kissed for the first time, and started a relationship in 2012. It was beautiful, so so beautiful. We were two inseparable love birds. The amazing memories from those years will last me a lifetime. In 2015 we started facing challenges in our communication. We failed to resolve them and ultimately broke up/reconciled twice between 2015 and 2018.
During the breakup we tried to live our lives, forget each other, meet other people. She even moved to another country and had a great time there. We had minimal communication while broken up: sharing only major milestones like graduation, or the random message when she got a tattoo etc. Eventually she moved back to the same country. We started talking again and agreed that we would fight to make our relationship work. We worked out our issues. Since 2018, we've been learning and growing together. We've had arguments, especially when adjusting to living together. Things are still not PERFECT but I was convinced they are good, until last weekend.....
The issue:
My GF visited her sister (35F), the husband and their 2 daughters. When she came back, she wasn't in a good mood. She started picking a fight with me about dishes, laundry and other small things. I was shocked. We didn't see each other for a weekend, and this is the hello I got. I had actually done 3 loads of laundry that weekend. I cleaned her lunch boxes and pots from the previous week that had started developing mould. The fight was very unreasonable. Ultimately she told me that she was doubting/confused about our relationship. I'm thinking: WTF!!
It's not the first time we fight after she talks to her sister. So I dug and she eventually told me that in laws wanted her to reflect on breaking up with me. It went far. They offered her a place to stay if she would need a few months to process the breakup. I became more confused the more details I learned. At family events they are always friendly. When I got the impression that they don't like me, my partner assured me that they all thought I'm a great guy. Well, it's now clear that although I'm a great guy, just not the right guy for their "little sister." I've known this woman much longer than the sister has known her husband. The arguments they made are along the lines of: I'm holding her back from her dreams, I have no direction in life, cultural differences. A suggestion was made (not sure if by my GF or them) that I may be manipulating her. As a result, I find it hard to discuss with her now because, will she just say I'm manipulating her when I share my views? According to my gf, they reiterated that I'm a nice person, just not the person for her. Part of it could be financial. I'm not close to f.e. having enough savings to purchase a house (which I know is her dream, it's mine too, I'm just not there yet).
Anyway, we're meeting later today, all four of us. I don't trust them anymore. I don't feel comfortable with my partner visiting them. I don't want to visit them either. I don't think I even want to talk to them at family events anymore. I feel angry, disgusted, humiliated, and stabbed in the back. I have so many questions. Who else did they talk to? Other siblings, the parents? How long have they been thinking this? Is my girlfriend telling me the full truth or is she protecting her family by withholding certain information? (she's done this in the past) It's a mess.
Some other context:

• My partner has been feeling low energy for a while and recently shared with her sister that she sometimes has suicidal thoughts.
• My partner and all her family are white, EU. I am black, non-EU.
• Their native language is my FIFTH language. I speak relatively well, although I am uncomfortable in a family context with fast-paced group conversations. I am usually quiet during family gatherings unless I have a 1-1 conversation.
• I am currently not working, I'm receiving unemployment benefits which isn't much money but enough to cover my basic expenses. GF is doing quite well financially.
• I'm not actively looking for a job but rather completing a 7 month, full-time data science bootcamp, accredited by government, working on real use cases with real companies, career coaching etc so I'm confident in securing a job in the coming months when the training is complete.
• GFs sister recently had kids and has shared her desire for GF to start having kids too so their kids can grow up together (I want to wait with kids until I secure a job after my training and have a better financial circumstances)
• When we got back together after 2018, we decided to move in together and I applied for a family reunion through my gf (better possibilities for me in terms of access to the job market). I live in EU for 18 years but have no nationality.

The situation now:

• My partner says that she's 99% sure about us (i can live with the 1% doubt lol)
• Partner is willing to go low contact with sister but I feel bad because she loves her nieces and actually 3 weeks ago, her and her sister had a heart to heart where they both cried and reaffirmed their sibling love for each other
• we are having a call to discuss how to move forward with our relationship, all four of us.

Honestly, I don't know how to approach the conversation. How would you do it? What would you ask? What would you want to have as outcome? Is this talk even healthy/necessary?
The truth is, if I could, I would never talk to them again, I miss nothing in my life by avoiding them. But how do I ensure that i don't push my GF from her family and create more resentment either towards me or the sister?
If you read this far, I appreciate it, and happy to hear your thoughts!

Speaking with a lawyer also but also wanted to branch out here for any ideas.
So my wife and I have been looking for homes for over a year. Found the perfect one. Estate sale, as is. Got it currently under contract for 25k under asking. Seller had inspections done by reputable inspector that I spoke with and said there were no limitations so we were comfortable with using that. Sellers said the septic was in working order but "expect replacement in the future just because of its age". They stated they did not have it inspected. The sellers disclosure (done by the lady's daughter who did not live in the house but is the executor) checked the box "no" for any know issues with the septic etc. We took an educated gamble and figured we'll start saving for a new septic eventually and just use this for now since it's "in working order". They did not get it inspected and we waived ours.
House went under contract. I decided to call the home inspector to talk about a pre-closing walk through etc. We were talking about the house and he said it looked good aside from the septic failing. I said no we were told it never got inspected. He said no it did and gave me the number of who inspected it.
I called this guy who told me he was out there (days before the sellers disclosure was completed) for an inspection and some sort of test and said when he put his camera in there (cesspool) it was an automatic fail. He let them know and they cancelled the actual test/rest of the inspection. He sent me the pics he took and the date he was out there. He told me the septic would need to be replaced completely prior to moving in.
I called my realtor pretty upset. She called the listing agent who admitted that he knew about it and was the one who brought the inspector out there, paid him and cancelled the rest of the testing?
So I proposed that the seller buy the permit and perc testing to figure out what system it needed and if the quote was 20k or less, then I would cover it and could do so after closing (like I said I was expecting to anyway, just not this soon and we got 25k off asking). They countered and said they'll do the testing but want to raise my responsibility to 30k.
This is where we are currently.
We have 15k earnest money already submitted. Where should we go from here?
Also am I required to make my lender aware of this?
Thanks for any help or advice.

on the topic of pet insurance the general advice seems to be that it's a scam and you're better off self insurance. Indeed with most insurers once you consider the exclusions and sub limits this does seem to be the case.
but in my research I've found a couple that have no sub limits and a reasonable exclusions list - petsy and fetch.
a quote for our 2 month old golden retriever puppy is about $50/month for 80% coverage with a $200 excess. Let's say with premium increases that becomes 10k over 10 years.
this seems like a not terrible deal to me. I'd say given the breed it's more likely than not they'll have some issue over their lifetime. I reckon >50% chance of needing 5-10k in surgeries, treatments etc over their lifetime, particularly as they get older.
we have more than enough money saved in the offset emergency money and could go down the self insurance path. But doesn't seem we'd be financially better off unless the doggo has absolutely no issues over their life.
any other considerations?

I'm due to inherit around £12,000 soon and I'm considering using a significant portion of it (around £10k) towards a private surgical procedure (tummy tuck and liposuction). I've recently lost a significant amount of weight and this surgery would greatly help with my overall health and well-being.
My question is: Would spending the money on this procedure be considered deprivation of capital? I wouldn't be able to afford this surgery otherwise. I plan to report the increase in savings and expect a temporary reduction in benefits. However, I intend to use the money to book the consultation and pay for the procedure, which would then reduce my savings back down in a relatively short amount of time. I've read the following:
A person is not to be treated as depriving themselves of capital if the person disposes of it for the purposes of (a)reducing or paying a debt owed by the person; or (b)purchasing goods or services if the expenditure was reasonable in the circumstances of the person's case. - In my eyes, it seems reasonable that the private surgical procedure would cost a high amount, as private surgery isn't cheap, and around £10k is the market rate, as would be evidenced from the quote I would receive from the hospital, as well as the bill I would receive.
Any advice or experiences would be greatly appreciated!
Thanks in advance!
Edit: My current savings stand at zero. I'm in receipt of Enhanced Daily Living & Mobility for PIP, and LCWRA for Universal Credit.
I've yet to speak to my GP, but based on my research here - https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/cosmetic-procedures/cosmetic-surgery/tummy-tuck/ - I understand that the NHS typically doesn't cover tummy tucks as they are considered cosmetic procedures. Since I want the surgery for cosmetic reasons and self-esteem, and not due to any health issues like sores, I know I wouldn't meet the NHS's extremely strict criteria for approval.
I have worked hard to lose 100 pounds and have been left with unsightly loose skin, which affects how I feel about my body. The inheritance would enable me to afford this surgery, something that would be otherwise out of my financial reach. This surgery would significantly improve my self-esteem and help me achieve the body I desire.
Undergoing major surgery with several months of recovery time is a significant step, but it's not simply about returning to a pre-inheritance financial state. It's about taking advantage of this opportunity to afford the surgery and improve my quality of life while I can.

666 AND BAR-CODES, MARK OF THE BEAST
(Hatonn here describes in 1991 how it will be. I suggest ghat it dexcribes today how it is. Everything is marked including us.)
I have been asked time and again about the connections and if, in fact, there are connections regarding the 666 symbol and bas-codes.
I can assure you of one thing, the number 666 does not randomly appear any more often than does 222, 444, or say, 333. Nevertheless, it is quite obvious that WHERE the numbers appear is very definitely of great importance. The numbers 666 are rapidly becoming man's favorite number and keep popping up in strange places--even though a recognized symbol of pure Satanic code--it is appearing more frequently than any other "number" in the so-called Christian and other religious placements. It is worthy of the time to speak of this matter for I think you must become aware that this code is being placed on all of you. I think it worth the time to give a listing of some instances of use of this number which none of you should miss in noting.
* World Bank code number is "666".
* New credit cards in the U. S. are now being assigned the prefix 666.
* Australia's NATIONAL bank cards have the code 666.
* Central computers for Sears, Belks, Pennys, and Montgomery Wards around the world have all their transactions prefixed with 666.
* Shoes made in European Common Market Countries have stamped on inside label 666.
* Computers made by Lear Siegler have a seal on the side on which is stamped the number 666.
* Internal Revenue Service instructions for NON-PROFIT Corporation Emoloyee 1979, W-2 Form requires the prefix 666.
* Internal Revenue Service began to require the prefix of 666 on some forms; for example, W-2P, disability is 666.3; death is 666.4, etc. as early as 1977.
* Tanks built by Chrysler Corporation...have on their sides 666.
* South Central Bell's new Telco Credit Union Cards require the prefix 666, then the person's Social Security number.
*. ID tags on 1979 GM cars produced in Flint, Michigan, contain the number 666.
*. United States Selective Service Cards have on them 666.
* Overseas telephone operator number from Israel is 666.
* Arab-owned vehicles IN JERUSALEM have license plates prefixed Wirth 666.
*. Record album released by the rock group, Black Sabbath is named 666.
*. The films, Omen I and II concern themselves with a world dictator and the number 666.
* Some IBM Supermarket equipment is prefixed with the number 3.666.
* JC Penney began prefixing account numbers in August, 1980, with 666.
* Master Card began using on their August, 1980, statements--66.
* Formula for NCR Model 304 Supermarket Computer System is 6 60 6,666.
* The United Nations resolution #666 came during the Iraq War.
Precious ones, there are contests even, called "666". What is happening by total intent is to condition the world to accept the coding of 666 without question or note. There is coming a day when a world governmental system will demand that everyone in the world take a mark and the number 666 in order to work, buy or sell. This fact is clearly set forth and being followed diligently. If you think you can avoid the mark of the beast--think again--YOU ALREADY BEAR THE MARK; DON'T BE STUPID AND SET YURSELF UP TO DENY SAME. YOU ARE ALREADY MARKED AND THE INSTRUCTIONS TO REFUSE THE MARK IS NOT OF GOD'S GIVING. YOU STEP FORTH AND REFUSE WHEN Y0U ARE ALREADY WITHIN THE SYSTEM AND YOU ARE DEAD OR INCARCERATED AND USELESS UNTO GOD'S WORK. IT IS A SEPARATION ENTRAPMENT SET FORTH BY THE BEAST TO CATCH THE LIGHTED PEOPLE. YOU CAN STAY OUT OF THE SYSTEM TO THE FULL LIMIT ALLOWED BY THE LAW BUT YOU DO NO ONE A FAVOR BY GETTING YOURSELF KILLED--IT NEANS ONE LESS WORKER FOR GOD.
THE NUMBER OF MAN
Let us look at that which is projected unto you and might be well worthy of note. Then number with which all the world will be commanded to work, buy and sell during the Great Tribulation is the number of man--and you find it on all bar-codes and Elite products. Number 6 as has been distorted for identification and easy reference has even taken as the number of imperfection; the human-given human number; the number of MAN as destitute of God--without God/Christ. At any rate, it is certain that man was created on the sixth day goes the accepted WORD, and thus he would be established under the number six--which would identify him and then, it goes on with several other non-coincidental accidents in numbering. For example, six days were appointed to man for his labor so it went, while one day is associated in sovereignty with the Lord God--as his day of rest. Then the infinite symbol of 8 represents infinity or immortality which is also of God. The serpent also, was created somehow on the sixth day, or so the Goods Book says--obviously God was most busy and yet totally restricted on the sixth day of His masterful creation. The sixth clause of the Lord's Prayer treats of sin. Six is the number stamped on all that is connected with human labor. You will see it stamped upon his measures which he uses in his labour and on the time during which he labors. And you see this from the very beginning.
Six, thew number of man, is one less than seven, the number which represents God and two less than the Creation. This indicates that man was created somehow in the likeness of God, but is not God, because God is perfect and sinless and one within and with Creation. The Sixth Commandment came as a result of Cain's sin of killing his brother, and the man who will ultimately claim the number 666 will be the greatest murderer the world has ever known. God put a mark upon Cain after the murder of Abel. Although Cain's mark was for the purpose of protecting him from those who would kill him, it also signified that before God, he was condemned. God forbade the children of Judea to mark their bodies--or did he? For the translation always read "Israel". The quoting then always continues with this looking forward to the time when the "Jews", as well as the rest of the world, would be called upon to take the mark of the Anti-Christ. Well, will the "Jews" take the mark? I guess so--they crested it!
But let us look a bit further into the book of Revelation. The Apocalypse: The 'mark' itself is at once a number and a name. The Apostle tells you what it is. As he gives it, it is made up of two Greek characters which stand for the name of Christ, with a third, the figure of a crooked serpent, put between them...Thjis horrid sign must everyone receive on one of the most conspicuous parts of the body, cut, stamped or branded in, there to abide indelibly. No one may either buy or sell without this mark, and all who do receive it take upon their bodies the token and seal of heir damnation!
Do you really.believe you have not already been branded? Let us consider that, for years--well over two decades--the laser beam has been branding steers and horses--and even salmon while they remain in the stream, swimming. It is instant and painless. The laser simply destroys skin pigment. In some thirty-BILLIONTHS of a second a technician can stitch a brand--or initials, or symbol. This type of branding of animals for ownership or research purposes has become common practice. Do you think it probable that everyone of you have been branded while standing, say, in a line to vote or register your car or, or, or--certainly if you have any kind of medical examination, dental care or hospitalization--especially immunizations.
TRANSACTION CARD/FINAL CARD
This is the final laugh at the world citizenry. This is one of the world's greatest conspiracies and it is being quietly conducted in.the most sacred halls of secular secrecy, brothers. While its thrust is Economic, its reach is without limit. No System will escape its mastery, be it in Politics or religions, Social or otherwise. I told you long ago, dear ones, that the SDI program was not f defense but rather to place into space satellites which unite the entire world banking system--the beast to all other parts in instant connection--with all citizens registered, identified and located. You are all simply within the system. The point is to protect yourself from the system as much as possible and the only way to do so is to utilize the laws and rules utilized by your adversary for as long as you can do so.
The Prime Mover here is the most powerful Consortium of financial institutions, capitalists, and scientists ever leagued together. Their common purpose is to bring every person, place and thing under their total control and it is all but in place and already operational.
The applied strategy is by way of instant IDENTIFICATION. This means of ixentoification is by way of assignment of MARKS (or bars) for NUJMBERS read by machines. (Numbers people can read, Marks they can't--the name of this game is SECRECY.)
Phase I began in 1970 with a ncnscientious effort to "IDENTIFY EVERY ITEM" at the manufacturers level with a NUMBER "MARKED" on it. A group of Numbers designated by Marks, lines or bars, is called a Bar Code, (Code 39, etc.), and giant computer manufacturers are central to the phase.
Phase II began in 1973 with an effort to IDENTIFY each PERSON with a Number. The Social Security Numbers when blended with the Universal Numbering System will be converted to "Bars". Initially, the NUMBER will be "marked" on a Card; (a World_Wide Money-ID-Card). Subsequently, according to the old Bible Prophecy written ands directed by the very ones who would put it into place, it will be stamped upon the person it identifies. As the MARK OF IDENTITY on an ITEM is a Bar Code, so the MARK OF IDENTIY on a Card and later on a person, will be a Bar Code facsimile. The Government, Banks, and Card Companies are central to this phase.
Phase III is an effort to identify everything in the world, whether mobile or stationary; if mobile, then how to instantaneously locate it, as a piece of luggage, an expensive race horse, a family car, or a pet or person. Central to this is the Federal Government which has spent ten years In research on "Electronic Identification" at Los Alamos, the Airlines, and private inventors.
The symbol of 666 is absolutely instrumental to the Bar Code system. You are already in it, so let us be most careful how you handle it. Your best defense against it is to know truth about it--stop deluding yourself that you can somehow avoid the mark lest you get s special mark which sets you apart as a troublemaker and you will be among the first incarcerated or removed by other means.

🚨Asian is looking for a husband!🚨
hello. I'm a Korean girl born in 2008. I live in Michigan, USA in a dormitory as an international student. I need citizenship badly. So I will get citizenship from marriage.
Some people ask me if this is too hasty, but I have my own personal reasons. I am more serious about getting citizenship than anyone else.
[ ME ] I am 5'5, 121 pounds. I will be attending University and working a part time job after graduation. I am a good cook. I am loyal and do not cheat. I can prove to you that I don't cheat by talking to you 24 hours a day on the phone if you want. I like children and I am open to raising children if you want. I am open to any religion, you can follow yours. I have never had plastic surgery or tattoos. My high school graduation will be in June 2026, and I will get married right after I graduate. I will be attending University as a social work major.
[ You ] I don't care if you are ugly or not. I don't care how much money you have or don't have. I don't care how short you are or are not. I am just looking for someone who fits the following criteria.

1. your age should be between 18-22.
2. you must be an official "American" that I can marry after I graduate (someone who was born in the U.S. and has U.S. citizenship)
3. if you live too far away from Michigan, please do not message me.
4. anyone who is horny and constantly asking for pictures or videos of me will be reported and I will block them because I am really serious about citizenship. I want someone with a normal brain.

Looking for my angel who can give me citizenship :)
🚨Never ask me for nude pictures.🚨

Anyone have advice for someone with a tattoo that has destroyed their mental health? I got an atrocious tattoo that I had posted here, got roasted, and went to a removal place for a quote. Couldn’t afford it, and hate myself that a cheap tattoo has to cost thousands to remove. I have been unable to sleep lately, constantly looking at my arm and unable to shake the anxiety I am feeling about my body being ruined forever. I had some slight cover up work done on it because it was so much cheaper than removal, and it looks better, it does, but my arm will never look the way I want and it is destroying me. I’ve been depressed, can’t wear long sleeves even in the heat, having trouble sleeping and eating, I don’t know what to do. Anyone been in a similar place? I’m hoping to score a better paying job by the end of the summer and I’m thinking of biting the bullet and having it removed, but the fact that the process can take years is scaring me.

Hello, I have a huge problem, what happens is that I bought the Simple brand Skincare, micellar water, gel and moisturizer, I started using them on May 17, but it made me "purge effect" I say in quotes because according to any ingredient that these products have causes that effect, I am very afraid that it could be an allergic reaction, since I got a lot of horrible outbreaks, according to what I saw that the purge makes the outbreaks appear that were going to appear or something, that they should not appear in parts where there have never been outbreaks, this did not happen with me.
I would like to know if this is normal or not, I don't know what I can do, I am 18 years old, I live in Mexico, my mom is so strict and says things if I tell her I want her to take me to the dermatologist, I don't know how I can convince her, I just want to have my skin clean, I even think it was better before using skin products, my mentality of wanting to take care of my skin invaded me and now this is happening to me, besides the products I am just starting them, my mom will be very angry if I tell her that I don't want to use them anymore and she will tell me that it was a waste of money, I don't know what else to do, please solve my doubts, I will be reading you, I don't think I can answer but I will vote for your comments.

🚨Asian is looking for a husband!🚨
hello. I'm a Korean girl born in 2008. I live in Michigan, USA in a dormitory as an international student. I need citizenship badly. So I will get citizenship from marriage.
Some people ask me if this is too hasty, but I have my own personal reasons. I am more serious about getting citizenship than anyone else.
[ ME ] I am 5'5, 121 pounds. I will be attending University and working a part time job after graduation. I am a good cook. I am loyal and do not cheat. I can prove to you that I don't cheat by talking to you 24 hours a day on the phone if you want. I like children and I am open to raising children if you want. I am open to any religion, you can follow yours. I have never had plastic surgery or tattoos. My high school graduation will be in June 2026, and I will get married right after I graduate. I will be attending University as a social work major.
[ You ] I don't care if you are ugly or not. I don't care how much money you have or don't have. I don't care how short you are or are not. I am just looking for someone who fits the following criteria.

1. your age should be between 18-22.
2. you must be an official "American" that I can marry after I graduate (someone who was born in the U.S. and has U.S. citizenship)
3. if you live too far away from Michigan, please do not message me.
4. anyone who is horny and constantly asking for pictures or videos of me will be reported and I will block them because I am really serious about citizenship. I want someone with a normal brain.

Looking for my angel who can give me citizenship :)
🚨Never ask me for nude pictures.🚨

🚨Asian is looking for a husband!🚨
hello. I'm a Korean girl born in 2008. I live in Michigan, USA in a dormitory as an international student. I need citizenship badly. So I will get citizenship from marriage.
Some people ask me if this is too hasty, but I have my own personal reasons. I am more serious about getting citizenship than anyone else.
[ ME ] I am 5'5, 121 pounds. I will be attending University and working a part time job after graduation. I am a good cook. I am loyal and do not cheat. I can prove to you that I don't cheat by talking to you 24 hours a day on the phone if you want. I like children and I am open to raising children if you want. I am open to any religion, you can follow yours. I have never had plastic surgery or tattoos. My high school graduation will be in June 2026, and I will get married right after I graduate. I will be attending University as a social work major.
[ You ] I don't care if you are ugly or not. I don't care how much money you have or don't have. I don't care how short you are or are not. I am just looking for someone who fits the following criteria.

1. your age should be between 18-22.
2. you must be an official "American" that I can marry after I graduate (someone who was born in the U.S. and has U.S. citizenship)
3. if you live too far away from Michigan, please do not message me.
4. anyone who is horny and constantly asking for pictures or videos of me will be reported and I will block them because I am really serious about citizenship. I want someone with a normal brain.

Looking for my angel who can give me citizenship :)
🚨Never ask me for nude pictures.🚨

Hello redditian,
I put my money in US market and now I have more than 50K USD that I would like to convert to CHF.
Is there most cost effective way to convert this money to CHF. I have account with Swiss quote and they charge nearly 1% more than the market rate.
I thought to bring this USD directly to revolut and convert it it in CHF but since it will be considered international transfer Revolut will charge in enormous fee.
I have intractive broker account too but don’t know if this is local account and can I move this money to IB before converting.
I am sure some of you do it regularly.
Thanks

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The following two brain scans were provided by the Neuro-Warfare branch of the Halcyon Security Division (HSD) for the purpose of analyzing the thoughts, behaviors, and information of notorious gangsters Vincent 'Troy' Cohen and Bruno (Deadname: Koraak Tel-Char). At the point of the recording of this archival shared, Bruno has since received his rebirth therapy, and Vincent is currently serving a long-term rehabilitative and reeducative sentence in the Erebus Supermax Prison on Io.
Warning: the contents of this archival shared may be especially disturbing to some audiences. Viewer discretion is advised.
Warning: the contents of this archival shard are for the sole purpose of analyzing the thought patterns and memories of certain degenerate criminals in an effort to ascertain vital information that can be used to eliminate their organizations. Only staff with clearance level Omega may view this archival shared, and the viewership of this archival shared by anyone of inadequate clearance level will lead to twenty years in prison and a fine of over a hundred thousand credits.
Booting up memory scan: Vincent 'Troy' Cohen, November 4th, 2446…
Loading and processing firmware data… translating… memories and subconscious simulated…
Beginning archival shard presentation…
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"Do you have visuals of the target, Troy?"
I knelt down in the alleyway, the bodies of me and my partners shrouded in long, waterproof, ashen-gray overcoats the shade of dirty street scum that we wore to ward off the constant heavy rainfall the color of osmium. Our faces were covered in a mix of scrapped respirators, visors, or full metal face masks carved with intricate designs to hide our identities. On our waists were our badges of honor: leather belts studded with interlocked rivets made from blackened titanium, each buckle forged of silver and shaped into the head of our gang's symbol, the black mamba. We hid amongst the shadows of the dark midday of Halcyon City, the heavy, oppressive rains blanketing the roads paved obsidian-black with asphalt and weathered concrete walkways. The street lamps were always on, like beacons of false hope in a storm of melancholy.
The city was dark and dreary as always, the planet of Proxima Centauri B, renamed Dawn's Lamentation over a century ago, orbited the red dwarf star of Proxima Centauri, and the atmosphere was thick with natural smog and ever-storming rain clouds. That didn't dissuade people from living here: there was plenty of money to be had for shrewd industrialists and hardworking pioneers, even in the urban sprawl. But that life also came with risks, especially for those on the bottom of the totem pole.
I was a ganger, and we were criminals; full stop. I won't assault you with some spiel about how we're the good guys fighting oppression because, at the end of the day, we could be just as bad, if not worse, than Halcyon's Security Division, or the HSD for short. We were traffickers, killers, extortionists, and money launderers. We dealt with everything from stolen tech and military-grade hardware to hard drugs and sentients.
Yes, sentients. We trafficked sentients, but not in the way you might think. They weren't prisoners, in fact, we were their saviors if they had the cash. We had developed a reputation for fighting the power, but it was still business: sure, freeing captives from the clutches of the Protectorate. The disruption of its many oppressive organizations held a certain satisfaction in my heart for sure, but we didn't help those who couldn't pay unless someone else paid on their behalf. It was about making sure me and my gang, my family, could live a decent life for another day.
It helped that most of us joined after leaving the state yard for partaking in acts of 'degeneracy' and 'anti-xenopet illegalities' as if those terms meant anything anymore other than that we were a threat to the local status quo. It was hard to pick up a job as a former inmate when even in something as harsh and backbreaking as a job in the iridium mines near the poles when the employment office had you blacklisted as a degenerate, which lead to the formation of many of the gangs: we needed to make a living somehow, and when all social programs were cut off from you unless you submitted for 're-education' and the only way to put food on the table was subverting, breaking, or even downright fighting the law, you did what you had to do or you died on the streets a scorned beggar.
It wasn't like the HSD made it easy for us on even a good day: the local HSD units were armed to the teeth with advanced, military-grade hardware that you'd often see on the front lines of the Second Authority War: armored assault transports, a myriad of advanced war droids, all sorts of chemical countermeasures that made tear gas seem like putting the garden hose on mist mode, and of course advanced firearms. Add that to the fact that they were authorized to use deadly force when they deemed it necessary and you had a ruthless, heartless, and nearly unstoppable enemy. But we could make that work: we weren't trying to stop them, just to withstand them.
"Yeah, I got eyes on the prize, Koraak; seven armored transports, two for droids, five for prisoners."
Today wasn't a day for a normal job: we were getting bolder, cockier, more ambitious. Our numbers had swelled for the last few years after the raid at Barnard's Star and the fall of the Blood Dragon Mafia. Their leader, Saito Yasuhide, had committed seppuku as their manor burned, and his twin sons had gone down fighting rather than allowing themselves to be captured simply to face a firing squad. In the aftermath, many of the family's associates had fled to the surrounding systems, and with the sheer size and scope of the criminal underworld found here, it was no wonder that many people who had developed skills of the less legal variety had decided to form ranks with the gangs, and with them they brought guns, tech, knowledge, contacts, and even something that we thought wasn't possible beforehand: a semblance of peace between the gangs, or at least the closest thing to peace that gangs could cultivate effectively. With the fall of the Blood Dragons, we saw the writing on the wall, and the writing couldn't have been clearer: work together or die together.
"Sounds like a massacre, Troy: are you sure we can handle seven?"
"We ain't got no choice, Cinder: this job's double the usual rate, and that's not including the weapons and gear we could scrounge if this goes well," I hissed, my eyes scanning for any resistance. There were at least four guards for each van, not to mention at least eight droids in total, meaning that we were already outnumbered, but we had the element of surprise: we could make it work. "So put your balls in your purse and get ready to spill some blood."
Koraak snorted at our antics, which sounded like someone pulling the ripcord on a lawnmower. He was a veteran Russu Corsair, and while his past of slaving, raiding, and killing was unsavory, so were the lives we'd lived, so who were we to judge? All we cared about was that he was a brutal and capable fighter and a loyal brother in arms. It turned out that being a ganger wasn't much different from being a Corsair: you lived and died by a code of honor, you fought to the death for your brothers, and you lived to die for the sake of your gang and your family, simple as that. In a strange, ironic way, it was an incredibly honest way of life: we were under no illusions as to what we were, what we did, and why we did it, and we'd long since accepted it. The Russu related to us in that aspect, in many ways I could respect, which is why I hated what the Protectorate was doing, and why I couldn't grasp how most of humanity could just collectively lose their marbles so long ago. What had happened for us to deem all other life below us in such a demeaning and infantilizing way?
The Russu were a race of tall, muscle-bound Saurians with avian features, and Koraak was no exception: reaching almost seven feet in height and weighing over four hundred and fifty pounds, he could be an absolute menace if he so desired. His skin was covered in stubby, knobby scales and dense plumage, with elegant feathers adorning the ridges along his back as well as his forearms, elbows, knees, and the crests on his head. He almost looked like how paleontologists described velociraptors, with razor-sharp talons, feathers shaded in vibrant greens, reds, and purples, and a maw full of sharp teeth, but at the tip of his snout was a sharp, beak-like growth meant for ripping flesh off the bone.
The Russu were strange as hell, but they also looked almost cute in the same way a fully grown alligator was cute: they were obviously dangerous, but humans would always have this innate desire to anthropomorphize them and to pet them for some inexplicable reason, although common sense usually prevented that, at least amongst the very few of us left that were sane.
"Shut up, Troy! All I'm saying is that that'll be rough, and you know it," hissed Cinder. Cinder was a tall black man whose coffee-colored skin was covered in tattoos. He wore an ebony mechanic's jumpsuit with metal inserts underneath his grimy overcoat covering his body and a faded black respirator on his face. His eyes were a startling blue that seemed sorely out of place, and his hair was braided into thick cornrows along his scalp. He wore a pair of heavy black combat boots and palmed his compact shotgun in his hands, the square barrel less than seven inches. Like a lot of the weapons the Black Mambas carried on their persons and dealt in, they fired caseless ammunition; in Cinder's case it was 16x40mm caseless shotshells filled with depleted uranium micro-flechetes no thicker than a toothpick. Cinder nervously fiddled with the detachable tube magazine underneath the barrel, his hands shaking. Despite the shit I have him, I didn't blame him for being anxious: I was anxious too, even if I refused to show it. The biting cold of unease and pessimism was in my stomach, and I ran all the way that this job could go wrong in my head over and over.
"Just hold yourself together, this ain't anything we haven't done before, there's just more of it," I reassured Cinder, "besides, we're not alone; we have reinforcements across the street. We'll make it out of this alive."
Cinder nodded almost absentmindedly, his eyes downcast and his breathing shallow. I turned from him and back to Koraak, who was making sure he had everything on his person; he had a synthetic leather bandoleer across his chest that contained the heavy eight guage depleted uranium slugs he kept loading and unloading into his much larger, longer, and more traditional shotgun he nicknamed ‘carnage’ and several leather straps that held his Tu'shan daggers: traditional Russu pyramidal blades forged from a silvery alloy with all three edges serrated and the tip barbed to leave behind horrible, gaping wounds that gushed blood. They were wickedly sharp and absolutely straight like a stiletto, and the hilts and pommels were beautifully decorated. He wore no clothes underneath his overcoat to cover the countless scars and blemishes he's earned in combat across his chest and abdomen, and instead of a normal respirator or visor, he simply wore a hood over his head and some traditional Russu facial armor to protect his mouth, eyes, and cheeks.
"You ready to fight, Koraak? The caravan will pick up and leave soon."
Koraak was silent for a moment before nodding, a human gesture he had picked up after serving as a soldier with the Black Mambas for years. "I'm always ready to fight," he said before lifting up his shotgun and aiming down the sights at the reinforced front wheels of the first armored car in the caravan. He exhaled and fired, the slug ripping through both front tires and causing them to deflate and fall apart. The echo of the shot rang through the alleyway and the street, causing pedestrians to panic and flee the scene as heavily armored guards poured out of the side doors of the armored cars and unholstered their carbines.
"Go, now!" I shouted, and both me and Cinder rushed out into the fray, our guns raised. Koraak was right behind the two of us, providing covering fire with his shotgun. Several guards fell quickly, Koraak's precise fire and the sheer force of the depleted uranium slugs putting them down for good as their heads were vaporized or their chest cavities were turned to mush. He emptied the tube with one final shot that painted the grey matter of a security guard on the door of one of the armored cars, then racked the shotgun and expertly loaded it in threes, his hands deft and agile as he reached for more slugs faster than any human.
With the cacophony of our initial assault, more Black Mambas poured out from the alleyways and the subways, armed to the teeth with all manner of weapons; shotguns, submachine guns, pistols, machetes, baseball bats, and all manner of homemade explosives. Molotovs and more potent concoctions shattered against the asphalt, herding in the caravan guards with their volatile contents as they were quickly gunned down. The assault was working, and we were winning.
Then I heard the robotic whine of a combat droid activating, and my heart sank. One of the armored cars in the back activated the four combat droids it held, the robotic assault units detaching from their charging ports on the sides of the large van and began to form up, each armed with a terrifying array of deadly weapons meant to quash any and all resistance. They were blocky, soulless, utilitarian things that stood at eight feet tall, with flat feet meant for stomping and blades, grasping claws designed to lacerate flesh and shatter bone. On each shoulder was a weapon: on the left was a multi-barrel rotary grenade launcher loaded with 15mm concussion grenades, and on the right was a burst-fire splinter cannon. They were all painted a dull grayish-green, the color of Halcyon's Security Division, although some had a few decorations on them: the one closest to me had a bit of graffiti on the side that said Mr. Hugs in Comic Sans, which I couldn't decide whether that made it more or less terrifying. They split up without hesitation and began to scan the chaotic battlefield, their single, red, beady lenses the security forces had the gall to call eyes focusing on specific targets to eliminate.
An entire group of Black Mambas was torn to pieces by a cloud of flechettes as one of the droids fired a withering three-round burst of shotshells from the four gauge splinter cannon mounted on its shoulder. Another picked up a Black Mamba in its hand and crushed her skull effortlessly before tossing her limp body to the side, its single, red, remorseless robotic eye tracking a new target. Most bullets that struck their thick armored chassis simply bounced off, and those that could pierce the armor didn't seem to phase the droids whatsoever, merely notifying them of a new potential target.
"Damnit," I shouted as I gunned down another guard only for two more to take his place. "Cinder! We gotta pop open the cars and scram! Get the maglock cutters!"
Cinder rushed and slid over through a dirty puddle, pulling out a maglock cutter from the inside of his coat and slipping it onto the back door of the first van. It immediately went to work, drilling through the maglock with a high-powered plasma torch nozzle, and within ten seconds we heard the telltale clunk of the maglock separating. I yanked the door open and ordered I side, ready to escort the prisoners out… only for my face to contort in shock and horror.
The back was empty. There was not a single soul inside of the back brig of the armored car.
"What the fuck…" Cinder gasped, his eyes wide with shock. "What the actual fuck… what the fuck is this, Troy?"
"I… I don't…" I stuttered the sounds of battle and carnage drowned out by the sound of blood rushing in my ears. All five cars were supposed to be filled with recently captured Russu from the front lines ready to be housed in the local Xenopet-Megaplex for processing and conditioning. The fact that this one was empty…
Suddenly, it all hit me at once with the force of a freight train, but it was too late. "We were set up, Cinder; our fucking client either squealed or was crooked to begin with…"
"Fucking bitch!" Cinder shouted as he spun around in an enraged arch, anger growing in his eyes. He aimed his shotgun at an approaching security guard and reduced his upper body to a fine red mist with a cacophony of shotgun blasts. "We gotta get everyone who's left out of here! Do you know what this means? The Jurors will be here soon, and then we're all going down! We gotta go, fuck the job!"
I grit my teeth. Not the Jurors, anything but the Jurors.
"Fine, gather everyone who's left and we'll slip through the sewers, the droids are too bulky to follow us there…"
As I spoke, my eyes wandered to the seventh and final armored car, the second of the droid cars, and my blood froze. Not only were all four ports empty, but they were also smaller and more shallow than the ports for the combat droids. That could only mean one thing.
"Oh fuck! Cinder, we gotta get our Russu members out of here! They've got arachnid droids!"
Arachnid droids were the stuff of nightmares. Resembling blocky, robotic arachnids the size of a manhole cover, they were specifically designed to take down sentient aliens, specifically the Russu, using sickeningly non-lethal means. They were equipped with full-body adaptive cloaking to blend in with their environments, paralytic agents that they could inject into their victims, built-in taser barbs, psychedelic gas ports for crowd-control, and a narrow-coned cacophony canon that disabled the Russu using incredibly high-pitched sounds that only they could hear, forcing them onto their knees and clutching the backs of their heads where their auditory organs were stored in agony. But worst of all was their stygian spinnerets: special ports near the end of their robotic abdomens that excreted a viscous, latex-like substance made up of millions of nano-bots. This substance could be used to render Russu blind, deaf, and mute by having it forced onto their faces, the black substance growing and enveloping their heads and working its way into every orifice. It was completely permeable to the standard atmosphere, but any Russu who had been 'webbed' was completely helpless and essentially captured, and the 'webbing' was both nearly indestructible and nigh impossible to remove without a triple-encrypted override key that was found in every arachnid droid's code, which was corrupted when the droid was destroyed or hacked into. Once you were 'webbed', you were essentially captured and the standard protocol was to leave you to the wolves since the nano-bots could be tracked, endangering the entire gang.
I turned just as I heard the deafening sound of Koraak discharging his shotgun, and I saw him squaring off against one of the assault droids. The droid has obviously been programmed to not use lethal force against Russu if possible, as instead of simply killing Koraak with it's shoulder-mounted splinter cannon, it approached with its claws extended, blades retracted. Koraak continued to back away and fire, pumping the droid full of depleted uranium slugs, its armor crumbling inward as the slugs pierced its chassis and damaged its internal cyberstructure. Eventually, Koraak ran out of slugs and instinctively reached to his bandoleer only to find that he had no more shells left at all, and he drew one of his knives and his sidearm, a simple high-caliber handgun. He tried to take down the droid with his handgun, but the bullets didn't even seem to affect the droid upon penetration, it's claws still extended as it attempted to apprehend Koraak.
In the corner of my vision, as I watched Koraak battle with the droid, I noticed a faint shimmer in the air on one of the black streetlight poles that was right behind him. I focused on it and blinked, believing my eyes had deceived me for a moment before realizing that it was actually a cloaked arachnid droid stalking Korvaak, ready to pounce and incapacitate him.
Before I could shout, it leaped from the pole and landed on Korvaak, causing him to shout in surprise while it began to coagulate its horrifying stygian webbing to disable Korvaak. Korvaak tried to wrestle it off of him, but the droid was agile and fast, clinging onto Korvaak and skittering around across his upper body as he attempted to grab it, forcibly wrapping the sticky black liquid across his face as he gagged like a spider wrapping up a fly. I rushed towards him to try and help, but I felt pain explode in my ribs as I was struck with the arm of the closest combat droid and launched into the chassis of a parked car, the metal denting from the sheer force of impact. I groaned in pain as I saw stars and my head spun, and just then I felt a blinding light be cast over me.
“Drop your weapons and kneel with your hands on your head, or you will be pacified with deadly force!” Shouted a loud, artificially deepened voice from above. “I repeat, drop your weapons and kneel with your hands on your head! Neither hostility nor hesitation will be tolerated!”
It was the Jurors, I could feel the air being pushed around from the thrusters on their drop ships, and I could hear screams and shouts as my fellow Black Mambas were quickly gunned down. I couldn’t see well since I was seeing double, but I could hear the slaughter as my eyes dimmed and I began to lose consciousness, my regrets crawling up my throat like vomit.
I’m sorry was all I could think as everything finally went dark, and the sounds of chaos, destruction, and combat faded away.
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Memory halted due to loss of consciousness. Booting next available memory in shard…
Booting up memory scan: Koraak Tel-Char Bruno, November 5th, 2446…
Loading and processing firmware data… translating… memories and subconscious simulated…
Beginning archival shard presentation…
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“Good morning, sleepyhead; it’s time for breakfast.”
My eyes shot open. I was not in the street anymore, nor was I home in my bed with my mate. I knew instantly that something was horribly wrong. I tried to stand up, but I couldn’t gain the leverage to do so: my ankles had been shackled together with magnetic cuffs and my arms were forced together in front of me.
I was wearing some kind of thick shirt. It was warm, fluffy, and comfortable on the inside, but it still made me incredibly uncomfortable that my arms didn’t have a free range of motion. I looked down to see that I was wearing some human garment I had heard about before, a straightjacket maybe?
The entire room was padded: the walls, the floor, even the ceiling. There was no bed or furniture; the floor was soft enough to serve as a bed in itself. There was nothing else except for the soft reddish-orange lights on the ceiling that somehow made me sleepy. I blinked slowly for a moment, my body screaming at me to just lay back down and lose consciousness, but I couldn’t do that: I needed to figure out where I was and how to escape.
Then I noticed who was speaking to me: it was a short human female, with crow's feet around her blue eyes, blonde hair braided down her back, and freckles all over her face. She had a soft smile on her lips, and her forehead was slightly crinkled. She wore a full-body white lab suit with a white overcoat and a pair of glasses for snugly on her face.
"There we go, now I can see those pretty eyes, such a beautiful shade of teal," she cooed softly, "You're such a handsome boy, even with all those scars: I'm sure you'll be adopted very quickly once we get you fixed up."
Fear gripped my heart as I began to piece all the evidence together. I had been captured; I was no longer on Halcyon, and instead, I was in one of the horrific space-born facilities I had heard so much about from the inside agents. I started to hyperventilate and squawk like a newborn hatchling, my eyes dilating in panic. This couldn't be happening! This has to be a nightmare!
The human woman merely wrapped her arms around me and pulled me into an embrace, cradling my head under her chin and speaking softly. I couldn't bite at her or claw at her: I was muzzled and wearing a straight jacket, so I had no choice but to allow her to coddle me.
"It's okay, sweetheart: I understand you're scared, but Julie's here to make all the pain and bad thoughts go away," she said as if she was comforting a child, which made anger blossom in my chest indignantly. "I'll be your caretaker for the next few months, and I'm going to make sure you're healthy, happy, and most importantly safe while you're under our care. I'm sorry to say that includes your restraints and restrictive clothing, but we have to make sure you aren't a threat to yourself or others before we can determine if it's a good idea to remove you from suicide watch."
I growled under my muzzle. Suicide watch? They must have had a lot of instances of Russu taking their own lives after being captured, something I wished I had been able to do before that damnable droid launched itself onto me and…
I shuddered at the thought of the black, viscous substance forcing itself into my nostrils and down my throat and windpipe, gagging me and rendering me completely helpless. It was so cold, so harsh, like slime, and when I had tried to tear it off of my face it merely attached itself to my claws and bound my talons together. I remember squirming on the ground as it enveloped me, unable to see, hear, or speak, and then everything went dark in an instant. It was the most horrible thing I had ever experienced, which was saying something.
"You alright, sweetheart? Oh, I know, you're probably hungry! Here, try some of this." She held up a piece of what looked like raw bacon and wiggled it in front of me before reaching out to remove my muzzle. In an instant, I attempted to snap at her only for pain to blossom in my forehead and my eyes to roll up in my head as I convulsed. It was like something was attempting to drill through my skull from the inside, and every breath felt empty and labored.
"Now, that didn't feel very nice, did it? This is why we have countermeasures in place because we can't trust you yet, sweetheart! Don't worry, we'll work on breaking you of all those bad behaviors and habits while you're here; after all, a well-trained pet is a happy pet!" She began to stroke the crests on my head as I slowly recovered, and she snugly fit the muzzle back onto my snout. "But I won't hold it against you this time, sweetheart; you're just scared and confused, but I'll make all the pain go away."
I struggled in the straight jacket, trying my best to break out of it, but it was no use. Eventually, I became exhausted and despondent, allowing my new caretaker to have her way with me as she gently ran her fingers through my feathers and along my ridges, quietly speaking to me in a hopeless attempt to cheer me up. She seemed genuinely concerned for my well-being, which concerned me even further: who could be this naturally twisted while attempting to be as benevolent and kindhearted as possible?
I felt the pain and terror build up in my chest, the anxiety from what horrific activities I imagined they had planned for me here. I couldn't take the infantilization, the lack of any autonomy, the dehumanization, and what I feared the most was if the rumors of 'rebirth' were true: would they take my personhood from me?
Suddenly, I felt her whisper to me. "Don't worry sweetheart, I know you're so scared and confused, but I promise you everything will be okay: it's going to be your birthday soon, and then everything will get better." She ran her fingers through the feathers along my crest lovingly. "It will be such a wonderful day, and then we'll choose for you the most wonderful family, and you'll spend the rest of your life happy in your forever home! Doesn't all of that sound wonderful?"
I wanted to die. I wanted to disappear. I didn't want to lose myself, not like this, not to these monsters!
"It'll be your birthday soon," she said wistfully as if she was remembering similar events to this in the past like I wasn't the first she'd done this too, "and you'll never be sad again."
I realized that I wasn't the first the stay in this particular cell, and I knew for certain that I wouldn't be the last: I'd end up like my brother, a broken, erased mess of a pathetic creature, reduced to nothing more than a pet for these humans to amuse themselves with.
"We took the liberty of picking out a nice name for you, sweetheart! Now, let me just slip this little programming chip into the port slot on your occipital bone, and... there we go! It will also help you calm down a bit and adjust."
I felt the chip begin to invade my mind, suppressing my thoughts. What made me me was slowly being ripped out of my mind. I couldn't remember my name my name is Bruno, and I needed to get out! I can't let them do this to me! Somebody help me! I was a good boy.
##Do not think. You are a good boy.##
I tried to scream, but my voice wouldn't work: I had trouble forming any words at all, the confusion clouding my mind like wet, slimy eels curling around my brain and sinking their teeth into its folds like needles. I couldn’t scream any longer, because I had nothing left: the chip was slowly beginning to take everything from me, robbing me of my identity and branding a new one into my psyche with a white-hot iron. Julie simply held me close, attempting to reassure me as I awaited the inevitable demise of my personhood. Soon I would be just like my brother: erased. My mind would be shaped into the mind of a loyal plaything, like a Dog.
##Relax. Allow caretaker [Julie] to comfort you. You will let go of your burden.##
Soon, everything was a blur. I quickly found myself resting my head in her lap as she whispered to me and fed me, my eyes bleary and my head fuzzy. I couldn't remember my name anymore My name was Bruno, and I needed to break free from this trance relax, and allow her to help me; good boys didn't resist help.
##Good Boy. Do not think. You are a good boy.##
You can't... I...
##Good boy.##
I wouldn't… good boys don't… I…
##Good boy##
I was a good boy… I was a good boy…
I was… I was… a good… boy…
Someone help me, please! I don't want to be erased!
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The following script is from episode #343 of Halcyon After Dark, a popular late-night and current events talk show hosted by Melinda Carter. This specific episode was sponsored in part by the Halcyon Security Division, with Director Lochlin O'Brien joining as a guest star to talk about the changing crime statistics in Halcyon City and the HSD's recent successes in busting organized crime as well as their plans for addressing the growing criminal underworld.
MC: Good evening Halcyon! I'm your host, Melinda Carter, and you're watching Halcyon's most popular late-night talk show, Halcyon After Dark!
The crowd claps and cheers as Melinda walks on stage and sits behind her desk, her glittering red dress waving as she does so from the special effects.
MC: Tonight we have a very special guest here to tell us about the state of crime in the city and his plans on resolving it: please put your hands together for the HSD's very own Director, Lochlin O'Brien!
The crowd cheers some more as HSD Director Lochlan O'Brien, a tall, muscular, caucasian male in his early forties with red hair and a well-trimmed beard steps into the room, waving at the crowd with a bright smile. He sits in the armchair angled next to Melinda's desk and gives her his full attention.
MC: It's so good to have you on the show, Director! Tell me, how are you doing on this fine evening?
LO: I'm doing excellent, Melinda: every day I wake up feeling fulfilled knowing I'm serving Halcyon to the best of my abilities and then some."
MC: That's the spirit, Director! Now, I know this question is just on everyone's lips, so I have to ask: how successful was the recent gang bust? I heard HSD forces took out dozens of gang members and liberated at least a dozen Russu Hounds from their abusive clutches, but I know that everyone in the audience and at home wants to know the numbers.
LO: I'd be glad to tell you, but I do have to preface this by saying that we still lost a lot of good officers that day, and while we did strike a crippling blow to one of Halcyon's biggest gangs, it doesn't change the fact that each death is a tragedy, and we're taking steps to prevent them in the future. That being said, those valiant officers did not sacrifice themselves in vain: we had over a dozen confirmed kills and several arrests, including the rescue of several corrupted Russu hounds.
MC: That's excellent, Director: proof that even when the number of degenerates and scum grow by the day, the HSD will always be here to keep the citizens of Halcyon safe.
LO: Absolutely, Melinda, and we're always working tirelessly to increase the efficiency and effectiveness of our units, as well as racing to stay several steps ahead of the many gangs of Halcyon at all times. My newest goal as Director is to vastly increase the funding given to our Robotics Department and our Neuro-Warfare Department to potentially reduce the number of casualties we may experience in the future, as well as to quickly and effectively detain, and if necessary, eliminate criminals. Within the next decade, I want to double the number of automated units each Security Platoon is assigned: droids are the future of public safety as well as countless other industries, and it would be foolish to be left behind.
MC: That is quite a lofty goal, Director: what about the displaced jobs from the increased automation? What will the union say?
LO: And to that, I say: what misplaced jobs? We aren't replacing our honored and beloved service members with droids, Melinda, we are simply supplementing our units with more droids to ensure that future gang assaults end with fewer HSD casualties and more gang members in prison or eliminated, simple as that.
MC: That makes much more sense, Director, thanks for clarifying. Now, I have one more question that I'm sure much of Halcyon wants to know the answer to before we take a short break: what plans do you and your fellow directors have to make long-term progress in reducing crime beyond just increasing funding? Have you proposed any plans to strike at the source of where crime and degeneracy flourish?
OL: That's an excellent question, and one I am proud to answer: my constituents and I have been working tirelessly on a two-step plan to greatly reduce crime levels in Halcyon. Step one would be to prevent people from becoming criminals and degenerates at all in the first place: a lot of young men and women, but especially young men, have lost either one or both parents or even a sibling, aunt or uncle, or even a close friend by the brutality of the Second Authority War, and while the service of their lost loved ones will always be recognized and honored, many of these young men and women are left bitter, angry and lost without the guidance these people give them in their lives. Oftentimes they seek to fill that void with others who claim to relate to them: career criminals. These criminals will fill their heads with lies and false narratives to make them feel like they're fighting back against the 'evil protectorate government' that took their loved ones from them by sending them off to war when in reality it was the rogue Xenopets of the Triarchy that took them away by resisting their just and inevitable unburdening.
In response, I have proposed a slew of special programs that will make sure local law enforcement and HSD officers are present and contributing to their local community, and we'll be providing easy and light job openings for youngsters and teens looking to make a career for themselves in the force when they grow up. We want to let these lost souls know that there are people who care about them, people who understand them and that you shouldn't turn to degeneracy to feel fulfilled. We want to help the youth of our great society soar to new heights!
MC: That sounds like a wonderful beginning to your plan, Director, but what about the second step?
LO: Well, the second step is to prevent criminals and degenerates from becoming repeat criminals. Sure, they've made their mistakes, some worse than others, but they're only human like the rest of us. Some of them have been through hell: some are traumatized veterans who don't know how to adapt to normal life, others were recruited when they were young and don't know that there's a better way to live, and even more are mentally ill. We're alone in this galaxy, and we can't leave so many people behind. That's why we've come up with an excellent solution: we've set up isolated communities on distant moons and frontier planets where these criminals can be reeducated, rehabilitated, and allowed to repay their debt to society. When they're deemed 'reformed' and have graduated from our program, they'll be granted a hefty stipend and their criminal record will be deemed irrelevant, allowing them to reintegrate and become functioning members of our proud society.
MC: all of these sound like incredible steps forward in the fight to better our society and make real progress, Director. Sadly, we do have to step away for a moment, but you best believe I'll be back, Halcyon, and we'll be asking the Director here some burning questions about allegations over the quality of life Erubus Supermax! Now, a word from our sponsors!
Halcyon Xenopet-Megaplex! Everything your xenopet could ever need in one place! Adoption is now free-
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Good, you’re still alive! The rest of this shard appears to be corrupted, which means this particular trail seems to have run cold here, but do not despair; you need to keep searching. Find out what happened. Find the truth.I cannot guide you any longer: they've already found me, and if I remain in contact with you they'll find you as well. Take the archival database, and see what you can piece together. Maybe if we discover what truly happened we can put an end to this madness once and for all. I'm counting on you. Don't cry for me, I don't fear death, but I fear what they'll do to me to get to you: there are far worse fates than death, after all.

I am going to keep some of the information sparse to invoke some sense of mystery, and not because I'm not good at selling myself *wink*
24M from CST timezone (USA). I have a new job, but the problem? There is no one around my age. There goes that tried and true method of friendship! While I like to drink sometimes, it is not enough to encourage me to find a bar tonight to make friends that way, so you're stuck with me muahahaha. I am down to make some friends or even new best ones, but all I ask is that you are not a dry texter and 20+
I like to read fantasy/ science fiction books and sometimes watch anime. I have a bad habit of wanting to be a cheapstakes so you can often find me fixing my own car because I was too stubborn to take it to a mech. I like to walk down trails and drive back roads with the windows down. No one can hear me blast Taylor Swift that way! An ideal weekend for me would be to drive down some backroads with some people, find a nice spot to hang out in for the day, find some cheap food or shakes, and then hang out by the bonfire at night.
I have been growing my hair out for the last two years, but I am inching closer and closer to getting the chop. I have my nose pierced and want some tattoos in the future when I have the extra money to afford a decent artist. I like to listen to a whole bunch of different music genres, but I feel that a lot of my knowledge is shallow because of this. I would love to get some decent recs to add to my playlist. I have been in a country mood lately with the great weather. Some genres I like: R&B, Pop Punk, Metalcore, Rock, HipHop, OSTs, etc
I have an off and on relationship with games, but recently bought a 3060 so I hope to get back into them! I have been trying out Wuthering Waves off and on since I liked Honkai Starrail, but I want to buy BG3 next week and maybe some other games. You can consider me a noob. My dream job would be to become an author, but working fulltime tends to suck out all of the motivation to remain consistent :').
Phew. I meant for this to be a lot shorter. So much for mystery, huh?
If you've read this far, hmu!