Why didn't/couldn't Sidorovich, Barkeep and Sakharov recognize Strelok during SoC events?
This might seem like a plothole, but it actually isn't. Sid didn't know Strelok personally:
"Yeah, I've heard of a stalker by that name. Rumors is he's one of the few who went to the center of the Zone and made it back. Still, we got so many of these legendary stories about stalker heroes that I can't really guarantee anything. At any rate, I've never dealt with him personally. It seems he has his own trading channels. Anyhow, just ask the folks here in the Zone and you'll be sure to learn a lot more." Clear Sky confirms that his words are true, because during CS events it was Fang who had a business with Sidorovich and not Strelok.
Additional proof: https://snipboard.io/A4Pxgp.jpg https://snipboard.io/piHsac.jpg
Barkeep's dialogue:
"An experienced stalker as far as I know. He used to "work" through the northern exits from the Zone. He was hardly ever seen here but there are rumors that he took his group right into the center of the Zone."
Additional proof: https://snipboard.io/Y4EmM2.jpg
About Sakharov - There are plenty of possible explanations for the fact that he doesn't recognize Strelok, but the closest we have to an official explanation is included in the design document of the original storyline of the prequel, where it's said that Strelok's face was bandaged at the time:
"Strelok, whose face is still covered with bandages, comes to Sakharov and tells that he is planning a trip to the CNPP."
Of course, it's not really canon, but it still works.
Why won't military just bomb the Zone?
First of all, they already tried but failed:
"I can't really get into that - we've got some discipline in this place, after all. Our general Krylov certainly used to be a military man. I heard a few stories about how, just as the Zone formed, the government organized a military operation in here. They were sent to the very center of the Zone with an order to blow it all to hell with nuclear explosives. Can you imagine what that means? These guys were sent with no protection, no detectors, no information about what to expect in the Zone. Many perished in anomalies right off, and most of those who didn't were done in by an emission. The few survivors were left behind to die a slow death. General Krylov is one of those few. I don't know who he's pals with, but he hates the military ever since he and his buddies were sent straight to their deaths. He's got some connections in Spetsnaz though. Spetsnaz only got real men. Sometimes Duty crosses paths with them. That's pretty much it - consider it the abridged version." - Dialogue of Zvyagintsev
Additional proof: https://snipboard.io/HP1pVq.jpg
Second of all, it's obviously a very bad idea.
"Everyone who believes in the Monolith is completely nuts. They keep banging on about it but nobody actually knows what's in the center of the Zone. An invisible crystal that fell from the skies...ha-ha-ha! I reckon one of the secret labs blew up - I mean some stalkers used to work in a few of them. But, obviously, you can't bomb the Zone. Not only will the radiation spread all over the world, half of Europe would be flattened by the Zone's reaction. "Someone" has gone totally mad lately - I heard they're killing normal stalkers for no reason at all. How do you like that? Damn fanatics." - Dialogue of Random 100 Rads Bar Dutyer
Additional proof: https://snipboard.io/oWRgr0.jpg
Is the Zone growing?
Only SoC presents this idea. Neither Clear Sky nor Call of Pripyat mentioned anything about Zone's expansion. In fact, Hermann in CoP just said that Zone is evolving, while Loki directly said that it isn't getting bigger:
"They're idiots, that's what I think. I mean, why the hell would they want to destroy the Zone? it's not consuming precious resources or getting bigger... or anything. They could just sit there and study it to their heart's content - just think of how many scientific discoveries could be made... I mean, in the history of man-kind, no one has never been able to understand antigravitation, right? And in the Zone you've got ready-made antigravitation devices lying all over the place. It wouldn't hurt to kick their asses out of here, but it's too much hassle. By the way, don't be confused by our relations here at Yanov. We are at war... it's just that Yanov has been made neutral territory, if you know what I mean." - Loki
Additional proof: https://snipboard.io/UQ8ZEO.jpg
If The Zone is practically known globally then how come we aren't seeing other world governments trying to send people of their own to study it?
"Right... I seem to remember you asking me about something last night, though I can't recall... Ah, got it. You wanted to know why it's only our eggheads messing around in the Zone. Curious why the foreigners won't show up, even though there's enough stuff here for thousands of Nobles prizes... Alright, let's see. First of all, what the heck do they need coming down here for, when they can simply pay some of our guys and get the results on a silver plate? Second of all, they've actually been there themselves, and quite a lot of them, too. It's just that in the last two years these gringos have been badly scared of going into the Zone..." - Fragment from PDA entry called "The chronicles of egghead globalists"
"Ever heard about Station Thirty-Two? That's where they all bit the bullet. It was all quiet at first, pretty much normal... They'd be reading their meters, taking samples, poking their gear into anomalies... And then they all started going nuts. Every friggin one of them. Everyone slowly going off their rocker. One of ours, the one that retired eventually, told me about it... Some actually ripped their own throats open, other would smash their heads against the wall, and some would simply... Gun in their mouth and... And then the beasts started swarming all over them. Those few who were still sane enough barricaded themselves in the house. You get the picture, right? Dark night, all the local beasties outside, and people going nuts one after another inside. In short, in the morning those who still had it together broke out of there somehow. Went straight on, even got caught in some anomalies... Got to the Rotten Forest... But none of those who had been left behind have been found. they say loads of controllers were recorded in that area. that's how it was... Since then, no one goes anywhere near Station Thirty-Two, and the foreigners steer clear of the Zone... " - Another fragment from that entry
Additional proof: https://snipboard.io/ZEXgNy.jpg (Part 1) https://snipboard.io/gksjHB.jpg (Part 2) https://snipboard.io/Zc8W2G.jpg (Part 3.)
"There are always developments in the Zone, and they're always interesting. I already told you about Monolith - they're on everybody's tongue... Have you heard about a new major expedition into the Zone? Technically, they're environmental researchers from the UN, but that's just on paper. Sure, they got a couple four-eyed scientists, but just one look at all the others tells you they're seasoned fighters. No idea why they're here. Oh, and dig this: they're not using guides. Either they're being guided by satellite, or their mission is so secret that no one else could be let in on it. They seem to be approaching the Radar. I dunno how this will end, but I got a feeling it won't be pretty." - Dialogue of Hog
Additional proof: https://snipboard.io/oejv2a.jpg
What happened to Scar?
There can be many answers to this question. Scar's fate could have turned out in many ways - perhaps, if the brainwashing process failed, he became simply zombified; if it was successful, he could've died while being transported in the death truck; if this didn't happen, he had a clearly defined task to perform, and could die while trying to do it; if he survived, he might still be wandering around the Zone as an amnesiac.
It's also possible that he simply died during the emission, or was captured but somehow managed to overcome the brainwashing process and escaped from whatever laboratory it was taking place in.
Monolith's weaponry. How do they have so many guns?
It can be partially explained by a couple of things. First thing that should be noted is that Monolith before trilogy used to be different faction. It can be assumed that they already had decent weapons (I have another post which includes dialogues about older Monolith) https://www.reddit.com/stalkecomments/1ax5u7x/interesting_facts_about_the_monolith_faction/
Second thing is that even rookies know that they gotta get better equipment before going deeper into the Zone:
"For now I'm just gaining experience and saving up some coin. As soon as I have enough, I'll buy me a good shooter and armor, and head straight for the center of the Zone. Rumor has it some guys already made it there and found the Wish Granter. That's where I'm gonna go. And when I find it, I won't go wrong with my wish, you can bet on that!" - Dialogue of Cordon Loner in Clear Sky
Additional proof: https://snipboard.io/bqyuzA.jpg
And lastly, C-Consciousness Representative said "From the moment the Zone was formed, many people have tried to get to its center". Many people seem to think that Brain Scorcher only turns people into zombies, but it seems that it was also capable of converting them to Monolith:
"Brothers, as we were patrolling the outskirts of the Dark Forest we came upon an unfaithful loner. We did not kill him, seeing as he was already on his way to conversion, although he was still half-way in his animal state... Such is the wisdom of the Monolith: once again it revealed to us the true countenance of our enemies." - PDA entry called "A convert in the Black Forest"
Additional proof: https://snipboard.io/jC2MPJ.jpg
About their suits - there can be more than 1 answer.
It's interesting to point out that Monolith suit was located in lab X-18. Either the faction stashed them there, or they were here before. A possible explanation could be that such suits were used by guards of the secret facilities in the Zone before the 2nd disaster
I think this is important to point out too
"Stalker suit from the Monolith faction. The producer is unknown. Its protective properties are slightly worse then those of the PSZ-9a military bulletproof vest. Its structure is similar to the suit popular with neutral stalkers which combines a bulletproof vest and a radiation protection suit. It provides good protection from gunfire. Its level of anomaly protection is low due to the absence of an air" - Description of Monolith Suit
Additional proof: https://snipboard.io/XITJs4.jpg
"Stalker suit manufactured by "folk craftsmen". It is an effective combination of a light military bulletproof vest and of a rubberized fabric suit. It is reinforced with inserted kevlar plates and provides good protection from weak gunfire. All in all it is highly inefficient for carrying out deep raids and serious operations in the knots of the Zone." - Stalker Suit (Sunrise)
Additional proof: https://snipboard.io/zMGpqd.jpg
Lastly, Yantar loner NPCs in Clear Sky mention in their dialogue mention very interesting thing:
"I heard a whole faction went missing in the Zone. You ever heard of Monolith? Well, they used to protect the Zone from others, but they made a move towards the center right before the Emission. Nobody has heard from them since, but recently some real aggressive stalkers have been attacking from where the Scorcher is, killing everyone and asking no questions. I know because I saw them myself around the military warehouses, and I reckon they might be those same Monolithians who disappeared. It wouldn't surprise me, because their uniforms looked real similar." Other than a fact that Monolith faction of the trilogy had members from older Monolith who wore similar uniform, dead bodies of Monolithians in Clear Sky, that are scattered over the Zone very well could be the dead bodies of older Monolith faction

[SOLVED]
Hello, everyone!
The Eastern Dark Zone showed me that I am nowhere near ready to take on the enemies. Thus, I traced back my steps to find where my problem is. I'm starting to think my build is absolutely garbage, given that it is comprised of items entirely found throughout the story..
I aim to build a Glass Cannon that relies mostly on stealth. The story took me to the following build. I was hoping you guys could orient me a bit:

Weapons:

High End Designated Hitter (DMG 53.4k) +2.0% Marksman Rifle Damange +29.0% Headshot Damage +2.3% Reload Speed
High End AK-M (DMG 7828) +3.7% Assault Rifle Damange +4.5% Health Damage +3.4% Accuracy

Gear:

Facemask: LVL 30 Luktskydd Protective Mask High End (ARMOR 7294) +10% Assault Rifle Damage +2.6% Weapon Damage +2.5% Weapon Handling +1.5% Explosive Resistance +3.0% Critical Hit Damage
Vest: LVL 29 "Pointblank" Protection Vest Superior (ARMOR 12K) +10.0% Rifle Damage +30.0% Accuracy +2.8% Weapon Damage +2.6 Headshot Damage +2.6 Skill Damage Talent: Mad Bomber (+50% radius for nades, kills refund nades, cookable nades, +15% armor when aiming nades)
Holster: LVL 29 "Morar" Holster System High End (ARMOR 9030) +20.0% Pistol Damage +30.0% Stability +2.2% Weapon Damage +2.5% Critical Hit Damage +1.4% Critical Hit Chance
Backpack: LVL 23 Demeter Quick-Stash High End (ARMOR 5222) +10.0% Marksman Rifle Damage +2.3% Weapon Damage +2.1% Crit Hit Damage Increased Armor Regen +2.8% Crit Hit Damage Talent: Full armor increases skill repair.
Gloves: LVL 29 "Neptune" Protection Gloves Superior (ARMOR 6018) +10.0% Rifle Damage +30.0% Accuracy +2.6% Weapon Damage +1.6% Crit Hit Chance +2.8% Crit Hit Damage
Kneepads: LVL 30 "Tay" Protective Pads Superior (ARMOR 8327) +20.0% Pistol Damage +30.0% Stability +2.0% Weapon Damage +2.0% Weapon Handling +1.4% Crit Hit Chance
Lastly, I have a Hive that fixes armor and a Drone and SMGs enemies.
I should highlight the fact that I am a recent player. I have no clue on many things, such as how to "roll" gear. The latter being because I haven't found the corresponding tool or workbench to do so.
I did some research on the matter, but I am having a lot of trouble understanding the technical terms and specific words regarding The Division 2. It gets a bit overwhelming and frustrating.
What I was looking for is a 101 breakdown of how to upgrade my gear and what to keep an eye out for so I can reach a good amount of damage overall. No need to go into detail. I can look into that myself. But I could really use a "go to the roll workbench, which is in [REDACTED], and try to get the [REDACTED] result", or something along those lines. Mainly all the ways I can look for, craft, and obtain better gear, whether it is by crafting, hunting, crafting, or grinding the DZ.
Thanks!

So I was playing some modded single player with the advanced body armor system and all the ai are super hard to kill now, one took 7 .50 bmg rounds to head/chest before he dropped then got back up and took another 4. (The ace mod enemies can passout then wake back up) Another ai took 3 155 howitzer shells directly on him before he died. (I was using zues to help clear an area). For me no matter how many plates i have in my vest i always get i tapped by some guy with an m4. Is there a way for the mod to detect other mods ammo/ ballistics or make it so ai aren't so hard to kill? Maybe also make it so it actually works for me?

[FIRST][LAST]
Atlantis Commission
Officer Report - Lieutenant Colonel John Shepard
CLEARANCE LEVEL 5
Well this had definitely been a very interesting couple of hours. This dimension and its people had very odd opinions and ideas. Apparently the prey species of this dimension were all obligate cowards, whose instincts compelled them to be non-violent and run from threats. At least according to themselves. There were apparently some of them who were “predator diseased” as they called it, a disease which often resulted in increased violence, aggression, lack of empathy, and unheard like behavior. It sounded to me like some form of infectious psychopathy, but the venlil assured us it shouldn't affect us since we were predators, which didn’t really ease my fears, but hopefully it was something we could figure out when we got home if it ever became a problem.
Gotta love mandatory quarantine periods woo hoo!
As scary as this odd disease sounded, my main concern at the moment was to try and turn a professed coward into someone who could at the very least defend themselves.
I looked down to the table of gear ahead of me and then over to the mostly naked Venlil to my side, and then even farther to Tiel’c who thought It would be a good idea to help oversee Farva’s rapid fire training course. I fiddled with the bluetooth earpiece which was rigged up to one of our handhelds to run a translation program to speak directly with the captain. A big step up from our unknowingly one sided communications earlier.
I stepped on the other side of the plastic table and placed my hands down upon it and looked on at my new student..
“Welcome Captain Farva to our very impromptu accelerated course on Human arms armor and basic infantry tactics.” I said gesturing to the hodge podge gear we had managed to assemble for the good captain. “Are we ready to begin?”.
She flicked her ears, somewhat nervously by the looks.
“I’d take it that's a yes then?”
“Oh yes sorry”
“Alright then, well given that most of our crew is human and the only other alien struts around naked all the time, the only gear we have on hand is for humans, So you're going to be running size smalls and it's all going to fit all a bit big” I say as I toss her the tactical vest. ”Here try this on, we can try to tighten it up if it's a bit loose anywhere”. The captain wrestles with the buckles a bit, and Teal'c helps her tighten up some of the top straps, as the Venil’s shoulders weren't as broad as humans. Farva gave Teal’c an odd look, but seemed appreciative none the less.Once finished, she grasped the vest in her paws with interest. “This armor seems quite lightweight, which is nice, weight is often an issue that causes us to forgo armor, since heavy armor would hurt our running ability.” Farva remarks. “Also the sheer amount of pockets seems quite excessive, what do you need all these for?”
“Well for starters it's currently missing these '' I hand Farva one of the armor plates which she looks over. “That is a depleted Naquadria ceramic composite plate. It’s designed to stop bullet impacts and dissipate energy weapon blasts. It slots into that chest compartment in the front and back of your armor.”
“This isn't quite what Id imagine for the armor of your kind”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well judging by your ships I would have imagined you would put more emphasis on defense Your predatory nature would make you less likely to run away from conflict allowing for more encompassing armor to cover more than just your chest, since you have less need to run.”
She would put it like that.
“Well there are a number of reasons for that, a lot to do with those excess pockets you mentioned. For starters you will not be carrying the same amount of gear that the standard infantry unit would normally be carrying, we are preparing you for a quick in and out op. Normally us expedition teams need to be deployed into unknown territory for extended periods of time, we need to carry everything we might need with us from food, bullets, weapons, to comms gear, sensors, repelling equipment etc. The weight from all that gear adds up fast; In order to stay sufficiently mobile and combat effective; we only carry enough armor to protect our vitals, head and torso, anything else can hopefully be patched up by a field medic.”
Tielc gave his piece as well. “It is important to know when to run both towards and aways from one's foes, not every battle can be won through strength alone, but by strategy and cunning. Being able to reposition oneself quickly is therefore highly advantageous”
Farva seemed to freeze at Teal'c's statement, not out of fear I think, she instead had a distant look in her eye. To snap her out of her slump I handed her a standard ballistic helmet.
Seeming to get the idea she looked at it oddly and tried it on. It confirmed to her head shape decently well but depressed her ears to either side of her head, kind of resembling what one might imagine a sad bunny rabbit to look like “I don't think this will be something I can bring with me” she said ” I can't use ear signals and this will muffle my hearing.”
“Why don’t you keep it on for the time being, I think any extra hearing protection might be useful considering what we are about to try next.” I hand Farva some ballistic ear protectors, slightly modified and somewhat ramshackle. “One of the corporals worked closely with Nurse Fila to get an idea for safe decibels levels for your kind, we were also able to get these earbuds molded to fit into your ear canal better”
Farva took them and slipped them in. “These are a bit uncomfortable, what do I need these for?”
“You'll need them for this” I say as I unsnap the clasps on the weapons case revealing its contents.
The content seems to capture Farva’s interest, getting a slight tail wave.
“Okay So this here is a p90, It carries a 50 round top loading magazine of teflon coated armor piercing ordnance. With a cyclical rate of fire of 900 rounds per minute.”
Farvas ears perk up at this. “This seems like an efficient design, I take it these are a flashlight and laser sight for accuracy?” She asked, pointing to the top of the weapon.
“Yes we also have holographic and acog optics which will help line up targets from farther away.” I look on as Farva picks up the weapon and inspects it, testing the weight as I note that it will weigh a fair bit more once loaded. But she doesn't seem to be struggling with the weight. I can't help but notice good firearm safety as well, she keeps her finger well off the trigger and takes care to keep her weapon pointed aways from anyone else.
“This seems like a solid design but I'm not sure how useful those weapon optics would be, as they are not designed for my side facing eyes”
“I'm sure our master at arms can figure something out, why don't we give it a test fire first tho, before we send it off to make adjustments.” I instruct her on how to load the weapon and turn the safety off. I warn her of the sound it makes. And while definitely taken aback by the recoil and sound at first, she quickly gets the hang of it, she has some respectable shot groupings in both single fire and in short bursts. And keeps the rounds reasonably centered while firing in full auto.
She did a whole lot better than I would have initially suspected given her performance in the hanger bay a day before.
“The rate of fire seems useful” Farva spoke “This would be useful for our soldiers, our accuracy falters when we are panicked, and the increased shot count should guarantee some hits based on volume of fire alone” she finished with a dejected expression.
She quickly places the weapon back in its case, as if it burned to touch.” I don't know if I should be armed for this mission, at least not with that weapon, I don't want to miss and hit one of you in the back!”
“What? Nonsense, you are a great shot, and this is just a precaution in case we get separated or flanked and need some covering fire. If our guys are doing their job right you shouldn't need to fire a single round anyways.”
Captain Farva’s breathing started to hasten, earlier I might have thought it was fear, but I was starting to get an idea of what the captain's issues were. I’ve seen this before.
“I.. I can’t be trusted with this responsibility, every time I am left in charge of something, every time people put their lives in my paws I ....”
“Farva, don’t you start with me now you hear.” I said sternly, swiftly capping off her inevitable spiral of self doubt.
“But.. no.. you don’t understand”
Stopping her again I spoke. “But nothing, what happened before on that ship, and back at that colony is in the past. I don’t know your whole situation, but from what I have gathered from the crew It was nothing good. You feel responsible and it's eating away at you, and frankly it doesn’t matter if that's true or not. Accidents happen, people make mistakes, and when that happens we need to learn, take those lessons to heart, and don't let it stop us from helping people in the present. If you let guilt, or fear of mistakes stop you, then bad guys have already won, all without having to have fired a shot”
Farva is quiet for a short time, I was hoping I got through to her, I'm not the best and pep talks and this certainly wasn’t your typical weapons demo, if only everyones could go as smoothly as Ronan’s.
Farva spoke quietly, arms pressed up against her chest, she looked so sad, defeated, and small. Well more than usual anyways. “We can't be strong like you humans, we are too emotional and when we are scared we run away or we lock up and...”
“And that is clearly not the case with you captain Farva” Teal’c finally reentered the conversation having heard enough. “You have shown courage with every action you have taken so far, your actions have saved the lives of many of your crew, every time you have been threatened you acted not just to protect yourself but others as well. You attempted to contend with beings many times your size without even thinking about it, all in the effort to protect others, and this is only in the time we have known you, this speaks nothing of your actions over the colony. You are a warrior of admirable courage Captain Farva, your self doubt is unearned.”
A single tear rolled down Farva’s eyes which she quickly wiped away. “That was very nice of you to say, but I'm not brave like you say, I was terrified out of my mind the whole time.”
Teal’c looked puzzled. “I did not call you brave, I said you were courageous.”
Farva shot back with the little venlil one up one down ear flick I had very quickly learned was confusion.” I'm confused you just said brave twice”
“Hmm it appears your language does not contain the word I am using, I apologize I am not used to speaking through a translator” Teal’c relented “ There are two words I am using admittedly in slightly different forms, bravery and courage. Bravery or to be brave is to lack fear, to not be afraid to begin with. Courage tho, Is a trait far more admirable. Courage is to be afraid, to have fear, to worry about one's own mortality and personal safety. It is to acknowledge risk, danger, to feel fear, but to act in spite of it.”
“Had I not met your kind before I would have thought predators don't feel fear.”
“Everyone fears feel Farva, It is how we overcome it that determines our worth as warriors”
Teal’c picks up the p90 and returns it to Farvas hands.
“Your people need a warrior Farva, a warrior who protects the innocent and guides the lost to safety. You have shown how collected you can be in the heat of battle, You have already proven your worth in our eyes Farva, now you must do the same in your own. The greatest enemy lies not without” Teal’c places his hand firmly on the venlil’s chest “But within”.
After Action Report - Venlil Colonial Defense Force
Subject : Chief Engineer Donu
I fiddled with my holopad, Its small surface area proving to be a consistent source of annoyance in my current endeavor. Gone was the large workspace afforded to me by my holotable back in my office. Instead I had to work with the scaled down portable holotablet I was just fortunate enough to have strapped to my person when I was beamed away from our last ship. I was stuck with its smaller keyboard and slower rendering speeds.
An annoyed smooth skin alien looked over my shoulder at my device, attached to it was a jury rigged fiber optic cable, slotted into a terran silicon to crystal patch cable, which would convert the electrical signals broadcasted by my tablet into a bandwidth that the terrans crystalline based computers; which they used for highly complex tasks like hyperdrive and transporter systems; could use, and then It was patched again in a even stranger connector to patch into the odd asgard computer stones.
All in all it looked like someone tried to plug a regular computer into some crystal construct like you would find in a fantasy holonovel, and again plugged that into a harchen heat rock sauna lounge. Finally branching out from this conglomeration was a simple copper based wire that connects to a computer terminal at which currently sat the late Doctor Rodney Mckay. A title upon initially hearing led me to believe he was a medical doctor, which led to a flurry of medical questions that he had absolutely no means of answering.
While this odd alien nomenclature was interesting, what intrigued me more was his actual area of expertise, theoretical astrophysics, as well as a number of other diverse specialties and fields. Not to mention not only was he a great scientist who had he been raised in the more civilized portion of this galaxy, would have knowledge and aptitude that would put him alongside some of Aafas greatest minds, but he was also an engineer without peer, at least in this galaxy. His interactions with general Samantha Carter hinted at her possibly being his match if not more. For a species that was supposed to glorify violence the decision to have a scientist be arguably the most senior member of what was by their admission a military vessel spoke to their commitment to knowledge and understanding, a very noble prey-like goal.
I looked warily at the lines of code at my screen, the asguard translation program had earlier scanned our ship and was able to parse written languages, but complex files, like images and 3d design schematics were harder to encode and decode from our perspective systems. As is stands we have 3 completely separate computer architectures, the asguard can talk to human computers and the venlil computers can talk to the asguard computers, It sounds like we would have everything we need to get a human C.A.D schematic into a venlil holotablet right? Wrong! And you're stupid for entertaining such a idiotic notion! Parsing text from raw binary is relatively straight forward, you're just looking for patterns, repeating bit combinations that might infer letters and then iterating them over millions of times looking for patterns, letters, words, and then with a bit of help from some undecoded analog audio transmission, spoken language. This is a far cry from actual procedural communication protocols,the ones that allow for file transfers, exactly what we needed if we were to get Rodney's redesigned part schematics into a format and medium that can be plugged into a suitable fabricator. Assuming one still exists, which I can reasonably assume it does.
Speaking of which, I have just made something of a breakthrough. For upon my screen appears a simple geometric hydrogen cube, we’re talking vertices, planes, material data, everything we need for a usable design file.
I let out an excited pent up yip, the culmination of hours of frustrating software integration work. Unfortunately I startled Rodney, who lets out a panicked gasp and clutches his chest pelts with one of his paws.
“Oh god…..” He gasps, pointing at me “Please.. don’t do that”
“Sorry!” I say a bit meekly. I slowly approach him so as to not make him unnecessarily uncomfortable and show him my work.
“I got the file exchange set up, all we need from you is to finish any modifications to your part, upload them to my holopad, and then we can print away at any class 3 or above fabricator we can scrounge up on Brayga colony.”
“Ok.. um.. got it, I'm almost done i’m just you know” He points a lone grasping appendage at his screen,”Running some simulations, making sure everything is up to spec.” keeping his response kurt. “Sorry for freaking out there.”
I nod my head in the human display of affirmation and return to my workstation to further bug check my work, to test potentially problematic edge cases for when he finishes. Tho Rodney's continued odd behavior intruded on my thoughts.
I should have felt empowered, being able to intimidate this ‘massive beast’, but I didn't. I didn't like being feared, his people have been nice to me, Rodney himself courteous to a fault and desperate for positive attention.
I thought I could expect predators to be fearless but that clearly wasn't the case, rodney was fearful, nervous, had I not known better I would say defective, and while it annoyed his crew, they didn't berate him for it, or attempt to assert dominance, they encouraged it even with placating words and tried to help him through it, they encouraged and supported him like a proper herd, even if sometimes it took the form of what the human would call a playful ribbing. I supposed I could help him as well.
I approached him again, careful to make my approach known to him, making sure to approach from within his limited field of vision. He looks up at me with a wide eyed glare, had I not known him I might have assumed it was hunger, but I did and knew it to be concern.
“Uh high Donu.. um whats up?”
“Why are you afraid of us rodney?”
“Wa-What, me afraid?” he gives out a panicked laugh ”uh no no, I'm not afraid, you know just a bit weirded out I'm just getting used to you all, it's not a fear thing it's a a…. Just getting used to new aliens thing, ask Hermirod we went through this whole song and dance right buddy”
Hermirod furrowed his brow and gave an irritated sigh from across the room.
I reached out to take Rodney by the paw.
His whole body flinched at my mere touch, I quickly withdrew my paw.
“Oh.. um.. I didn't…”
“Rodney! It's okay, your crew doesn’t seem to care when you show fear, and neither do I. Why are you afraid of us? You are almost twice our size and surely double our strength, most venlil would scream and run in terror at the mere sight of you. What's wrong?”
Rodney let out a sigh. “Oh its, we don't have to talk about this, I can deal with this, I deal with scary situations all the time, it's fine, I'll be fine.”
“Rodney, my people are a very emotional, empathic people, we are open with our feelings and with our fear, and the fear of the one can affect the herd, please let me help you. I don’t know what to expect from your society but I promise I wont judge you for your fear or emotions, I mean look at many of my crew mates, we are no one to judge”
Rodney shot back “You didn't seem to be so bothered”
“I’m too old to care, I was about to retire, hell I was about to die as far as I knew, Brayga colony was supposed to be a quiet place to lay back, work on some hobbies, plant a garden and pester the young men of my colony until I either dropped dead of boredom or got lucky” I joked.
That seemed to raise Rodney's mood somewhat. He sighed and seemingly relented.
“It’s… a dumb story, I don't even know why it affected me so much, I come from a place on earth called Canada, people don't usually believe me when I say I am from there, us Canadians are notoriously friendly and I guess I haven’t exactly filled that mold for a lot of my life, but hey I'm working on it, people like me, I have lots of friends back at Atlantis” He says the last sentence in a way as if it isn't me he's trying to convince.
“I'm sure you do, Rodney, You seem like quite the charming individual when you're not cowering!”
“Ha ha thanks, maybe you could come and visit sometime. Tell that to doctor Becket, really nice guy, smart man, he would love to meet you, he loves investigating new species. But back on topic, oh boy, so me and my sister Jeannie were on a family trip to rural Vancouver to visit my grandpa's farm, he kept a lot of goats, not for eating or anything, they were essentially pets that he would use for milk”
“Wait hold on? You drink milk from other animals! Do your females not produce enough milk for their young?”
“Oh um no, we just sort of drink it or ferment it into cheese!”
“Ferment? You mean spoil?
“Yeh”
I reeled from this plasma blast of a statement, I like any right minded venlil had a number of nightmares about being an arxur’s cattle before, especially when I first learned about those things in primary school, but never once had it crossed my mind that we could be used for something so weird. What the speh was I supposed to do with that information?
“Maybe you should get back on topic”
“Yeh sorry about that uh.. Anyways the momma goat had just had a litter of babies, and their real cute when their little, so late in the day when my grandpa was asleep we snuck out to the pens so we can play with the little baby goats, our grandpa told us not to but you now how kids are.”
At this I think back to a young Nyan, as I teach him the inner working of the hyperdrive, I tell him he’s not cleared yet to operate in this engine compartment alone, but I could tell from the occasional caught black hairs and dropped writing implements, there had been a number of curious unauthorized expeditions into its inner workings, he didn't really listen either.
“My sister as always was trying to be the voice of reason, wanting to take it slow. If I was paying attention I might have noticed the angry moma goat who didn’t appreciate the strange human messing with her children.”
The color seemed to drain from his face.
“I uh…” He began to stutter again ”I screamed, a lot, it was rather undignified, she ran right at me, thank god it wasn't a male goat, one with horns, I tired to run but I was hit in the back and knocked over and kicked real good in the head, like wake up in the vet clinic a quarter mile down the road kind of bad”
“This goat was a prey animal?”
“That would be what your kind focuses on”
“Oh sorry”
“Anyways It seems dumb but I have just never been good with animals since then, especially ones that look like you; no offense; I'm getting better but when I first saw you guys in the hangar bay, I was just that dumb kid again, getting in way over my head, scared for my life. I guess there is something to be said about childhood trauma. I really should be over this, I'm getting better with it I swear it’s just”
I take his paw again, he doesn't flinch this time.
“I'm a venlil, a prey animal, I know fear, I know what it is to live in fear, It rattles your brain, it turns your paws to wet grains. It takes great strength to overcome it, to push it aside just long enough to protect the herd. Your herd relies on you Rodney and you are doing a great job in spite of your fear, in spite of having to work with those you fear. You have achieved intellectual feats that rival the greatest minds of the federation and all that while struggling with a traumatic experience. Fear isn’t dumb and there is nothing wrong with you for feeling it.”
“Thank you” Rodney says “That means a lot, I won't be like forever I promise, I just need some time.”
“We will laugh about this someday,” I assured. “Nothing as big and intelligent as you should be afraid of anything”
“Are you calling me fat?” Rodney exclaimed with fake offense.
We both chuckled.
My kind words had resulted in a more upright posture, and a more cheerful demeanor from the human, almost like when I congratulated Nyan on his work, and it got me a look at that happy snarl of his, that I was starting to grow quite fond of.
After Action Report - Venlil Colonial Defense Force
Subject : Apprentice Engineer Nyan
Oh wow! I get to write a report for this mission! I never get to write reports, Donu says they're too boring, but there’s so many interesting things going on all the time. Sometimes I sneakily write my own! Just for fun of course, nobody sees them, which is probably for the best as I sometimes get excited and embellish them slightly. One of the reports I wrote was about the time Donu used nothing but a wad of electrical tape, a bottle of high grain venlil alcohol and a pocket knife to repair a venlil medical ship just in time to get out of the way of a big scary space predator, with glowing red eyes and a million tentacles!
Anyways Im not sure If im suppose to write these In present tense first person or past tense. I asked the captain and she said it's whatever so long as I make sure any pertinent dialogues are properly quoted(“”).
“Nobody usually reads these things anyways.” She said, but this one is surely going to be so exciting, who could look away!
I mean who's gonna scoff at a chance to read about friendly predators from another dimension! A dimension of friendly predators who give warm head scratches and hand out yummy strayu not strayu treats called donuts, that are somehow fluffier than strayu, and have a nice moisture to them. I asked for the recipe but Samantha said we wouldn't have the ingredients back on Venili prime to make them, and Teal'c said the recipe is an old family secret. Its weird predators would be so protective of their plant snacks.
There are so many weird things about these predators, they have nurturing instincts that make them find us cute. They stay perfectly balanced even if they don’t have tails, swinging their arms and body all over the place to keep upright like a lopsided gyroscope, it's pretty funny looking!
They also wear artificial pelts all the time, which I thought was weird, I thought maybe the ships temperature was set by the angry gray alien since he’s the only crew member beside the venlil who walks around naked all the time, maybe he had a fit when it was to warm, and the humans obliged him cause they were worried they would make him even angrier, and wore clothes to make up for the cold. I thought this made sense, a lot of their technology does seem to come from the Asguard, maybe he has more say in the goings on of the ship because of that. But apparently humans just like wearing pelts all the time. They feel uncomfortable without them and don’t like it if you try to remove them or look up their upper artificial pelts they call shirts.
The humans are so weird, I don’t even have to embellish my reports to make it more interesting. Like that time with the big tentacled space predator. That may sound real compared to this stuff but it Isn't, Ha! I bet you fell for it at first, hook line and sinker! Like the humans would say. I think I used that saying right, I'm not sure what it means, but Shepard brought it up when he was telling a story about the wraith.
The humans are so nice, instead of exterminating their predators they try to cure them! Their doctors are working to modify the wraith so they don't have to eat humans anymore, so they can be friendly predators too.
Anyways I should probably get to the actual report part of this report. Farva says I should start after I went off with Samantha to work on some special astrophysics equations she said I would be good at. I kind of wanted to go with Donu to help Rodney get the new parts they needed, or Farva to help rescue our people, but the humans and even the angry gray alien got really weird when Farva mentioned taking me on the mission. Samantha seemed to want me to help her really badly so I didn’t mind. Samantha says I have the most important part to our mission. She's teaching me about how humans communicate through subspace, and about stellar drift equations. We are working on what she calls the exit strategy.

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First up, Spartan Armor Systems Tactical Level IIIA Certified Wraparound Bulletproof Vest. $530 shipped.

• Size large
• Year 2020 production
• NIJ certified
• Worn only outside once as a 'sexy cop' cosplay. Some light glittering as a result. I got most of it off with a damp wash cloth. Only LARPed in the house outside of that.
• One elastic strap is showing a little waffling (see pictures). But functionally 10/10.
• Dark colors on armor insert photo is the inspection numbers on the inner layer, not stains.
• At a 35" midsection (measured around the navel) and I have side overlap on the armor. If you were any bigger around the middle, you might get some gap.
• No sales/shipping to New York or municipalities that ban body armor.

Next, AXL Advanced Adaptive Vest Placard (AVP) for Crye JPC. $50 Shipped.

• Fits the vest, but is off center due to an off number of MOLLE rows
• Great adapter for Haley or Spiritus rigs.
• Very little use, in great condition.

The sun beat down relentlessly as Lieutenant Stan checked his screens, scanning the cloudy skies above Xenera Prime. It had been a long and uneventful patrol so far, in his Hornet strike ship. Stan was growing restless in the cramped cockpit after hours on duty.
"Anything to report squadron?" Stan asked into his comm.
Negative replies came back, from each wingman. Just as Stan was thinking of calling it a day, his comm crackled to life.
"Lieutenant, I've spotted unknown craft emerging from the clouds off our port side," said Wingman Thomas. "They look unfriendly."
Stan swung his visor to the left and scanned the clouds. At first, he saw nothing, but wispy white vapor. Then, a flash of metal emerged. Stan focused his visor, and felt a jolt of alarm. Nine lean, deadly looking enemy fighters were peeling away from the cover of the clouds. Their angular frames glinted menacingly in the sunlight.
"Report ships details," Stan responded, keeping his voice even. There was a pause as Thomas no doubt got a better look through his own sensors.
"Sir, they appear to be Gargon Z-12 heavy fighters. Configuration matches known images. Colors are dark grey with red markings."
Gargons. Stan's sense of unease deepened. The Z-12 was a formidable craft, packing heavy weapons and renowned for its nimble handling. Intelligence reports claimed each Gargon pilot, was a battle-hardened veteran. Stan took a slow, steadying breath. He tapped the comm button.
"All squadrons listen up. We have confirmed hostiles, repeat hostiles inbound. Nine Gargon Z-12s approaching from due port. Assume attack formation and prepare to engage."
Stan grabbed the stick and sent his Hornet banking hard to the left as the other strike ships responded affirmatively. His wingman followed suit while the rest of the squadron split into their assigned formations. Stan caught sight of the enemy craft growing larger, silhouetted ominously against the clouds.
The Gargons spotted the humans and accelerated sharply, angling to intercept. Stan steeled himself as his comm crackled again. "They've changed course, coming right at us!" called Wingman Davis from the rear squadron.
Stan didn't hesitate. "Split squadrons and engage. David, Wyat, distract them while we flank from above. Move it people, they're closing fast!" He jammed the throttle, wringing every ounce of speed from his sluggish Hornet.
The strike ships scattered just as the first cannon shots lanced past. Stan glimpsed a Gargon on Wright's tail, spitting deadly energy blasts. "Wyatt's hit!" Davis yelled over the din of exploding rounds. A ball of fire swallowed Wyatt's craft as the rest of the squadron shouted warnings and requests for orders.
Stan wheeled his ship hard, raising his sights on the nearest Z-12 diving through the melee. He squeezed off a long burst from his nose cannons but the Gargon jinked nimbly aside, answering with a volley, that nearly took Stan's wing off. He cursed and rolled left, snapping orders to reform, while his mind raced frantically, for a plan to turn the tide. But the battle was moving too fast, and their enemy had the clear advantage. Unless he thought of something quickly, the whole patrol would soon be destroyed.
Stan gritted his teeth as he wrestled with the controls, jerking the stick hard to throw his Hornet into another desperate evasive maneuver. Sweat stung his eyes, and his vest harness bit into his shoulders, from the punishing g-forces. Two Z-12s wove about his plummeting craft, angling for the kill.
"There's too many of them, sir!" cried Thomas over the rushing air as he followed Stan's insane dive. "We have to shake them or fall back!"
As if agreeing, Stafford's voice crackled through next, weak but determined. "I'm hit bad, baili- aargh!" Static took over as more of Stan's patrol died.
Stan clenched his jaw. Retreat was not an option, nor was falling back to be picked off one by one. Then, glancing to starboard, an idea struck him like a plasma bolt. Below, the jagged spires of Xenera Prime's landscape rushed up to meet them.
"Follow my lead!" Stan shouted into the comms. "We're taking the fight to them!"
He flung the stick right and snapped the Hornet into a steep bank, skimming so low that dust clouds billowed up against the pontoon gear. Heart pounding, he aimed straight for the pinched gap between two towering rock spires. The Z-12s adjusted course too, intent on not letting their prey escape.
Stan waited until the last possible second before pulling back, hauling his ship up so violently that he blacked out momentarily from the crushing g-force. Emerging from the daze, he glimpsed the bottom of the rocky canyon flash past, only meters below. But behind, one of the pursuing Gargons wasn't so lucky, its momentum carrying it straight into the spire with an explosive crunch.
"One bandit down!" hollered Thomas excitedly. "But the other's still on us, sir!"
"Stay tight and keep pouring it on!" Stan roared back. His desperate gambit had yielded immediate rewards, and he was only getting started.
Weaving between the towering pinnacles at breakneck velocities, Stan hurled his Hornet through twisting rock defiles, barely wider than the craft's wingspan. The pursuing Z-12 darted nimbly in their wake, unafraid to fly recklessly close to destruction in pursuit of its prey. More than once, Stan flirted with disaster, the tips of his pontoons clipping stone as he plunged from one razor-thin passage to the next.
But gradually, the human pilot began to gain the advantage. Though aerodynamically better suited, the Z-12's greater weight and bulk saw it struggling to match the Hornet's fluid moves between the spires. Flying became more judicious, angles tighter, and soon friction were grinding away armor plating, as the fighters' shields kissed stone at every turn.
Seizing a chance, Stan screamed around the next pinnacle, throttles mashed, then swung into a gut-wrenching climb straight up the rocky face. Rock and sediment burst around the pontoons as the stricken somehow found grip. A glance back showed the disbelieving Gargon pilot following... then falter. Momentum lost, his craft scraped savagely down the spire, venting atmosphere in a fireball.
"Two down, seven to go!" crowed Thomas.
Stan allowed himself a savored grunt of satisfaction before swinging the Hornet back out into clear skies. His desperate ploy had paid off so far, reducing their numbers at the cost of no more lives. But the remaining Gargons would not be so easily drawn into the spires, and his own craft was being shaken to pieces in the process. New tactics would be needed to finish the job.
Squinting through his window, an idea came. "Head for the canyon to the north," he told Thomas. "Let's see if we can cut them off at the pass."
Stan led the charge low across the variegated plain, hugging terrain in an attempt to mask his movements. Minutes passed with no sighting of the enemy formation, leaving him to wonder if they had given up pursuit. Then, as the slot canyon entrance neared, Thomas spotted them.
"Bandits at two o'clock, high and closing fast. I think they mean to block our entry, sir!"
Gripping his stick tight, Stan checked his scopes. Seven Z-12s converged in a loose combat spread, moving to intercept before the humans could gain the canyon perimeter. It was time to change tactics once more.
Stan scanned his screens, analyzing the Z-12 formation hovering above like vultures. They held superior altitude and numbers, no doubt hoping to bait the humans into climbing within range of their heavy guns. But Stan had expected such tactics after the cat-and-mouse in the spires.
"Stay low and keep moving," he told Thomas. "We'll force them to engage on our terms."
The Hornet strike ships accelerated across the plain, hugging the rolling terrain. The Gargons followed at a distance, unwilling to forfeit their elevation advantage by dropping to chase. Stan led his patrol on an evasive zig-zag course, occasionally popping up just high enough, to draw inaccurate return fire, before nosediving back amid dust clouds.
Gradually, he angled them closer to the looming cliffs flanking the canyon entrance. The Z-12 pilots began to realize the ruse too late, scattered in the process of reorienting for the intercept. His wingman took the chance, climbing just long enough to target the lone straggler. A burst of cannon fire tore into its port nacelle, eliciting an explosion that consumed the fighter near-instantly.
"Six left!" Thomas whooped. Stan allowed a tight smile. His risky tactics were chipping away at the odds, though he doubted fortune would favor them for long. The remaining Gargons closed ranks and swooped as one, no longer toying. This time, Stan had no trick remaining, he would have to meet them head-on.
He spun the Hornet end-for-end and pushed the throttles to their stops. Fifty meters from impact, the enemy broke formation, guns blazing from all angles. Thomas returned fire with the pair of dorsal cannons as Stan jinked frantically, weaving a haphazard path through the azure flashes. Systems shrieked damage warnings while rocks erupted where missed shots found targets.
After a nerve-shredding minute, Stan emerged from the furball, three Z-12s on his tail once more. But hope was not lost, Thomas whooped again from the rear gunner's seat. "That's five! Just one more, sir!"
Stan grinned savagely. Only one Gargon now stood between him and victory. He swung the Hornet into a hard bank, waiting for the moment the final enemy overcommitted, there! Its shot skimmed past as it flashed by, continuing the turn too tight. In a heartbeat, Stan reversed thrust and wheeled his craft brutally about, lining the shot.
"For Xenera Prime!" he roared, and pulled the trigger. Heavy cannon shells tore into the Z-12's engine block, enveloping it in a ball of fire. As the flames faded, only empty skies remained.
Stan let out a long breath, realizing only then how tense his body had become. It was over - against all odds, he and his wingman had defeated the Gargon raiders. As the adrenaline drained away, weariness set in to the cheers of Thomas over the comms. They had survived, but at a heavy cost. Below, the splintered wreckage of comrades' ships littered the plain like broken toys.
"Mission complete," Stan replied softly. "Let's go home."

The sun beat down relentlessly as Lieutenant Stan checked his screens, scanning the cloudy skies above Xenera Prime. It had been a long and uneventful patrol so far, in his Hornet strike ship. Stan was growing restless in the cramped cockpit after hours on duty.
"Anything to report squadron?" Stan asked into his comm.
Negative replies came back, from each wingman. Just as Stan was thinking of calling it a day, his comm crackled to life.
"Lieutenant, I've spotted unknown craft emerging from the clouds off our port side," said Wingman Thomas. "They look unfriendly."
Stan swung his visor to the left and scanned the clouds. At first, he saw nothing, but wispy white vapor. Then, a flash of metal emerged. Stan focused his visor, and felt a jolt of alarm. Nine lean, deadly looking enemy fighters were peeling away from the cover of the clouds. Their angular frames glinted menacingly in the sunlight.
"Report ships details," Stan responded, keeping his voice even. There was a pause as Thomas no doubt got a better look through his own sensors.
"Sir, they appear to be Gargon Z-12 heavy fighters. Configuration matches known images. Colors are dark grey with red markings."
Gargons. Stan's sense of unease deepened. The Z-12 was a formidable craft, packing heavy weapons and renowned for its nimble handling. Intelligence reports claimed each Gargon pilot, was a battle-hardened veteran. Stan took a slow, steadying breath. He tapped the comm button.
"All squadrons listen up. We have confirmed hostiles, repeat hostiles inbound. Nine Gargon Z-12s approaching from due port. Assume attack formation and prepare to engage."
Stan grabbed the stick and sent his Hornet banking hard to the left as the other strike ships responded affirmatively. His wingman followed suit while the rest of the squadron split into their assigned formations. Stan caught sight of the enemy craft growing larger, silhouetted ominously against the clouds.
The Gargons spotted the humans and accelerated sharply, angling to intercept. Stan steeled himself as his comm crackled again. "They've changed course, coming right at us!" called Wingman Davis from the rear squadron.
Stan didn't hesitate. "Split squadrons and engage. David, Wyat, distract them while we flank from above. Move it people, they're closing fast!" He jammed the throttle, wringing every ounce of speed from his sluggish Hornet.
The strike ships scattered just as the first cannon shots lanced past. Stan glimpsed a Gargon on Wright's tail, spitting deadly energy blasts. "Wyatt's hit!" Davis yelled over the din of exploding rounds. A ball of fire swallowed Wyatt's craft as the rest of the squadron shouted warnings and requests for orders.
Stan wheeled his ship hard, raising his sights on the nearest Z-12 diving through the melee. He squeezed off a long burst from his nose cannons but the Gargon jinked nimbly aside, answering with a volley, that nearly took Stan's wing off. He cursed and rolled left, snapping orders to reform, while his mind raced frantically, for a plan to turn the tide. But the battle was moving too fast, and their enemy had the clear advantage. Unless he thought of something quickly, the whole patrol would soon be destroyed.
Stan gritted his teeth as he wrestled with the controls, jerking the stick hard to throw his Hornet into another desperate evasive maneuver. Sweat stung his eyes, and his vest harness bit into his shoulders, from the punishing g-forces. Two Z-12s wove about his plummeting craft, angling for the kill.
"There's too many of them, sir!" cried Thomas over the rushing air as he followed Stan's insane dive. "We have to shake them or fall back!"
As if agreeing, Stafford's voice crackled through next, weak but determined. "I'm hit bad, baili- aargh!" Static took over as more of Stan's patrol died.
Stan clenched his jaw. Retreat was not an option, nor was falling back to be picked off one by one. Then, glancing to starboard, an idea struck him like a plasma bolt. Below, the jagged spires of Xenera Prime's landscape rushed up to meet them.
"Follow my lead!" Stan shouted into the comms. "We're taking the fight to them!"
He flung the stick right and snapped the Hornet into a steep bank, skimming so low that dust clouds billowed up against the pontoon gear. Heart pounding, he aimed straight for the pinched gap between two towering rock spires. The Z-12s adjusted course too, intent on not letting their prey escape.
Stan waited until the last possible second before pulling back, hauling his ship up so violently that he blacked out momentarily from the crushing g-force. Emerging from the daze, he glimpsed the bottom of the rocky canyon flash past, only meters below. But behind, one of the pursuing Gargons wasn't so lucky, its momentum carrying it straight into the spire with an explosive crunch.
"One bandit down!" hollered Thomas excitedly. "But the other's still on us, sir!"
"Stay tight and keep pouring it on!" Stan roared back. His desperate gambit had yielded immediate rewards, and he was only getting started.
Weaving between the towering pinnacles at breakneck velocities, Stan hurled his Hornet through twisting rock defiles, barely wider than the craft's wingspan. The pursuing Z-12 darted nimbly in their wake, unafraid to fly recklessly close to destruction in pursuit of its prey. More than once, Stan flirted with disaster, the tips of his pontoons clipping stone as he plunged from one razor-thin passage to the next.
But gradually, the human pilot began to gain the advantage. Though aerodynamically better suited, the Z-12's greater weight and bulk saw it struggling to match the Hornet's fluid moves between the spires. Flying became more judicious, angles tighter, and soon friction were grinding away armor plating, as the fighters' shields kissed stone at every turn.
Seizing a chance, Stan screamed around the next pinnacle, throttles mashed, then swung into a gut-wrenching climb straight up the rocky face. Rock and sediment burst around the pontoons as the stricken somehow found grip. A glance back showed the disbelieving Gargon pilot following... then falter. Momentum lost, his craft scraped savagely down the spire, venting atmosphere in a fireball.
"Two down, seven to go!" crowed Thomas.
Stan allowed himself a savored grunt of satisfaction before swinging the Hornet back out into clear skies. His desperate ploy had paid off so far, reducing their numbers at the cost of no more lives. But the remaining Gargons would not be so easily drawn into the spires, and his own craft was being shaken to pieces in the process. New tactics would be needed to finish the job.
Squinting through his window, an idea came. "Head for the canyon to the north," he told Thomas. "Let's see if we can cut them off at the pass."
Stan led the charge low across the variegated plain, hugging terrain in an attempt to mask his movements. Minutes passed with no sighting of the enemy formation, leaving him to wonder if they had given up pursuit. Then, as the slot canyon entrance neared, Thomas spotted them.
"Bandits at two o'clock, high and closing fast. I think they mean to block our entry, sir!"
Gripping his stick tight, Stan checked his scopes. Seven Z-12s converged in a loose combat spread, moving to intercept before the humans could gain the canyon perimeter. It was time to change tactics once more.
Stan scanned his screens, analyzing the Z-12 formation hovering above like vultures. They held superior altitude and numbers, no doubt hoping to bait the humans into climbing within range of their heavy guns. But Stan had expected such tactics after the cat-and-mouse in the spires.
"Stay low and keep moving," he told Thomas. "We'll force them to engage on our terms."
The Hornet strike ships accelerated across the plain, hugging the rolling terrain. The Gargons followed at a distance, unwilling to forfeit their elevation advantage by dropping to chase. Stan led his patrol on an evasive zig-zag course, occasionally popping up just high enough, to draw inaccurate return fire, before nosediving back amid dust clouds.
Gradually, he angled them closer to the looming cliffs flanking the canyon entrance. The Z-12 pilots began to realize the ruse too late, scattered in the process of reorienting for the intercept. His wingman took the chance, climbing just long enough to target the lone straggler. A burst of cannon fire tore into its port nacelle, eliciting an explosion that consumed the fighter near-instantly.
"Six left!" Thomas whooped. Stan allowed a tight smile. His risky tactics were chipping away at the odds, though he doubted fortune would favor them for long. The remaining Gargons closed ranks and swooped as one, no longer toying. This time, Stan had no trick remaining, he would have to meet them head-on.
He spun the Hornet end-for-end and pushed the throttles to their stops. Fifty meters from impact, the enemy broke formation, guns blazing from all angles. Thomas returned fire with the pair of dorsal cannons as Stan jinked frantically, weaving a haphazard path through the azure flashes. Systems shrieked damage warnings while rocks erupted where missed shots found targets.
After a nerve-shredding minute, Stan emerged from the furball, three Z-12s on his tail once more. But hope was not lost, Thomas whooped again from the rear gunner's seat. "That's five! Just one more, sir!"
Stan grinned savagely. Only one Gargon now stood between him and victory. He swung the Hornet into a hard bank, waiting for the moment the final enemy overcommitted, there! Its shot skimmed past as it flashed by, continuing the turn too tight. In a heartbeat, Stan reversed thrust and wheeled his craft brutally about, lining the shot.
"For Xenera Prime!" he roared, and pulled the trigger. Heavy cannon shells tore into the Z-12's engine block, enveloping it in a ball of fire. As the flames faded, only empty skies remained.
Stan let out a long breath, realizing only then how tense his body had become. It was over - against all odds, he and his wingman had defeated the Gargon raiders. As the adrenaline drained away, weariness set in to the cheers of Thomas over the comms. They had survived, but at a heavy cost. Below, the splintered wreckage of comrades' ships littered the plain like broken toys.
"Mission complete," Stan replied softly. "Let's go home."

Part 6
Kathy Evenson, Profe-Oh Shit!
Somewhere in the ruins of an ancient city in the Seventh World
"Run!" Kells shouted as the massive creature rose to its full height. Kathy turned and followed, operating mostly by dint of her instinctive reaction to the authority in his barked command. Kells didn't hesitate, taking off in the opposite direction from the thing, only glancing over his shoulder to ensure that Kathy was on his heels as he sheathed his weapons.
That didn't last long. With the magically-wrought enhancements to her body, she quickly overtook him and then slowed to keep pace. As they ran, she kept thinking 'you don't have to outrun the bear, you only have to outrun the other guy.'
The thoughts made her mad. Mostly at herself, for having them. She had been trained to be mercenary by The Company, but she had never abandoned her morals entirely. She had seen with her own eyes, countless times, that Jerry was able to stick to his morals, and still be one of the most powerful forces in the world. She was bound and determined to follow that example. It was the very reason she admired him in the first place.
The creature behind them made strange, high-pitched groans as it shook off rubble and gave chase to the prey that had disturbed its slumber. Something about the sounds triggered some recognition, but she was too busy escaping to spend much effort recalling where she'd heard them before.
They ran down a small street, then at her urging, turned between two dilapidated, multistory, wood-framed house whose wooden fence had long since collapsed and rotted away, following it into an alley that ran perpendicular to the road.
"Why?" Kells panted as they turned onto the alley.
"I doubt we can outrun it!" Kathy shouted back. "Better to try and lose it!" She kept an eye open for another chance to change their vector, and found it in the form of a three-story brick building that was still mostly intact. She turned right again, and then left at the next street.
Thunderous footsteps sounded behind them, causing Kells to put on a burst of speed. Kathy easily kept up, her mind racing, searching for options. She had just about decided to try and get some distance, and then try Jerry's Magic Bullet spell on the thing. It would mean a world of pain for her, but she figured that if it could kills a primordial, it could kill a giant, zombie spider.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a massive foot slamming into the ground just a few dozen feet behind them. The thunk of impact shook the ground, almost enough to make them both stumble. Acting, again on instinct, she eyed a point several hundred yards up the road and reached out, snatching Kells' arm and then teleporting them there.
"What in creation were that?!" Kells exclaimed as the whole world shifted abruptly around him. She hadn't gotten the elevation quite right, and they appeared a few inches off the ground, breaking their momentum. Both of them stumbled and scrambled to regain their balance.
"I teleported us further away!" Kathy shouted back.
"Teleported?!" Kells balked as they finally got their feet moving again.
"Yeah, you know!" Kathy explained. "One second we're here, the next, there!"
"Well teleport us back t'town, then!"
Kathy laughed. "Where's the fun in that!"
"Kath, I swear by all th'gods, I'll strip nekked and let ye ride me aroun' th'town like a pony, iffen ye jest bring us back there!"
Kathy laughed again. "You're a dirty old man, Kells!"
"Dirty, aye, but I'm still young!" he protested. "But I'd like to be old one day! So bring us back!"
Kathy slowed and turned, instead.
She could see the walker clearly now. And she understood why she'd recognized those noises. She'd only ever heard them in movies, but it seems the movies had been right.
Instead of the giant, zombified spider that Kells had described, she was looking at an enormous, steampunk, robot spider, draped in junk that resembled torn skin and severed sinews and veins. Tarps and tents were draped over its rusting, metal frame. Tubes that had once carried hydraulic fluids now flopped around, severed, dripping red liquids. Oils and dirt had stained it, resembling sores.
As she watched, the thing spotted them, a pair of obvious camera lenses turning towards them on its massive head and spinning to bring them into focus. Where its mouth should have been was a dense forest of protuberences, tubes, antennae and other equipment. Some of that equipment began to move, and Kathy recognized the pre-spin of miniguns.
"Cover!" she shouted, shoving Kells towards the closest tumble of fallen structure, a large and uneven mass of bricks. They had barely gotten behind it when the guns opened up, a ripping roar that thundered through the air and tore up the street where they'd been standing.
"Stars an' stones!" Kells swore.
"I wonder how much ammo it has left," Kathy mumbled to herself. But it was kind of a moot question. It clearly had some ammo left, and her only real plan to deal with it didn't involve fighting a war of attrition.
"I need you to distract it," she told Kells.
"Ye need t'get yer head checked!" he shot back. "We're both dead, Kath! I've ne'er even heard o' one who faced a walker an' lived t'tell the tale!"
"Then what difference does it make whether you distract it or not?!" Kathy demanded. Kells opened his mouth to argue, then paused, tilted his head thoughtfully to one side and closed his mouth. After a second, he shrugged at the same moment that the guns stopped firing.
"What d'ye need me to do?"
"Just run for it. I'll find you after I kill this thing."
Kells nodded, then stopped, his eyes widening yet again. "Kill it? Are ye daft?"
Kathy winked at him. "Yes, but that's beside the point. I hope you have a kink for strong women, otherwise you're about to feel real self conscious."
Kells stared, shaking his head sadly. "Well," he said philosophically after a moment. "Iffen I'm t'die today, at least y'seem like to entertain me." He started to straighten up, then paused.
"Yer sure ye dinnae want t'jest teleport us home?" he asked.
"If this doesn't work, that's plan B," Kathy assured him. Kells shook his head again, then stood.
"Hoy, ye attercop!" Kells shouted, jumping up and down, waving his arms. "Ye lazy lob! Blasted crazy cob! Come an' get me, ye old tomnoddy!"
Kathy peeked over the pile of bricks to see the beast turn its cameras towards Kells. "Oh shite," he muttered, turning and running as fast as he could down the road, away from the walker. Massive, spider-like legs began to stomp, the thing rushing forward with incredible speed.
Kathy drew in the magics she would need, her mind recalling the instructions Jerry had given her. Magical capacitors came first, and then she set up streamers of energy to charge them. More magic flowed into her, forming crawling, multicolored arcs of energy across her skin. Her skin began to glow with an intense, golden light.
She pushed and pushed, hoping Kells would survive long enough. It took her longer than it would have taken Jerry, because she had fewer wells. But she had great control over those wells, having studied at the elbow of the greatest wizard in the world, so she knew it could be done.
She formed the magic into a dense, impenetrable shell around her. Denser than lead, it pulled her body out with its mass, and caused the rubble to shift and roll towards her, purely from the gravity of it.
When she felt she was close, she rose into the air, letting the relatively minuscule expenditure of energy it took to do it come from the magic she was drawing in. She rose like a shining star, casting a golden and multicolored glow across the ruined landscape around her. She could see Kells, a hundred yards away, as he stopped, turned and stared in awe.
"All right," she said. "Time for the cosmic money shot."
She angled herself at the beast and released the capacitors, which had been charging the whole time. She braced herself against the inner walls of her magic as she shot off at incredible speed. The impact was almost unnoticeable at first, but she felt the pain as her own body tore through the giant robotics, breaking steel and wood and leather, ripping rubber hoses and sending debris rocketing away from her with the force.
She cried out as the beast exploded, the agony reaching throughout her own body. She lost control, tumbling and falling, striking the ground in a powerful impact as broken pieces rained down around her. She tumbled, skin tearing against the rough ground, bones snapping as she struck rock after rock.
Finally, she came to a halt. She lay there, on her back, staring up at the sky. She simply breathed, great gasping breaths as her body began the laborious process of stitching itself back together.
----
Kells, A Man of Good Mores and a Solid Caravaner
Somewhere in the ruins of an ancient city in the Seventh World
Kells ran for his life as the walker began to stomp after him. Behind him, where he had left Kath, he heard a strange crackling sound, but he did not dare to take his eyes off the ground in front of him. It was only as the crackling sound got louder and louder that he realized it didn't matter. He was dead, no matter what. He might as well satisfy his curiosity about how Kath thought she could hurt the beast.
He turned, and the first thing he noticed was the light. It trended towards a golden light, but it changed colors a lot. It was coming from the little alley where he and Kath had hidden from the fire the walker had spat at them, and it played out over the nearby ruins.
Kells slowed and stopped, his attention grabbed by this curious phenomenon. As he watched, the light rose, and then Kath appeared, floating up above the ruins. She was the source of the light. Her skin and clothes glowed with a brilliant golden light as rainbow-colored lightning crackled all around her. Kells felt his jaw drop.
He'd never seen anything like this before. He'd seen a few wizards conjure fire, or vanish into mid-air before. But he'd seen fire and empty space. This glow and the lightning... He began to wonder how much power it took to be so showy with magic.
She spoke after a few seconds. "All right. Time for the cosmic money shot," she said, words that echoed through the ruins in a reverberation of power. Kells barely had time to wonder what they meant when she rocketed off towards the walker at a speed that boggled his mind.
The creature simply exploded. Kells watched in slack-jawed amazement as the golden glow lanced through the beast, causing its torso to balloon and the disintegrate. Chunks of the beast, bleeding black and red blood, flew everywhere.
As they began to rain down, Kells realized that it wasn't bloody flesh, but metal and wood and that strange, dark material that had survived so well from the time of the ancestors. He picked up a piece, still hot from the explosion as the walker's body fell in three pieces, crashing to the ground.
It was some sort of device. He couldn't make heads or tails of it, but it was not flesh and blood, that much was certain. He wondered if that was what gave the walkers their strength. They were made out of sterner stuff.
After a few moments of examining the piece, he dropped it. He had seen the glow rocket through the walker, and then arc down to the ground, so he began moving to that point. He'd made quite a good clip, running in terror. Now, guided by awe and disbelief, he took his time, walking. It took a few minutes, but he found the point.
It was a crater, smashed into the ground. In the distance, he saw another crater, then a third, all in a straight line. Wondering if Kath had survived left a sinking feeling in his stomach, but if she had, he would not be the one to abandon her here. He followed the line of craters.
They grew closer and closer together, until finally, they turned into a groove, blasted into the ground. It ran for almost four hundred feet before it finally stopped at a building with thick walls.
She was there. Laying flat on her back, her chest heaving. Her clothes were torn and shredded, her flesh covered in thin trails of blood, as if she'd been injured, though he saw no signs of any wounds.
"K-Kath?" he asked tentatively. A pained groan greeted him. After a second, she raised her head and met his eyes.
"That sucked so much," she said. Kells couldn't help himself. He began to laugh. She joined him, wincing as she chuckled.
----
Sookie, Still Sad-ish
TacFab Showroom, Denver, CO "Take PRIDE in Your Tactical Gear!"
"It's a little tight," Sookie said, eyeing the plastic buckles on her shoulders and at either side of the front.
"That's a good thing," Linda replied, though she adjusted the velcro at Sookie's back to loosen it some. "You don't want it to be shifting around when you're moving. Turn around, let me see."
Sookie raised her arms and did a slow pirouette. Linda nodded thoughtfully, the elbow of one arm propped in her other hand, one finger tapping at her chin.
"That's good. Now, we gotta find plates."
"Aren't they all the same?" Sookie asked.
"No way, girl. There's a whole rainbow of choices." Linda took her hand and led her to a glass counter with a series of various home-plate-shaped things in it.
"Okay, so we've got soft armor, which is a mix of ballistic cloth, silk, PVC and other stuff. Then you've got steel, ceramic, arkanite alloy and spiritbone. They're graded on a scale that's kinda confusing. Three-A is the soft armor. It can usually stop any handgun round, except for the armor-penetrating ones. Then there's level three, which is better, and can stop some rifle rounds, up to about a full-size rifle round, like a three-oh-eight. There's level three-plus, which isn't an official term, but it means it can stop most full-size rifle rounds, except for AP stuff. Then there's the level four stuff, which will stop almost anything except for the biggest AP rounds. Finally, there's the M stamp, which means it's resistant to magic. The M comes with a number from one to ten, with a one meaning that anyone trying to cast a spell on the armor itself will fail. A ten means that it'll defeat most any magic cast on you, while you're wearing it."
"Uhh," Sookie said. That was a lot to take in. Linda smiled.
"I got you, girl. What you're gonna want is what I call a triple-stack. Get an arkanite-alloy level four-M-nine plate, then layer level three-A-M-two soft armor over top. Together, it's about a half-inch thick. Then you add a trauma pad behind it and you're about as protected as you can get."
"Okay," Sookie said. She still didn't know what it all meant, but the process of shopping for armor was getting to her. She was thinking about armor ratings and fits and kevlar and arkanite alloys, instead of thinking about him.
"Right here," Linda said, pointing to one that looked like an elongated baseball home plate. "That's a swimmer's cut, which you'll want to maintain as much movement as possible. I know you have that mace and stuff you sometimes use. This'll keep the armor from getting in your way."
A clerk approached. "Good morning, ladies. Something I can help you with?"
Linda pointed to the plate again. "That's a four-M-nine, right?" The clerk glanced down.
"Yes, it is. That's the Steel Series five-oh-two, it's actually on sale right now... One second." He walked over to one of the registers behind the counter and tapped the screen a few times before beaming a broad salesman's smile at them. "It's thirty-five percent off."
"We'll take two," Linda said. "One multicurved swimmer's cut, one single-curved flat cut. Plus matching three-A-M-two soft plates and trauma plates."
"Of course!" the clerk said, scurrying to gather it all up. "Will you be needing side plates? That Spartan series carrier you're wearing accepts them."
"Yup," Linda confirmed. "Same mix for those, too."
The clerk happily complied, no doubt imagining the commission he would make off the purchase of a full set of body armor. Once he had everything, Linda had Sookie take off the vest, and then began stuffing the plates inside the pockets. When she was done, she handed the whole affair back.
Sookie took it, immediately feeling the weight as it dragged her arms down. "Wow, that's heavy," she said. "Isn't this going to tire me out really quickly?"
"It's extra weight, so it will tire you out some more, but it's a lot easier to carry once you get it on. Let me help you..."
Linda showed her how to use the quick-release buckles on the sides and shoulders to quickly get in. Once the weight settled in on her shoulders, Sookie found it to be a lot more manageable than when she was holding it up with her arms.
"What do you think now?" Linda asked. Sookie windmilled her arms, twisted her hips, and stretched out in a few different ways.
"It's actually pretty comfortable," she said. "You loosened it earlier to make room for the plates, right?"
"That's right," Linda said, eyeing her. "It's sitting very nicely."
"So is that it?" Sookie asked, actually feeling a little disappointed that the shopping trip would be over so soon.
Linda laughed. "Not even close. We need to get you an IFAK, an assault pack, an admin pouch and the most important thing of all: morale patches."
"Morale patches?" Sookie asked. Linda grinned. "Yeah, you're gonna love that part."
----
Emily Windham, Wizard, Artificer... And War-Wizard
The Divine Crisis Management Group Regional Headquarters, Denver, CO
Emily looked at the forms on her tablet for a long moment. Specifically, the bottom line.
"...the opinion of the test-giver that Miss Windham has all of the necessary qualities to be an excellent war-wizard. My recommendation is to quickly deploy her, so as to allow her to get some experience in the role."
Her first ready shift had started twenty minutes ago. She glanced around the room. All of the security troops in the QRF were kitted out the same as she was. Armor, camo uniforms, rank insignia on her sleeve and chest, a rifle danging from a sling between her seated legs. Kneepads, thick boots.
It was deliberate, she had learned. The troopers and the war wizards dressed alike, to keep the wizards from being easily identified by the enemy. Just as in Dungeons & Dragons, killing the wizard was often a priority in a fight.
She recalled the training Greg had subjected her to. Learning to cast with a minimum of movement and words. Learning to cast under pressure, when scared or stressed or both. Learning to cast in adverse conditions, such as while being bombarded by a massive sandstorm, or while being dragged underwater by weights attached to her ankles.
She had felt like she barely scraped by, but Greg and the other instructors had praised her. Called her a natural. Assured her that she would go far. Emily wasn't so sure, but she had long ago learned to simply accept the compliments and keep doing her best. That was the way to not disappoint people.
She was still getting used to the idea. The unfamiliar room, the unfamiliar men and women around her, the unfamiliar uniform and gear... She didn't know that she was, actually, ready. But everyone else seemed to think so.
When the alarm sounded, it startled her. She dropped the tablet, then bent down to pick it up with fumbling hands. She stood, stuffing it into one of the pockets on the side of her pants as the troopers rushed around her, doing their final preparations to deploy. Emily looked around, unsure of what to do, until one of the troopers stopped and put a hand on her shoulder.
"First deployment, right?" he asked, his voice gentle. Emily nodded.
"Are you all set? You have all the components you'll need? Your armor's squared away, your mag pouches all loaded, your gun has a round in the chamber?"
Emily checked her gun. The 'press check', they'd called it, where she pulled the charging handle back just a little, until she saw brass inside the chamber. She released it, then patted her pouches with her hands, assuring herself that they are all loaded.
"Yes," she said. She already knew she had all the magical components she'd need. She didn't need a lot, and most were 'just in case' grabs.
"Then go read the deployment orders," the trooper said, pointing to the large TV on the wall, currently showing a black page with white text on it. A few photos were at the bottom.
Emily nodded and turned to go, but then he tightened his hand on her shoulder, so she turned back. He smiled, and she glanced down to see 'Carmichael' on his nametape. She recognized the name, if not the face, from her tasking against the trolls, a few weeks ago. It had been hard to keep track of their faces, with the helmets they all wore.
"You got this," he said, his voice calm and assured. Emily flashed him an uncertain smile, and he gave her a big, confident smile right back. "You got this," he said again and let her go.
Emily walked over to the screen and began to read.

"If [Taylor Swift] ran for President and would listen to great advisers, I'd consider supporting her." - Ray Dalio, hedge fund billionaire, who praised Swift’s ability to bring people together.

Diss Tracks

We’re suddenly weeks away from the earliest presidential debate in U.S. history. If that seems unusual, you’re right — in more ways than one.

• It's starting to feel like everything is beef these days. The mega-rap-star-showdown between Drake and Kendrick Lamar has already inspired one Biden-Harris ad, using Lamar’s diss track, “Euphoria.” On Wednesday, President Biden dared disgraced former President Trump to debate with a schoolyard taunt: “Make my day, pal.” Now the old boys are set for June 27, three months earlier than usual. Biden’s tight timeline leaves him all summer to recover if he flops, before round two on September 10. But it also feels like this rumble is coming on faster than anyone was ready for. So what’s with the rush, fellas?
  
• Just like the Drake-Kendrick beef, there’s plenty of speculation about each side’s motivations. Biden’s bravado may actually be a sign of concern. Recent New York Times polling shows him behind in five-out-of-six key swing states. He needs a way to shake up this race. Trump, equally excited to throw down, may be eager to redo his disastrous performance in 2020, when he yelled out of turn, interrupted the moderator, and shredded decorum to the point of incoherence. He may also be looking for a way to change the subject if a Manhattan jury finds him guilty in a few weeks.
  
• Biden jeers, Trump sneers. Are we doomed to suffer the tabloidization of politics? These guys are vying to be President of the United States, not climb the Billboard charts. Sure, lots of people find beef entertaining. But there are real stakes here. Reproductive rights, LGBTQ+ rights, and voting rights are being stripped away. Two major international wars have claimed tens of thousands of lives. One candidate stands accused of serious federal felonies. It would be downright refreshing to have a big-boy discussion about actual policies and issues that impact American lives.
  

Let’s just hope the Biden campaign doesn’t have him walk out on stage to Kendrick’s “Not Like Us,” please.

Look No Further Than Crooked Media

We all make bad decisions sometimes, and although you probably have a group chat of friends to dissect what is going on in your life, understanding the nightmare-fuel that is Supreme Court decisions might require a law degree… or 3. So let Strict Scrutiny be your guide to this decision season. From abortion bans to Trump trials - law professors and hosts Melissa Murray, Kate Shaw and Leah Litman decode the drama and break down everything you need to know- and keep you sane in the process. New episodes release every Monday wherever you get your podcasts - And now on YouTube! Plus keep an eye out for bonuses, whenever SCOTUS tries to set the nation back 60 years.

Under The Radar

The Department of Justice vowed to crack down on threats to election officials, the kind that made the 2020 election so fraught and could make 2024 dicey as well. Trump’s stolen 2020 election narrative helped prompt hundreds of such threats. Four-in-10 local election officials say they have experienced threats, harassment, or abuse just for doing their jobs.
But the DOJ’s efforts may not measure up to the sheer size of the problem, according to the latest episode of this newsletter’s sister show, the What A Day podcast. Garland’s Election Threats Task Force has only brought 13 convictions since its inception in 2021. It’s far from clear how the DOJ will trace each threat back to its source. And this time, they’ll need to grapple with the rise of Artificial Intelligence, which could supercharge both the spread of misinformation and the reach of the worst people.

What Else?

Nearly a dozen MAGA faithful including Reps. Lauren Boebert (R-CO) and Matt Gaetz (R-FL) took more time away from working for their constituents to appear in Trump’s courtroom. The internet dunked on Boebert for attending Trump’s criminal trial, but not her son Tyler’s recent court date. Apparently blood is not thicker than that sweet, sweet MAGA juice.
Judge Juan Merchan is reportedly growing annoyed with the sideshow. The prosecution asked him to stop the entourage from entering court in the middle of questioning. We will all be very glad when this spectacle is finally over… which it will be. Hopefully. One Day. We think.
The House Judiciary Committee advanced an effort to hold Attorney General Merrick Garland in contempt of Congress Thursday after the White House refused to give up an audio recording of President Biden’s interview with the special counsel about his handling of classified documents. The White House seems to think Republicans want to take the audio, chop it up, and distort it for political gain. And, of course, they do. But voting to hold Garland in contempt effectively means asking Garland to arrest himself. Good luck with that one, fellas!
The North Carolina Senate voted to ban anyone from wearing masks in public for health reasons… as if the state isn’t still reporting hundreds of respiratory virus cases weekly including COVID-19! Republicans want to crack down on protesters in masks, accusing them of abusing pandemic protection to hide their identities. We know this is really just part of the GOP’s freaky little crusade against masks that is now entering its fourth year.
Cardi B is doubling down on revoking her support of President Biden in a new Rolling Stone interview, and to our disappointment, making a public stance that she is not voting for either candidate this year! Never thought we would see the day we disagreed with the iconic rap star but she has to “Be Careful” with her words and her influence. Sorry Cardi, we don’t like it like that.
A far-right Missouri secretary of state candidate might end up getting sued by rapper Lupe Fiasco for using his music in a diabolical ad featuring homophobic slurs. The ad shows candidate Valentina Gomez randomly running with an armored vest on before she blurts out: “In America, you can be anything you want. So don’t be weak and gay. Stay hard.” She even adds an F-bomb in there for good measure. Not sure what wearing a bulletproof vest for no reason and calling people gay has to do with being Secretary of State but hey, we’re not the * freedom * experts.
Gov. Greg Abbott (R-TX) said he will pardon a former Army sergeant convicted of fatally shooting a Black Lives Matter protester, citing the state’s “Stand Your Ground” law. A review board recommended Daniel Perry’s release after he was originally sentenced to 25 years in prison last year. Court records revealed Perry regularly shared racist memes and threatening content on social media, and now he will be back out on the streets thanks to Abbott. Perry’s firearm rights were also restored. Another winning day in Texas government!

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Light At The End Of The Email

The Justice Department is moving ahead with its plans to reclassify marijuana as a less dangerous drug. Reclassification wouldn’t legalize weed outright, but would federally recognize its medical use and take it out of the category with drugs like heroin and LSD. High five to that?
The Biden administration announced it will end coal leasing on federal lands in the Powder River Basin, which produces nearly half of the country’s coal in a region spanning 13 million acres across Montana and Wyoming. It’s a huge win for climate advocates pushing to restore an Obama-era moratorium on coal mining on federal lands.

Enjoy

Andrew Nadeau on Twitter: "I wish other jobs let us solve issues by releasing diss tracks. got some sick rhymes about debbie from accounting and her poorly structured invoicing"

~Ballistic protection market~ is anticipated to grow at a CAGR of 5.9% during the forecast period (2024-2031). Ballistic protection is designed to protect personnel, vehicles and structures from fragments caused by explosions, and projectiles such as bullets, and can also help mitigate the effects of blast energy from the explosions.
Get Free Sample link @ https://www.omrglobal.com/request-sample/ballistic-protection-market
The geopolitical instability across the globe fuels the demand for ballistic protection. Ballistic protection solutions are required for a variety of threats, such as terrorist attacks in public places that demand the protection of civilians and first responders and protests that demand police enforcement wear protective gear.For instance, in February 2024, UNDP and the US Government announce to equip more police inspectorates in Moldova with modern tools (such as bullet-proof vests, ballistic helmets) including for investigating cybercrime. Additionally, border conflicts and international disputes equip soldiers with body armor and armored vehicles. Forinstance in February 2022 Government of Canada sent $25 million shipment to Ukraine of non-lethal equipment which includes bulletproof jackets and helmets.
full report of Ballistic Protection Market available @ https://www.omrglobal.com/industry-reports/ballistic-protection-market
· Market Coverage
· Market number available for – 2024-2031
· Base year- 2024
· Forecast period- 2024-2031
· Segment Covered- By Source, By Product Type, By Applications
· Competitive Landscape- Archer Daniels Midland Co., Ingredion Inc., Kerry Group Plc, Cargill
· Inc., and others
Market Segmentation
Ballistic Protection Market by Product Type
o Personal Protection Equipment
o Vehicle Protection Equipment
Ballistic Protection Market by Material Type
o Bulletproof Glass
o Metal Alloys
o Fabric
o Others (ceramics, composites)
Ballistic Protection Market byTechnology Type
o Soft Armor
o Hard Armor
Ballistic Protection Market byApplication
o Military
o Airborne
o Marine
o Law Enforcement agencies
o Others (Commercial)
Regional Analysis
o North America
o United States
o Canada
o Europe
o UK
o Germany
o Italy
o Spain
o France
o Rest of Europe
o Asia-Pacific
o China
o India
o Japan
o South Korea
o Rest of Asia-Pacific
o Rest of the World
Company Profiles
o ARMORSOURCE, LLC.
o Avon Protection
o Craig International Ballistics Pty Ltd
o EnGarde body armor
o GENTEX CORPORATION
o Hellweg International
o Mehler Protection
o MKU Ltd.
o Morgan Advanced Materials plc
o Paul Boyé Technologies
o Point Blank Enterprises, Inc. (PBE)
o SAFE LIFE DEFENSE
o Seyntex
o Tactical Assault Gear
o Verseidag-Indutex GmbH
The Report Covers

• Market value data analysis of 2023and forecast to 2031.
• Annualized market revenues ($ million) for each market segment.
• Country-wise analysis of major geographical regions.
• Key companies operating in the global ballistic protection marketmarket. Based on the availability of data, information related to new product launches, and relevant news is also available in the report.
• Analysis of business strategies by identifying the key market segments positioned for strong growth in the future.
• Analysis of market-entry and market expansion strategies.
• Competitive strategies by identifying ‘who-stands-where’ in the market.

For More Customized Data, Request for Report Customization @ https://www.omrglobal.com/report-customization/ballistic-protection-market
About Orion Market Research Orion Market Research (OMR) is a market research and consulting company known for its crisp and concise reports. The company is equipped with an experienced team of analysts and consultants. OMR offers quality syndicated research reports, customized research reports, consulting and other research-based services. The company also offer Digital Marketing services through its subsidiary OMR Digital and Software development and Consulting Services through another subsidiary Encanto Technologies.
Media Contact:
Company Name: Orion Market Research
Contact Person: Mr. Anurag Tiwari
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Contact no: +91 780-304-0404

The famous baseballer, Jackie Robinson, he once said: “A life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives.” I could not agree more. That is why I try to make as much impact on my faces’ lives as possible. After all, they have done so much for me. It is the least I can do. Unlike them, I need not fear what people think of me. So I can be brave where they are weak. For I will just be someone else tomorrow.

Born in Russia to the Grand Duke Nikolai Kravinoff, Dmitri Nikolaievich Smerdyakov was treated like trash by his noble father and his working class mother. Young Dmitri was approached one day by Gustav Fiers, who was impressed by the boy's impressions and paid for a trip to Karl Fiers academy. There, Dmitri would learn to master the arts of disguise, vocal impression and infiltration, becoming the Chameleon upon his graduation.
He'd move to America and use his talents to pull off high-scale burglary, working for any group that could afford his fee, including the Communist party, Hydra or the Green Goblin. His elicit activity brought him into conflict with the Hulk, Iron Man and most often Spider-Man, all of whom had to act with great caution when the Chameleon was in town. After all, which one of them could tell if that unassuming civilian or their own ally was preparing to stab them in the back?
Dmitri has some mental hangups over his time with the Kravinoffs. He’s managed to repress the memories and considered himself good friends with his half-brother Kraven. In reality, he was more like a whipping boy and slave to the Hunter, and when he has to wrestle with those feelings, he can mentally revert to that scared little boy with no strong sense of identity or independence. But when he’s able to move past these feelings, the Chameleon has proved himself as a powerful, manipulative force, finding his place as temporary Crime Master of New York and member of the Sinister Six.
Scaling

• Spider-Man
• Kraven the Hunter
• Captain America
• Daredevil
• Deadpool

Notes
During one of Dmitri’s mental breaks, he began to believe that he was his deceased half-brother, Kraven the Hunter. So exact was the Chameleon’s performance that he moved and fought with the hunter’s skill and agility. This was an extreme fringe case and there are no other examples of a disguise altering Chameleon's capabilities like this. Physical and skill-related feats from this period will be marked with [KH].
Hover over a feat to see which issue it's from.

Physicals

General

• He’s taken some of Kraven’s potions, which extends his natural lifespan and protects from disease
• Kraven later notes that he only allowed the Chameleon to drink some of his potions, enhancing his strength, although not nearly as much as the Hunter himself

Strength
Unarmed Striking

• Downs a cop with a punch to the back of the head
• Boxes Alexei Kravinoff’s ears, flooring the bigger man
• Tackles and restrains Bruce Banner
• While posing as Tigra, he breaks Mysterio’s helmet with a kick
• Knocks Finesse out with two punches to the back of the head
• [KH] Kicks Alexei in the chin mid-leap
• Hurts Spidey with a kick to the face
• Hospitalized the Shocker

Striking with Weapons

• Floors a man with a suitcase
• Clubs Captain America with a fire extinguisher, flooring him for several seconds
• [KH] Smashes through a ceiling and dives at Alexei
• [KH] Impales a man with a spear, then rams him into a wall hard enough to crack it
• Beats a man unconscious with a pistol

Grip

• Crushes one of Spidey’s tracers in his grip
• Crushes a picture frame
• Crushes a glass in his grip

Other

• While carrying Betty Ross over his shoulder with one hand, the Chameleon uses the other to smack Major Glenn Talbot
• [KH] Holds a wolf away from him
• Carries and fires this absurdly large gun

Durability
Scaling with Spider-Man

• Gets up after a glancing blow from Spider-Man
• Takes a backhand from Spider-Man
• Stays barely conscious after Spider-Man punches him into what looks like a concrete wall hard enough to break it
• Takes two punches from an angry Spider-Man
• While emulating Spider-Man and clinging to a wall with suction cups, he takes a punch from the real Spider-Man but stays clinging and makes an escape
• Spider-Man throws Chameleon head-first into a wall, then smacks him three times, breaking his mask. Despite this, the Chameleon stays conscious and manages to run off.
• Gets kicked in the head by Spider-Man (dressed as Deadpool) but quickly recovers and puts Spidey in a headlock
• Takes a sucker punch from Spider-Man in the Spider-Armor MK III
• [Limit] One casual punch from the Superior Spider-Man knocks Dmitri out

Scaling to Others

• Gets tackled by the Hulk, who was shrunk down to a few inches at the time
• Takes three heavy blows from Daredevil before falling into unconsciousness
• Takes a backhand punch from Kraven
• He gets up after Captain America throws his shield into his back
• Stays conscious after Deadpool punches him out a window
• Takes a punch from Spidey and an elbow from Deadpool
• Gets punched by Whirlwind
• Gets beat on by Teresa Parker

Blunt Force

• Spider-Man punches Vulture, sending the villain flying into Chameleon
• Gets thrown many feet into the air, then falls back-first onto stone
• He jumps off the Brooklyn Bridge and lands in the water below
• [KH, Limit] He’s KO’ed by a woman with a wooden chair
• While disguised as Spider-Man, he gets grabbed and swung around a room by tentacles, at one point getting his head slammed through a concrete wall with no ill effects

Gunfire

• He’s not noticeably harmed after a cop shoots him in the shoulder
• Stays standing after being shot in the thigh
• Twenty minutes after being shot in the shoulder, he’s not noticeably harmed

Vehicle Crashes

• Crashes his car into the Hulk
• Crawls from a crashed HYDRA aircraft
• Unharmed after crashing his truck into a wall
• While piloting a giant Galactus robot, a helicarrier crashes into the robot’s head and the Chameleon’s control room. He survives the crash relatively unharmed.

Other

• He survives after being poisoned and being left in a burning bar by the Punisher
• When Captain America breaks one of Chameleon’s stun guns, the resulting blast melts his rubber face mask, burning him
• He eats a full plate of ambien-laced cookies baked by Aunt May
• Spider-Man webs up a big gun that the Chameleon was using, causing it to blow up in his face. Dmitri gets up right after.

Agility

• Dodges some charges from Hammerhead, first with a sidestep, then by flipping over the mobster
• [KH] Dodges a tackle attempt from Alexei Kravinoff
• He lands hits on Spider-Man pretty easily once the hero loses his spider-sense

Skill

Impersonation
General

• When posing as someone, the Chameleon copies their gait and posture
• When emulating J. Jonah Jameson, not only does the Chameleon copy his personality, mannerisms and body language, but he copies Jonah’s writing style so he can turn in editorials at the Daily Bugle
• [Limit] In 2009, he took the form of Barack Obama and attempted to get sworn in as the POTUS. However, Spider-Man asked the fake and the real Obama a question that only the real Obama would know the answer to, outing the Chameleon as an imposter.
• Mimics Tigra perfectly, replicating her movements, voice and microexpressions
• When posing as a zombie Ezekiel Sims, Chameleon does something to make himself smell like a long-dead corpse

Voices

• Skilled in vocal emulation
• He perfectly emulates voices over the course of minutes after listening to audio recordings or the voices of his hostages
• While posing as the Paris police director, he fools a voice recognition system designed by Henry Pym, allowing him access into an Avengers headquarters
• Can emulate mechanized voices, like Doc Ock’s from when he was a cyborg

Limits

• Betty Ross sees through Dmitri’s Bruce Banner disguise thanks to her female intuition
• Daredevil sees through the Chameleon’s disguises because he can hear Dmitri’s distinct heartbeat
• Spider-Man’s Spider-Armor MK III has a Daredevil-inspired feature built in to the helmet that allows Peter to track Chameleon’s specific heartbeat. This allows him to see through the villain’s disguises.

Combat

• [KH] Fights evenly with Alexei Kravinoff before restraining him with a rope
• Off-panel, he killed a SHIELD agent and a doctor with a pen
• Shanks Superior Spider-Man in the neck with a pen
• While disguised as Spider-Man, he brawls hand-to-hand with Deadpool
• [Limit] Lost a fight to Mary Jane Watson with a baseball bat
• [KH] Slashes two mens’ throats with a single swipe of a spoon

Other

• [KH] Performs a handstand on a tree stump
• Using Klawe’s sound cannon, he blasts MODOK’s psionic blaster, disabling the head’s main weapon
• Leaps from a second story and lands on an awning to break his fall
• Jumps from the back of an aircraft onto the hood of a pursuing flying car
• Nick Fury boots Dmitri off of a flying car, but the villain manages to grab a ladder on a nearby aircraft
• Cracks a locked vault door, possibly using a stethoscope
• Pilots a giant LMD modeled to look like Galactus
• (Poorly) pilots the Iron Man Model 4 before being dropped by an alternate-universe Ghost Rider

Disguises

Realistic Masks

• Originally, the Chameleon employed realistic masks and hairpieces to disguise himself as individuals. He kept these pieces in a multi-pocketed vest, allowing him to alter his appearance on the fly
• After getting one quick glance at Thunderbolt Ross, the Chameleon is able to make a perfect mask of the general’s face in a matter of minutes
• When the Hulk is tearing the Chameleon’s car apart, he quickly changes into the guise of Rick Jones to calm the Hulk, then manipulate him into breaking a friend out of prison
• At one point, he used a gun that squirts fast-drying fluid, which kills victims via suffocation and leaves the Chameleon with a perfect mask of their face
• He once wore four masks layered on top of his plain, white one

Malleable Flesh

• He gets a procedure done to his body that makes his flesh completely malleable, changing in response to electrical stimuli. He also had a specially designed costume that reacted the same way to stimuli. The final piece was a control system built into a belt that could memorize and store any face that the Chameleon encountered. All of these pieces allowed the Chameleon to completely copy someone’s appearance and replicate it through thought alone.
• This exact method of changing his face depends on the comic's art style
  • Most often, the change just occurs instantly between panels
  • It can happens in a flash of light
  • Dmitri's features can melt and morph before reforming into a new face
  • The features can “slide across Chameleon’s head horizontally
• After looking at a photograph of a man, the Chameleon completely embodies him in moments
• When begging for his life, he rapidly switches between a dozen different faces
• When he’s knocked unconscious, his face relaxes and goes back to how it normally looks
• Once made a game out of pretending to be a civilian in need, then attacking Spider-Man when the hero helps him
• [Limit] One time, a very serious Spider-Man shocked and frightened the Chameleon so badly that he let his disguise drop

Other Methods

• Uses convincing costumes when posing as superheroes or supervillains
• Disguises himself as a Statue of Liberty street performer
• Some kind of hidden device emits mist, allowing the Chameleon to change masks and outfits
• Carries a canister of chemical gas that instantly changes the color of his clothing
• Later on, he wears a suit that allows him to instantly change his facial appearance and clothing
  • After confronting Spidey in public and taking a blow from the wall-crawler, the Chameleon assumes the form of a defenseless, old lady to turn the public against the hero
• A high-tech costume can resemble any article of clothing that the Chameleon can think of
• When appearing as someone much bigger than he is, like the Kingpin, the Chameleon uses an inflatable suit
• Poses as a hostage, then uses a hologram projector to make it look like Doc Ock is holding him off a roof
• When working for the Superior Spider-Man’s team of “reformed” villains, the Superior Six, Chameleon used hologram tech to aid in his disguises. This let him appear as Loki, with his massive horns and Asgardian outfit being formed with the tech. It otherwise works more or less like his powers did.
• Most recently, the Chameleon requires the use of a serum to be able to change his features at will
  • As soon as the Chameleon touches someone, he’s able to look exactly like that person. This can also make the other person temporarily swap forms with the Chameleon (or other users of the serum).

Weapons

Non-Lethal
Guns

• Uses a dart gun that instantly knocks a man out with a shot to the shoulder
• Uses a chemical gas gun to instantly knock out Captain America, keeping him out for a few minutes
• A dart gun that leaves victims unconscious and foaming from the mouth
• A stun gun

Injectables

• A syringe full of sedative chemicals that KOs Spider-Man and makes Deadpool woozy for a minute until he heals
• A syringe hidden in a prop torch puts Spider-Man to sleep immediately
• He injects Spider-Man with a poisonous chemical. It brings on extreme nausea and vertigo, then later knocks Spider-Man out for two days straight.

Other

• Snuck into Captain Stacy’s room and administered a few drops of sedatives to Stacy’s decanter. This kept him unconscious all day, allowing the Chameleon to assume his identity and steal priceless pieces of art.
• An aerosol can of sedatives
• One time, he coated his clothing in an odorless sedative chemical. When Spider-Man grabs him by his jacket, the hero falls unconscious in a matter of seconds.
• Gas grenades
• He uses some kind of electric weapon on a shallow body of water, shocking Spider-Man, Husk and Deadpool into unconsciousness

Lethal
Guns

• Normal guns like rifles, a shotgun and a handgun
• A silenced handgun
• A revolver
• A double-barreled shotgun
• He wields a one-handed launcher that carries a variety of capsules, including cyanide gas canisters and concussive explosives
• An absurdly large, Liefeld-esque gun that blows up a computer station
• A energy-based handgun with explosive firepower, used to blast a large hole through Deadpool’s torso and later turn a concrete wall into rubble

Injectables

• A poison ring that would’ve injected JJJ with a lethal dose during a handshake
• [KH] Shoots Spider-Man with a poison dart that would’ve killed him in ten minutes if he didn’t take the antidote

Other

• Usually carries a dagger or other kind of blade
• A grenade
• A small, box-shaped time bomb
• He once used a Man-Thing parasite to protect himself from gunfire and form combat applicable branch-like tentacles

Other Equipment

Field Gear

• Smoke pellets
• When posing as Spider-Man, he used a web-gun to emulate the hero’s web-shooters, although the webbing wasn’t as strong as Spider-Man’s
• While posing as Spider-Man, the Chameleon utilizes suction cup-covered gloves and a web gun to replicate Spidey’s wall-crawling and web-slinging
• A tracking device
• Nose filters protect him from a cloud of cyanide gas
• A jetpack with enough fuel to fly for nearly a full hour
• Typically restrains victims with rope and gags

Base Installations

• Uses a modified radio to send a message across New York that only Spider-Man could hear
• Uses a machine to swap memories with Captain America
• One lair boasts a chair that can be lowered into a pit of acid, used to destroy bodies
• Rigs his lairs to explode if they’re compromised
• He detonates explosives in one of his hideouts that releases napalm-like flames

Other

• He’s helped to design Life Model Decoys that look exactly like Richard and Mary Parker with the goal of investigating Peter Parker and finding out about Spider-Man’s identity. While the false Mary developed a conscience and defied her programming, the false Richard was outfitted with a combat form.
• He holds a gun to the head of a simulacra of Mary Jane. When Spidey determines it’s a fake instead of his real wife, it poofs into smoke.
• Robots that drive his escape vehicles

Miscellaneous

• After coming across a cave full of assorted scrap mechanics, Chameleon builds a missile from the pieces. He later says he “found” the missile, so who knows. At any rate, the missile is strong enough to KO the Hulk when they collide.
• One time, he inexplicably escaped from Spider-Man’s grasp and disappeared from the room
• He kidnaps Spider-Man and imprisons him in Ravencroft Asylum. He then unmasks the hero, puts a realistic mask and straightjacket on him and attempts to gaslight Peter, through the use of psychoactive drugs and fabricated evidence, into believing he’s another man named Herbert Smith. This ruse does convince Peter for a good while until he later remembers his life with Mary Jane.
• He implies that he might be able to disguise his psyche from the telepathic X-Men member, No-Girl, although the claim is not actually proven
• Off-panel, he killed a man, cut off his face and used it for a temporary mask

Monica Rappaccini: I apologize for the delay in initial payment, but we first had to verify your identity. A.I.M.’s intel had been that the Chameleon was dead- or in an insane asylum.
Chameleon: Yes, well. That would be exactly what I wanted you to think. Faded into the background, imperceptible… that’s where a Chameleon is most comfortable… and where I shall now return.

I plan to join a tournament (open-sheet) where Regulation F is still in play. I want to get feedback on my team and their IVs. I am reconsidering the value of my Farigiraf since it is mainly used to lock certain moves with Imprison against Fluttermane, and that's its only role.
Archaludon (M) @ Assault Vest
Ability: Stamina
Tera Type: Fairy
EVs: 248 HP / 4 Def / 36 SpA / 180 SpD / 40 Spe
Modest Nature

• Dragon Pulse
  
• Flash Cannon
  
• Body Press
  
• Electro Shot
  

Amoonguss (F) @ Room Service
Ability: Regenerator
Tera Type: Dark
EVs: 244 HP / 252 Def / 14 SpD
Sassy Nature
IVs: 0 Spe

• Rage Powder
  
• Spore
  
• Pollen Puff
  
• Sludge Bomb
  

Pelipper (F) @ Focus Sash
Ability: Drizzle
Tera Type: Ground
EVs: 6 HP / 252 SpA / 252 Spe
Timid Nature

• Hurricane
  
• U-turn
  
• Tailwind
  
• Wide Guard
  

Incineroar (M) @ Safety Goggles
Ability: Intimidate
Shiny: Yes
Tera Type: Grass
EVs: 134 HP / 244 Atk / 132 Spe
Adamant Nature

• Flare Blitz
  
• Knock Off
  
• Fake Out
  
• Parting Shot
  

Urshifu-Rapid-Strike (M) @ Choice Scarf
Ability: Unseen Fist
Tera Type: Steel
EVs: 70 HP / 156 Atk / 20 Def / 92 SpD / 172 Spe
Adamant Nature

• Surging Strikes
  
• Close Combat
  
• U-turn
  
• Ice Spinner
  

Giraf (Farigiraf) (F) @ Throat Spray
Ability: Armor Tail
Tera Type: Fire
EVs: 108 HP / 44 Def / 156 SpA / 202 SpD
Quiet Nature
IVs: 0 Atk / 0 Spe

• Dazzling Gleam
  
• Shadow Ball
  
• Protect
  
• Imprison
  

“Well…..frak.”
Those were the only words Corporal James Diogenes could think of to describe his current situation. Behind him, he watched as his comrades turning tail and running away.
“Cowards. Cowards one and all.”
He spit into the dirt towards his former allies then turned towards the other part of his problem.
Xenos. A large army of Xenos, one that was far more disciplined and had far more bodies than command had assumed. He couldn’t remember what they were called or even remember the name of the planet he was on. He couldn’t care for either topic. He wasn’t surprised that the Intel he and his colleagues had been fed was wrong, it often was, but never to this degree. The enemy outnumbered the imperial army forces at least 7 to 1 if not far more. Their tactics were similar to those employed by the imperial army but their population meant they could do more tactical maneuvers, on more fronts, at the same time.
Why the imperial navy didn’t annihilate those armies from orbit, James would never understand. Given his current situation he most likely wouldn’t get a chance to ask. He checked the magazine on his auto-gun, the rifle being rather old by the standards of the current imperial army but its age held up as it punched through most body armor he came across.
“…..Frak.”
He cursed again as he inspected the magazine. Three, maybe four rounds left before he was out? He looked over his shoulder and sighed. The cowards took the ammo with them along with any other supplies they could carry, leaving an empty trench and a few rows of rusty flay-wire.
And James but he chose to stay behind.
A low chuckle escaped him as that thought came to mind. He shook his head as he took his spot in the trench. He wouldn’t win this fight, he was sure of it, but by Terra and in the Emperor’s name he would make them bleed. He would make them hurt.
The few rounds he had in his magazine were gone in no times at all. Four enemies laying in the dust and being trampled by their friends was proof of that. He smiled grimly as he watched his enemies march towards him. They had all bowed their heads slightly, seemingly expecting more shots. That got him laughing. A few bullets and a whole army was shaking before him. He wondered if this is what the primarchs, the emperors daughters, felt like whenever they were on crusade.
He tossed his empty rifle to the side. His smile grew as he held his knife, gripping it tightly as he watched the advancing line of xeno scum. The leather of his glove strained as his hidden knuckles grew white from how tightly he gripped his knife. He considered for a moment what he’d do when the enemy came into the trench. He knew he would fight and die, but he wondered how many of them he’d kill before they took him down.
He reached back behind him, grabbing the Krak grenade he had attached to his belt. He held it tightly and used the middle finger of his knife hand to pull the pin. He held close, holding the striker lever down to ensure it wouldn’t go off until he let go of it. Then he waited.
The world closed in. Darkness tinted the edge of his vision as he watched his enemy march ever closer. Nothing existed save for him and the enemy. He knew what this was. Adrenaline, anticipation, and fear all coming together to activate his fight-or-flight response. He whole body felt charged and he had to stop himself from jumping out of the trench and running…..where? He wasn’t sure. He couldn’t guarantee his body wouldn’t turn tail and follow the rest of the imperial army back to the transports.
He adjusted his cap, scratched his bearded cheek and continued to watch. Watch and wait. That was all he could do now. His breathing grew heavy and erratic, his teeth barred, and a low growl escaped him.
The marching stopped.
He stared and waited.
A ploy? A chance to surrender maybe? Were they simply calling in artillery on his position?
That last thought stopped him. Artillery. Would they call artillery or an orbital strike or some other long distance attack on his position?
No. No, no, no, no they wouldn’t escape him that easy.
He scowled and climbed out of the trench, charging the Xenos line with a roar. The knife was raised over his head, holding it in an upside down fashion, as he sprinted towards his enemy. He refused to die to some cowardly artillery strike, he absolutely refused to be turned into a red smear on some backwater planet that no one would ever remember or care about.
The enemy….ran. They ran! He laughed as he chased after them. It didn’t make sense and he didn’t care. He couldn’t care, he was beyond caring.
“Get back here you throne damned bastards! GET THE FRAK BACK HERE!”
He slowed down long enough to toss the Krak grenade, laughing loudly when he saw it go off and take a handful of Xenos down.
The blood….was blood always so beautiful?
He continued running after the enemy before he stopped again. He stopped running cause something had stopped him. He didn’t understand, his legs were still under him, he was still alive, he could still fight!
“Kraking, bastard, filthy xenos, kill you all-“
“Shut up.”
He stopped talking, the voice snapping him out of…..whatever that was. He regained control and realized why he stopped running. Something had picked him up. He stared down at the ground only to realize how high he was above it.
“Hnngh, let go of me.”
He turned towards whatever was holding him only for his eyes to grow wide.
There stood….a woman. A very big woman with metallic dreadlocks poking out of her skull, her armor exposing skin and flesh in the fashion of a gladiator of old. He stared at him with a raised eyebrow and a silent growl as a twitch of pain or anger made her right eye close for a half second.
“Excuse me….heh….corporal.”
She said his rank as if it was an insult, even going as far as spitting on the ground after she said it. She held up by the back of his flak vest like he was little more than a lost puppy. She treated him like he wasn’t worth even talking to and that he was some stupid grunt who was simply in the way.
Space marines raced past both of them, ignoring them in favor of chasing after the retreating Xenos. They….were gonna steal his glory.
“Let me go damn you, the fights over there!”
The woman laughed loudly. Her head held back as her laughter echoed over the battlefield. A part of him thought her laughter was the most horrific and beautiful sound he ever heard, but it was overshadowed by his growing rage.
“You wouldn’t do-hnngghh-do anything to those alien freaks by yourself. Go home boy. Run with the rest of your fri-“
He swiped at her and smiled widely when he saw a small, paper thin cut open up on her cheek. A small trickle of blood dribbled down her skin as her smile disappeared. Her free hand came up and wiped at the cut. She studied the small swipe of blood on her finger. The cut was nothing, it wouldn’t even scar and she had lost far more blood then this in the blood pits. But something about this man taking a swipe at her, daring to cut her, daring to even consider killing or harming her…..
She smiled widely and put the man on her shoulder.
“You. I like you. You’re mine now little man.”
He tried to jump off but she held firm and turned away from the battle. Her sons would handle the fight. He roared on her shoulder and struggled against her grip, his rage growing as he did everything he could to get into the fight and kill. He wanted to, no needed to spill blood. He needed to kill, he needed to make them bleed.
But this goddess in bronze wouldn’t let him. She walked away and set him down in a space marine Rhino. He didn’t know her, he didn’t know why she took him, and he didn’t care. Instead he sighed and hung his head as he lit a iho stick.
“Don’t worry Corporal, there will be more glory to be had.”
He stared at her. His eyes were bloodshot, his body covered in dust and he felt exhausted.
“Hnngh…frakking….throne damn you….”
She smiled widely at that and pulled the trigger on her chainaxe. She then turned towards the driver.
“On second thought, hmm let’s go. I wanna see what you got little corporal.”
He smiled at that and stood up, popping his neck. He exhaustion was forgotten for the time being as the thought of killing those damned Xenos got his blood pumping and made him want to move.
“By the way.”
The giantess spoke as the rear hatch opened, revealing the same battlefield he had just left.
“My name is Atalanta.”
Please note: I’m not a writer and this whole story came to me while I was in a shower and from my lack of artistic skill. Sorry if it’s trash.


FINANCIALS

Period: Q1/2024
Filling Date: 2024-05-13
REVENUE:
Revenue: $10.61M
Gross Profit: $4.01M (37.76%)
Result: $-790 557 (ebitda)
EPS: $-0.130
Outstanding Shares: 6.22M
BALANCE:
Cash: 13.53M
Debt: 1.55M
FINANCIAL EVALUATION/SCORE:
Financial Score - Altman: 8.57
Financial Score - Piotroski: 4.00
Leatt Corporation's price movement correlates with the following stocks:
Ticker Correlation --- ---
Summary Of Last Earnings call:
In the first quarter of 2024, Leatt Corporation reported a 19% decrease in total global revenues compared to the same period in 2023, primarily driven by a decrease in sales to distributors. However, consumer direct and dealer direct sales showed solid improvement, with the recently launched Adventure (ADV) line of products generating promising initial shipments. Despite industry challenges, Leatt remains optimistic about future growth, profitability, and shareholder value due to their expanding product portfolio, financial stability, and growing multichannel sales organization.
The company's focus on stabilizing inventory levels, improving margins, and strategic hiring of new talent, particularly in the US market, positions them well for continued growth. Efforts to develop the ADV line have been successful, with plans to release additional products like boots and gloves in the near future. Despite challenges in certain regions and product categories, Leatt's strong financial position, innovative products, and dedicated team of sales and marketing professionals give them confidence in their ability to return to sustained growth.
Company Description:
Leatt Corporation designs, develops, markets, and distributes personal protective equipment for participants of motor sports and leisure activities worldwide. The company offers Leatt-Brace system, an injection molded neck protection system designed to prevent injuries to the cervical spine and neck. It also provides helmets for head and brain protection; and body armor range, including chest protectors, full upper body protectors, upper body protection vests, back protectors, knee braces, knee and elbow guards, impact shorts and cooling vests, off-road motorcycle boots, and mountain biking shoes. In addition, the company offers other products, parts, and accessories, such as goggles; toolbelt, duffel, gear, helmet, and hydration bags; casual clothing and caps; hats; and apparels that comprises jackets, jerseys, pants, shorts, socks, and gloves, as well as aftermarket support products. Further, it acts as the original equipment manufacturer for neck braces sold by other brands. The company's products are used by riders of motorcycles, bicycles, snowmobiles, and ATVs, as well as motor racing cars and other helmeted sports. It sells its products to customers through a network of distributors and retailers; and through its online store at leatt.com. The company was formerly known as Treadzone, Inc. and changed its name to Leatt Corporation in May 2005. The company was founded in 2001 and is headquartered in Durbanville, South Africa.
Full fundamentals fundamentals for LEAT here.

When you look at history brigadine armor was basically just made like modern body armour in a sense but often covered more although it was mostly the torso. Metal or just plates of a material woven into fabric akin to modern stab proof vests, even today some types exist that basically offer the same level of coverage as a brigadine.
It was not only cheaper but easier to move around as a regular foot soldiers who wore only a gambeson, brigadine and open face helmet. War picks also existed and were not hard to make.
Would you say they have made protective coats that stop both blunt force and cuts in the sense of full upper body protection are a thing in modern day or not?
Wouldn't it be useful for some occupations for them to have that too btw?

Reddit Account: u/Thenn_Applicant
Discord Tag: Garin
Name and House: Dorian Merryweather
Age: 49
Cultural Group: Reachman
Appearance: Dorian's chestnut brown hair has been greying for quite a while, however is short beard retains more color, including a few stray red hairs peppered throughout it. While his features have softened and gained some pudge as he aged past his prime, he remains in overall good shape. This is partly due to his great love of gardening and crop cultivation, which have left his hands and nails rather rough.
Trait: Numerate
Skills: Avaricious (e), Architect, Administrator, Investor
Talents: Language (High Valyrian) Cooking, Gardening
Negative Trait: N/A
Starting Title: Lord of Longtable
Starting Location: Opening Event
Biography:
It has been said; men grow tired of sleep, love, singing and dancing, sooner than war. As such, it begs the question, what does a man have left when he finally tires of war? In pursuit of an answer, of any answer, one half of Dorian Merryweather’s life was spent. He was the second son of Lord Arthor Merryweather of Longtable. Like many others born in a place of natural abundance, he longed for more, for something greater than a mere provincial estate. The tourneys of Highgarden, the hunts of Horn Hill and the books of Oldtown all called to him, and so he could never ride past his father’s mild and verdant fields fast enough. Dorian counted himself lucky not to be the heir, for that meant he could pick where his future lay, unchained from the uninspiring home of his childhood. Instead it was his older brother, Bennard, who envied his free-flying lifestyle, contriving any excuse to join him on his escapades and agurk lessons and ceremonies he ought to have attended.
Lord Arthor was fairly permissive of this deriliction of duties, as the friendships forced on such journeys were worth more than lessons that could be repeated later, or tasks that could be handed off to lowborn stewards. The boys attended tourneys, balls, hunts and feasts, living the life the bards extolled as the height of reachman’s chivalry. The one time they did not shirk their duties was when their father had the honor of hosting King Mern and his court for a tourney on the Warrior’s day. The Merryweather sons would present the king and his family with silver bowls of dilligrout, a most exquisite stew of capons, white wine and almond milk. They had the joy of tasting it once the Gardeners had their fill, a taste they would never forget. On the tournament field three days later, Mern knighted them both, though Dorian was only sixteen at the time, green as a knight could ever be.
Five years later, as news of Aegon Targaryen and his early conquests spread, the lords of the Reach were summoned to Goldengrove, where they found a veritable forest of Westermen’s banners being planted beside their own. The fall of the Storm Kings had led to a whirlwind of diplomacy between the houses of Gardener and Lannister. The plan was presented to the lords with the two kings sitting beside one another on the dais as though they were brothers. They held up Aegon’s letter of demands, scornfully reading it aloud and then proceeded to tear it up to a roaring acclamation from the hall. Standing there before the hall, Mern could hardly be called the Warrior incarnate. There stood a man well past his prime, old enough to be a grandfather and with no great victories to his name, in battle or on the tourney field. All the same, this man, whom they called their king, always seemed to know exactly what to say to win someone over. If he’d declared war on hell itself that evening, the Merryweather brothers would probably still have marched off with him when the next morning dawned. Bennard and Dorian shouted as loud as anyone, death to the foreign upstart. That evening were betrothed to westerwomen they’d never met before, made plans for a real battle, which they had never fought in before, and drank, ate and sang as though the night would last forever. House Merryweather was not able to secure a command, yet King Mern remembered his stay at Longtable fondly. He gave Bennard and Dorian a place in the vanguard, and even adorned Bennard with a brooch of the order of the green hand the morning before the army Goldengrove, a momentous honor which Bennard would cherish for the remainder of his days. He did not have many left, as it turned out. The Field of Fire began like a dream, as the two brothers rode off at the break of dawn, two out of five thousand sets of gleaming armor atop proud warhorses. By the end of the day it had become a nightmare. Caught up in the maelstrom of battle, Dorian did not see the moment when their loss was assured, but the Gods know he could hear it, the creeping, hungry flames that descended on the reachmen like an army of its own. As hundreds were broiled inside their steel plate and thousands more choked on the inferno’s horrible vanguard of black smoke, Bennard and Dorian broke and fled. They were not far behind the retreating Loren Lannister in their escape, but half a minute made all the difference. The lines of fire fanned out, hunting more living things to devour, and engulfed the two brothers. Dorian could feel how the flames spread from his surcoat to his undershirt, all the way down to the hairs on his chest, beginning to sear his skin. In a desperate act he threw himself in the Blackwater, and would have perished if not for the shoddy work of his squire that morning, which left him able to tear off his plate before he could sink. With bloodied, burn-marked fingers, he clung to the roots of a tree by the riverside, water up to his chest. He was retrieved after some time, how long he could not say. For the next two moons his mind was adrift, distracted from his pains by milk of the poppy. The next two were far worse, as he grew more lucid and realized the extent of the damage. A burn-mark stretched from his right thigh, all the way up his chest and left bicep to the apple of his neck. Many times over, flakes of dead or dying skin had to be peeled off by the maester as the scabs kept bursting with blood and clear liquid. By the end of that year he was able to walk again, though the burn mark would leave a feverish red mark across the front of his body, his new skin settling into twisted lines.
Bennard was far worse for wear, alive yet burned all the way to his face and crippled from a fall off his horse. His nose and ear-lobes had to be cut off, too burned to save, and even his eyelids were permanently scarred, unable to sprout new lashes. The more lucid Bennard became, the deeper his sorrow. Eventually he began refusing food. The new lord of Longtable would not eat anything his cooks set in front of him. In spite of his ever present pains, Dorian began going to the kitchens, reprimanding the cooks for their failings. He knew his brother well and knew his palette, and began ordering them to make his brother’s favorites. When he felt they were making mistakes, he interrupted their work himself. He was a stranger to the kitchen, yet would criticize how things were cut too roughly, spiced too little or too much. He was a terror to the cooks, yet they could not refuse him.
His attempts to intervene were however hampered by a newfound aversion to heat. The sound of the hearth, of boiling and searing, the general sense of warmth around him made him nauseous and caused his movements to seize up. Still, he went to his brother’s bedside every day, and afterwards he forced himself back to the kitchens. His sister, Lydia, tried to stop him at first, but soon found her protes fell on deaf ears, and so joined him, if only to leash him in when he went too far. Finally, there was only one dish they hadn’t tried; the dilligrout they’d once served to the late King Mern. Every time it was made, it came out wrong. It soon turned out the cook who had served them that evening six years ago had since retired, and his exact method had never been recorded or taught to anyone else. Dorian would first invite the man to Longtable, then summon him with armed knights when invitations were refused.
Theomar, the man who appeared before him, was a sorry sight, looking frightened and confused as he was taken to his old workplace. It was explained by his sons that he’d been growing senile even six years ago, often snapping at the kitchen maids under him when his memory failed him. Since then he’d gotten worse, seldom eating, let alone cooking. Something in the old man’s eyes did seem to brighten for a moment when the sounds and smells of his old kitchen surrounded him, and Dorian ordered him to make dilligrout. Before long that faint spark had been drowned out by tears. He would start boiling capon or crushing almonds, only to leave the job half-done whenever he had to fetch something new. Serving maids were put at his disposal to bring him ingredients, yet an ingredient ordered would be met with a reprimand as he seemed to forget which dish he was making every few minutes. Finally Dorian snapped at the man, grabbing him by his collar and shouting accusations of treason against House Merryweather. By the time Lydia could restrain him and try to apologize, the man was a wreck on the floor. After watching it for a while, waiting for the man to get up and continue his work, even Dorian was overcome by pity and shame for what he’d done. The old cook was praying to the gods, begging forgiveness for his failings. Dorian began to realize he’d broken a great man down and would himself beg forgiveness. He offered the man his old cook’s quarters back for the rest of his life, and promised his sons that his maester would tend to the man in his old age, that he would be fed from Longtable’s stores.
At this point, he resolved to make the dilligrout himself. Through it all, Bennard was barely clinging to life, or rather being tethered to it by the will of others. He could only be fed when drugged down by the milk of the poppy, and the more often it was used, the less effective it became. Every day Dorian braved the kitchens, yet he could not recreate the flavor of that wonderful night. It was by the grace of the gods, perhaps with Theomar as their vessel, that Dorian would even come close. The old man could no longer cook, but over time he began to wander into the kitchens and sit down on a chair. At first Dorian thought the man only sought the warmth of the hearth for his weary bones, yet he discovered it to be more than that. Theomar’s eyes were like clouded glass, yet they brightened every now and then, hearing almonds being ground, smelling capons searing in fat, as though it was stirring the kitchenmaster of yore back to life. Eventually Dorian began to walk up to the old cook with his ingredients, bidding him to smell or taste small portions. Sometimes he got simple instructions out of it, ‘too coarse’, ‘too sour’, ‘underdone’. Som times a mere nod or frown was all Theomar managed. Over the course of a couple of days, Dorian put together one final attempt to get the dish made rightWhen he arrived in Bennard’s chamber, he was met with a look which brought forth discomfort that no flame could produce in Dorian. Plainly, raspingly, his brother asked him why he wouldn’t let him die. It was easy, Bennard reasoned. All Dorian needed to do was wait and become lord. The words almost made Dorian throw the dilligrout on the floor. Almost. He placed two bowls on Bennard’s table, the dilligrout and one brimming with milk of the poppy. Dorian told his brother to make his choice. If he sought death, Dorian would let him, but he would not hear that it was an easy thing, watching his brother die. That evening, the milk of the poppy was carried away by the maester, the empty bowl of stew taken to be washed in the kitchens. From then on, Bennard ate what his brother brought him without complaint. He lasted just into the new year, dying on its tenth day. In the predawn gloom of the twelfth, Theomar died in his sleep
Dorian took up his lordly task joylessly. His old wanderlust returned, spurred by the horrible memories that now stained Longtable and the reach itself in his mind. The final straw came when their new Tyrell overlords, insisted on him marrying a lady from a dornish house. His previous betrothal had fallen through, as the parents of his western bride had not wished to draw the ire of the Targaryens by maintaining an old alliance meant to oppose them. Instead of obliging, he boarded a ship from Oldtown going east. It stopped only briefly in Planky Town before going to Tyrosh. Noting him to be a nobleman, a few of the city’s wealthy men would host him for a while, though they quickly lost interest when his lack of knowledge of trade became apparent. After that, he spent time in the markets and squares where the common people lived. His old curiosity was piqued, and he decided to embark on a quest of learning, fashioning himself another Lomas Longstrider. He moved on to Myr, and the experience was much the same in broad strokes, a few rich men showed interest and quickly lost it. As he’d visited the dye markets he went to see the city’s famous artisans at work. One thing was notably different, he met a Tyroshi woman with green-dyed hair, going by the name Maryah. She was a trader, and the two had taken the same ship to Myr. She had been to Myr before and showed him many of its secrets. They spent an entire day in one of the vast delicacy markets so she could show him the many tastes of the city. Having no plans in advance, he asked where she was headed next.
Without a second thought he would join her on a journey to Lys. He soon understood it to be a test. It was not long before she teased him, speculating he’d only joined her for a chance to see the famous pleasure houses. Evening after evening they stayed in the city and Maryah would tease and test him over the matter. Finally he told her he’d renounce his betrothal for her, that there was no one else in his eye. She laughed, replying he would not have to. The next morning, Dorian awoke to find that she was already up, the green washed from her black curls. Maryah had in fact been Joanna Dayne, his dornish bride to be, having traveled the same route as him ever since his ship stopped at Planky Town to refill its food and water. She was already quite familiar with the three closest free cities, having served as a dornish envoy on behalf of its spice traders. As they planned their return to Westeros, Joanna asked him what else in the world he wanted to see. Within a few moons of being wed, they left Westeros, not to return for three years.The journey was what his mind needed, away from the Reach, its knights and tapestries, hunts and tourneys. Ultimately, the lords and knights of his homeland, for all their songs and poetry, lived every day in preparation for war, frivolous though the preparations were. Joanna showed him a different world, the remnants of Old Valyria. War was to be sure inescapable. Wherever they went, there were soldiers, tapestries, contests of arms, and yet the cities housed something else as well, a boundless potential for creation, commerce and growth.
Thanks to Joanna Dayne’s knowledge their stays became far better planned, and they could enjoy the hospitality of wealthy locals far longer. She knew how to talk about the spice trade and similar matters, and Dorian began to pick up on it. On their second stay in Myr, he procured a great deal of fine parchment and began taking notes, everything from negotiation tactics and the prices of cloves or red peppers to court customs, as well as more eclectic pieces of knowledge, details of running an eastern estate, descriptions of technological marvels he had never seen in Westeros, and ingredients in the local food. By the time they neared Qarth he had quite the list of recipes, among other things. There he was even able to learn a few all the way from Yi Ti, as some local cooks catered to merchants from the Golden Empire. On their journey home they’d end up taking the opportunity to see the newly made port of King’s Landing. By that time, a third member had joined their journey, their infant daughter Florys. Having left Longtable in the care of his sister and steward for three years, Dorian finally accepted the responsibility of running his ancestral home.
Longtable was considered to rule over some of the best lands in the Reach, ideally situated along the river with abundant soil which could provide two grain harvests in a year. Having seen the estates which supplied the great cities of the east, Dorian was all too aware of its comparative shortcomings. He found that the abundance of the land had a counterproductive effect, breeding complacency and carelessness. From his grandiose tour of the east, he went on a painstaking tour of his own lands, trying to get an overview of everything he ruled over. He paid the citadel a fee to send him half a dozen maesters in training for a season. These young men, literate and numerate, would serve his own maester in conducting a survey of the land, giving Dorian account of all resources at his disposal as lord. The results were quite varied.
Some peasants were found to have remarkable agricultural insights which they had no way of writing down, entirely reliant on passing the knowledge to their children. Knowing the risks of such a method of transferring knowledge, Dorian ordered such insights recorded. In other places there were farmers and communities who were unwittingly exhausting their soil. Instances of lack of fallow land, excessive grazing by cows and lack of crop rotation were also made note of, followed by edicts against such heedless practices. Septons, sheriffs and tax collectors were given written copies and were obliged to read them to the peasantry wherever it was deemed necessary. It also became part of the obligations of farmers to plant a set amount of clover in their fields and pastures, a practice some had taken up on their own but which had already become a standardized law among the estates belonging to Myr and Volantis. Irrigation was expanded and land inheritance was reformed to prevent the splitting of fields past a certain threshold.
Lord Dorian was not always successful. Some eastern ideas had been useful innovations which improved conditions across the board. In time he learned that the peculiarities of the westerosi system were sometimes necessary for the sake of stability, not merely the misshapen fruits of ignorance. His attempt to enclose part of the common lands proved abortive, as it nearly caused a peasant rebellion. A procession of aggrieved smallfolk headed for Longtable had to be dispersed by knights, armed with wooden clubs to prevent needless bloodshed.Two men were hanged and five sent to the wall, but the reform was thereafter abandoned, leading the populace to calm down. Dorian was not much of a military leader and had not wielded weapons since the Field of Fire. He became aware of his need to bolster his forces, a notion reinforced by the establishment of the Black Roses not long after his return, and again with the Kingswood Catastrophe
In the meantime, he and Joanna raised a family together. Three more daughters would be born healthy, with a couple of miscarriages and a stillbirth in between, also a daughter. Their travels did not entirely come to an end. In 13 AC they would tour the northern free cities of Norvos, Qohor, Pentos, Braavos and Lorath, which they had missed on their original journey. The lion’s share of 17 AC was spent on a journey to the Summer Islands. At other times they would make shorter journeys around the Seven Kingdoms, where they felt more secure in bringing their older children along. Whether it was visiting Joanna’s family in Dorne, tourneys and feasts in the Reach and West or even one trip to see the wall, a nameday wish by Florys, they were often on the move. Like most of their peers, they frequented Oldtown and Highgarden
The growing rift between the two queens and their children was a situation Dorian would watch with dread in his heart, remembering keenly how a generation of young men had been brought to the field of fire. To his mind, the Targaryen rule ought not go to waste. Like Valyria of old, it had begun with fire and blood, yet similarly peace and prosperity had followed in its wake. If only the dragons could stand united, perhaps another long peace like the one the Freehold once enjoyed could again be established. If not, another century of blood was upon them. Under Dorian, Longtable became a place where he sought to bring together people from across the kingdoms and forge unity over the dinner table, an attitude which somewhat vexed and confounded his more militaristic daughter and heiress, Lady Florys. Even amid her questioning of the viability of his peaceful ways when surrounded by those who would make war, a terrible sight would steel his resolve, watching the Mander burning green, every bit as terrible as the flames from twenty one years prior. That night he made a simple vow, never again.
The League of the Cornucopia, he would name his little group, a gallery of lords and ladies whose acquaintances he’d made over the years. With these fellow gourmets he would share the culinary knowledge he’d gleaned from his journeys in the east and west. Most unusual for a lord of his rank, Dorian came to spend a great deal of time in his kitchens, testing out recipes himself. On occasion, the dishes he served to his guests for these small, intimate gatherings would be the work of his own hands. The membership did vary from time to time, both based on who could make it and who he sought to bring together. Rather than a fully closed circle, the League is more like a form of feasting, only it’s done for a much smaller crowd, without the public spectacle. Such occasions allowed for more refined foods which did not need to be served to hundreds and kept constantly warm over the course of hours like some common tavern stew. It also opened up an arena of more intimate diplomacy and negotiation for those who sought it, hosted on neutral ground by a lordly mediator, free from prying eyes.
Timeline:
25BC: Dorian is born, second in line to Longtable
24BC: His sister Lydia is born
9BC: House Merryweather hosts House Gardener for a tourney and feast. Dorian and his older brother Bennard serve the dish of honor to King Mern Gardener and his family. During the subsequent tourney, Mern knights both boys, despite their inexperience and lack of victory in the tourney
9BC-2BC: Dorian spends much time travelling the reach, attending events
1BC: Dorian and Bennard fight in the vanguard at the Field of Fire. Both are burned, Bennard far more severely than Dorian. Lord Merryweather is killed. Traumatized by the battle and his new maimed body, Bennard starts refusing food. Dorian desperately tries to re-create the dish they served King Mern eight years ago. The cook who made it has since gone senile, but eventually manages to help Dorian re-create it. He is given a place at court as apology for his mistreatment at Dorian's hands before this occurred.
1AC: Lord Bennard dies at the beginning of the year, leaving Dorian as lord of Longtable. His sister Lydia fulfills her betrothal to House Tarly, becoming lady of Horn Hill. At the prospect of marrying a Dornishwoman on the King's orders, Dorian decides to leave Westeros to put off his marriage. In Myr, he meets a woman calling herself Maryah, claiming to be a Tyroshi merchant. They fall in love and travel to Lys together. There Dorian promises to set aside his betrothal for her, whereupon she reveals herself as Joanna Dayne, his dornish betrothed.
1AC-4AC: Dorian and Joanna wed at Longtable, then depart on a new journey of the east. They reach as far as Qarth before turning back home. In 3AC, on the way back, their first child, Florys, is born while the couple are in Volantis, on the way home. They return via the newly built port of King's Landing.
4AC-8AC: Using knowledge from the east, Lord Dorian embarks on a project of rationalizing the agriculture of Longtable
5AC: Dorian and Joanna have their second child, a girl named Ellyn
8AC: Their third daughter, Desmera, is born
13AC: Dorian and Joanna spend a year travelling the northern free cities
14AC: Their fourth and final daughter, Gwin, is born
17AC: Dorian and Joanna undertake a journey to the Summer Islands with their children
23AC: The aftermath of the battle of Stonebridge brings back memories of the Field of Fire, as the Merryweathers watch burning slag run down the Mander
25AC: The Merryweathers travel to the celebration of the maturity of Aegon's sons
Family Tree:
Arthor Merryweather (father, d.1BC)
Cerelle Merryweather (pending family connection) (mother, d.20AC)
Rhea Merryweather (sister b.27BC)
Bennard Merryweather (brother, d.1AC)
Lydia Merryweather (sister, b.24BC)
Glendon Merryweather (uncle, d.1BC)
Myrcella Pommingham (aunt, d.22AC)
Leo Merryweather (cousin, b.13AC)
Joanna Dayne (wife, b.26AC)
Florys Merryweather (daughter, b.3AC)
Ellyn Merryweather (daughter, b.5AC)
Desmera Merryweather (daughter, b.8AC)
Gwin Merryweather (daughter, b.13AC)
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Auxiliary Character:
Name and House: Florys Merryweather
Age: 23
Cultural Group: Reachman
Appearance: [A short, muscular woman with wavy black hair, normally worn in a bun. She has high cheekbones and a proud demeanor. Her rigid strength stands in contrast to the more relaxed nature of the Merryweather court, one she finds overly lax and casual](0_0.png (896×1344) (discordapp.com))
Trait: Hale
Skills: Swords (e), Essosi Blademaster
Talents: Dancing, Fishing, Cooking
Negative Traits: N/A
Starting Title: Heir to Longtable
Starting Location: Opening Event
Timeline:
3AC: Florys is born in Volantis, while her parents are on their way home from Essos
10AC: Florys starts training under Saathos Trevelyan, her father's Master at Arms
13 AC: She joins her parents on a tour of Pentos, Braavos, Norvos and Qohor
17AC: She travels with her parents to the Summer Islands
19AC-23AC: As she comes of age, Florys becomes more critical of her father's desire for peace, viewing it as increasingly far-fetched amid the increasingly controversial regency and the impending succession dispute. She resolves to make the kinds of connections her father seems unwilling to, in case of war
25AC: She accompanies her family to the celebrations
NPCS:
Ser Leo Merryweather (Age: 37, Archetype: Magnate) Lord Merryweather's first cousin, he has become an indispensable agent in the daily running of Longtable. Despite his foppish demeanor and aparent laziness, he is highly capable and loyal in his task of increasing his family's fortune. He remains happily unwed
Saathos Tevelyan: (Age:48, Archetype: Master at Arms) The son of a Lysene father and a Myrish mother, Saathos initially sought a career in amongst Myr's military officers, however his family's relatively low status proved an impediment to further promotion, later compounded by a dispute with a superior. He met Lord Merryweather in 3AC and eventually travelled West to offer his services five years later, finding his career progress stonewalled in his home city. Well into middle age, he still looks firm and imposing as profesisonal a soldier ought to