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solomonish · 3 years

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say my name like it’s a bad word (solomon x reader)

sometimes, when Solomon hears others speak his name, it feels more like they're spewing curses than addressing him.

ao3 link: here!

I. Anger

He could see the peak rising above the horizon much sooner than he could the day before. That pleased him - though he wouldn’t let those graciously lending him their powers know.

As he walked into his unfinished temple, he had to dodge a few of his flying demons who passive-aggressively swooped too close to his head. He enjoyed the noise the solid ground made beneath his feet, opposed to the soft earth outside the entrance. With a purposely blank expression, Solomon strode over to a corner of the temple, where one of his more outspoken pacts stomped down clay.

Asmodeus looked up at him as he approached, his brows furrowing. If he wasn’t already out of breath from the strenuous work Solomon had ordered him to do, he probably would have groaned loud enough to halt the progress around him. His hair, stuck to his brow with sweat, still managed to look perfect and keep its style. Keeping his voice level, Solomon said as much.

“Oh, thank you!” Asmodeus chirped, wiping away his frustration for a moment to flash a faux grin. “Honestly, for someone like me, it’s hardly a feat to maintain such exquisite looks, but I certainly appreciate you noticing!”

“Someone like you…..” Solomon responded, trailing off as he held his chin in thought. Asmodeus, bound by the command of his pact, kept stomping the clay beneath him, but his upper half seemed completely at ease. There was a sudden fluidity to his movements, one that always warned Solomon to up his guard and covertly cast some safeguards against Asmo’s charms.

“Yes, someone like me! The most bewitching creature in all the realms - but surely, you don’t need a reminder of that,” Adding a purr beneath his words, Asmo leaned forward. Something glinted in his eyes as they slowly bled into a fuchsia hue, and Solomon felt a faint tug at the spell he just cast. “You know, I wouldn’t mind reminding you in other ways. Surely, this has been a test to show how much energy I truly have?”

Solomon perked up, and he could see Asmodeus rejoice, certain his plan had worked. “Really? After all of this, you still have energy?”

“Of course!”

With a hum, Solomon let his hand fall from his chin and smiled sweetly at the demon before him. The pact mark on his hip tingled lightly, a side-effect of the new method of command he was testing out. “Very well. I’ll double your quota and, naturally, expect you to exceed my expectations in a day’s time.”

“What-” His eyes widened and jaw dropped for just a second, wondering both how his plan had been foiled so quickly and how Solomon managed to command him with zero authority in his voice. Against his will, Asmodeus’ stomping quickened, forcing him to lose his theatrics and focus his entire being on his task. “Solomon!” He shouted indignantly, the only word he could get out before his pact holder turned and walked away.

II. Formality

“Solomon,” the voice said, a stiffness around its edges. Stopping in his tracks, Solomon had to squint in the shadows to even see the sorcerer he was meeting. In his opinion, hiding in the shadows beside the comically large bookshelf was a bit overkill for their meeting. While technically a forbidden one, Solomon was confident that, if caught, he would be able to leave unscathed.

"Irin," Solomon returned, hoping his own casual tone would ease away that stifling formality in his acquaintence's voice. "You said you needed to meet with me?"

Tentatively, like a distrusting stray cat, Irin stepped out from the shadows while peering down both ends of the hallway. They were ever the cautious soul, though it stung to see that hesitancy aimed at himself. "Keep your voice down. We don't want to get caught."

Solomon raised an eyebrow. "Why could we not have met elsewhere, then?"

"I only just found it. I wanted to make sure I could hand it to you in person before I found out why you were banished."

The glare Irin leveled him in had his heart sinking. Perhaps hoping that word of his fallout had yet to spread - or that he would not be held in contempt for accusations he could never address or recover from - was too big an ambition, even for Solomon. But the shadowed leaders of the Sorcerer's Society were prone to gossip. That was,after all, part of what demanded such secrecy in this rendezvous.

Glancing down, Solomon saw Irin handing his wand over to him, his lips grimly pressed together in a thin line. Ah, so that's why I couldn’t find it. The drama of the past few weeks had been enough to scramble his mind, and in the chaos of his banishment, Solomon must have dropped his wand as he was forced out. That, or it was stolen and he was never meant to have it back in his possession. Ah, well. Why bother with the semantics of rules he was no longer bound by?

Without a word, Solomon took the wand and tucked it in his waistband,, hidden behind his cloak. To see such solemnity in the exchange of such a ridiculous thing would have been a humorous sight if the atmosphere were lighter. But the air around them hung heavy, heavy enough to have Solomon itching just beneath his skin and craving an exit. As much as the thought hurt when it struck, he realized that there was no call for niceties or a proper goodbye. The icy glare he was leveled in wouldn’t be remedied with an amicable goodbye.

As Solomon made his way down the hall, a second pair of footsteps that were far too light to be Irin’s approached from behind him. He didn’t bother to cast a glance behind him to see who it might be - whoever it was didn’t want to see him, and Solomon was quickly losing interest in the affairs of the society in their entirety.

III. Distrust

“But is that really a good idea?”

“Do you not agree?”

Two voices floated down the corridor as Solomon approached, one like a softly tinkling bell and the other deep and soothing. It seemed that his two companions had started the conversation without him. Either that, or he was hearing part of a conversation that was never meant for his ears.

“It isn’t that, it’s more…” The lighter voice trailed off for a moment. “Are we sure it’s best to throw a newborn lamb in with lions who know far more than they do? Even ignoring how they’d be your only true subject of this exchange program, wouldn’t they have more luck bonding with someone as familiar with this world as they were?”

“Two humans who have no idea what is going on wandering the Devildom? That isn’t the best idea I’ve heard,” Solomon interrupted as he rounded the corner. He had no interest in eavesdropping on a conversation for information he was owed, anyway. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Diavolo reassured, uncrossing his legs and leaning back in his chair. He gestured towards the assortment of small pastries and tea on the table between the three of them while Simeon picked up his own cup, if only to have something to focus on.

“Nice to see you, Solomon,” Simeon answered cheerily, masterfully hiding the suspicion Solomon knew should be biting at the greeting. Biting the inside of his cheek, Solomon held back any questions he had of Simeon trying to butt him out of the Diavolo’s project. Instead, he nodded in a silent ’nice to see you, too,’ and made himself comfortable on the unoccupied chair in the room.

“Now,” Diavolo started, ignoring the chill hovering in the air, “How are we feeling about this exchange program?”

IV. Annoyance

An indignant shriek filled the dorm as a menacing cloud of violet smoke rose from the pot. Luke watched it in horror, jumping back as the sparks started to fly out of the pan.

“What did you just do?” He yelled. Solomon merely watched in awe, impressed at the show he had created and completely shutting out Luke’s exasperated yapping. Perhaps such marvelling should have waited, because he couldn’t hear the panicked shouts as some of the sparks fell on the ends of his cloak. It took the brunt of Luke’s bodyweight as he pushed Solomon out of the line of literal fire and ran to get the fire extinguisher to snap him out of his daze.

Glancing at the bottom of his cloak, Solomon sighed and snapped his fingers, putting out the fire immediately. Begrudgingly removing the cloak of his shoulders, he lifted the hem to eye level and mourned his loss silently. Moments later, Luke came barreling in the room, letting loose with the fire extinguisher without even looking to see if there was still a flame.

When he was convinced that the fire was out, Luke held Solomon in his best attempt at an upset glare. He ended up looking more like a slightly upset puppy, but Solomon knew when to hold his tongue around the young angel. “Solomon, I told you to stay out of the kitchen! What part of that translated to you as ‘come add ingredients to the pot’?”

Before Solomon could make things worse in his attempt at a defense, Simeon walked in the room, looking like the most graceful being in the world. With his current company, though, it wasn’t such an accomplishment. “Now, now. I’m sure Solomon just wanted to help, right Luke?”

Luke didn’t look convinced, but the practiced smile on Simeon was a clear indication that he should agree. “Yeah, I guess.”

Gently guiding Luke out of the room, Simeon gave that same smile to Solomon. “And he will help by cleaning up this mess while we grab some more ingredients for dinner, right?”

“Yes.”

“Great!”

With that, Simeon ushered Luke out of the room. When they stopped to grab their jackets, Solomon heard Luke whisper, “I thought you were watching him, Simeon.”

Unlike his roommates, Solomon had the wisdom to wait until he heard the door shut to sigh in displeasure.

V. Contempt

At this point, Solomon wasn’t sure whether his repeated showdowns with Lucifer were proving his tenacity and value or deepening the hatred that seemed to run between them.

Still, it was unusual for Lucifer to summon for Solomon in the middle of class, only to stare at him in silence as Solomon fought the instinctive urge to shift where he stood before him. The student council room was empty, save for the spread out papers on the table in front of Lucifer and the two of them. It wasn’t often that Solomon felt unnerved, and certainly not by Lucifer after he heard your tales of how he behaved at home, but that was the closest word he could think of to describe how he felt.

“I needn’t remind you of the perils the Devildom has to offer?” Lucifer asked, his voice cold as ice. “I am not pleased with the state in which you brought MC back the other day.”

What, in once piece? Solomon had to bite his tongue. Lucifer really thought he could lecture his way out of everything, didn’t he? “I apologize,” He lied. Then, more truthfully, “If I could have brought them back with no injuries, I would have.”

Lucifer narrowed his eyes, weaving his fingers together in thought and resting his elbows on the table. “If you are to be so irresponsible, perhaps I should put a stop to these outings?”

The indignation burning in Solomon’s gut made him grimace; he hated feeling like a child, but Lucifer had a way of belittling everyone that way. His protests all sounded like an upset teen arguing with their parents - They were only scrapes and bruises! It was an accident! You can’t dictate everything MC does with their time. You can’t dictate anything I do with mine! - but he held them all back. “I will make sure MC does not get hurt next time they are in my care.”

Lucifer’s eyes flashed red, and Solomon suddenly understood why the horror movies of his realm used that as an indication of evil. “Of course you will. But a little incentive wouldn’t hurt.”

With that, Lucifer stood from his seat, towering over Solomon by at least a foot. He wasn’t in his demon form - RAD rules to accommodate the exchange students - but he didn’t need to. Solomon could feel the threatening aura around him, promises of the harm that would come to him if he went against Lucifer’s wishes surrounding the two like the wind in a firestorm.

This was where Lucifer always lost Solomon’s interest. He wasn’t able to be threatened by promises Lucifer was always too busy to fulfill.

“You may not have much of a life to gamble, Solomon,” Lucifer hissed, and the only indication Solomon gave of his flinch was one quick blink, “but MC is not yours to toy with. Remember that.”

Unwilling to back down in their staring match, Solomon kept his mouth wired shut for a few moments. Lucifer, living up to his sin, also refused to back down, and Solomon realized it was a losing battle.

“I have to get back to class,” Solomon lied again, and they both knew it. But there were no more words to share between them, so Solomon left it at that.

VI. Affection

Hearing his name come from your mouth like that gave him the same sensation of watching someone put a piece of a cactus in their mouth.

You hadn’t even entered his room yet. The moment you entered the dorm, you called out his name, stretching out the last syllable in a sing-song voice. He could hear the rustle of plastic bags, the ingredients for his latest cooking lesson tucked inside. When you knocked on the doorframe to his room, he didn’t answer, and you peeked inside to see him staring directly at you with a dumbstruck expression on his face.

“Are...you okay?” You asked, not truly concerned. It was enough to quickly snap him back to reality, and he tried to play off his surprise with a smile. You stopped him from speaking before he even had a chance to tell you he was fine. “Don’t give me any crap. What was that look for?”

How could he express what he was thinking without sounding entirely unbecoming? “It’s...just weird to hear my name said like that.”

“What, to the tune of the Devildom’s next hit of the summer?” Your cheeky grin did nothing to hide your arrogance. Solomon only hummed, standing from his desk and stretching his arms above his head.

Realizing he wasn’t going to explain himself any further, you led him to the kitchen and explained the dinner you had planned. He listened halfheartedly, rummaging through the bag to eye the ingredients suspiciously. It all looked so...predictable. Boring. He was already connecting ideas to add his own pizzazz to the dish.

“Are you going to yell at me when I mess it up?” He asked in an attempt at jest. Something in his tone was off, though, and it sounded much more like a genuine question. Uncomfortably clearing his throat, Solomon avoided your confused gaze. “I mean-”

“Have Simeon and Luke been on your case about your cooking again?” You asked. He could practically hear your exasperation at their antics, and almost jumped to their defense. They were angels. Confronting people directly about their shortcomings wasn’t their strong suit. “I promise, I will not yell at you. Seriously. I will, however, whip you into shape with this spoon.”

To prove your point, you picked up a wooden spoon and hit him on the arm. Your own strength surprised you, however, and the sharp snap that sounded through the room made you freeze in your spot. “Oh my goodness, I am so sorry-”

With a grin that could only be described as shit-eating, Solomon burst into theatrics, bemoaning his injured arm and worrying over how dark the bruise would definitely be. In between your apologizes and insistences that you didn’t hit him that hard, you tried to place a gentle kiss where you hit him. He made sure to pull away, swearing he could never trust you again after you’ve hurt him so severely.

He decided then that hearing his name interrupted with your laugh was the best way to hear it.

#tagging this on ao3 was kinda hard because #gonna be honest #a whole lotta nothing happens here LOL #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #swd obey me #obey me solomon #swd solomon #solomon #solomon fics #mine #solomon fluff #solomon x reader

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evandearest · 3 years

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The Garden of Eden | Part IV: Betrayal

Pairing: James March x reader (you) | ~Part: (4/4)~

Summary (Part Four): Warnings are to be remembered, although most stored away for future use only to be forgotten. Cycles repeat to teach lessons; to warn of future events. Threats may remain even if not for the blind eye to see. However, ignorance might be the biggest threat of all.

Warnings (in this part): murder, blood, death, poison, religious twists, dark themes

Word Count: 5,018 (haha this part ended up with the most words... to end it off I suppose!)

Notes: This is the last part of the Garden of Eden! I just want to say thank you to all who read - especially @etoile-writings , for supporting me. Please go check out her series Adam and Eve, as it is a literary masterpiece and she deserves so much recognition.

I have seriously had so much fun writing this - it really has been my pleasure. I also want to apologize to all those who may have been waiting for awhile for the final part! Disclaimer: I tried my best to edit the grammar and everything in this but this is the best I could do! I hope there’s not many mistakes I may have missed. Please ask any questions and give me all your comments about this finale - I’d love to hear any and all thoughts! I also hope everyone is safe, healthy, and happy :) Feel free to send in other requests, whether it be AHS or Supernatural.

Also a heads up - keep a look out for the final review and analysis if you are interested. It is still in progress but it should be out within a couple of days at best.

A few side notes - the Countess and James are still legally married here, as they are in the show, but in this situation it is only because they haven’t gotten the chance to divorce. This part may seem to have very long sentences, but I just wanted to let you guys know that it is a writing technique that I used to create mood, tone, and theme. That’s all, thanks!

Tag List: @etoile-writings @haileyybird @ietss

Something about the young couple in the bar had your mind reeling. Their hands remained interlocked on the table, both of them staring at one another with all the joy and adoration that only true love can bring. Their relationship was new and exciting. The honeymoon phase was always so perfect. You remembered how that had felt with James; so invigoratingly energizing. It was enough to make you feel as if you ruled the world; love blinding a vision of truth. It was, for many years, what you had considered paradise to be.

Paradise.

You realized now that it never had been perfect with you and James. There were so many things standing in the way, so many hidden threats. When you were younger, it had been your parents and their obsessive need to marry you off like an object to a rich man. Even as he had began his journey to success, James’ social status as new money hadn’t seemed good enough to them. When you had first gotten back with James only just around a month ago, you had thought that you’d conquered everything. You had been blind to the truth which was right in front of you once again. You should have expected some kind of change in James. It was inevitable, after all that time spent apart.

But now, however, right at this present moment... well, now, everything was out in the open. Now, you and James truly understood one another. Now there really was nothing in your way. You could see no obstacles ahead, no threat, so long as James was by your side. All you saw was James, and all that clouded your mind was your admiration and devotion to him. He was your everything; your soulmate, your leader, your God. He had dragged you from the fire and brought your paradise back to you; good, true, and everlasting this time around. Your precious Garden of Eden, controlled by none other but you and your God.

Your God; who had been the utmost of clever in his recent schemes. He’d been outraged when he did it, but it wasn’t to say that he wasn’t brilliant. He was of excellent prosecution; his statement out in the open and clear. A Sunday morning: police finding piles of dead bodies compiled with numerous copies of nothing other than the book of God himself. It was sadistic and morbid, but it was perfect. It was everything that James needed to say. He was on the verge of something momentously renowned.

Once James was finished, no one would ever forget his message: religion was the worst thing to happen to society. It controlled the will of man, when truly nothing in creation could stop anything. Everyone was put equal on the Earth to sin, to live in the most pleasurable way.

It was the entire reason Adam and Eve had been cast down. They were sinners, except the garden was a place controlled by God’s rules. They had wanted to control their own lives, so God banished them to Earth. James, however, had created his own paradise; his own Garden of Eden. He had climbed so far above all other men that he now controlled the garden. He had to prove to others the ridiculousness of holiness--for all were meant to sin. Religion was, essentially, suppression. To some, it may seem horrible, but to you, it was art. A simple expression of belief that most didn’t understand.

Voices floated into your ears, startling you out of your thoughts. Soft echoes through the lobby of your beloved’s name piqued your interest, your feet immediately carrying you to the railing without much thought. You left your drink on the bar’s counter--still full, but long forgotten. Your eyes landed on four men clad in black suits, shiny gold badges on their shoulders reflecting light from the chandeliers above. You scanned the area, noticing a certain maid standing close by, listening in, much like you were.

“We have suspicion based upon evidence that Mr. March was involved in the murder this past Sunday. We have already taken the time to get a warrant for his arrest,” one of the officers explained to the receptionist at the front desk. Time seemed to take a standstill, your heart seeming to stop completely as your brain registered the man’s words. No, this couldn’t be happening.

The cycle was repeating again. They were trying to tear you apart again.

You didn’t understand how this could’ve happened. He said he was careful, and you could never see James making a mistake with something this important. He was detail-oriented, his brain practically ran off of the certainty of perfectionism. He would never let a small mistake ruin everything for him.

The entire empire he’d built, and everything you’d rebuilt, was about to be destroyed all over again.

Your body seemed to catch up with your mind as you sprung into action. You twisted around, your feet pushing you forward only to come to a halt at the close proximity of the once unknown presence behind you. Your eyes widened, a sharp breath escaping your lips at the stop you made compared to your sudden momentum. You stared into the eyes of none other than The Countess, clad in only the most extravagant clothing and makeup.

“That’ll be a hard one to get out of,” she said, although her face was seemingly expressionless. You stared at her, your frenzied brain jumping to the first conclusion you could make.

“Did you...” you trailed off, your breathing suddenly heavy. James couldn’t have made the mistake, so that means that somebody else had to of given the police some kind of tip in order for them to seek James out. The woman standing before you was quite possibly the number one suspect. “Did you do this?” Your voice held tones of disbelief and anger.

Would Elizabeth really go to such extent when she hadn’t even expressed a major disliking? She hadn’t talked to you at all since that first time, in fact the only interactions you’d had with one another were passing glances. She’d seemed to have just steered clear of anything to do with you or James. You had no idea what she had thought, but you had supposed that she didn’t care about you and James, otherwise she would have spoke her concerns. Had you been wrong about her? Could a simple mistake end it all over again? Elizabeth scoffed, her face hardening.

“Oh God no...” she said wryly, a small sarcastic grin forming on her lips as she looked at you quizzically, “what would I get out of it now? As I am still his present wife, I don’t need James dead to use his money. And besides, now that he has you he no longer bothers me.” She was smug as she spoke to you. She grinned, all teeth and mischief, her eyes sparkling. “It’s a winning situation for the both of us if you ask me.” She paused, her grin falling slightly as her gaze wondered off to peer down into the lobby.

“I could bet I know who the rat is, though,” She said, turning back to you. “I’m wagering it’s his loyal minion. That poor woman has been in love with James since the beginning of time.” She paused, her eyes intense as they rested on your face. “And based on your expression you think so too.” She smiled at you and then turned, walking slowly away from you. “Good luck,” she called back to you without turning around, your eyes watching her back as she went.

You stood contemplating her words for a moment. Elizabeth was smart and straightforward, and from what you could tell if she had a problem she would speak her mind. And what she had said made sense. Miss Evers was in love with James, but her love was unrequited, and that’s why she constantly seemed at odds with you. She could never even have a chance to be with him, so long as you were around.

Your feet carried you quickly as you raced to the elevator. The police were still conversing with the receptionist, but you knew it was only a matter of time before they found out where James was. You recalled a conversation you’d had with him in the morning, concluding that he had to be caught up attending to his hobby.

The police would find him in his office, in the middle of his business, and it would all be over. He would be taken from you once again.

You didn’t even knock upon arriving; you opened the door and closed it quickly behind you. You turned to face James, in all his blood-covered, god-like glory. You took in the scene of James’ office quickly, your eyes tracing over every detail. A large bin sat in the center of the room, a rugged corpse contained within it. James had been busying himself with pouring a substance over the body, of which could only be acid, as it had sizzled upon impact with the dead man’s skin. At your arrival, James halted his methods in confusion.

Several items were scattered across the floor, one of which catching your interest. The glass of the vase; a damp spot surrounding the area where the unaltered mess remained. The roses remained too, the petals wilting from lack of nourishment. You paused, your mind trying to puzzle out their unmoved position. Miss Evers had to have been in here since last night, so why wouldn’t she move them? She might have been scheming, but she was extremely adamant on being neat when it came to James’ specific rooms. You couldn’t see her ignoring it, and yet here it was sitting puzzlingly. You were caught off guard for a reason not entirely known to you. Something about their appearance had you alarmed, a string of words suddenly ringing out in your head; perhaps a memory brought to the surface.

“If you betray the rose, the rose no longer profits you.”

The old woman was suddenly prevalent in your mind, her warning dawning upon you, your heartbeat stuttering at the looming echo of her words. James was waiting for you to explain yourself--the police were coming--Miss Evers had betrayed you--everything you and James had worked so hard for was crumbling down around you. Your heartbeat was fast, the pulse beating quickly, perhaps the reason for the pounding in your head.

You looked James in the eyes, studying his features. He was so handsome--even before you knew him, that day in the garden when you had first seen him--you had marveled at his beauty. And that was before he’d become such a man; his features sharp and masculine, beautifully sculpted by the gods. His dark brown eyes and hair, so dull yet so prominent--a symbol of his darkness. You could stare at him for eternity and never bore, your love for him everlasting.

And yet, here you were at the end with no escape, hell a threat once again hanging above your heads, looming just around the corner. Just a few more minutes and everything would be over. Just a few more minutes and you’d be lost again, stranded without your guide; your purpose--your God.

“James,” you gasped, stumbling slightly as you made your way to him. You’d just managed to get to him before you fell over slightly, your arms reaching out to grasp onto his tightly. He caught you, keeping you level as his face filled with concern. The pounding in your head was intense, beginning to drown out your thoughts and quicken your breath.

“Darling, tell me--what is it?” James demanded, his voice panic-stricken. He lifted your chin to look you in the eyes, his widened orbs meeting yours with intensity.

“I-it’s--the- the police,” you barely managed to get the words out, clinging onto James like he was your lifeline. Nothing seemed right; your thoughts suddenly taking too long to form into words, your breathing heavy, vision blurry, and it was becoming much harder to stand. What was happening? You stared into James eyes, shifting all your focus into him. “They’re here to arrest you.” One hand gripped his arm firmly as you brought the other to rest upon his cheekbone, leaning chest to chest as your body began to collapse into him. He held you steady, forever the one and only thing to truly support you. “They’re going to take you from me,” you sobbed, an onslaught of tears overcoming you. “Again,” you cried quietly, gasping for air.

The door opened, your heart skipping a beat at the intrusion, your mind going straight to the thought of the police. Your eyes landed on Miss Evers instead, confusion settling on you once again. She’d gotten what she wanted, hadn’t she? Why was she here now, to prove something? You wished you had the strength to question her, to say anything, but everything felt heavier and heavier as more time passed.

“Tell me,” James barked at her just as she’d closed and locked the door, “what in all creation is happening? Speak right this instant, and quickly.”

“The police are here,” Miss Evers explained, James grip on you tightening as you leaned onto him for support. He glanced down at you, worry glinting in his eyes as you just barely managed to look up at him.

“Darling,” he whispered, “what is happening? Are you ill?” A moment of silence passed as you tried to respond, your mouth opening but no words becoming audible. A moment of silence passed, the only action being James assessing you. Your words couldn’t seem to form, a burning spreading through your entire body. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt. You began to wonder yourself if you were somehow ill.

“It was supposed to be me!”

The maid across the room suddenly shrieked, desperation clouding her judgement as she flung her arms up in the air. “I was the one for you!” She sobbed, stumbling slightly as an expression of hurt formed upon her face. “I always loved you, and these women--they never did! They used you, and I always cared!” James eyes widened, shock coming across his features. He stared at the woman, contemplating her words.

“But you never saw,” the woman said sadly, her head hanging in shame before her face went emotionless. “And so I did the only thing I could.” She looked at him, dead in the eye, a type of malice suddenly overcoming her. “You’d be surprised how easy it was.” Her eyes settled upon your frame, your head moving slowly to get a glance at her. You stared, blinking rapidly as your vision faded in and out. You could barely comprehend what she was saying, but you felt as James’ breath quickened. It was taking all of your willpower to stay awake--you needed to, for James.

“What?” he stated, his voice deeper than you’d ever heard it, a rage within his eyes even you had never seen before as he stared at her. He was tense, as hard as a rock, glaring daggers at the woman who had seemingly betrayed him.

“I--,” Miss Evers hesitated, obviously intimidated by his fury, but decided to continue. “I’ve found that you have a secret stash of cyanide in the bar.” She faltered once again, her eyes shifting away from James and to the floor. “I wanted us to be together, and she-” she pointed at you, “-she was always in it for the money! They all are, all but me!” She burst into tears, falling onto her knees in hysterics. Your eyebrows furrowed as you racked your brain to gather all of the information. She poisoned you at the bar. You remembered brief flashbacks of the one tiny sip you’d taken of your previously forgotten drink.

James seemed to be shaking as he gently moved you to sit in a chair by the wall, turning away from you for only a moment. Your eyelids began to flutter as sleep beckoned you, visions of James’ movement around the room the only thing to hold your focus. A loud pop suddenly reverberated off of the walls as it rang out, causing you to sit up slightly from your slouched posture, your eyelids flying open to search for the source. James stood over the body of his betrayer, smoking gun resting within his palm.

You felt so weak, your thoughts jumbled, unable to focus on only one. Only now you knew it wasn’t just an overreaction. You’d only taken a mere sip of the drink from the bar, but you supposed now that it had been enough for the poison to go into effect. You wondered briefly how she’d gotten the cyanide into the drink in the first place, and exactly how much she had put in for it to have such a potent effect on your body.

Your eyes traveled to her corpse, and to the fresh blood splattered across the wall from the headshot. You blinked, barely registering what had just occurred before you. You were too dazed to process the incident, even if you understood what had occurred subconsciously. Relief was the only thing you felt; relief for one less thing to worry about standing between you and James.

Eyes shifting slightly to the left, you stared at the browning roses, the sweet old lady’s warning once again echoing, a distant memory brought to the surface of your mind. James crouched in front of you, suddenly the only thing in line of sight, his lips moving but you couldn’t hear his voice over your own in your head. The roses were dead. You left them on the floor. You betrayed them for--

You sprung up once again as a loud banging at the door shocked you back into your senses. James glanced briefly at the door before turning back to you quickly. He pulled you out of the chair, holding you up and close to his chest as he stroked your hair tenderly.

“James,” you just barely whispered as he shushed you.

“I know, darling,” He said reassuringly, pulling back to look into your eyes. “It’s all going to be okay, dear. It’ll all be over before you know it.” He smiled charmingly as you nodded weakly, holding tightly onto the cloth of his shirt to maintain stability. And you believed him in that moment, as he always seemed to find a way.

One way, or another.

You rested your head on his chest, closing your eyes as the pounding on the door increased. Or maybe it was the pounding in your head; at this point you couldn’t decipher what was real and what was just a figment of your imagination. Cold metal pressed against the skin of your temple, your brain too bleary to question it. Mere seconds passed as you contemplated moving, but suddenly it was as if everything had settled away. James’ warm body faded from your grasp.

-🤍-

Your eyelids fluttered open, eyeballs moving back and forth as you tried to become familiar with your surroundings. You recognized the familiar room immediately, for it was your bedroom when you had first moved into the Cortez. You felt strange. Zen, almost, but maybe that was just because the pounding was gone. You felt... disconnected. It was the most out of touch with yourself you’d ever felt.

You climbed to your feet from the floor, thoughts running rampant at what was unknown to you. Where was James, how did you get here, how long had you been here, and why did you feel so cold? Flashes of what seemed to be both years ago and only moments ago clouded your mind, filling you with dread. Scenarios of what could be frightened you and sent you into a state of panic, pushing you forward.

Out of the room you went, through the quiet and empty halls, searching, searching, searching--no fixed destination ahead except something, anything, that could lead you to your James.

It seemed that days had passed before you finally found the lobby of the hotel. Navigation through the building was proving to be much more difficult than you remembered. Why was it taking so long?

The lobby was sparsely populated, unlike the usually crowded area that you were used to. You glanced around, noticing only a few people in the bar, the receptionist, and someone asleep on the sofas. Your feet carried you to the hotel entrance, pushing the first door open, the sunlight peeking through the opaque glass surprising you. If it was the daytime, then why was the hotel so empty? On ordinary occasions people came and went like flies; the Cortez was a hotspot in the city of Los Angeles, after all. Your hands reached out to push open the door to the outside, the metal handle of the door cool against your skin, and then suddenly nothing. In front of you was the door no longer; profound confusion coursing through you as you stared at the walls of your bedroom once again. You had been there one second, and in the next it was as if you had been teleported back in time.

And so the cycle repeated for what seemed like years; many times set adrift through the halls, eventually to the lobby where the sunlight no longer shone through the windows and unusually few people inhabited. You were reaching forward for the handle of the first door for what seemed to be the hundredth time, only to freeze at the call of your name from a familiar voice.

“Y/N.”

Your name sounded of honey dripping off his tongue. It was like hearing that voice for the first time again. All your worries deflated and anxieties subsided--for you had found your God once again. You turned to face him, to see his face--the face you had longed to see for what felt like years but may have been minutes. You still didn’t entirely understand the detachment from your body you felt; it was as if you no longer had a life source, no blood running course or lungs cycling air. You felt out of place and trapped at the same time.

Just as your hopes had soared, they plummeted at the sight of the bare lobby. Emptiness sat instead where you had expected James to be, crushing all sense of direction. You wanted to cry, to scream, to tear the hotel to shreds with your bare hands. But just before you gave up all hope completely, your eyes caught on the tiniest of details.

Barely noticeable, unless payed close attention to; unless already a prominent object in one’s mind. Small, dainty, white petals lay scattered in high correlation, leading on to an unknown but obviously specific destination. You treaded lightly as you followed the path closely, afraid any disturbance would somehow make them disappear.

Unease settled through you, possibly just a usual feeling as of late, but considerably appropriate when meeting the isolate hallways once again. You began questioning your sanity; was this just yet another repeat in the cycle? You’d been lost for so long, was this just another loop? What was the energy here, and why did it not feel like you and James’ beloved Cortez, the place you called home? You felt like you were stuck in a punishment of some kind; a purgatory; a hell.

And at last, you arrived; the room in which this cycle had began, or ended. The office of James Patrick March: Room sixty-four. You paused, contemplating, before making a bold decision and gripping the handle, opening the door and entering the room. There you stood in what was once James’ office, now empty of most furniture, only few items remaining. And there it remained: the vase on the table in the center of the room, petals leading straight to their source.

Inside sat the very white roses themselves, southern California glory and all. They looked just like the ones in that very first garden: huge, bright and beaming, petals spread with all the beauty and radiance of nature and purity. And just behind them stood their God; the master of the garden who held the utmost control in his realm. Your God, who’d saved you from hell; who’d broke all cycles.

The feeling you felt at sight of James did not fail to excite you just the same as it had on that first day years ago. Something about his presence next to yours soothed you, for you knew that he was still there, that he hadn’t been taken from you, that no matter what had happened you were still okay so long as he stood next to you.

You rushed forward and into him, basking in his embrace. His arms wrapped around you, but the challenge once again presented itself: an unignorably apparent absence of warmth. It’d been just before you’d first woken up what seemed like years, or maybe just hours ago, that you’d been in his embrace just the same, his warmth seeping into you and igniting your soul as you had faded in and out of consciousness. But now, you couldn’t feel it. You felt his body wrapped around yours, but nothing inflaming, the detachment from your own warmth just the same. It was missing, a shell of a comfort that used to always be present; something you had gotten entirely used to, for to be absent of warmth was to be dead...

You gasped, pulling away from James to look him in the eyes, the reality setting in and the drunkenness fading away. Your mind was becoming clear, all clarity suddenly bestowed upon you.

“James, are we...” you froze in panic, for it felt as if you didn’t have lungs, the normal rise and fall of the simplicity of breathing gone... the feelings of life were all gone...

And it clicked.

“James,” you whispered, your eyes tracing over the details of the room. The blood stains on the floor and walls were the only evidence of foul play left. You felt strange, for people didn’t normally expect to see the place of their death after the fact. Realizations settled over you as you stared at the room, just as you had initially when entering to warn James of the police, the truth of the events that had happened finally dawning upon you. In your poison-induced state of mind, it’d been hard to realize. You had been dying, the poison slowly but surely shutting your body down. You’d barely processed it when James had held the gun to your head and pulled the trigger, ending your pain.

“Yes, darling?” James replied to you, bringing you back to your conversation. You stared at him longingly. Although you didn’t entirely understand why you were still here, or the concept of the afterlife, you were glad to have James next to you. A moment of silence passed as you tried to pinpoint what you wanted to ask him exactly.

“I have so many questions,” you said, deciding to just speak your mind. You furrowed your eyebrows, blinking rapidly as you tried to sort out your thoughts. “I-I’m so lost, James.”

“Of course you are, dearest,” James said reassuringly, his hand brushing the stray hairs away from your face. He stared at you sadly. “I’m terribly sorry for all that happened, you must feel perplexed beyond understanding my dear.” He paused, his eyes traveling over your features as you stared up at him, listening intently. “This was simply my only choice, darling. You were succumbing to the poison’s grip long before I finished your pain. Miss Evers...” He trailed off, his jaw clenching tightly. “Nevermind that. I came to a conclusion upon the authorities’ arrival, and that was that if I was damned to be put away I might as well flee with you, my queen... it was the only right option.” He smiled down at you softly.

You smiled right back at him, your love for him the only warmth left inside of you now that you no longer had your body to call home. You basked in the feeling of being close to him as he pulled you to his chest, his lips leaving a soft kiss against your scalp. Even if you didn’t feel warmth, simply the love you had for him was enough. He tenderly stroked your back, calming your nerves. It amazed you how he could ease your mind so easily, if only just a little. However, you couldn’t shake your thoughts away. Sure, you could just let it all go, but the truth of the matter was simple.

Your entire life had been a cycle. A cycle of undeniable foolishness; you’d been ignorant of the truth for all of your living years. Oh, how it angered you. You hated something truly for what seemed like the first time in your life. You hated yourself; you’d let yourself believe false truths just to live in an illusion that you thought was happiness. You were naïve. And ultimately, that was what had ended you.

You’d ignored all warnings and left the roses to wilt, betraying the one thing that had always been on your side. You’d ignored all threats and committed yourself to making paradise in the land of the evil; it was simply impossible. The Garden of Eden wasn’t a place for the living. It was a place of freedom, and so long as you’re living, you can never truly be free. For in life, one threat always remains: death. You could never truly be protected. You could never truly have paradise.

But with James, in the Cortez, in the paradise he’d created for you... even death didn’t stand a chance. It was a gateway to greatness; a place where nothing truly stood in your way, where no threats were great enough. You couldn’t be harmed, or imprisoned, or separated here; you were finally utterly invincible; real Gods. Hell and Earth were no longer a threat. It was your true paradise that James had promised you.

Your Garden of Eden.

---------

Series Masterlist: The Garden of Eden Series

Main Masterlist

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justoneday-namjoonii · 4 years

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color me moonlight | VI preview

☾ • I • II • III • IV • V • VI ☽

› Summary: Some flowers are not to be plucked, for their thorns are far too sharp for any hand to graze, yet, they were chosen. She shined, light radiating from the depths of her soul. She was radiant, powerful – she didn’t know it, but a creature as beautiful she could never be bad. However, he was made to consume the light. For her light was meant to dwell with darkness just as powerful, but far more dangerous.

› release date: sometime this weekend, that’s what I’m aiming for *fingers crossed*

- Flashback -

June 10th, 1981

“Happy birthday Lenny!”

The giggly 6-year-old blew out her candles and smiled when her mother began to cut her a huge piece of cake—probably too big for her little self. The party was a nice change for the rigorous studying Jane has been doing for school. She had just proven her research case study and her senior biochemists and doctors have been wanting nothing more than to work with her in opening her own center.

Unfortunately, after getting her slice of cake and watching Lenny open her presents, she had to get on the computer to work on some things. Jane sits at the living room table while her family watches a movie with Lenny and at times like this, she wishes she was gifted with a mind that required so much work.

“Jane,” Lenny suddenly hops off the couch and runs up to Jane with her new flamingo stuffed animal, “what’re you doing?”

“I have to write this paper that explains a patients condition, I’m sorry I’m doing this on your birthday, my deadline is tonight and I procrastinated,” Jane sits back from her computer and Lenny takes a seat on one of the stools with her poofy purple tutu.

“It’s okay, you always say ‘a doctor has a big responsibility,’ so I get it,” She replies rather maturely with a sweet smile, “I’m not mad.”

“How are you enjoying your day? Did you like the canvas and paint set I bought you?”

“I love it!” She smiles brightly. “How did you know I wanted it?”

“I just knew.” Jane simpers.

“Oh! Oh! I made you something this morning, let me go get it!”

Jane furrows her brows and waits for Lenny to come out.

“Here,” She comes stumbling in with her sketchbook and sits back in her seat, “I saw him in my dreams.”

When Jane looks a the piece of paper, she is at a loss for words. It’s a drawing of a boy in a pond of wilted flowers, a murky looking forest surrounds him, and dead animals lay at his side. This is the darkest drawing Lenny has ever created and it makes Jane’s heart sink at what this dream might mean. “Wow, um...Are those dead animals?”

“Yes, he controls the air...and he takes the energy of living things, it kind of scares me a little bit...” That made Jane even more worried because Lenny’s dreams never scared her. “But just a little, he’s actually a good person. He likes flowers, trees, he especially likes the sunlight.” She smiles.

“So, um, who is he? Does he have a name?”

Lenny hesitates, eyes drifting from Jane to the photo before giggling. “Well, you should know,”

“How would I know?”

“he’s your son.”

He went to work to pick up a few things from his office, but rather than taking his usual means of transportation, he decides to take the subway. Knowing that’s what you used to get around, he hoped that just maybe he might pass you. For a moment he thought he might get recognized, but with a casual hoodie and jeans, he doubts anyone will even notice him.

The crowded subway comes to a sudden stop. People are getting on and some are getting off, he eyes the crowd especially hard, in hopes that he might see you. To his disdain, it’s just a bunch of strangers, no one interesting.

He looks around, watching the woman across from him typing on her phone. Her aura is so gold, it’s glowing transparently around her. That color could mean many different things; happiness, eagerness, jealousy, and even apprehension. It all deepened on the hue, the shade of the aura. Whenever he sees that color, his mind get’s a little foggy, and as soon as that happens, the color begins to fade and that person becomes blurred from his vision.

When he confided in is father about it, he told him to try not to look if it made him feel unwell. That’s when they discovered that his body was reacting to the aura, in what way? They never had the resources to further research it, Jane invented most of the practices that went into making him. Unfortunately, there were some things Taehyung went through physically that his father wouldn’t know where to start in trying to help.

When the subway halts at his stop, he gets off, maneuvering through the crowd so he could start his walk back to his dads place.

It’s so quiet. That’s what he first notices when he walks along the sidewalk. His eyes follow the people walking in all different directions, hoping you might be there. But he’s only fooling himself, if you were around, surely he’d feel your aura.

When he enters his dads home, he sees that he already left to start his work shift. Not enjoying the silence, he trudges over to the couch and turns the TV on. Of course, the news is on and they’re covering the same forecast for the third time today, probably. He turns a def ear to it and leans back, not feeling good enough to start working. The thought that you might have just decided to leave him, it crosses his mind. But you wouldn’t do that, would you? It seems he’s discovered more about his powers in the short time that he’s known you than he has in his entire life.

It might seem too early to say, but he feels like he needs you around. Every fiber in his body seems to crave your presence in your absence. He’s never had this type of draw to someone, not even of his loved ones, not even his father. It’s not a platonic need, not an emotional or physical need, he’s not sure what it is. But ever since you two somehow merged consciousness, he’s felt the need to go back to that part of his dreams. But he doesn't know if he can do it without you.

Selfishly, that’s one of the reason he wants to see you. He thinks that maybe, if you two can connect like that again, you’ll both gain some clarity about who you really are and what you’re capable of.

His eyes try to stay open, but he soon falls victim to sleep almost instantly.

Gasping for air, his lungs expel water and his body jerks forward. When he takes in his surroundings, he’s in what looks like a lake it’s as dark as night. Swimming to the edge, he hoists himself out of it and stands to his feet looking around for some type of familiarity. When he fully takes in the new environment, he’s in forest. Trees and plants arch up, branches and vines hanging on them, ropy and sharp edges on it. None of them bright and bushy with life like one would expect. The leaves are dark, not wilted but dull and heavy.

Cold. He’s ice cold. A sensation he’s never felt in his dreams before.

“What is this place...” He mumbles, arms hugged to his side to supply some warmth to himself. His bare feet drag on the forest floor, it feels so real, it’s hard to grasp that he’s in a dream. Curious to find out what this place is, he tries to turn back to the body of water he came from. Coughing due to the cold temperature, he runs back to the body of water and stops right in front of it.

The lake is frozen over.

“What is this?...” He gets on his knees and looks down at the now icy body of water. Rubbing some of the ice from the top of it, he looks closer and for a moment he sees a light. Something familiar, warm. When he tries to get a better look, the ice breaks under his weight, a sound that nearly shreds his eardrums before the cold abyss swallows him whole.

When he opens his eyes, he’s in a same darkness he had been in with you, and he’s completely dry, not a drop of water on him.

Warmth.

He looks around, affirming that this place looks similar, but the plants are thriving bright green, fruit is growing abundantly. Everything looks dewy, ripe—nothing he’s ever seen before.

Light. The farther he walks towards it, the more it calls him—draws him in. He’s running, he’s running towards it. The closer he gets, the better he can see a silhouette, it looks like your silhouette.

“Y/n?...” He whispers, eyes narrowing when he notices you grow further away from him when he tries to get closer. “Y/n!” Desperately, he calls your name.

Why aren’t you looking back at him, can’t you hear him?

When he manages to get close enough to the ambiance surrounding you, he can only see the form of your body, almost appearing bare. It’s obvious that he’s not making any progress trying to follow you, so he stops, that’s when you stop moving.

“Y/n...” He’s entranced in the intense glow emitting from your aura, just trying to make out your frame. Suddenly, you start to look around, head turning left to right, as if you weren’t sure where you were. All while you obliviously look around, he’s thrumming in desperation to get closer. Physically, his energy responds so strongly to you.

He can’t take the distance anymore, he takes a step towards you and he cringes when you release a bloodcurdling screech.

Your body collapses and all he sees is darkness.

The warmth from your presence ceases, and he’s cold once again.

#bts mutant au #bts supernatural au #bts hybrid au #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #BTS au #bts fluff #bts angst #bts smut #bts imagines #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #taehyung hybrid #taehyung #taehyung mutant au #taehyung supernatural au #taehyung smut #color me moonlight

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291byresroadcafeplanningscandal · 4 years

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291 Byres Road, Glasgow - Cafe Open Cooking Odours @ Ronzio Coffee House

UNDER CONSTRUCTION

According to Forbes Barron, Head of Planning and Building Control at Glasgow City Council, Ronzio Coffee House at 291 Byres Road was visited by officials from the Council’s Planning Department (DRS) and Building Standards Department on 14th August 2019.

According to Mr Barron the owner told them that the “Food will be prepared off-site and re- heated using a Salamander grill and a Bain Marie steamer.”

The cafe opened as Ronzio Coffee House on 26th August 2019 with four ring cooker with an oven to its left and a grill to its right. The owner has ignored complaints about cooking odours in the flat directly above the cafe’s kitchen. As the current owner’s LinkedIn page states that she has been an Environmental Health Officer with North Lanarkshire Council since 2002, she will be fully aware that prior to the installation of any extraction system for the dispersal of cooking fumes or odours requires a certificate from a member of the Heating and Ventilation Contractors Association normally has to be submitted to the Council confirming that the proposed fume/odour treatment method will operate to its full specification when fitted at the application site.

The current extraction system is inadequate and stinks out the flat above the cafe. The Council requires the vent outlet for this type of cooking to be by means of a duct carried up the external wall and terminating at a point 1 metre above the eaves. Because the outlet is situated below the flats in the tenament above and around the cafe and next to the back close entrance to 295 Byres Road, the stairwell of 295 Byres Road is badly effected from the cafe expelled cooking odours and the occupants of 295 Byres Road and 1 Roxburgh Street , as well as the occupants in the tennaments directly above the cafe are unable open their windows without the polluting stench of the cafes cooking invading their homes. & Roxburgh Street. The unauthorised work, and in particular the inadequate internal venting which leads to the café’s cooking odour being discharged directly underneath my back kitchen, has been having a detrimental effect on the quality of life & the amenity of not only those who live directly above & in the immediate vacinity of the cafe but also of those who live at 295 Byres Road and 1 Roxburgh Street. .

However Planning & Environmental Health regulations do not seem to apply to 291 Byres Road.

A Freedom of Information response showed that Sandra White MSP in an email to Forbes Barron, Head of Planning and Building Control at Glasgow City Council dated 13th March 2013 regarding planning permission states: - "It would appear that DRS takes an inconsistent approach depending on who runs the shop."

I believe she is correct !!!! The former owner of the cafe at 291 Byres Road himself stated in a letter dated 16th June 2015 referring to his cafe's Class 3 application:- "the council (who were actually on the side of the cafe businesses on Byres Road)". The whole case of the Council and 291 Byres Road smells very fishy (and I am not talking about the previous operators Cullen Skink soup that was cooked by the cafe when it was called Turadh with zero extraction until March 2019) !!! Once this blog has been completed it will be evident to all & sundry that the whole situation in fact REEKS !!!!

The cafe, formally Avenue G and then changing its name to Avenue Coffee and then Turadh under the same ownership had operated the cafe/restaurant with baking and open cooking on site since they took the leasehold in 2011, without as much as much as a domestic cooker hood to deal with cooking odours in the residential Victorian tenament building above. The Council’s Planning department (DRS) admitted knowing about this since 2012. Through a Freedom of Information request it was discovered that the DRS Enforcement Officer for 291 Byres Road had told a previous complainer in 2012 that the cafe at 291 Byres Road was not cooking when it actually was.

The previous complainer, who was representing other similiar businesses on Byres Road who were upset about 291 Byres Road and Nardini's at 215 Byres Road operating as cafes without Class 3 planning permission, wrote to the same DRS Enforcement Officer & in the last paragraph of his email dated 21st December 2012 referring to the cafe at 291 Byres Road and 215 Byres Road (Nardini’s was treated very differently by the Council than 291 Byres Road and has been closed since the end of 2018) that was operating without Class 3 status on Byres Road stated:- "An issue we will be raising in our forthcoming meeting with Councillors is how can it happen that on two occasions we were told by the staff of DRS that there was no hot food use at these two locations and yet now you are taking action because you have identified a hot food use in both these premises that has not received and would not receive planning consent."

Through a Freedom of Information request a letter dated 22nd May 2013 was obtained, which was sent by Forbes Barron, Head of Planning & Building Control, Glasgow City Council to Councilor Martha Wardrop, which incorrectly informs her that cooking has now ceased at 291 Byres Road, stating "where necessary heating is carried out on the premises by microwave. However the menu is predominantly cold foods". This was not true as in October 2013 the cafe was put under notice of section 33A of the Town and Country Planning Act as the Council had found that the cafe's claims which had initially been backed up by the same DRS Enforcement Officer, as mentioned above, that cooking had stopped on site and it had ceased to operate as a restaurant were found by a DRS line manager to be untrue !!!

The same DRS enforcement officer was to repeat this lie in March 2015, falsely stating after visiting the cafe:-

"there is no evidence of open cooking being carried out, with pre-cooked foods being reheated on the premises. In addition pre-prepared bakery goods are finished in a sealed bake-off oven."

The Council Ombudsman later discovered that the reason the neighbouring resident’s complaint to Environmental Health in January 2015 regarding cooking odours from the cafe was ignored was because the same DRS Enforcement Officer contacted Environmental Health on 16th February 2015 and asked them to halt their investigation claiming that there was a DRS investigation into the cafe in progress. However the Scottish Public Services Ombudsman (SPSO) discovered that there was no record of the existence of an investigation being opened until they received a letter from the neighbouring resident on 4th March 2015, who wrote to them because he had not received as much as an acknowledgement from Environmental Health .

The Council’s Planning Department (DRS) have themselves told the Council Ombudsman that they have no record of the existence of an investigation into the cafe in February 2015.

The cafe at 291 Byres Road was renovated in 2019 with venting installed without Planning Permission or a Building Warrant. The newly installed unregulated extraction system was installed not only without a Building Warrant, but without any details of it being submitted or approved by the Council, and as it stinks out the residential property above it is obviously not dealing with the cafes cooking odours.

The newly installed extraction system obvious does not conform to the specifications detailed in the Environment Health Report prepared at the request of the Council’s Planning Department when the cafe applied for Class 3 status. The cafe’s extraction system is operating without a maintenance/management scheme that has been approved by the Council. This is especially worrying as it could present a fire risk.

The fact that the extraction canopy does not cover the oven or grill. This alone would have made any other similiar business subject to enforcement action by the Council. However not at 291 Byres Road. This is because the Council kept this report secret from the Local Review Committee of elected city councillors who granted the cafes Class 3 appeal in 2014 !!!

The planning consultation produced by the Council's Environmental Health Department at the request of the Council's Planning Department (DRS) when 291 Byres Road applied for Class 3 status in 2013.

This document includes:-

“Disposal of Cooking Odours/Fumes”

(a) All cooking smells, noxious fumes or vapours from the premises shall be disposed of by means of a duct carried up the external wall and terminating at a point 1 metre above the eaves. The duct shall be free from any obstruction such as a plate, cowl, cap or any other deflection at its termination point.

(b) A ventilation and filtration system incorporating at least the following elements shall be installed and operational before the use commences. The elements to be included are: (i) Canopies - A canopy (or canopies) shall be located above all cooking appliances. (ii) Air Flow - The canopy face velocity shall be not less than 0.5 m/s. (iii) Primary Grease Filtration - Labyrinth (baffle) grease filters shall be installed within the canopy or canopies. (iv) Air Input - An air input system shall be provided by means of a pleated inlet filter, supplying clean filtered air equivalent to at least 80% 'make-up' of the extracted air.

A maintenance/management scheme for the ventilation and filtration system, including all aspects referred to in (a) and (b) above shall be submitted to and approved in writing by the planning authority before the use commences and shall be implemented as approved for the duration of the use.

(d) Mechanical and electrical installations shall be arranged to ensure that the ventilation system is in operation during periods when the premises are open for the preparation and/or cooking of food."

Apart from the above Environmental Health report not being applied to 291 Byres Road, the Council's City Plan Policy SC 11 was uniquely not applied to 291 Byres Road, despite the fact that the Council admit that they were aware that open cooking had been taking place at 291 Byres Road since 2012 and were in possession of the Environmental Health Department report they themselves had requested before Class 3 status was granted .

City Plan Policy SC 11 states:- " ... TREATMENT AND DISPOSAL OF COOKING/HEATING FUMES Proposals for a food and drink use will only be considered favourably if suitable arrangements for the dispersal of fumes can be provided, to the complete satisfaction of the Council. - Plans accompanying planning applications for all food and drink uses should show all cooking/heating equipment proposed, with full details of the fume dispersal method. This information should be shown on both the Plan and the Elevation drawings. - Prior to the installation of any system for the dispersal of cooking fumes or odours, a certificate from a member of the Heating and Ventilation Contractors Association shall be submitted confirming that the proposed fume/odour treatment method will operate to its full specification, when fitted at the application site. This requirement will be secured by a suspensive condition imposed on any relevant planning permission granted. The Council's preferred method of dispersal of fumes is by an externally mounted rear flue, erected to a height sufficient to disperse fumes above any nearby property. Such flues are easy to erect, maintain and replace, if necessary. (Note: The title deeds of a tenemental property or other building may require that the agreement of other owners be obtained before a new internal or external flue can be installed. Any grant of planning permission does not remove this obligation, which is a separate legal matter.) The acceptability of alternative proposals, such as microwave ovens without a flue, internal flues or low level treatment and dispersal of fumes by carbon filtration or other systems should be discussed with the Council's Land and Environmental Services (Environmental Health), prior to submission of a planning application."

www.glasgow.gov.uk/CHttpHandler.ashx?id=7479&p=0

Neil Moran, the Council’s Planning Advisor to the Local Review Committee which granted the cafe at 291 Byres Road Class 3 status in June 2014, told the Local Review hearing that restrictions on cooking methods "was not required in his professional opinion."

This was despite an objection to Class 3 permission being granted on the grounds that cooking odours had been experienced in the flat directly above the cafe for some time. The objection also mentioned that a complaint had previously been made to Environmental Health in the past with regard to cooking odours from the cafe !!!

The notes that Neil Moran took with him to the Local Review Committee (LRC) of elected city councillors, which granted the cafe at 291 Byres Road Class 3 status in June 2014 were obtained through a Freedom of information request and these clearly state that open cooking took place in the premises and "Full kitchen in basement, open cooking on ground floor". Yet this information was kept from the Local Review Committee who were falsely led to believe by the cafe and the Council’s Planning Department that open cooking did not take place on site. in fact, at the time of the Local Review Committee hearing the cafe had been placed the under notice of section 33A of the Town and Country Planning Act BEFORE the cafe applied for Class 3 status for illegally operating as a restaurant.

The Council are ignoring the few conditions attached to the on the Class 3 permission given by the the Local Review Committee in 2014.

Condition 01 attached to the granting of Class 3 permission in the Local review Committee’s decision letter 14/00023/LOCAL of 2014 states :-

"The development shall be implemented in accordance with drawing number(s) 10/0902 F: date stamped DRS 24th October 2013, as qualified by the undernoted condition(s), or as otherwise agreed by the planning authority. REASON: As these drawings constitute the approved development.”

The plan drawings submitted by the cafe in 2014 do not show the cafe’s new renovated layout of a full and open kitchen , but instead a sandwich preparation area, coffee machine, sink, grinder, water boiler and fridge.

The cafe claimed in its class 3 appeal in 2014:- “ "We are not a restaurant, never have been and have no intention of being a restaurant in the future" & "We purchased a lease on a kitchen unit to take away the food preparation offsite"

The Local Review Committee stated in their decision report granting the cafe Class 3 status under the heading Assessment Against Policy:- "The LRC noted that should the use of the unit intensify or alter whereby open cooking would take place on site then that operation can be controlled as provision of a flue would be subject to planning permission."

The Local Review Committee were lied to by the cafe in its successful Class 3 appeal in 2014 and aided in their lies by the Council’s Planning Department who had a statutory duty to protect the amenity of local residents !!!!.

http://www.glasgow.gov.uk/CouncillorsandCommittees/viewDoc.asp?c=P62AFQUTT10GZ3ZL

http://www.glasgow.gov.uk/CouncillorsandCommittees/viewDoc.asp?c=P62AFQUTT1DXZ3DX :-

“PLANNING LOCAL REVIEW COMMITTEE'S MINUTES.Glasgow, 27th May 2014. Planning Local Review Committee.Present: James Scanlon (Chair), Jonathan Findlay and Phil Greene . Attending; A Castelvecchi (Clerk); and P Hennessy and N Moran (PlanningAdvisors).Appointment of Chair.1 Bailie James Scanlon was appointed to chair the meeting. Planning Local Reviews dealt with.2 There were submitted applications requesting Planning Local Reviews of refusal of planning permission. After consideration, the committee dealt with the requests as undernoted:-Site and applicationnumberApplicantDevelopmentDecision291 Byres Road (Ward 11)14/00023/LOCALS Denommee Change of use of Class 1 to Class 3 Planning permission conditionally granted. Neil Moran of Glasgow City Council's Planning Department told the Local Review Committee of elected City Councillors that conditions on cooking methods at the cafe at 291 Byres Road "was not required in his professional opinion" despite the fact that Council's City Plan Policy SC 11 made him duty bound to impose such restrictions on a cafe with no extraction, especially one with residential property above it, i.e. restricted cooking methods that are always placed on cafes with no extraction. Even isolated cafes nowhere near residential property such as the cafe installed in the former former Victorian public toilet block located at 55 Eldon Street at the entrance of Kelvingrove Park. Despite the fact this former public toilet has no other properties near it & no objections being submitted the Council with regard to cooking odours, or indeed the Council being aware of cooking having taken place in the premises as they were at 291 Byres Road, the Council imposed the following conditions on this stand alone former public toilet (14/02133/DC) "Disposal of Cooking Odours/Fumes (a) All cooking smells, noxious fumes or vapours from the premises shall be disposed of by means of a duct carried up the external wall and terminating at a point 1 metre above parapet level. The duct shall be free from any obstruction such as a plate, cowl, cap or any other deflection at its termination point. (b) A ventilation and filtration system incorporating at least the following elements shall be installed and operational before the use commences. The elements to be included are: (i) Canopies - A canopy (or canopies) shall be located above all cooking appliances. (ii) Air Flow - The canopy face velocity shall be not less than 0.5 m/s. (iii) Primary Grease Filtration - Labyrinth (baffle) grease filters shall be installed within the canopy or canopies. (iv) Air Input - An air input system shall be provided by means of a pleated inlet filter, supplying clean filtered air equivalent to at least 80% 'make-up' of the extracted air. (c) A maintenance/management scheme for the ventilation and filtration system, including all aspects referred to in (a) and (b) above shall be submitted to and approved in writing by the planning authority before the use commences and shall be implemented as approved for the duration of the use. (d) Mechanical and electrical installations shall be arranged to ensure that the ventilation system is in operation during periods when the premises are open for the preparation and/or cooking of food. Reason: To protect local residents from nuisance resulting from the disposal of cooking odours." Similar cooking restrictions were attached to the Class 3 Planning Permission given to Starbucks at 254 Byres Road, which has no residential property above it. When Class 3 permission was granted to Starbucks at 254 Byres Road, condition 5 of 01/00308/DC, restricts the first floor to serving coffees, teas, related beverages, cold drinks, and cold foods such as sandwiches, cakes and pastries and which states that "no hot food of any description shall be sold for either consumption on the premises or for carry out" and condition 7 of 01/00308/DC which restricts the ground floor to the sale of hot and cold beverages and drinks and cold food. The Council seems to have deliberately failed to impose the conditions that they had a statutory duty to impose of the type of cooking that could take place at 291 Byres Road. despite the fact that the Council were fully aware that open cooking was taking place on site and that a complaint had been made to Environmental Health in th past about cooking odours friom 291 Byres Road and that an ojbjection to the cafes Class 3 application had been made on the ground of ongoing cooking odours affecting the residential property directly above the cafe !!! . I am not aware of anything similiar ever occuring in the past anywhere in the UK (although I am sure this sort of thing will be common place in corrupt 3rd World Countries) !!! “

http://www.glasgow.gov.uk/councillorsandcommittees/viewSelectedDocument.asp?c=P62AFQUTT10GZ3ZL

But the above was just the beginning of this stinky Kafkaesque horror story which continues to this day However it is not only planning regulations that the Council seem to have exempted the cafe at 291 Byres Road from adhering to over the last few years. More sinister is the fact that the Council's Environmental Health department ignored numerous food safety breaches at 291 Byres Road. This includes the Council ignoring a photo sent them of uncovered food which had been left on the ground next to the cafe's open basement back door in July 2018. This was during the period from June 2018 until the end of August 2019, when all the waste water from a broken pipe from the kitchen and washing machine discharge of the 2nd floor flat above the cafe was landing inches away from the cafe's basement entrance, splashing this water all over the general area and the area in which the uncovered food had been left. In 2017 the Council were sent a photo of uncovered bread taken through the cafe basement's open door showing it being stored above what looked like a rodent poison trap. Freedom of Information requests show that this, along with other public health issues that the Council had been alerted about, were completely ignored by the Council. A complaint about the Council's lack of action regarding what were quite serious health and safety breaches was submitted to the Council Ombudsman, but the SPSO decided not to look into why the Council had ignored these complaints, as the complainer was not personally affected by these matters. The Cafe were pouring bacon fat down the drain and also apparently throwing it out of the kitchen door into the back court. The Council ignored video footage sent to them of a member of the cafes staff admitting that the substance splattered over the back court near the drain was indeed bacon fat from the cafe and footage of the same member of staff pouring a substance down the broken drain cover that serves the close next to the cafe. The Council's Food Safety inspectors told the cafe owner during their visit in 2013 that the sink in the basement kitchen can be used ONLY for hand washing and yet the cafe owner subsequently told the Council that this sink is used for kitchen duties as well. It seems obvious that this sink was being used as the source of all the water for the cafe's basement kitchen requirements including soup and the preparation of salad and the washing of kitchen equipment. The Council ignored repeated complaints regarding this and only took action to revert the basement to storage after the Scottish Public Services Ombudsman upheld three complaints regarding the Council and the cafe at 291 Byres Road (on top of the two previous complaints the SPSO upheld in December 2016) when on 6th February 2019 the Council served a rarely used (only two were issued in the whole of Glasgow in 2019) Building Warrant Enforcement Notice under Section 27, Building (Scotland) Act 2003 on the café situated at 291 Byres Road, Glasgow. This would have made it an offence to use the basement at 291 Byres Road for any use other than storage. (PHOTOS PREVIOUSLY SENT TO THE COUNCIL REFERRED TO ABOVE TO FOLLOW ….)

TO BE CONTINUED .......

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jui-imouto-chan · 6 years

Text

Part 10 of the Mostly Human AU

Level Select:

Getting through to the last of the suggestions from @manadrite ‘s most recent comment (as of posting this)! I love having suggestions, keep ‘em coming!

Connor isn’t one to get terribly scared. He actually gets a thrill from scary situations.

His sense of self-preservation is startlingly low, for a being granted with immeasurable intelligence. At least, that’s what Hank claims.

Furthermore, Connor loves Horror. From movies to novels to images, he loves things made to be scary.

- Connor may or may not have had a weird crush on Slenderman for like a week.

Maybe it was the towering height and the lack of a face, or maybe it was the slim fitting suit that made the creature so appealing to him.

Okay maybe Connor has a suit kink.

When he sees Gavin in an officer’s clothing and finds the man slightly attractive, it’s clear that he just straight (pfft) up has a uniform kink.

Connor will take this newfound information to the g r a v e.

Connor goes to see a horror movie with Hank and the twins, and he’s ecstatic.

He puts all of the pieces together detective style to figure out how the protagonists are either gonna die or solve the problem while Collin and Conan grip their seats a bit too tight and while Hank mutters flaws about the movie under his breath.

“This scene does not include a lap dance.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

By the end of the movie, Collin and Conan had migrated to partially hide behind Connor, and Connor points this out to them.

They lie and say they were getting sleepy, and were dozing off on his seat.

Connor goes with it with a knowing smirk and a wink, mischief twinkling in his eyes.

Connor goes missing one day.

They try to give him a call when he they don’t see him that morning, but they receive no answer.

Hank and the twins storm through the house, upturning furniture and looking under the beds, in the closets, outside. He’s nowhere to be found.

They call up all of his friends, but nobody knows where he is.

The DCPD gets at least fifteen calls all at once reporting Connor missing.

While everyone is freaking out, Connor is actually, in fact, not missing.

He is out for a walk, Sumo at the vet’s for a check up and grooming, and he spots an animal shelter/pet shop.

There are dogs and cats in cages by the windows, and Connor gravitates towards them without thought to anything else.

He enters the shop and, after talking with the person behind the counter for ten minutes, is surrounded by animals, all vying for his attention.

He’d never seen a cat before this, and honestly, he now holds cats to the same regard as dogs.

It’s his first time seeing a lot of animals, all of them immensely cute. He giggles when a rabbit nibbles on his pointer finger.

The employee who allowed this to happen is melting against the counter, everything is too much. Too cute.

The employee pulls out a camera and records, knowing the manager would love to use this as an ad.

Connor already gave his consent for any media that his interaction might appear in, so it’s all gucci, even though Connor’s too preoccupied with the animals to even realize he’s being recorded.

Connor is there for a few hours, all of the time considered blissful to the android.

The video was sent to the editor as soon as the employee got clips of Connor interacting with each and every one of the animals.

It's edited impressively quickly, yet still professionally; the editor accredited it to “passion”.

When the ad goes up on all of the shelter/shop ‘s social media, with Connor tagged in the photo, everything halts.

Connor finally registers that his phone, being sat on by two guinea pigs, is ringing.

He answers it, and is disappointed when he's told to return home immediately by Hank. Hank sounds angry, distressed, and relieved all at once.

The employee reassures him, telling him that he can return whenever he’d like.

There’s an issue when Connor is on his way home, however, as he gets attacked.

A man tries to mug him with a knife to his throat, pushing him into an alleyway, and while Connor manages to push him away, he doesn’t anticipate the man having accomplices.

He gets a few surprise stab wounds that go into some biocomponents, but their timers are set to at least an hour before he shuts down.

He defeats his attackers and sends Hank his location, telling him that he needs emergency care needs to be taken to Kamski as soon as possible.

His systems kick him into sleep mode against a cold alley wall to preserve thirium, which leaks copiously from his many wounds.

Connor wakes up to the ceiling of Kamski’s “operating” room, vaguely wondering if the past few months had been the equivalent of a dream, if he had imagined all of the friends he’d made and all of the things he’d experienced.

The thought...saddens Connor.

Luckily, a few minutes after he awakens, he hears Hank’s gruff voice and a plethora of footsteps approaching the room he’s in.

Connor goes to sit up, but winces in pain. His movement brings up a prompt, asking if he’d like to interface with the android equivalent of an IV, though it contains a liquid that promotes self-reparation at the cost of his mental capabilities being lowered until his wounds are healed.

TL;DR, it’s the closest Connor can get to pain killing medication.

He accepts the interface and he suddenly feels...oddly happy?

Everything is moving around the slightest bit and Connor can’t help but smile. Everything was great and he was having fun, sitting on the table.

He giggles drunkenly.

His wounds are slowly closing themselves, and he scoots to the edge of the table while humming an unknown tune. He smiles triumphantly once his knees finally hang over the edge, he kicks them and rocks his head side to side.

When everyone enters the room, he’s surrounded by people and get-well gifts and he’s just so happy. He really doesn’t think of the consequences of his actions.

So that’s exactly why he thanks them all with hugs and kisses, skin tingly and buzzing while his chest feels warm and full.

The members of Jericho are frozen when he gives them all kisses to the cheek, and then all of them simultaneously slap a hand onto their cheek and stare at each other with pink faces. Daniel and Simon both duck their heads while Josh pulls his hood over his face and rugs on the drawstrings. North is suddenly more occupied with poking Markus’ red cheeks and teasing him as he shakes.

Hank tries to fight him off, but eventually relents, ruffling his hair bashfully. Conan and Collin both turn their heads as he approaches their cheeks, leading to him kissing both of them on the lips, though he just laughs good naturedly when they both nod at each other and go to opposite sides of the room, ears red.

Ralph and the Jerrys are surprisingly shy when Connor kisses them, but Ralph gives him a kiss on the cheek back, while the Jerrys all rub their necks and look away with silly grins.

Luther and Kara let Alice take their share of kisses, and she presses a kiss to Connor’s nose.

Rupert tries to escape Connor, but the brunette grabs his sleeve and gives him a kiss to the temple. Rupert immediately tries to flee the room, and Connor waves. Rupert hesitates before waving back and running away.

Connor goes to give Gavin a kiss, too, but the detective shoves a homemade cupcake in his mouth before he can. He still manages to give the guy a hug, though.

Kamski approaches, by Connor’s hug and kiss for him are stolen by Chloe, who had just snapped out of her shock at seeing Connor surrounded by a goddamn harem.

She growls at everyone in the room, sans Alice, Hank, Kara, and Luther.

Kamski is kinda concerned?? People don’t growl like that, wtf.

Also, he’s kinda upset that she’s keeping him from getting affection from his own creation but he’s not about to let his head get ripped off today

Chloe says that there’s too many people in the room, it’s getting late, and that Connor should get some more rest so that he can recover completely.

She tries to sound pleasant, but she really just sounds threatening af

Once she’s sufficiently scared the fuck out of everyone there and gotten them to leave, she puts her hands on Connor’s shoulders and tries to explain that nobody is allowed to touch him bc he’s too precious and, “nobody deserves you. This world doesn’t deserve you. The G-Man in the sky doesn’t even deserve you u pure boi.”

He doesn’t remember a word of this in the morning, but Chloe doesn’t know that.

He goes home in Hank’s car, Sumo already back from the vet and now laying across his lap, and finds out that Conan and Collin are at registration for their next year of college

(lol idk if thats something u have to go do at college, im 15 and clueless)

Next Level: College Care Packages and Birthday Parties (suggested by @supposedlymatureadult )

X | Continue to Next Level

O | Save Progress and Quit to Main Menu

————————————— •

I think I got carried away with the kissing but I just really wanted Connor to be overly affectionate. At least I didn’t go down the sexual route.

Leave suggestions in the notes or in my ask, along with any questions, comments, and anything else!

Side note: If you want to receive notice of this AU but not the other random things I post/reblog (don’t worry I‘m not offended if that’s the case), I’m marking them all with #Jui’s Mostly Human AU in the tags, so you can follow that instead if that’s preferable!

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your-dietician · 3 years

Text

Heart Failure With Preserved Ejection Fraction: Overview and More

New Post has been published on https://depression-md.com/heart-failure-with-preserved-ejection-fraction-overview-and-more/

Heart Failure With Preserved Ejection Fraction: Overview and More

About half of all people with heart failure have a heart that pumps normally—or at near-normal levels. Heart failure with preserved ejection fraction (HFpEF), also known as diastolic heart failure, causes about half of the five million cases of heart failure in the United States.

Heart failure type is based on ejection fraction—or the amount of blood pumped out of the left ventricle with each contraction. The two most common types of heart failure are with or without preserved ejection fraction, or more simply, diastolic and systolic heart failure.

In a normal heart, the left ventricle squeezes out most, but not all, of the blood in its chamber. An ejection fraction of 55% or more is considered normal.

Abnormalities in the ventricles’ ability to relax and passively fill up with blood can lead to a decline in the volume of blood pumped out of the heart to the body. HFpEF is most common among older adults and women.

This article discusses the symptoms, causes, diagnosis, and treatment of heart failure with preserved ejection fraction.

RUNSTUDIO / Getty Images

Heart Failure With Preserved Ejection Fraction Symptoms

Most of the symptoms of HFpEF result from an accumulation of blood and fluid in the lungs, veins, and tissues of the body. Symptoms of HFpEF include:

Chest pain

Fatigue

Weakness

Shortness of breath, especially on exertion

Orthopnea, or shortness of breath when lying down

Paroxysmal nocturnal dyspnea

Exercise intolerance

Fast or irregular heartbeat

Peripheral edema, or swelling of the feet, ankle, or legs

Weight gain

Nausea

Persistent coughing or wheezing

Having to urinate more than usual (polyuria) or at night (nocturia)

Causes

If you have HFpEF, your heart muscle can pump normally, but it is stiff and therefore unable to relax and fill properly with blood. As you get older, the heart and blood vessels become less elastic, increasing your risk of developing HFpEF.

Chronic medical conditions can damage the heart and other organ systems of the body. Often, but not always, people have more than one health problem that can impair their left ventricle’s ability to fill properly with blood during diastole.

Other causes of HFpEF besides aging include:

High blood pressure: Chronic hypertension is one of the most common causes of diastolic heart failure. High blood pressure over a long period of time means the heart has to work harder to pump blood through the body. As a result, the heart gets more muscular and stiffer, which impacts its ability to relax during the resting stages of the cardiac cycle when the heart fills up with blood.

Diabetes: High blood sugar levels are toxic to blood vessels and may cause them to stiffen. Like high blood pressure, the heart muscle can thicken when it has to work harder against increased pressure.

Coronary artery disease: Blockages in the heart’s blood vessels allow less blood to flow through your heart than usual. Very low blood flow to the heart can lead to ischemia, or death of heart muscle cells, preventing the heart from relaxing and filling as it normally would.

Pericardial disease: Fluid around the heart, called pericardial tamponade, or a thickened outer covering on the heart, called pericardial constriction, can limit the heart’s ability to fill with blood.

Other heart conditions: There are several heart conditions that cause the left ventricle to thicken, compromising its ability to relax and fill with blood. Aortic stenosis, which is a narrowing of the aortic valve, and hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, an inherited heart muscle disorder that leads to a very thickened left ventricular wall, are two examples.

Obesity: Increased fat padding around the heart results in the heart having to work harder to pump.

Sedentary lifestyle: A lack of physical activity can put you at higher risk of high blood pressure, diabetes, coronary artery disease, and obesity, all of which contribute to diastolic heart failure.

Obstructive sleep apnea (OSA): OSA is characterized by partial or complete cessation of breathing during sleep. This leads to a complex set of changes in the body, including increases in blood pressure, diminished oxygen delivery to the heart, and increased sympathetic nervous system activity (SNA). As a result of these changes, there is a mismatch between oxygen supply and demand, which may predispose you to cardiac ischemia and arrhythmia, left ventricular hypertrophy, left ventricular enlargement, and both systolic and diastolic heart failure.

Diagnosis

A diagnosis of HFpEF is made based on your:

When necessary, cardiac catheterization may also be used.

Clinical signs and symptoms of heart failure, plus evidence of normal or near-normal left ventricular (LV) systolic heart function with an LV ejection fraction over 50% and an assessment of the heart’s diastolic characteristics with an echocardiogram, are essential to making a diagnosis.

The New York Heart Association’s classification system is the simplest and most widely used method to gauge symptom severity.

Class I

No limitations of physical activity

No heart failure symptoms

Class II

Mild limitation of physical activity

Heart failure symptoms with significant exertion; comfortable at rest or with mild activity

Class III

Marked limitation of physical activity

Heart failure symptoms with mild exertion; only comfortable at rest

Class IV

Discomfort with any activity

Heart failure symptoms occur at rest

Treatment

There is no one-size-fits-all approach to managing heart failure. Treatment of HFpEF should take the whole person into account, not just your heart.

A sound treatment plan usually starts with controlling blood pressure and relieving fluid overload that can cause swelling or shortness of breath, and addressing anticipated mental, emotional, and physical changes that you may incur.

Is There a Cure for HFpEF?

HFpEF is a progressive condition with no cure, but its progression can be slowed or halted in many people through aggressive treatment and lifestyle changes. In most people, heart failure is a chronic condition that requires lifelong treatment.

Most treatments are geared toward slowing down the progression of your heart failure and managing your symptoms.

Your doctor will likely suggest that you follow a treatment regimen that includes a combination of:

Diet and lifestyle changes

Medicines

Sometimes a device to protect your heart from abnormal rhythms

If you have heart failure, the following lifestyle changes will help manage your symptoms:

Regular low-intensity aerobic exercise to strengthen the heart

Eating a heart-healthy diet

Cutting back on salt (sodium)

Limiting your alcohol consumption

Quitting smoking

The best way to manage diastolic heart failure is to treat its underlying cause, such as hypertension, diabetes, or coronary artery disease.

The efficacy of medication in the treatment of diastolic heart failure is inconclusive, but diuretics and beta-blockers are commonly used to manage HFpEF symptoms by removing excess fluid from the body and slowing the heart down so it has more time to fill. The use of diuretics—like spironolactone—has even been found to increase life expectancy.

The American College of Cardiology (ACC) and the American Heart Association (AHA) recommend that cardiologists manage heart failure by its stage:

Stage A includes managing heart failure risk factors like high blood pressure and high cholesterol. This may include putting you on a thiazide diuretic or ACE inhibitor and a statin.

Stage B is diastolic dysfunction without symptoms. In this case your cardiologist will likely prescribe a thiazide diuretic, ACE inhibitor, or nondihydropyridine calcium channel blockers to help ease the load on your heart.

Stage C is symptomatic heart failure with or without hypertension. At this stage your doctor will focus on treating the volume overload on your heart by using diuretics.

The ACC and AHA also recommend starting or continuing a combined endurance and resistance training program for patients with HFpEF to improve:

Exercise capacity

Physical functioning

Diastolic function

Prognosis

There is no cure for HFpEF, but timely management greatly increases your chances of living a happy and healthy life.

HFpEF is a progressive condition, so no matter the severity, diastolic dysfunction is associated with increased mortality, even if you are asymptomatic. Older age, hypertension, diabetes, and coronary artery disease increase your risk of heart failure.

Hypertension and type 2 diabetes are preventable risk factors that should be closely monitored in people with HFpEF.

The outlook for HFpEF is especially poor if you have been hospitalized, with one-year mortality rates as high as 25% among older patients and five-year mortality rates of 24% for those over the age of 60 and 54% among those older than 80 years.

Factors associated with a worse prognosis include:

Higher levels of NT-proBNP

Older age

Diabetes

Past history of heart attack

Chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD)

Reduced kidney function

Right ventricular remodeling on echocardiogram

Of note, people with HFpEF tend to have a better short-term prognosis compared to those with systolic heart failure.

Coping

If you have heart failure, you know that coping is an ongoing challenge. Feelings of fear, anger, emotional distress, and depression may arise after the initial diagnosis.

Physical limitations can be tough to accept, and you may not be ready to make all the changes that are asked of you. All these emotions are natural, and talking to friends and family can help you navigate some seemingly bleak moments.

From adapting to taking daily medication to making adjustments to your social life, living with heart failure is not easy. The key to living a healthy life is to make lifestyle changes that lessen the chances of having heart failure exacerbations.

Also, be in tune with your symptoms and contact a healthcare professional immediately if you sense that your condition is worsening. The sooner you get help, the better you will feel.

Limiting stress, quitting smoking, and exercising may also help your mental health. If you have HFpEF, addressing your mental and emotional health will be more important than ever, as depression and anxiety can lead to unhealthy ways of coping, such as smoking, drinking, drug use, or turning to “comfort” foods that are usually not heart healthy.

If you are feeling the following symptoms for two or more weeks, you may be experiencing depression:

Feeling sad

Not enjoying normal activities

Trouble concentrating

Fatigue

Withdrawal from friends and family

Feeling hopeless and worthless

Excessive sleepiness

Loss of appetite

Suicidal thoughts

Recognizing these symptoms is the first step to taking action, which may include seeing a mental health provider who may suggest cognitive behavioral therapy, medication, or simply staying active and communicating how you feel with family and friends.

A Word From Verywell

Learning that you have heart failure is understandably scary, but it is possible to lead a normal life. The better you understand your condition, the more equipped you will be to make better decisions, live a longer life, and feel better.

Having to make many lifestyle changes in a short amount of time can be daunting, but leaning on your friends and family for support can help take some weight off your shoulders. You do not have to make all the changes in one day. Take your time and make small changes as you go along.

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famedroleplayarchive · 3 years

Photo

MICHELLE CHAE, better known as RORIN, is the VOCAL AND RAPPER of CHROMA under BC ENTERTAINMENT. She was born on JUNE 20, 1999. She looks a little like KIM MINJEONG (WINTER) OF AESPA.

CHARACTER INFORMATION

faceclaim: Kim Minjeong (Winter), member of æspa.

legal name: Michelle Rorin Chae

stage name: Rorin.

pronouns: She / her / hers.

birth date: Jun 20, 1999.

hometown: Valley Glen, CA.

position: Vocal, rapper of Chroma.

claims: None.

BIOGRAPHY

triggers: Mentions of slut-shaming; misogynistic comments; estranged relatives; allusions to addiction and abandonment.

( MICHELLE CHAE’s LIFE IN VIGNETTES ● FROM 1999 → PRESENT )

SCENE I. VALLEY GLEN, CA — Q4, 2007. UNDISCLOSED ICE SKATING RINK.

“She’s a natural on the ice; it’s incredible to me how quickly she picked things up. Has she ever done this before?” The instructor queries as she gazes out at Michelle; watching closely as she finds her balance and gains more confidence the longer that she can stay upright. Never having realized how graceful she is, she aligns her small limbs beautifully to assist in her glides—merely understanding how to hold her posture for better balance. “Y’know, you should really consider getting her a proper coach. It’s not often that a kid just... knows how to control themselves out there.”

Her mother listens, then nods; letting each suggestion sink in before responding. “Well, if she likes it, then we’ll have to consider it...” It’s a simple response that she hopes suffices, and while she would want nothing more than to support her daughter in discovering what she excels at, she can’t help but think about the money in the family bank account—and how it’s nowhere near as high as it should be given the amount of people in their household.

“Look, mom!” The little one yells from the center of the rink, being brave enough to raise one of her legs into an arabesque while she skates; somehow not tumbling over in the process. It’s in that moment when the instructor cheers, gobsmacked at the progress. “See what I mean?” It’s a lot to consider, especially as Heesun knows the cost of putting a child through such a rigorous training regiment. It’s not only paying out-of-pocket for the materials needed or making sure the coach is paid what their worth, but it’s also long hours practicing and grueling schedules. How on earth any child can sustain that while also attending school is unheard of to her, but all at once, she notices how wide Michelle smiles as she coasts, and it warms her heart.

“Do you have any recommendations? I can’t really afford to pay an arm and a leg for it at this time, but if it’s within reason, I think it would be good for her... so long as it doesn’t get in the way of her studies.” Nodding, her teacher guides her mother into her office, but that doesn’t stop the rising figure skater from continuing. Little does she know, she’s falling in love.

SCENE II. BOSTON, MA — Q1, 2014. THE TD GARDEN, ARENA.

“You’re going to do a great job! We’ve been practicing a lot, your routine is great, and even if I’m hard on you sometimes, I’m still really proud of you!” Her coach urges, and she nods, but she’s not really paying attention to anything that she’s saying. Instead, her eyes turn backwards to the bleachers—doing her best to see if her father had arrived to join her mother in the audience. It’s literal milliseconds before she’s set to take to the ice, but so far, there’s no sight of him. Back at home, he’s her biggest cheerleader, but whenever it comes to showing up at important events, he constantly fails, and unfortunately, that’s not his only flaw either. Now that she’s gotten a little bit older, Michelle understands why her mom and dad don’t talk much, even if it’s only recently that they all sit in silence at the dinner table.

Right on time, the announcer calls her name and she rises; gliding over to her mark. She’s upset knowing that he’s not in attendance, but she does her best to suppress all of her emotions.

Like coach always says: “Now’s not that the time for that.”

Taking a deep breath, she easily finds her opening pose and holds it strong; powerful. So many thoughts race through her mind in that instant. She thinks about the choreography she’s spent months learning. She thinks about the plans that her mother made for after they’re done at the rink. She thinks about her dad and what he’s up to... and right then, almost as if to snap her out of her trance, the music starts pounding through the speakers—muscle memory kicking into high-gear to guide her through each detailed motion. It’s a release of her emotions through her body, and it’s in these moments where she feels the most free.

What’s unfortunate is that this rush of adrenaline never lasts as long as she’d like it to, and only after a few minutes, she’s back to where she began, but now poised in her final position.

Skating back towards her coach, Michelle takes her seat once more; a blanket draped softly over her shoulders for warmth. When her scores are revealed, they’re the same as always: fair. While she’s typically relieved to sit pretty in the middle, today, she responds negatively to them; feeling as though all of her hard work didn’t add up to a well-deserved win.

She also blames her father for promising that he’d finally make an appearance as her official “good luck charm” only to forsake her yet again.

Michelle spends the rest of that evening pensively staring out of windows; text messages arriving from her dad—all apologizing for not being able to make his flight after work.

SCENE III. VALLEY GLEN, CA — Q3, 2016. ULYSSES S. GRANT HIGH SCHOOL.

STUDENT A: “Gross... she comes across as so desperate, like...” STUDENT B: “I don’t understand what guys see in her, she’s obnoxious!” STUDENT C: “Yeah like, she still acts like she’s in seventh grade.” STUDENT D: “Hey, wait—didn’t she used to figure skate?” STUDENT A: “That’s right! I heard she had to stop ‘cause she’s broke now.” STUDENT D: “Desperate, cheap, slutty... guess that’s Michelle Chae for ya.”

—

Dad started to sell their personal belongings in order to feed his newly discovered habit. Mom was driven wild. It didn’t take long for things to explode, and with the end of their relationship came a screeching halt to Michelle’s figure skating career. With her father no longer being an active part of her life, she and her mother barely made end’s meat—barely seeing one another due to the lengthy hours they both worked to pay the bills. She’s only seventeen and instead of saving money for college, she puts every penny towards supporting her family. She spends so much time being responsible that she deeply sacrifices any personal pleasures and friendships.

Then again, it’s not like people at school are clamoring to get to know her.

From an early age, she knew that she got along better with boys as opposed to girls. In truth, Michelle spent a lot of time around other figure skaters ( most of which were female ) that often treated her poorly, so she’s learned not to really trust members of the same sex easily. Most of the time, those “friendships” turned into gross competitions, camaraderie devolved into petty rivalries, and honestly, she absolutely fucking hated it.

In her heart of hearts, she knows that it’s not good to alienate herself from other girls, and it’s something she works on, but at the same time, because of her close friendship with many of her school’s male students, some of her peers refer to her as a “whore” and a “slut,” and sadly, this label has stuck with her since middle school. Some say that she’s too sweet which makes her “easy.” Others say she’s fake and has stolen many boyfriends—which isn’t accurate at all.

Honestly, Michelle has ever understood the rumors. If boys gave her their attention and made her feel special, why should she be “burned at the stake” for engaging with them? For simply finding pleasure in their gazes; their touches? Instead of being embraced by the frigid cool, she’s wrapped up in the strong arms of a lover—that same rush of adrenaline now found in-between bedsheets as opposed to anywhere near a skating rink.

The downside to all of this, though? She falls in love far too easily, and more often than not, her heart ends up broken—and sometimes, it’s all her own fault.

SCENE IV. SEOUL, KR — Q2, 2020. SEOUL NATIONAL UNIVERSITY.

“Sorry!” Michelle exclaims, in English, to a passerby she accidentally bumped into—completely lost on her first day. It was her mom’s idea for her to attend school ( for at least two semesters, anyway ) in Seoul, and even though she was really hesitant at first, she thought that it might be a great opportunity to learn more about where she’s from. That, and well, she’d be able to see her grandparents way more often, especially since they’re getting older. That being said, it’s not been an easy transition, and the culture shock is rampant.

Luckily, she knows how to read and write the language, but that’s about as far as it goes. She’s embarrassingly American—her seniors often view her as rude and loud, but she has absolutely no idea about any of the social customs ( and spoiler alert: still doesn’t ) and knows that she fucks up a lot. Despite this, she fails to truly pick up on them, even after she’s been corrected.

After trying to find her first class, she takes a wrong turn and ends up back where she started—and as she groans in annoyance, someone calls out to her from behind; prompting her to turn around. When she sees a slightly older man approach her, she offers a grin, then a sloppy bow.

“Are you talking to me?” She asks, tilting her head gently; curiously. “Yes! I’m sorry to bother, but I think you might be just who I’m looking for!” “I... don’t think I know what you mean?” Michelle questions, a little creeped out.

Later that week, she attends an audition to join an entertainment company, and even though she has never had training in singing or rapping, she miraculously makes it in... and decides then to skip out on her nursing degree in favor of a totally risky once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

That being said, her mom’s going to be beyond livid.

SCENE V. SEOUL, KR — Q1, 2021. BC ENTERTAINMENT HQ.

Having only started training in April of the year prior, it’s not even been one year since Michelle began her training, so when she’s called into the talent manager’s office, she’s not expecting to hear any good news. After all, she’s constantly being told that she’s lacking in comparison to the other trainees, so how on earth could she have earned a chance to début? She knows a girl group’s being formed and that some of the others she’s trained with have already been given slots, and have even recorded promotional singles. Needless to say, she’s not feeling especially confident.

She takes the seat offered to her and does her best to be respectful, and when she’s informed that she’s been selected as a member for their upcoming project, she thought it was a joke.

“What?” She asks, gobsmacked, and the manager further explains why she’s chosen. In essence—well, at least from what she remembers—he said that she has great potential, and her skills in English, her unique vocal color, and willingness to learn are all assets to the group in various fashions. Stunned, all she could do was nod and agree with him; realizing then and there that this is actually happening to her. In what seemed like no time whatsoever, she’ll be standing on-stage as a somebody. She’ll be thrust in front of cameras and made completely vulnerable to the public. Truth be told, she thought she’d be working hard for a few years before getting a chance to become an idol, but now, it’s consuming all of her reality at a rapid pace.

As scared as she is, she hopes that being given yet another rare opportunity will convince her mom that this is a good idea. She also hopes that she’s able to pull off the image that they’ve discussed for her—one that rivals that of Snow White and Alice In Wonderland as far as purity is concerned. It’s no secret that she’s a bit rough around the edges, so she’s terrified.

All she can do now is hold out hope for the best, even if only the worst case-scenarios continue to plague her thoughts lately.

#fmdfollow #bcentertainment #chroma

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little-p-eng-engineering · 4 years

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ASME Section II Materials Overview

March 5, 2020

P.Eng.

Meena Rezkallah

ORGANIZATION OF THE ASME BOILER & PRESSURE VESSEL CODE FROM A MATERIALS STANDPOINT

The “heart” of the Guidebook to ASME Section II - Materials Index is the tabulation of ferrous and nonferrous materials specifications by Code section use. However, this Index is only part of the story with respect to Section II and Code materials in general. The focus of this guide is also on how Section II relates to the rest of the ASME Boiler and Pressure Vessel Code, how Section II - Part D is organized, and on some of the common metallurgical issues and terms encountered in the specifications conveyed in Section II,Parts A and B. The word Code in this guide refers to the ASME Boiler and Pressure Vessel Code (see General Overview of the Code for a list of the Code Sections.) Construction book committees refers to SC I, SC III, SC IV,SC VIII, and SC X (where SC is the abbreviation for Subcommittee). Service book committees refers to SC II, SC V, and SC IX who provide service to all construction book committees. All of these Subcommittees are responsible for Code books (or Code Sections) covering the specific subject areas. Scope Section II is an integral part of the 11 section ASME Boiler and Pressure Vessel Code, hereafter referred to simply as the Code. This chapter focuses on how Section II interacts with the rest of the Code, and other related Codes. Important features common to all or most Code sections are discussed. Presentations focus on the “materials person” who should be an integral part of any engineering task. This materials person may be an experienced metallurgical or materials engineer whose role is to provide expert guidance on materials issues, or it may simply be an engineer of another discipline who assumes the broader role of a materials specialist, along with his/her other areas of expertise. The current trends within industry, and practice of engineering in particular,have underscored the need to broaden the skill base and become even more versatile. This Materials Index is evolving with this trend in mind. A Brief History of the Code A series of tragedies in the late 1800s and early 1900s precipitated what would become the first set of steam boiler construction rules. During a 14 year period between 1889 and 1903, approximately 1,200 people were killed in 1,600 boiler explosions in the United States. First recognizing a way to halt this tragic loss of life was the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. In 1907, it enacted the first set of steam boiler construction rules, all of which were conveyed in just three pages. Four years later in 1911, New York and Ohio published similar boiler construction laws. By 1920,nine other states had followed suit. Each state had developed slightly different rules, however. For a manufacturer who desired to market a standard boiler in all states, this presented a severe hardship. Recognizing this unfavorable situation in 1911, the American Society for Mechanical Engineers Council appointed a committee to formulate standard specifications for the construction of steam boilers and other pressure vessels. The Council was also concerned about the care of boilers in service. The first published version of the ASME Code appeared in 1914, covering power and heating boilers. By 1937,nine sections had been issued covering procedures for all phases of fabrication, materials selection,maintenance,and inspection of pressure vessels. The late 1940s brought about newer design methods and advances in materials technology. In the early 1950s, the Code committee completed a comprehensive review of stress tables. Later in that decade, demands for higher temperatures and pressures pushed the envelope into the regime where creep considerations became significant. Within a few years, particularly in the case of Grade 321 stainless steel,failures began to appear, indicating a need to reevaluate the bases for setting stresses.These events led to a renewed emphasis on materials testing. An important step was taken in 1966with formation of the Metals Properties Council. This organization worked closely with the Code committee to improve the databases and the analytical processes used to set Code allowable stresses.As the Code takes on a more international “flavor”, a major step was taken in 1998 to reduce the factor on tensile strength used in deriving allowable stresses for Sections I, III (Classes 2 and 3) and VIII –Div.1 vessels. This step aligns the ASME B & PV Code with comparable European codes. The problem of state-specific boiler codes was gradually rectified as states began to adopt the ASME Boiler and Pressure Vessel Code. Today, the Code has been adopted by nearly every state in America and all 10 provinces in Canada ,and is now well on the way to become a truly international Code. A more complete history of the development of rules for construction of boilers appears in a three part article in Power Engineering, Vol. 100, No. 2, February 1996 (pp 15 - 30). These articles provide further insight into the involvement of the American Boiler Manufacturers Association (ABMA), ASME,and the National Board of Boiler and Pressure Vessel Inspectors (NBBI). No attempt will be made to update this page tally for each new addenda-it is shown here to simply illustrate the general magnitude of the Code. This is quite a change from the three page Code that first appeared in 1914! This phenomenal growth has been driven mostly by technological advances in materials, testing, inspection, design and analysis methodology, fabrication, and over pressure protection as well as demands for rules covering new service conditions. Sections II, V, and IX are “service sections” providing rules and guidance for both nonnuclear and nuclear construction. These sections constitute 4,834 pages or 38% of the 12,591 total pages in the Code. Rules for non nuclear components (Sections I,IV, VI, VII, VIII, X, and their Code cases) involve 3,269 pages or 26%. The remainder of the Code covers nuclear construction (Sections III, XI, and Code cases) with a total of 4,488 pages or about 36% of the Code. Section II alone, with 3,831 pages,represents 30%of the entire Code. Constructing a component in accordance with Code rules requires, first, a basic decision on which category of rules apply. General categories are:

-power boilers (fired),

- heating boilers,

- un-fired pressure vessels,- nuclear systems, or

- fiber-reinforced plastic pressure vessels.

One important issue to understand is that each category has unique materials requirements for that type of construction. Within each of the governing Code books are additional factors that must bead dressed as the design, fabrication, testing, inspection, and installation processes progress. The following outlines show the organization of the various Code sections with particular emphasis on materials requirements. These outlines may serve as checklists or quick references for the materials specialist in Code construction.

Section I-Power Boilers Part PG- General Requirements for Power Boilers and High Pressure, High Temperature Water Boilers General Materials

PG-5 General PG-6 Plate PG-7 Forgings PG-8 Castings PG-9 Pipes,Tubes and Pressure Containing Parts PG-10 Material Identified with or Produced to a Specification Not Permitted by This Section, and Material Not Fully Identified

ORGANIZATION AND THE USE OF SECTION II, PART D There is a near-symbiotic association between the “heart” of this article to ASME Section II and Section II, Part D. Each has influenced the other as they progressed to their current forms. The evolution of both spanned a time period of nearly 20 years, which lends support to the adage that “good things take time.” Unfortunately, the publication of Section II, Part D represented a somewhat controversial departure from an older, well established way of conveying allowable stresses and properties of Code materials. Some of the confusion surrounding use of this“new” approach is addressed by this chapter, and many of the questions will be answered and misunderstandings dispelled.

Scope

Section II, Part D is now the focal point for allowable stresses and properties for those materials permitted in Section I, III and VIII (Divisions 1 and 2) construction. This chapter delves into the development of Section II, Part D, its organization, use of the many stress and property tables, external pressure charts, associated appendices, and current efforts to adopt non-ASTM (foreign) specifications. It also provides additional useful information on materials behavior. As frequently suggested in Chapter 1, much of this information in Section II, Part D may be valuable in other engineering assignments. So,becoming comfortable with its organization and use is a MUST.

A Brief History of the Development of Section II, Part D

This author wrote a letter on October 5, 1979 to the Chairman of Subcommittee on Properties (as it was called at that time, before it was combined with the Subcommittee on Specifications to become the current Subcommittee on Materials),proposing that there be an “attempt to combine stress tables within a separate Code book.” It was further suggested at that time that other minimum and nominal properties and other materials characteristics, that are independent of Code application, be included as well. The arguments cited were that it would be a “quality control system to ensure consistency” and that it would eliminate a lot of duplicate pages, common to numerous Code sections. This letter also recognized “how this approach could uncover minor (and perhaps major) discrepancies in stress listings.” The gestation period for this idea was about five years, culminating in early 1985 with a move to resurrect a Task Group on Tabulation of Allowable Stresses and Materials Properties. The ambitious goal of publishing a new document in the 1986 Edition of the Code was obviously not met, but the wheels of motion were moving forward.

Michael Gold, current chairman of the Subcommittee on Materials, presented a paper at the 1995 ASME Pressure Vessel and Piping meeting, in Honolulu, Hawaii in June 1995, entitled “Section II, Part D and Adoption of Foreign Materials.” The balance of this historical recap uses portions of Mr. Gold’s paper and is updated to cover the time since that paper was authored. Section II, Part D first appeared in the 1992 Edition of the Code, combining into one book, as suggested earlier, design stress values and materials property values previously published in Sections I, III, and VIII (Divisions 1 and 2). The stated purpose for publishing the information in a single volume for use with the respective sections was to ensure consistency of design values. This was essential since criteria used to develop the values and the data bases upon which values were based were identical.

The first version of Section II, Part D was nothing more than an editorial reformatting of information that existed in the four targeted Code sections. No attempts were made at that time to correct discrepancies that would now be painfully obvious. Over the next three years, concerted efforts were expended to eliminate the many inconsistencies that became evident not only in stress values, but in notes, nomenclature, and use temperatures. Corrections then allowed the merging of many stress lines,and that reduced the size of Section II,Part D.

The 1995 Edition of Section II, Part D was a “slimmed down” version with a new note system, further simplifying the stress tables. Also making the stress tables more user friendly was the numbering of lines to follow stress lines and associated information from one page to the next one, two, or three pages. Efforts will continue to further improve the quality of stresses and material properties as better data become available.

Structure of Section II, Part D

The Michael Gold paper cited earlier also provided an excellent description of the organizational structure of Section II, Part D. This write-up was based on “A Users Guide to BPV Section II Materials, Part D Properties: 1992 Addenda”, written by G. M. Eisenberg, at that time Secretary for the B&PVC Main Committee. The following was taken verbatim from Mr. Gold’s paper, with permission from ASME.

BASIC ORGANIZATION

The organization and structure of Section II, Part D, has been described thoroughly by G. M. Eisenberg (1992), in the User Guide to BPV Section II, Materials, Part D Properties: 1992 Edition, which was published as part of the 1992 Addenda update to Section II, Part D. Because that User Guide did not have page numbers, even current users of the Code may have lost track of it by now, so much of the information developed by Eisenberg has also been included here.

Section II, Part D, is divided into Sub parts, followed by Appendices. These are described below.

Sub part 1: Stress Tables Grouping by Criteria

The individual tables in Sub part 1 include values for materials, based on common stress criteria. For materials other than bolting, Tables 1A (Ferrous) and Table 1B (Non-Ferrous) contain maximum allowable stress values, based on the criteria that have been adopted for use in: Section I; Section III, Class 2 and 3; and Section VIII, Division 1. Tables 2A (Ferrous) and 2B (Non-Ferrous) contain design stress intensity values based on the criteria used for Section III, Class 1, and Section VIII, Division 2.

For bolting materials, Table 3 contains allowable stress values based on the criteria used in: Section VIII, Division 1; Section VIII, Division 2, according to the rules of Appendix 3 of Division 2; and Section III, Class 2 and 3. Table 4 contains design stress intensity values for bolting based on the criteria used for: Section VIII, Division 2; according to the rules of Appendices 4, 5, and 6, of Division 2; and those constructed according to the rules of Section III, Class 1. Table U contains tensile strength values for ferrous and nonferrous materials, previously contained only in Section III. Table Y-1 contains the yield strength values for ferrous and nonferrous materials previously contained in Sections I, III, and VIII, Division 2. Table Y-2 contains factors for limiting permanent strain for nickel, high nickel alloys, and high alloy steels from data previously contained in Sections III, and VIII, Division 2. Tables U-2 and Y-3 contain ultimate tensile strength and yield strength values respectively for additional materials used in Section VIII,Division 3 construction.

Ordering of Listing

The sorting order for materials,as they are listed in the tables, differs between Tables 1A and 1B. This difference persists in the other tables, as well, for ferrous and nonferrous materials,respectively. In Tables 1A and 2A,and the portions of Tables 3, 4, U, and Y-1 containing ferrous materials, the underlying sorting sequence in order of priority, is: nominal composition, tensile strength ST, yield strength SY, specification number, and grade or type. Two variables to this ordering are worth mentioning: There is no distinction made among the carbon steels on the basis of nominal compositions shown as C, C-Si, C-Mn, and C-Mn-Si. These were all treated as being identical carbon steels, with regard to nominal compositions, and were placed at the beginning of the table. In fact, those distinctions in Nominal Composition for carbon steels will soon be eliminated from Code stress tables and those materials will all be described simply as “C Steels.” This is already reflected in this version of the Materials Index. Micro-alloyed carbon steels will still retain their original distinction even though the reported thermophysical properties for carbon steels also are appropriate for these micro-alloyed carbon steels. The ordering of the carbon steels in stress tables begins with the tensile strength as the primary discriminator. Further, the austenitic stainless steels, those with chromium contents between 16 and 25,were separated from the ferritic steels and placed after them.

In Tables 1B, 2B, and the portions of Tables 3, 4, U, and Y-1 containing the nonferrous materials, the sorting priority is somewhat different: alloy/UNS number (alpha-numeric), tensile strength ST, yield strength SY, class/condition/temper, and specification number. Nominal compositions are not included as a sorting priority for the nonferrous materials. In fact, nominal compositions are not listed for the aluminum and copper alloys, because of all of the many different variations of nominal compositions available in different systems for these materials. For all nonferrous materials, the primary ordering sequence is based on the more unique UNS numbers that have been assigned to each grade.

Other Information in Tables

In addition to providing columns for the materials and the criteria by which they are sorted, and, of course, the design values, other information is provided in the stress tables: This includes nominal composition (for the other nonferrous materials), product form (e.g. tube, pipe, plate, etc.), specification number, type or grade, alloy designation or UNS number, class/condition/ temper, size/thickness, welding P-number and group number, minimum tensile strength in ksi, minimum yield strength in ksi, and most importantly, the maximum temperature and applicability for each material in the Construction Codes appropriate for each table.

Applicability-Temperature Limit Columns

An example of the applicability / temperature limit column heading,is as follows.

This entry indicates that, for this particular stress line, the values shown are appropriate for use in Section I construction, up to a maximum temperature of 800°F, and are appropriate for use in Section VIII, Division 1 construction, up to a maximum temperature of 1,500°F. The NP entry indicates that this stress line is not permitted for Section III construction. The difference in temperatures of applicability between Section I and Section VIII,may have no technical basis. It is possible that no inquirer ever requested use of this material in Section I construction, above 800°F. Many of these types of inconsistencies have been, and will continue to be eliminated in future Addenda. Further, the NP doesn’t necessarily mean that this particular material would never be permitted in Section III construction; it might mean that either no one has ever requested this material for use in Section III construction, or that there is another stress line, with some differences, that has previously been approved for Section III construction, and it would normally be found immediately above or below this particular line. Subcommittee II is working to eliminate such inconsistencies, and the 1995 Edition went along way in that direction.

External Pressure Charts and Notes

Other information included in the stress tables are the external pressure chart numbers, and their references. Many inconsistencies in the referenced external pressure charts existed in the initial publication of Section II, Part D, but these have since been addressed and resolved.

The 1992 Edition and its three Addenda contained separate tables for notes, essentially as they originally appeared in the construction Codes. The 1995 Edition merged all of those notes into a single set of notes applicable to each stress table. Unfortunately, those who became familiar with a particular identification number for certain notes will have to learn new numbers. The new system is much more understandable and combines many similarly worded notes that had exactly the same meaning into single notes.

Sub part 2: Physical Properties Tables

There are four sets of physical properties tables. Those in the first set are the nominal coefficients of thermal expansion, numbered TE-1 through TE-5. These combined existing values from the 1989 Editions of Section III and Section VIII, Division 2. The five tables cover ferrous materials, aluminum alloys, copper and copper alloys, high nickel alloys, and titanium and titanium alloys, respectively. The next table is Table TCD, which includes nominal coefficients of thermal conductivity and thermal diffusivity.

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agirlhasnonamehotd · 7 years

Text

Happy Birth - Day

“Mark”.

It’s the dead of night. You look at your husband, dead asleep, and feel jealous. It’s been months since you’ve had a solid night’s sleep.

“Mark.”

This time he stirs; he turns over on his belly and sighs. A small wave of panic washes over you. How can he sleep in a wet bed?

“MARK!”

You scream so loud that he jumps. He sits up, eyes half open.

“Wha….what?” He asks through a yawn.

Instinctually he puts his hand down on the bed where you normally lay. As soon as he feels the dampness he looks around, confused.

“Babe,” he mumbles drowsily, “did you wet the bed?”

You glare. If looks could kill Mark would be six feet under.

“No, you jackass, my water broke.”

He takes a few minutes to process the words. You blame this on the fact that he’s still not coherent. It doesn’t make you feel any less annoyed.

“I…am…in…labor,” you say it nice and slow for him.

That he understands. That word triggers in him the paternal panic instinct. He looks down and then looks at you with wide eyes. You stand there with your hospital bag in hand, swollen belly ready to pop, and the crankiest, scariest face you’ve ever made. Mark goes from 0 to 100 instantly.

“OH MY GOD! IT’S TIME?!” he exclaims.

“Yes, you dope.”

Looking more like an Olympian than father-to-be, Mark catapults out of bed. He darts across the room for his jeans; falls over when he tries to pull up both legs at once. Instead of taking the shirt that’s beside them he pulls on one of yours. Pink, floral, and entirely too small. You don’t tell him. He shoves his feet into his sneakers, grabs his wallet, and his phone. There’s never even a glance in the mirror. His hair is sticking up in all directions.

“Okay, “ he rambles to himself, “we need to call your parents, my parents, the gang-“

“How about we go to the hosp-OWWWWW”

Your first contraction comes. No amount of reading or instruction in Lamaze prepares you for it. It’s pain: Sharp, searing pain as if a knife is slicing you open. You drop the bad hold onto the dress for dear life.

Your husband comes to your rescue. He’s immediately there, behind you, rubbing your back and encouraging you.

“In through your nose…and out slowly baby…deep breaths baby. That’s perfect.”

For the first time in this pregnancy, you’re scared. Scared of the pain. Scared of the process to come. You know you will have to put this aside to push eventually, but for now it feels as if it will consume you. You look back at Mark, terrified.

This is the best thing about him. As he notices your fear rising, he begins to calm down. For your sake. He takes your hand and lets you squeeze it hard; grits his teeth so you won’t know how much it hurts when your nails dig into his skin. The words of encouragement continue until the pain peaks and slowly ebbs away. When you can stand up straight again Mark starts the timer on his phone. You’ll need to share the timespan between contractions as soon as you’re admitted.

“Hospital. Now.” Is all you can manage.

Walking through the lobby is a dangerous experience. Mark is so worried about guiding you along that he nearly kills himself tripping over a chair. He limps along with you to the car and treats you as if you’re made of porcelain when he helps you with your seatbelt. The bad is thrown unceremoniously in the backseat and he scrambles in the driver’s side.

Lucky for you, the hospital is only a few miles away. Your odds of dying from Mark’s erratic driving are less because of this. However, when your next contraction starts he nearly veers off the road. You begin to silently pray.

The car comes to a screeching halt in front of the hospital’s automatic doors. Mark runs inside; returning alongside a nurse with a wheelchair. You’re perfectly capable of walking, but humor your overprotective spouse. He helps you into it and insists on pushing you. You warn him to slow down.

Once the paperwork is complete, you change into a thin gown and are instructed to lay in the narrow, rubbery hospital bed. The nurse starts an IV, asks questions about an epidural, and monitors the fetal heartrate. You remind her of the special arrangement you discuss with the doctor and she smile. Mark looks at you confused but says nothing (he knows better right now). She leaves briefly and returns with the doctor. OH goody. Now comes the “Fun”. As soon as your current contraction subsides he checks your cervix. Four centimeters. Active labor. Also, time for you to decide on an epidural. You shake your head. Mark looks at you like you’re insane.

“Baby…are you sure?” he asks softly, “it’s gonna be inten-“

“I’m sure.” Is all you say.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Four hours later you’re no longer sure. In fact, you regret the decision. The doctors keep telling you you’re progressing fast; the delivery will be soon. Each time the pain eats away at you a little more. Soon. Soon. Soon. Numberless timelines frustrate you to no end.

There’s a waiting room full of people thanks to Mark. Both sets of parents come in to visit you. Your friends decide to wait until the baby comes.

“We don’t want to witness the murder of Mark…when he, you know, says something stupid,” Sereena says from the doorway.

Mark is nervous; you know it. But he refuses to tell you. He holds your hand and pushes your hair out of your face. He reminds you to breathe through your contractions. You’re cranky, hurting, and starting to lash out at him.

“Out slowly…slowly Dani”

“HOW ABOUT I SLOWLY PUT MY FOOT UP YOUR ASS?!”

You feel like you’re dying and the pressure… Lord the pressure is unbelievable. The contractions are coming so close you barely have time to recover. As the next one begins you scream, succumb to the exhaustion and pain, and begin to cry. Mark’s hand is at your mercy. You’re pretty sure you’ll break at least one finger by the end of this.

It’s late afternoon when it’s finally time. The doctor comes in and check you. And when he says the words you know.

“Mrs. Collins you are fully dilated and completely effaced,” he declares, “ready to have this baby.”

Yes and no cross your mind at the same time. You nod. The nurse helps the doctor suit up and when his mask and protective glasses are on he turns to Mark.

“Alright, Dad,” he says, “your turn to get ready”.

The nurse carries the same smock and cap the doctor wears. You see Mark stare quizzically.

“ Get ready for what…wait is all that stuff going to splatter everywhere when the baby comes out?!” he exclaims in alarm and disgust.

“MARK!”

“Sorry!” he immediately says, “I just didn’t know it would be SO messy-“

Killing your husband for this stupidity would probably be pardoned since you are in labor. Yet, you know what you are about to tell him will impact him in a way that will change him forever.

“Mark,” you say through gritted teeth, “I want you to help deliver.”

It’s an instant reaction. His knees buckle and the nurse throws a hand out to steady him. He blinks, his lip trembles, and he whispers to you.

“You’re sure?”

Yes. You’ve been sure since day one. You had this discussion with the doctor months ago. Daddy should be the first one to hold his baby; not a doctor. Even if it’s brief. The nurse busies herself with pulling on the smock and covering his hair. Mark just stares at you through it all. Wonder. Amazement. Adoration. He gazes at you like you’re a beautiful goddess instead of an exhausted woman giving birth.

“I love you,” is all he can manage.

“Okay Mark,” the doctor begins, “you’re gonna help hold Dani’s leg until the baby’s halfway out. Then you will stand in my spot and guide the baby the rest of the way out of the canal. I will be right here to help…”

Many dumbstruck nods later they pull you down on the bed. A nurse and Mark stand on either side of you. They pull your legs back; Mark rests your foot on his shoulder to give you leverage. In any normal circumstance laying there in that position, with your lady parts out for the world to see, would be humiliating. Today? You just want to push. You want this to be over.

It’s time.

The doctors told you it would feel like a bowel movement. Bullshit. At least, not like any normal dump. Today you feel like you’re crapping out a watermelon. The pain is indescribable, but you know to make it stop you have to keep going. One push, break, two push, break…and then… you don’t want breaks anymore. You scream so hard your whole body shakes. Then the doctor calls over you.

“STOP! Dad, it’s showtime!”

And that means the end is near. Mark and the doctor exchange positions. Another nurse steps in to hold your leg. He looks up at you with eyes as big as saucers.

“You are incredrible.”

Those are his last words before the doctor shows him how to grab the baby. When he’s ready the nurse tells you to go. One more push. You feel what can only be explained as a pop, a whooshing sensation of liquid, and you hear crying. Your head slumps back on the bed and you cry. Tears of joy? Exhaustion? Relief? Probably all of the above. When you open your eyes Mark is cradling a small pink bundle in his arms. You see a smattering of copper hair and two perfect little feet. And then he tells you. Voice trembling, tears streaming out from under the protective eyewear.

“It’s a girl.”

Mark’s world has changed. He holds her through the cord cutting; he holds her until the nurse has to pry her out of his arms to weigh her. Once she’s gone he rips off his gear and rushes to your side. Below the doctor sets to work on you but you hardly feel a thing. You stare at your husband and he stares back. Crying. He takes your hand and kisses you everywhere. Your sweaty forehead. Lips. Cheeks. Even eyelids.

“Dani…I love you so much…I …we…”

Fresh tears flow down his face and you reach over to wipe them away.

“Alright Momma…you ready to see this beauty?”

Nine months ago, when you first took the pregnancy test, you were ready to see the baby. Now, the wait is over. The nurse brings her over and unwraps her. You pull your gown down and lay your daughter against your skin.

You always thought your life was full with Mark. It was…

But this is what it was like to feel complete. She lays over your heart, a little fussy. As soon as she hears your heartbeat it subsides. You look down at her and she looks up at you. Daddy’s hair, Daddy’s face. Daddy’s eyes. You feel like you will explode with happiness.

“She’s perfect, “you choke out through the tears.

“She’s ours,” Mark stifles a sob, “Thank you.”

You look up at him with confusion.

“Thank you for loving me, for being my wife. For making me a Dad.”

He laughs and wipes his eyes with tears. Then he chuckles again.

“I’m a Daddy,” he says a little louder. The medical staff in the room just smile.

In that moment you fall in love with Mark. A different kind of love. The purest love two humans can share. The love of being parents. Together.

*~*~*~*~*

Sophie Eleanor Collins.

Your families are the first visitors to see her. Both of your moms cry and patiently take turns holding Sophie. Your dad claps Mark on the back while his Dad shakes his hand. They don’t stay long, but you know they’ll be back tomorrow. And you know they’ll be there when you take Sophie home. You also know they’ll probably hold her more than you in the upcoming weeks – and you won’t have much choice in the matter.

Your friends are troopers. They come in with gifts and balloons. For the first time in his life Cole is rendered incapable of perversity. He hugs Mark tight and simply says “She’s incredible, man.” Brooke cries, Sereena manages a natural smile when she holds Sophie. Ben, watches over Sereena’s shoulder happily. Then he leans over and kisses your cheek.

Eventually the nurses chase your friends out so you can rest. The room goes quiet. Mark comes to sit by your side. He nuzzles his face against yours.

“How are you Momma?” he asks.

“Beyond exhausted.”

SO much so that your eyes close at the mention of it. You take a deep breath; feel Mark adjust the pillows behind your head. There’s a rustle beside you, a pair of lips on your forehead, and one final declaration before you fall asleep.

“You and Sophie are the best things that have ever happened to me.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sometime either very late at night our early in the morning you wake to sound. Talking. Very soft, gentle talking. It’s Mark. It’s coming from the rocking chair in the corner. You open one eye, spy Mark sitting there rocking Sophie back in forth. You strain and are finally successful at hearing what he’s saying.

“You know Sophie,” He murmurs, “I didn’t think I could love anyone as much as I love your Momma…you changed that today…you are the most incredible thing Mom and I have ever done.”

Sophie fusses in his arms. He moves his arms and starts to hum until she settles back into slumber.

“There you go, angel…this is how it will always be…every nightmare, scraped knee…and someday broken heart…Daddy will be here. I will always protect you.”

This is it. This is your wonderful world. Not perfect, but whole. Full of more love than most people will ever get to experience. You smile and let yourself sleep.

Today you learn Heaven does exist on Earth.

#pixelberry #playchoices #lovehacks mark #lovehacks mc #mc x mark #mark collins

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heather1815 · 7 years

Text

My little test subject: Chapter 9

Chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6, chapter 7, and chapter 8

Angsty Tomtord fic with slight Paultryk on the side.

WARNING! This fic contains: Foul language, torture scenes, blood, use of medical tools, drug use, suicidal tendencies, self-neglect, violence, self-harm, and a little bit of stockholm syndrome and force feeding. Viewer discretion is advised.

A storm raged on a dark, cold night.

Lightning flashed the clouds, and thunder soon followed with a booming roar. Heavy rain poured down upon the town, and the wind howled so strongly it swept everything away in its path. The streets were empty, with a few occasional cars running up and down the road, and the light poles dimly illuminating the way. With the ravaging storm, no one dared leave the safety and comfort of their homes, especially in such late hour.

All, but one.

A solitary figure trekked along the sidewalk, soaking wet and freezing cold. Hunched over and arms crossed over his chest, shivering as the strong, cold wind blew against his soaking wet form. Most would've hurried back home in this condition. But not him. He pressed on, looking around the streets wearily.

He waited hours on end back home for his companion to cease knocking, and calling out to him through his door, just so he could leave. Now his companion was fast asleep back in their apartment, blissfully unaware of his nightly outings. At least he thinks so. They haven't seen each other since they got the news-

Another shiver racked his body and the man sneezed, nose running. Using the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe the snot away, he kept on going.

He peeked into dark alleyways, and looked all around the streets; as if searching for something. Weary narrowed eyes squinting against the shadows, trying to make out any shapes within. When his eyes found nothing, he decided to move on. A loud clatter of a garbage can that fell over made the man jump, startled. He peeked back into the dark alley. A shape moved around. Hope filled the man's heart.

"Tom?!"

Lightning struck again and lit up the place, revealing the mysterious shape hidden in the alleyway as a black cat with a bristling pelt. It jumped and hissed, startled by the storm. It quickly scampered away back into the shadows.

The man looked down in disappointment. Sadness and guilt consuming him.

"Oh Tom… where did you go?"

With a tired sigh, he carried on with his hopeless search.

(Meanwhile…)

The door slid open with a slight hiss, and walked in the stoic figure of the Red leader himself. His face expressionless as he entered the small, simple quarters, of his present test subject. The door slid shut behind him as he took over the scene.

Tom lied in slumber on his bed. The slow rise and fall of his chest as he snored softly indicated the deep sleep stage the Brit is under. A bit of drool seeped down from the side of his mouth, staining the pillow. Tom's usual spiky, and messy brown locks are a bigger mess than usual; containing a serious case of bedhead.

All in all, nothing too out of ordinary as of late.

It has been a couple of days since Tom passed out unexpectedly. When Patrick alerted him of what took place, Tord had felt his heart come to an abrupt stop. Despite their fight and still being angry at the Brit for openly defying him, Tord still couldn't afford to lose Tom. He is too valuable for his research; his army. His plans. And so, the Norsk had found himself racing through his base's long corridors, all the way from his office to the labs belowground, as fast as his legs could carry him, to evaluate the situation as quickly as possible.

Poor Paul. The devoted soldier tried to keep up with his pace at the time, only to come close to passing out as well.

Tord, cooled down from his earlier struggle with his test subject, but now worried and anxious for his wellbeing; quickly got to work. He checked Tom's vitals through the connection of the implanted chip and his robotic arm, but it showed nothing out of ordinary. After doing a thoroughly check-up, they came up with no definitive answers. They proposed a theory for this sudden occurrence.

Tom, from what they have observed so far, hasn't been in the greatest of conditions. Malnourished, bruised, addicted, and even more prone to violence; clearly something is up with him. They theorized that the recent events; with the whole drugging, kidnapping, testing, and… "discipline", put Tom under a lot of stress which caused his body to shut down. Makes sense, considering that since Tom arrived in the facility the only sleep he got was forcefully induced upon him. But they will just have to wait and see when he wakes up to get any proper answers.

Tord continued to stare down at Tom's sleeping form. His one-eyed gaze wavered down to his heavily, bandaged arms.

When he came in to analyse Tom's condition at the time, he was rather shocked to see the full state that he was in. Various bruises and cuts decorating the Brit's pale skin, extending from the arms to the torso. He was somewhat baffled for missing such a detail when he first removed the man's hoodie; and looking back at it now, Tom's defensive behaviour made sense at the time.

He was trying to keep them from seeing the wounds.

Tord let out a low chuckle. Tom is far too proud for his own good. Even at his lowest, the eyeless man refused to give up or show any form of weakness in front of him. His stubborn attitude surely made things interesting. Too bad it also makes his progress go at a lower rate than he would've wanted.

In his mind, things seemed a lot easier:

Kidnap Tom?

Check!

Bargain with him to become his "willing" test subject?

Check!

Experiment on him?

Unfortunately, this is the stage where their entire progress halted.

Everything was going exactly as he had planned, until they realized the malnourished state the eyeless man is in. This called for a special process, and a slow development. And now they find out he is decorated entirely out of bruises and cuts. This was the last straw. Tord wasted almost nine years working on this experiment, to fail time, and time again; at this point he can no longer afford to waste any more time.

They need results.

Tord's gaze narrowed down at Tom, still blissfully asleep in his bed.

They need the serum to be ready, now.

The door behind him hissed open once more.

The Red leader did not turn around, already knowing who it is. Patrick walked into the room, carrying a small tray which contained a special ointment, fresh bandages, and an IV bag. He barely acknowledged Tord's presence in the room as he set to work straight away. Carefully, Pat began to unwrap the bandages around Tom's arms. Tord watched the procedure in silence, deep in his thoughts.

Dam. Tom is way too out of it and unfit for the experiments. He realized, observing the process. Considering his state, we'll have to wait for a complete recovery before the serum tests can begin. Speaking of which; the thought reminded him that he needs to speak with his supplier about a new shipment of chemicals for his experiment. Good thing he already scheduled a meeting with them for this afternoon.

He snapped out of it when Tom uttered a low sigh as Patrick gently applied the ointment to his sensitive, bruised skin. But he still did not stir, flinch, or gave any indication that he might wake up. The Polish soldier carefully resumed with the treatment.

The sight reminded Tord of a small detail he forgot to ask before.

"How did the appointment go?" The Norsk spoke up. His metal hand pressed against his cheek, as his other arm supported beneath it.

Patrick just gave him a quick side-glance. "It was fine."

"Did he behave accordingly?" Tord prompted with clear interest. "I can just imagine the hard time you must've had to get this brute lunatic to ta-"

"Oh no! Quite the opposite, actually!" Patrick exclaimed, interrupting his leader's rant. "I mean, I admit that at first he refused to cooperate. But considering what he's been through, I can't really blame him." You could just make out the invisible outline of a smirk in his voice, as he shot another glance at the Norsk. "But after I complied with his demands he was much more open."

"Demands?!"

Tord stared at his soldier, utterly flabbergasted at what he has just heard. His straight posture deflated at his words. A sharp and quick pain pierced the side of his gut; it came and went by so fast he would've missed the feeling completely if it weren't for the sudden emptiness surging inside him. What is this that I am feeling? He wondered silently. The emptiness was being quickly replaced with a more familiar sensation. Anger. But why? Tord couldn't quite figure out the meaning or reason for this. Even stranger was the fact that this anger was being targeted directly at Patrick.

Tord pushed down the unneeded anger, though not without some amount of effort on his part.

"Well, I suppose the only proper way to get anything out of Thomas is by bargaining." Tord coolly commented with a shrug, trying to ignore the tingling sensation within him. "Did he reveal anything of interest to you? Any information that we might benefit from?" He waited expectantly, the uncomfortable sensation still pricking him. But his confusion grew as his excitement dwindle when Patrick had not uttered a single word in response.

Tord frowned.

"Are you purposefully ignoring me?" He prompted, a hint of warning in his voice.

"Absolutely not, sir." Pat replied, lacing new bandages over Tom's arms with careful precision. "I am just not allowed to disclose any personal information my patient entrusts me with to anyone else."

A long silence echoed in the room. The only thing remotely audible was Tom's soft snoring.

"What?"

Patrick paid him no mind. As soon as he was done changing Tom's bandages, he moved to replace the nearly empty IV bag with a new one. He is well aware of the imminent danger that loomed over him, but remained calm in the face of the situation.

Tord, on the other hand, was fuming and trying very hard to keep his proper posture and anger at bay.

"That was the terms of our agreement, sir." Patrick continued. "He shares anything he wants with me, and in return I cannot disclose anything said to you or anyone else for that matter."

Tord lost his cool now.

"Excuse me? Since when does Thomas have any sort of power in this base? I don't remember ever granting him any." He argued indignantly, casting a narrowed eyed glare in Tom's direction. "Second, I am your leader, not him. This is my facility. My base. My army! And you are supposed to obey every order I give out." He turned his glare back to Patrick, who finished placing the new IV bag in place, and calmly turned around to face him. "In fact, you have been acting out quite a lot recently. Continue with this behaviour, Patrick, and I just might demote you. Or worse."

The Polish soldier kept his face expressionless, seemingly unfazed by his leader's threat. He simply folded his arms behind his back, and kept their gazes locked. He chose his next set of words carefully. He's stepping in thin ice right now, and one wrong move could result in a lot of trouble. Trusted soldier or not, Patrick isn't foolish enough to put it past Tord when it came to his threats.

"Sir, I assure you that all my actions thus far have been for the better benefit of the red army. It may not have been what you ordered, or the way you wanted, but I'm still very much loyal." Patrick stated coolly. "As my leader, I trust your judgment. However, with all due respect, when your anger gets the better of you, your mind tends to get a little clouded and loses all reasoning." Though not directly mentioning, he was clearly referring to the most recent incident between his leader and their test subject. "What's the use in warning him not to mess with you, when you keep aggravating him?"

Tord's mouth hanged open in disbelief. "I aggravated him?" He echoed, still not grasping the concept. "He attacked me!"

"Only because you wouldn't back off him." Patrick countered. His expression softened as he let out a tired sigh. "Sir, I know you two share a history of animosity. From what you told Paul and I about your experiences prior to creating the red army, it's clear you two despise each other. We get it." He stated solemnly. "But for this to work out, we're going to need the two of you to cooperate with each other's standards. Thomas will obey as long as you give him some space and freedom; otherwise he will just continue to retaliate against you. Yes, your threat over his friends lives still poses, but when it comes down to rivalry and pure anger, reason doesn't have much space to work with." He stared at Tord with an enigmatic expression. "You know that better than anyone else, don't you sir?"

Tord clenched his teeth and straightened his jaw. God, he hated when Patrick was being a smart-ass. Especially because he was always right. No matter how angry Tord could get at him, he values his wisdom way too much to foolishly ignore it for the sake of his pride. He cast another quick side-glance at Tom, still peacefully asleep and unawares of their conversation.

"As always Pat, you're right." Tord admitted, immediately feeling his heart feeling the crushing defeat. Ouch, my pride. "I suppose i was being rather brash." He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "I will try to control myself around him in the future."

Patrick nodded, glad he managed to get through his leader without too much of a hassle. "By the way, sir. I thought best to remind you cause it's most likely you have forgotten it by now; that you are to leave, first thing in the morning."

"Huh? Why?"

Patrick clicked his tongue, having his assumption proved right. "Because sir, you are required to go to all of our existing bases and inspect their development. This may be your main base, but don't forget you have other ones to look after." He explained, finishing patching Tom up. He placed the palm of his hand over the Brit's forehead, feeling for fever.

Tord huffed in discontent, placing both his arms on his hips. "Well then what's the use in appointing Lieutenants to lead your multiple bases if I still have to look after them? Seems rather pointless if I say so myself."

Patrick sighed, still very much patient. "Like you said, it's your army and they are just your Lieutenants. Do you really trust them enough to lead things all on their own without your consent or knowledge?" He pointed out. "What if they're leadership skills are lacking and something goes amiss?"

"They should know better than to displease me by now, Pat." He flexed his robotic arm, bringing his organic one up to crack his own knuckles against the metal. "Otherwise I wouldn't have named them so in the first place; much less leave them in charge of my bases."

Patrick placed a wet cloth over Tom's forehead, to try and bring the fever down. Tom moaned at the contact but did nothing more than that. "Besides, with Thomas's current condition he will be out of commission for a while. So the serum experiments will definitely be put into a halt until he improves." He states, looking up at Tord. "Until then, you can be quite busy with your other army related activities while Paul and I work to set him straight."

Tord glanced at Tom, taking note of his patched bruises, bone thin figure, and pale skin. His shoulders sagged in defeat.

Patrick: 2. Tord: 0.

The polish soldier took note of his posture, and although he did not let it show openly, he did have a little smirk of victory. "Honestly sir, where would you be without Paul or I?"

Most likely dead. His mind replied dryly. Preferably in the wreckage remains of my failure.

Tord yawned and stretched his arms over his head. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be heading up now." He informed, turning away to leave the room. "Notify me right away if there's a change to his condition."

"Yes, sir."

The door hisses open and he walks out of the quarters. In quick strides, Tord walks through the immense corridors of his laboratory. The shiny marble tiled floor and walls gleaming his reflection back at him wherever he goes. The cobalt blue coat of his uniform is only half-done, letting free the vision of his red hoodie underneath.

With only the heavy footsteps of his boots against the marble floor, he marched towards the elevator and went up, pressing the -4 button.

The elevator ride was quiet, despite the constant humming of the lift as it went upwards. Tord leaned back into the mirror wall surface, his hands grabbing the handles behind him with a sigh of content. His shoulders slump as the tension left him. He idly ran one of his hands through his hair, looking at the ground before his gaze fell on his prosthetic arm. A small frown made into his facial features as he continued to stare at it.

He flexed his robotic fingers.

It's been a year since the incident and the amputation, and yet, he still isn't used to the new arm. Sure, he has made a lot of improvements to it, and he certainly likes the feeling of power it brings him. He loves especially when he sees the fear in the eyes of his newer soldiers the first time they see his arm. However, it seems no matter how long it passes, the arm was still a stranger to him.

He turned his hand over.

It was… Funny. The new arm is a part of him now. But it will never be him. At least, not in the way that it was meant to be.

Tord slowly rose his hand up to touch his scarred cheek. He could feel the cold, metallic surface against his permanently damaged face. But his hand could not feel the scars and burns along his flesh. He closed his eyes; painful memories from that terrible day began to resurge.

Being rushed to the infirmary on a stretcher. Blood gushing down his arm. Paul and Patrick's panicked and horrified faces.

His doctors, practically all of them, analysed his case but it was hopeless. He had to cut it off. He already knew this was going to be the outcome. That's why he took the robotic arm from the wreckage. It doesn't take an expert to know that his arm was beyond salvageable. He went on with the procedure. Paul and Patrick assisting him with hesitance for what he was about to submit himself to.

Tord took a shaky deep breath at his next memory.

He had failed his mission. He had only one objective; to infiltrate the home, take the robot, and fly back to the base for his plans to commence. But he failed. If any of his soldiers were to fail their mission, he would punish them. He is their leader. He should be setting up an example for them. That failure isn't an option. If he can't do that, what kind of leader would he be? No. He failed his mission, and he deserves a punishment.

That's what he told himself; when he ordered his doctors to cut his arm off without giving him an anaesthetic.

Everyone was horrified by his orders. Paul and Patrick tried to plead for him to reconsider, and not put himself through the pain that he was about to subject himself to. Tord figured he already suffered the worst. He went on with it anyway.

All he remembers next was putting a cloth in his mouth to bite down, and Paul and Pat holding him down as the doctor got closer. Then there was an agonizing pain. His bloodcurdling screams muffled by the rag. Tears welled up in his eyes. Trashing around the surgical table. The horrible snap and crunch from his bone. He nearly passed out after that, as his vision blurred with the shock and blood loss. He closed his eyes for one second, and when he opened them again; his arm had already been replaced.

Sure, it wasn't the same arm back then. It was only a prototype for him to use until he could fix the one he is currently using now. But still, the memory haunts him just as much as the confrontation with his former friends.

Tord dropped his arm back to his side, releasing another sigh. The elevator ride was short, just going up one level; and yet it was feeling like an eternity.

Alas, the elevator ringed and the doors opened as he finally reached his desired level. Tord recomposed himself, pushing all his dark thoughts away, and plastered a confident smirk on his face as he strolled out.

The sight of his soldiers greeted him. They were walking through the hallways, chatting with one another; most likely heading for training. They cheerfully greeted and saluted him as he passed by, and he returned the gesture.

"Good morning, sir!"

"Morning, sir!"

"Hello, sir!"

"How's the morning, sir?"

Tord raised his head with pride, acknowledging their presence with a curt nod and a small smile. The soldiers who have been in the army the longest have grown used to their leader's presence enough to feel at ease, and still hold respect for him. The recruits always tend to cower away in their first time meeting him face to face. But overtime they grow to trust and respect his authority rather than fear it. But of course, he still occasionally makes sure to let it be known for all members in the army; his power is not to be tested. He is a just and merciful leader, but he won't hesitate to teach a lesson to those who defy him.

"Excuse me-! Red leader, sir!"

A young woman hurried over to his side, falling in step with his quick strides. The soldier wore their trademark red and blue army uniform, with her name 'Scarlett' written on the tag, huge round glasses, and she carried a couple of folders with her. Her red mahogany hair was tied in a messy bun, with two strands of hair flowing elegantly alongside her face.

Tord glanced at her with a tilt of his head, prompting her to speak. "I thought I would let you know of your schedule for today." She stated, pulling out her notebook and pen from her pockets. "Not that I am complaining about you sir, but you did leave me in a wild goose chase earlier. Looking all over the base for you!"

Tord chuckled. "My apologies, I was quite busy this morning down at the labs. You know how it is."

She pushed up her glasses, looking at him with a slight frown; clearing her throat before speaking. "Well, Commander Paul requested your presence in the training hall. He would like you to evaluate the progress of our newest batch of recruits. Then I suggest you head over to the conference room for the meeting you scheduled with the army's supplier immediately after. You know he doesn't like to be kept waiting." She advised, throwing him a narrowed glance.

Tord shrugged but nodded regardless. "Affirmative." He smiled.

"Then you have weapons inspection, scheduling the cafeteria's menu for next month…"

"Nah, clear the rest of my afternoon for me." Tord cut her off, waving his hand in a careless manner. "I'm going down to the labs again after the meeting. Have one of the lieutenants go in my place instead."

The girl groaned in exasperation. "Sir, this is the 5th time this week you ask me to clear your schedule from all your other activities." She stated. "At this rate, I'm gonna run out of things to say to the soldiers!"

"I am confident you can handle this task; otherwise I wouldn't have appointed you so." Usually it was Patrick who dealt with Tord's daily agenda. But since he was too busy looking after Tom, as well with his other duties, Tord needed another secretary and thus he appointed Scarlett for the job. She's not a soldier, although she is battle trained. She's in charge of keeping track over the army's archives, records, and files down at the library; and is infamously known for being very well organized. So clearly, she was the ideal choice for the job. Though he was quick to figure out she doesn't deal well under pressure.

Scarlett sighed, scribbling rapidly on her notepad. "Very well, sir." She bowed her head and left his side, presumably heading back to her office in the base's library.

After she left him, Tord continued down the path of the long, fancy hallways. Taking turns; left, right, going up a few flights of stairs. It would've have been easy to just take the elevator up to the level he was heading to. But Tord likes to stroll around his base whenever he could, make sure everything is in order, and admire the secret empire he so expertly constructed beneath the very foundations of his home land.

Pride swelled in his heart at the thought. His army has grown exponentially since he first founded it. The number of new recruits have diminished as time went by, but that did not bother him. His army is large enough as it is. It's only a matter of time now for the red army to rise above ground and begin their reign over the entire world. Once he finally gets his desired result with the serum experiments, only then he will put Tom to some good use. And to think, that his "former friend" is going to aid him in his quest. The notion itself made Tord immensely happy.

Before he knew it, Tord arrived in the training hall. The glass doors sliding open with a 'swush' and he strolled in. The polished floor gleamed with the reflection of the lights. Various equipments displayed on both sides. And in the centre of the room, where a large area is cushioned with blue mats, a line of soldiers is standing in a straight posture and staring straight ahead of them at the wall.

They hadn't notice their leader's presence in the room yet, due to them facing away from where he is. Not to mention the fact that they were too busy focusing on their Commander walking along the line, facing each one as he addressed them all.

"Three months ago, you came to us and joined our ranks. You have all trained very hard since then." Paul spoke, looking at each soldier as he stepped by them. "However, by no means does this give you the right to slack off. You still have a long way to go before you move up the rank from private to soldier."

He halted his movements, fully turning to face them. "We're gonna have a little test today. Remember, this may not be your final assessment yet, but I will still judge your improvement and skill just as seriously." He stated, shifting his calculating gaze over the privates.

Tord had to clasp a hand over his mouth to muffle his chuckles. Paul sure knows how to put up a good show. He watched the performance with keen interest.

"Your goal in this test is to pin me down, before I do the same to you." Paul announced, observing the trainees for a reaction out of them. They gave nothing away. He gave a curt nod of approval. "If you succeed; then congratulations! You get the highest mark. If I pin you down though, you'll fail, and I will give a score to your performance." Paul walked ahead of them, turning his back to the privates as he faced the wall with hands clasped behind his back. His steps even. "Now. Who would like to go first?"

Without the hesitation of a moment's heartbeat, one of the privates broke away from the line and rushed at Paul while he had his back turned. The dark-haired man threw a punch his way, but Paul, already experienced with training privates over the years in the army, had expected the move coming from a mile away. He side stepped at the very last second, catching the private off-guard instead of the other way around. Paul then grabbed the man's other arm, kicked out his legs to make him stumble, but before he could fall over on himself; Paul hurled him backwards clean over his head and threw him down onto the mat.

The private groaned in pain as his back slammed down hard on the cushioned floor. Paul held him down with one foot. "I like your initiative. However, that ain't gonna be enough to save your ass on a real battle." Paul commented, looking down at the man. "You have a lot to improve on. I'll give you a 2 out of 10." He pulled his foot away, letting the private up. The man quickly nodded and stepped away. "Who's next?"

A girl hurled herself at him, so fast she was barely just a blur. Paul swiped downwards, aiming for her head. She dodged at the last second, and jabbed him in the ribs and shoulder. Paul staggered back, letting out a low groan of pain before he grabbed one of the girl's arms as she went in for another jab, this time aimed for his face. He twisted her arm behind her back. In retaliation, the private kicked out with her legs against his knee, making him buckle under his own weight. He did not let go of her. Instead, he used the opportunity to switch their positions around as they fell, so that she was the one who lands on the mat instead of him.

"That's more like it!" Paul admired, brushing himself off the ground. "7 out of 10."

He was barely done with his sentence when he was jumped on by three different privates all at once. Tord shook his head, clicking his tongue. These privates were about to learn a lesson they weren't soon going to forget.

Paul made a grab for the nearest private, who had taken a hold of his arm, and was trying desperately to use his own weight to bring Paul down. The Red Army commander grabbed the private by the collar of his uniform and easily threw him off, hurling him against the other private; who had lunged at him only to get hit head-on by her own comrade. The remaining private had snuck up behind Paul and tried to take him by surprise by putting him in a headlock.

"Not bad." Paul commented with a grunt, a sly grin on his face. Suddenly he hurled backwards, slamming the back of his head against the private's face. A crunch was heard, and the private let go of Paul as he moaned in pain, and gripped his bleeding, and broken nose. However, Paul did not let up. He swiped one foot from beneath the private's feet, knocking him over; only to grab the man's arm and hurl him down against the other two knocked-out privates.

Paul spat on the ground, looking down at the pile of winded trainees with disdain. "Usually I would give a good scolding to those who try to team up to take me down." He commented, fixing his sleeves. "But you guys are barely worth the effort. 3 out of 10."

Before another private could step out of line for their turn, the sound of clapping got everyone's attention. Tord stepped out of the shadows, from where he was watching the whole thing, and made himself known. He applauded rather condescendingly. His robotic hand slowly coming down against his organic, gloved one.

"Well, well, well… That was quite the show." Red leader chuckled, approaching the group. He took in the privates looks of awe, shock, and apprehension at the sight of him. "However, I must say I am quite disappointed in the lacklustre performance of these recruits." He eyed the defeated bunch, letting his gaze waver over each one of them. They all bowed their heads and adverted their gaze away from him.

"In their defence, they had only three months of training so far and they were only shown mostly defensive moves." Paul shrugged, facing his leader. "Clearly they still have an awful lot to learn before they can become proper soldiers."

Tord grunted in agreement. "Indeed." He crossed his arms behind his back, straightening his posture as he strolled alongside the line; addressing the recruits with his authoritative figure. "I will admit. For recruits, you lot are brave to attack with no hesitation and with so little combat experience." He stated, his voice loud and clear. "But there's a fine line between bravery and recklessness. And bravery alone won't be enough to keep you alive in the battlefield." He stopped walking, and turned to face them. "You're gonna have to try a lot harder here on out. I expect nothing less than the very best of my soldiers. It's the least you can do for us, after taking you in and giving you lot a second chance. Do I make myself clear?"

"Sir, yes sir!" The privates saluted in unison.

Tord nodded in approval. "Dismissed."

The trainees didn't need to be told twice. They immediately scampered out the room, shooting weary glances at their leader along the way; whispering quietly to one another as they did so. Tord shot them a wicked smirk and a glare their way, and they were quick to flinch and leave the room.

Tord chuckled slightly at their reaction, shaking his head. "Hmph! Amateurs…" He scoffed, turning away and facing the commander. "Well, that was a waste of my time. Why bother bringing me here to witness this unexperienced display?" He questioned, earning a half-hearted shrug in response.

"Thought you needed to lighten up a bit. You have been spending way too much time down in the labs worrying over To- I mean, test subject #1826!" Paul answered, quickly recovering from his mistake. "You used to enjoy evaluating the privates' performance and training; especially if it gave you a chance to intimidate them out of their boots. What changed?"

Tord sighed, heading out the Training hall with Paul trailing behind him. "That was in the beginning! You know? When the army was small, we barely had anything, and any shred of development had my most immediate attention." He stated genuinely, glancing back at his Commander over his shoulder as he spoke. "But 9 years is a long time to get used to it, my friend. I have seen privates training time, and time again. Unless they have any special abilities I should know about, I don't see the point of looking into their development for myself anymore; with the exception being their final assessment." He explained, a feeling of nostalgia hitting him. They may have had their struggles keeping their base a secret and afloat at the start. But it sure made all the more joyous when things were improving. Although of course he is very proud of his army, he is a busy man with a tight schedule; Tord doesn't have time to keep observing his newest members training. "I have better things to do with my time."

"Like looking after Tom?"

Tord halted abruptly in his steps, nearly making Paul bump into him. He turned his head around stiffly, and shot Paul a dry glare. The red army commander looked skittish, and laughed nervously. "Ha ha. Very funny." Red leader scoffed sarcastically.

Tord said nothing more, before resuming his travel along the base. Paul followed, breathing a quick sigh of relief. "Uh, where we going?" He asks hesitantly.

"To the conference room." Tord replied. "I'm having a meeting with the army's supplier."

Paul groaned audibly at this. "I don't like those guys! They are way too shady for my books." He complained.

Tord rolled his one visible eye. "Like them or not, we need them. They have helped us plenty in the past, and they never disappointed with my demands." He explained calmly, as if reasoning with a child. "Sure, they may be rather annoying to deal with at times. But never anything too harmful!"

"I guess."

As the two of them walked along the army base's corridors together, other soldiers spotted them along the way. They greeted them with respect, and murmured quietly to each other while shooting glances their way.

"Ey boss!"

All soldiers, including Tord himself, froze at the sound of the heavy accented voice that came from somewhere far behind them. Simultaneously, the exact same thought flickered on their minds in response to it.

Oh f#ck no.

"Sh#t."

"It's Reagan!"

Immediately, the soldiers, that were around him mere seconds ago with excitement; scattered into different directions as quickly as possible. Some of them were even pushing each other out of the way to leave faster. Tord inwardly winced and let out a long, exasperated sigh. He wished he could go with the others. But he has places to be, and a leader doesn't run away from anything. Even if it bothers him to no end.

He let out a long, resonant groan of aggravation; pinching the bridge of his nose. He braced himself for the migraine that was about to be bestowed upon him. One quick glance told him that Paul was not faring any better. His huge eyebrows are pointing down, and his face was a mixture of a permanent frown and a scowl. Whatever good mood he had with him after the assessment has completely vanished without a trace from his features.

Much like he anticipated, a hand clamped down hard on his shoulder. "Heyo! So nice to run into yah, boss!" The soldier laughed. "I've been trying to contact you for the longest time now, but you never picked up my calls!"

"Yes, well, I have been quite busy with my work Reagan." Tord muttered in disdain, finally turning around to face the obnoxious soldier.

The man in question was not much taller than Tord himself. Messy blonde hair, starkly bright green eyes, a stubble, and a seemingly permanent sh#t-eating grin always present on the Irish man's face. Reagan laughed at his comment, and placed an arm over Tord's shoulder to lean on. Tord mustered all his self-control not to push the man off.

Reagan glanced sideways and took notice of Paul's presence next to them. "Oh! Hey Paulie!~ " He greeted with a sickly-sweet voice. "How's Patty?"

Paul's fists clenched, and he glared at the Irish soldier. "Just fine!" He huffed, crossing his arms. Reagan giggled at his expression.

"Anyways, what can I help you with?" Tord questioned, taking Reagan's attention away from Paul, and back to himself. He had a feeling if Reagan kept pestering Paul, the red army commander might actually sock the officer right on the jaw. As pleasing as the notion would be, Tord doesn't want to lose the trust of his soldiers. Even ones as annoyingly irritating as Reagan.

The blonde soldier turned his gaze back Tord, with a large smile plastered on his face. "I was just looking to report the case of my latest mission, boss." He spoke, bringing himself with an air of smug confidence.

"Your partner, Officer Bennet, has already reported to me all the details of the mission." Tord answered with a lack of emotion in his voice, proceeding to shrug off the arm clinging around his shoulders and continue along his way.

Reagan did not seem bothered. "Speaking of witch, have you seen Benny-boy anywhere?" He asks, still following them. "Went off for a drink, he left without waiting, and now I can't find that son of a b#tch anywhere!"

Tord felt genuinely bad for Bennet. He is a good officer. Had given plenty of years of loyal service under the Red army. A reliable spy. He most definitely did not deserve to be paired up with Reagan. But someone had to. Reagan is wild, and out of control. Bennet is calm and reasonable; he can put Reagan in check. But Bennet can be kind of a push over with his kind nature, and he does not possess any trace of ambition or that much confidence in himself. Reagan is clever, sly, and cunning. He will use whatever means necessary to get what he wants.

Teaming up the two of them together was the obvious choice; they complement each other. However, the same thing was said about the other six soldiers Reagan had teamed up with in the past. And none of them turned out alright.

The Red leader sighed. "He gave me the mission report digitally, before personally meeting me in my office." He stated coolly. "He is currently away from any army related activities, in a 7-month licence."

Reagan blinked. "What's that mean?"

"It means, that he will be gone for seven months to care for his family and new-born child." Tord sighed patiently. Usually he wouldn't give such a long time for his soldiers, but again, Bennet was a good officer. Besides, god knows he needed a holiday break from Reagan.

Tord winced when the Irish soldier let out a loud gasp of shock. "What?! Benny-boy is married this whole time, and I never knew?" He echoed in disbelief, clinging onto Paul; who glared at him in return. "Blimme me! That sly dog! How come he never told me?!"

"Probably because he doesn't want you anywhere near his family." Paul grumbled under his breath. "Honestly, I don't blame him." If Reagan heard his comment, he paid no heed.

"Also, boss, is there any chance I can change my fake identity?" He requested, completely changing the subject. "I mean, Lenny? Seriously? That's just a plain dumb name! Doesn't exactly fit with me, you know?"

"I find it quite suitable, if I say so myself." Paul muttered.

Tord narrowed his eye. "You are in no position to make demands out of me, Reagan." He states, glancing back over his shoulder with a cold gleam in his eye. "If anything, you are lucky that I haven't thrown you out due to your delinquent behaviour."

Reagan chuckled, not the least bit intimidated by his leader's serious tone of voice. "By the way, boss, who was that creepy looking fella you ordered us to eliminate?" He asks, changing the subject yet again. "The poor bastard didn't even see what was coming to him, nor did he stand much of a chance against us. Must've been his freakish lack of eyes!"

Immediately, Tord knew who he was talking about. "That's classified information." He answered, feeling somewhat defensive on the subject. "But let's just say that he owed me one." He left it at that.

"Oohh! Cryptic!" Reagan echoed, clear interest showed in his mischievous green orbs as he fiddled with his hands. He then proceeded to laugh, clutching his sides. "Oh man, I just remembered the best part from the mission!" He wiped away a tear from his eye. "As if disposing that freak wasn't good enough by itself, delivering the news to his friends was a riot!"

Red leader's confident strides slowed down, until he was merely just walking. All noise was muted, focusing only in Reagan's voice.

"I wish I had a camera to film their reaction though. It's a real shame I didn't!" The Irish soldier went on with his retelling. Being as casual about it, as if he was merely speaking of his eventful day. "The look on their faces was priceless! We brought their hopes up, only to bring it down. Then we brought them up again, only to shatter them in a million pieces." He continued to laugh. Paul, who walked next to him, was shifting his gaze nervously back and forth between him and his leader. Dreading, but anticipating, the outburst to happen. "The guy in the green hoodie was specially devastated. He dropped his soda, and ran back inside his apartment; crying like a little baby! To be fair, the ginger guy wasn't faring any better. He was nearly bursting into tears himself when he sent us away."

"Is there anything important you might be leading up to with this information, Reagan?" Tord whipped around, and snapped through gritted teeth. His one eye blazed with fury, and Paul could see that he was barely holding his rage inside.

Reagan shrugged. "Not really. I just like to chat."

"Well, keep the details to yourself." Tord snarled, turning away with a scowl. "Unless I order it, I am not interest in them."

"Whatever you say, boss!"

Paul thought this was going to be the end of it. Reagan would take the hint, and scamper away to annoy somebody else. But this is Reagan. He never takes the hint that he might be taking it too far. And thus, he stuck around them for a little longer.

"Hey boss, I heard from some guys that the labs are off-limits." And by that, he literally means he eavesdrop on some people talking. Because no one in their right mind will ever associate themselves with him. "Is that true?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Tord was drastically losing his patience. He just wanted to get to the meeting, end it, and go back to his work. Was that too much to ask?

Remembering his anger-management exercises with Pat, he took a deep breath to control himself. "Because I ordered it so."

"Does it have something to do with the secret project you have been working on for so god dam long?" He pressed on, imminent interest in his voice.

Tord gave him a long-side glare. "That's classified information."

Reagan beamed. "But if I were to be promoted a rank up, would I get access to said information?"

The Red leader stopped abruptly in his path. So that's what he is after! "Perhaps. But I don't see a reason why you should get promoted at all." He snaps, whipping around to face the man. Tord brought his robotic arm up, and began to tap into some buttons; bringing up a screen which showed a file. "In your four years of service to the Red army, you managed to break 18 out of the 26 rules. Push away all your previous designated partners. Constantly disobeys orders. Provokes fights between other soldiers. And you keep smuggling cigarettes from our canteen, time and time again; and never paid any of it." He read the file.

"Pfft! I would never!" Reagan scoffed, crossing his arms and looking away rather dramatically. "You got no proof!"

Tord smirked, tapping a few more buttons before inverting the screen. "This is footage from one of our CCTV cameras. That's you, isn't it?"

The video showed a soldier, clearly Reagan, walking by the canteen with both hands stuffed in his pockets. He looked around, checking to see if anybody was looking. He then grinned and proceeded to stuff his pockets full of cigarette packets from the stand before running off.

Reagan looked dumbfounded, while Paul snickered quietly next to them.

"That footage was tempered with." Reagan tried to argue. Tord raised one hand to silence him.

"Enough! That's proof enough to show me, that you aren't ready to become a sergeant." He turned around and walked away. Thinking he had the final word. But Reagan was not one to give up so easily.

"C'mon boss! Please! Give me a chance at least!" He practically begged, running up ahead of Tord and walking backwards as he just continued along his way. The Red leader paid no heed to him. "I am a changed man, I promise! Let me prove it to you!"

As the Officer continued to pester him, Tord felt his patience about to burst. From the corner of his vision, he spotted Paul looking upwards at the ceiling with a pleading look. He didn't need to read minds to tell that the Commander was silently praying for Reagan to go away. Tord couldn't blame him.

Reagan is… effective in the battlefield. But he can be reckless, and sometimes goes a little too far. If it weren't for other soldiers accompanying him on missions, there would never be any prisoners to interrogate. He is most definitely not to be trusted with tanks, planes, or any heavy machinery. One good trait that was evident about the man though, and really; the only reason the Irish man is still around in the first place, is his charisma and way with words.

He could manipulate people with extreme ease. In the beginning, when he first joined the army, Reagan would always charm-talk his way out of trouble. Maybe that was a bad thing to let happen. Now the man is too cocky for his own good, and is not afraid of authority. A thing Reagan is known to do as well; whenever there are new recruits in the army, he would manipulate and trick them into doing certain chores for him. That's why other soldiers are quick to advise the newbies to stay as far away from Reagan as possible, because the man is just trouble.

If only there was a way to use Reagan's abilities, benefit the army in some way, and get rid of him enough to stop bothering them-

A lightbulb lit up atop his head.

Tord halted, and a wide grin stretched along his face, as he slowly turned to face the Irish man. Paul raised an eyebrow at him in suspicion, but kept his mouth shut. He was keen to know what his leader has in mind.

"Reagan.~" Tord practically purred, as he placed his arm around the officer's shoulder. "I may have judged you too harshly, and for that, I am sorry. I think you are absolutely right in deserving a chance to prove yourself."

"Really?" Both the man in question and Paul gasped simultaneously.

Tord nodded. "I am going to give you a very especial task." He went on, words dripping with honey as he grinned through half-lidded eyes. "It shouldn't be much of a hassle for you anyways. After all, with that silver tongue of yours, this should be a walk in the park for you."

"Well, what is it?" Reagan prompted eagerly.

Tord clasped his hands over the man's shoulders, turning him so that they were facing each other. "Reagan, I want you to take part in this year's recruitment program."

"The recruitment program?"

"Yes."

Reagan was rather amazed at this sudden turn of events, though he was not complaining. Another quick look in Paul's direction, told Tord that his commander did not agree with his decision. He was shaking his head, and raised his hands; shaking them as well to signal that this may not be the greatest idea.

"Why the recruitment program though?" Reagan questioned.

"Because, I think this task will put your talents to better use for the good-will of the army." Tord explained smoothly. "Tell you what; if you can successfully find, and convince five new members into joining the army as new recruits, then I might consider promoting you to sergeant."

Reagan tapped his chin, and hummed deep in thought. "Will I get my very own private quarters?"

"Anywhere you want!" Tord nodded, still grinning widely.

"Access to the premium selection on the cafeteria menu?"

"Of course!"

"A different name for my fake ID?"

"I don't see why not?!"

"Granted access to the super-secret project down in the labs?"

Tord's whole facade nearly shattered at this; it took all his self-control to keep it up. His smile faltered for a millisecond, and his eye twitched. He resisted the urge to choke the Irish man where he stood, and continued to hold his charade. Just barely though.

"Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves." He chuckled forcefully. "But who knows? Anything can happen!"

Reagan smirked triumphantly. Paul, at this point, was just staring at the ground in dismay; still shaking his head.

"Alright boss, I'll take on the task." The blonde officer agreed, brushing the invisible dust off his shoulders in a stuck-up manner. "Just you wait and see. When I come back with the army's five newest members, you'll finally see the competent soldier that I truly am."

"I expect no less from you." Tord stepped back, folding his hands behind his back.

"See yah around, boss!" Reagan raised two fingers to his forehead, giving a little salute of farewell before walking away in the opposite direction.

Tord waved his robotic fingers, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth might shatter. When the blonde soldier turned the corner, and disappeared out of sight, both the red army commander and the leader breathed out a sigh of relief. Their shoulders slumped; both feeling absolutely drained from the experience.

"He's gone at last." Tord breathed, his anger slowly dissipating. He pressed a button on his robotic arm, and opened a compartment containing aspirin. He gave one pill to Paul, and one for himself.

Paul side-glanced at him in concern. "Sir, please tell me you didn't mean anything of what you said to him." He asked pleadingly.

Tord shrugged. "To be fair, most of what I said was just to get rid of him. He was getting on my nerves." He replied truthfully. "But with that said, at this point I am just giving him the benefit of the doubt."

"By putting him in the recruitment program?" Paul crossed his arms, raising one of his bushy eyebrows questioningly. "Was that really such a bright idea?"

Tord sighed tiredly. "Yeah, I know. Kind of risky, I admit." He raised one finger. "But, at least we'll be rid of him for a while until he completes his mission. And get new members for the army as a bonus!"

"I don't know sir, Reagan is very impulsive. Not to mention that the recruitment program is a very delicate operation. One wrong move on his part could jeopardize everything we build over the years!" Paul pointed out worriedly.

"Do you think I hadn't thought of that?" Tord demanded, narrowing his eye. "Yes, I am well aware of the risk. But I don't think we'll have to concern ourselves with it." He stretched his arms, re-focusing his mind to his goal and continuing along the path he was originally going. "Reagan may be plenty of things, but he is far from stupid. He knows better than to speak about the army so openly in public." He reasoned, glancing over his shoulder to see his Commander trailing behind him. "Honestly, I don't know why I haven't thought of this idea sooner. It's perfect for a person with Reagan's capabilities!"

"I don't think I quite follow…" Paul murmured in confusion, tilting his head.

"Isn't it obvious? Reagan's biggest trait, aside from his constant nagging and rather annoying personality, is his manipulation skills." Tord explained. "The recruitment program is all about sending our best socially skilled soldiers out into the world, and convince potential recruits into joining us. This is our chance to finally put Reagan to good use!"

Paul was silent, making sense of his leader's idea. "I guess that could work…" He trailed off hesitantly. "But, doesn't it take months, possibly more than a year, just to target and prey one person and convince them to join us?"

"Precisely.~" Tord smirked mischievously, chuckling under his breath.

Understanding suddenly dawned on Paul and he reared back in realization. "Oh. Oh! Sir, that was ingenious!"

"Why, thank you!" Tord laughed, giving a mock bow in return with a smug grin.

"To be honest, you should've done it sooner." Paul added, laughing slightly before his expression turned to worry once more. "But you're not seriously going to promote him if he does succeed, right?"

"A leader always keeps his word. But thankfully I only said that i might, MIGHT, consider in granting him the promotion. Never said I would indubitably! So there's that." He reasoned with a confident smirk. "But like hell am I ever going to grant him access to my project, or clearance to the lab! Last thing I need is him meddling in places that he shouldn't."

The mere idea of Reagan being involved made Tord feel noxious. As if he doesn't have enough trouble as it is with Tom alone. A drifting thought made itself known in his mind; a possibility that made his spine tingle in all the wrong ways. Tom and Reagan in the exact same room. A shudder ran down his spine at the scenario. That's a recipe for disaster, if he'd ever seen one. One pisses him off to no end, to the point of wanting to rip the hair out of his scalp. The other is Reagan.

No. Just… no.

Before he realized, they finally arrived in front of the huge double doors to the conference room. The doors so huge, it reached the ceiling.

Pushing one of the heavy doors, Tord and Paul slid inside, making sure to shut it behind them. The room was huge, yet, filled with an empty space. There were no lights, but only the flickering static of the huge screen that covered the opposite wall illuminated the room. In the centre, there is a small platform raised a few steps above the ground, and on top of it there is a throne with two control panels on either side of it's arms.

Tord walked up the steps and sat down on the tall, comfortable seat; immediately set to work, and typing the commands into the control panels. Meanwhile, Paul stepped ahead of the platform. He began to fiddle with the camera that was positioned directly in front of the throne.

"Is everything ready?" Tord questions.

Paul gave a thumbs up, flicking the camera on. "Yes, sir!

Tord nodded. Paul quickly made his way to stand by the Red leader's throne; crossing his arms and with a straight posture.

"Starting the call… Now!"

He pressed the switch, and the large screen ahead of them flickered to call sign. Tord sat back in his throne, placing both hands beneath his chin intently, as he patiently waited for his ally to pick up the call.

At last, the screen changed, as the call was finally answered.

"Ah! Red leader! It's been a while since our last negotiation."

The screen switched, and showed two men. One of them, the one who spoke; is a man with dishevelled brown hair, white shirt, and brown eyes. Standing just behind him, is his assistant. A man with dirty blonde hair, wearing a tuxedo, and one of his eyes is covered up by an eyepatch.

"Indeed it has, Mr. Bing." Tord replied smoothly.

"To what may I owe you this pleasure?" The mad director questioned, leaning back on his reclining chair. "Is it the usual order, I assume?"

Tord clasped his hands together. "It is. But that is not the only reason for this call." He announced, deciding to be direct and not beat around the bush any longer. "Along with the next shipment, I would like to request a barrel of the "purple stuff" as well."

"Oh? You're still on that silly project, boy?" Bing prompted, leaning his head against his hand rather tiredly. "Let me guess; the last barrel I sent you went down the drain along with your failed attempts?"

Tord's eye twitched in annoyance at being called a boy. Paul uttered a low growl next to him, glaring directly at the screen. But Tord made a subtle sign for him to step down, and not do anything rash.

Tord masked his irritation with an amused laugh. "I am not one to give up so easily, my friend." He stated, tapping his fingers along the arms of the throne. "And this time, I had a breakthrough in my research. I am close to my goals, and I won't stop now for anything."

"Whatever you say, Red." Bing shrugged, seemingly disinterested. "However, I don't have to remind you the cost for getting you one of those things. This chemical stuff is really hard to obtain. Especially after the incident with the plane crash, the chemical spill, and the short zombie apocalypse you managed to cause."

"I am well aware." As he spoke, Tord sent a glare towards his commander through the corner of his eye. Paul smiled and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "What is it you want in return this time, Bing?"

At that, the evil director hummed, deep in thought. "You wouldn't happen to have an anti-gravity device or a shrinking gun, would you?"

Paul and Tord exchanged an uneasy glance. "We have a prototype of a shrinking laser… But nothing like an anti-gravity device..."

(Time skip)

Darkness seemed to have consumed his vision. He's been in the dark for so long. But how long? There wasn't a sense of time in this place. Not that he could tell. It was a familiar feeling though, but not one that he was glad to welcome. Hisses and whispering voices echoed in the distance, but he couldn't make them out.

I want to get out of here!

He felt like he was eternally falling.

No. Worse.

He felt like he was drowning. It was suffocating. It's dark. His movements were sluggish and slow. The sensation was very much like he was cast into the ocean with a cinderblock chained to his ankles; dragging him down to the bottom. And no matter how much he flailed and struggled, he couldn't get free. He was stuck in the darkness, just staring upwards at absolutely nothing as if he anticipated something to come out, grab him, and pull him out of the eternal dark abyss that he has fallen into.

But he has seen this before. No one ever comes. Why should they?

After a while of struggle, he would just lean back in defeat and let himself drift further down; staring ahead of him numbly.

It's for the best, anyway.

He would simply close his eyes and drift aimlessly until this was over. Sometimes he would get flashes of events happening somewhere else. But this time, there was none of that. It was rather strange, but he was not complaining. It's a welcomed change. Now he wasn't disturbed with the guilt anymore. Despite the choking feeling, he wouldn't mind keep floating in the dark for the rest of his miserable existence.

It's what he deserves.

Unexpectedly though, the fuzzy pressure on his head began to uncurl, and the choking sensation he felt previously lifted away. He knew what it meant. He was gaining back consciousness! Dread filled the pit of his stomach. What would he find outside?

A bright bean of light flash down from above him. He refused to look. He did not want to know what awaited him on the other side. But the light began to brighten, more and more, until even with his eyes closed he felt blinded.

Tom finally opened his eyes. Slowly, and he squinted them against the bright light shining above him. He raised one hand to block out the brightness from his dark sockets. Although his vision was blurry at the start, it progressively got used to its surroundings; enough for him to realize he was in his room.

No. Not his room. His quarters in the red army base, deep underground, somewhere in Norway. That's right.

He heard a soft snore next to him. Blinking sluggishly, he turned to look and noticed the other presence in the room. The Red leader is seated in a chair next to his bed, though he wasn't conscious. His scarred cheek was pressed against his robotic palm that rested on one of the chair's arms, leaning sideways, as he slept.

Tom's breath hitched at the unexpected sight, but he was quick to slap a hand over his mouth to cease making any noise that might arouse the Norsk from his slumber. His gaze wondered his sleeping form, watching the steady rise and fall of Tord's chest. It was a rather unusual sight to see, but he had to admit that the man looked peaceful. You know, without the smug look on his face towering above his, or the one of unrelenting rage that threatened to seep the life off him; it was a good change of pace.

Too bad it only lasted a couple of seconds.

The tranquil atmosphere of the room was suddenly interrupted by a loud beeping. Tom jumped, looking around panickedly. He searched for the source of the noise, when his gaze landed on the Norsk's prosthetic arm.

His eyes widened. Mother f-

He didn't have time to finish that thought, as the beeping grew louder and Tord jolted awake. Tom grimaced, quickly shutting his eyes and willing his heartbeat to slow down enough for his breathing to reach a steady pace.

Tord panted, caught off-guard by the notification alarm coming from his arm. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He didn't mean to fall asleep. Last he remembers, he came in to check on Tom, and then-

The train of thought disbanded when Tord stiffened in realization. He checked the screen on his arm, and sure enough, it displayed a heart monitor; showing the sudden change to the usual rhythm it has kept over the past few days. It could only mean one thing.

Alert, and fully awake at this point, Tord shifted in his seat and glanced at his "supposed sleeping" test subject. "Tom?" He called out, hoping to receive an answer this time. "Tom, I know that you're awake. The chip I've implanted on you gives me direct access to your nervous system, and it's currently telling me that you are awake."

Despite already knowing his cover has been blown, Tom did not open his eyes. He doesn't want to face Tord. Not now, nor ever.

On the other hand, Tord was starting to grow impatient. He crossed his arms, raising one eyebrow expectantly while tapping one foot repeatedly as he waited for Tom to realize he wasn't fooling him.

He grinned. "Hm, must've been another glitch from my arm. This stupid thing!" He banged his prosthetic against the wall with frustration. "Oh well, I guess I was mistaken." He shrugged with a sigh, still grinning maniacally. Not that Tom could see it, anyway.

Next thing he knows, Tom hears footsteps distancing themselves away from his bed; and the familiar hiss of the door as it slides open and closes again. Tom strains to hear anything else but he is met with absolute silence.

Is he gone?

Tom takes the risk. Squinting one eye open, barely just a slit; he sees the room Tord-less. No signs of the Norsk.

Tom breathed a sigh of relief. He opened his eyes and sat up on his bed, running one hand through his messy locks. "That was close." He murmured. "What a weirdo! Talking to himself like that-!"

"You are not much better yourself."

Tom practically jumped on his bed, and yelped in surprise when Tord peeked out from beneath the bed. The Norsk laughed; mighty pleased with himself for causing such an effect on the eyeless man. He clutched his sides as he rose from the floor.

"You should've seen the look on your face!" Tord continued to laugh, wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye.

Tom stared at him indignantly. How dare he do this to him? He huffed and crossed his arms, glaring at the Norsk as he waited for him to finish his fit of laughter. "Are you done yet?"

Tord nodded, nearly out of breath. He sighed contently before recomposing himself. "That was worth it." He kept grinning that stupid, trademark smile of his.

An awkward silence hung in the air between them as the laughter died down, and they simply stared at each other. Neither of them knowing what to say in their current position. Tom wasn't too uncomfortable though. He was still rather tired, and he just merely blinked at the man before him with a deadpanned expression; waiting for him to leave so he could be in peace at last.

Ultimately, it was Tord who broke the silence. He cleared his throat, and rubbed the back of his neck. "So… how are you feeling?"

Tom shrugged. "Fine. But tired." He stretched out his arms above his head as he lets out a huge yawn. "Mostly tired." It was then that he was startled to realize he has wrappings on both arms. Curious, albeit rather wearily, he turned his arms to inspect the bandages so expertly wrapped around his limbs. From the tip of his finger, all the way to his shoulder. And judging by the slightly pressure applied to his abdomen, chances are, he has even more bandages.

"You were in quite a sorry state, my dear friend." Tord's voice broke him out of his personal inspection. Tom turned to glare at him. "I can't help but worry, what could've possibly been bestowed upon you to leave you such a sorry mess?" He questioned, mildly interested.

Tom did not even bother to rebuke with the usual reply for being referred to as a friend, by the Norwegian man. His shoulders slumped, not feeling particularly aggressive right now. He simply glanced away. "Just a usual night at the bar taken too far, I guess." He answered tiredly. "I got drunk around other drunk people, and it escalated from there."

The reply took Tord by surprise. He wasn't expecting such a genuine answer from him. Now, whether or not he is actually being honest is debatable. But Tord is willing to give him the benefit of the doubt for now, until he has some compelling evidence disproving otherwise. Or Tom admits it himself.

Tord nodded, satisfied with the answer. "Thomas, what was the last thing that you remember?" He questioned.

Tom tilts his head. "What do you mean?"

"You passed out unexpectedly, and we got no clues as to why. Only mere hypothesis." He explained the situation calmly, trying to refresh the Brit's memory. "You have been asleep for nearly a week."

"A week?!" Tom gasped, bringing a hand to his forehead in disbelief. Was he gone for that long? More importantly, what did he do while he was gone?

"Can you tell us any reason as to why that happened?" Tord went on, moving to sit down on the edge of the bed; anticipating Tom's answer. He seemed to be cooperative. Maybe the other times he was merely cranky due to lack of decent sleep. Tord laughed at the notion. Whatever the case may be, he will take advantage of Tom's unexpected willingness to comply. "What was the last thing you remember, Thomas?"

"I… I remember our fight in the gym." Tord visibly winced at that. He was secretly hoping he had forgotten about that little ordeal. "Then I went to talk to Patrick… Tasty juice…" Tom subconsciously licked his lips at the memory. He wished he could take a sip of that right about now. His head stung, as he struggled to remember the rest.

"And? What else?" Tord pressed on, anxious to get any sort of information that might prove useful out of him.

Tom shook his head slightly. "I just felt really dizzy all of the sudden." He continuously rubbed his head. "A bad headache, and then… nothing." He hissed in pain, still feeling the sharp lingering remains of said headache.

Tord stood up, walking to the bedside table Tom failed to notice, that contained a cup and a jug of water. He poured water onto the cup, then settled the jug back down before he opened the compartment in his arm containing aspirin. "Here, take this." He offered to him.

Surprisingly, Tom did not question about the contents. He was just glad to have something to relieve him of the pain, and drench his sore throat. He popped the pill in his mouth and drank the entire glass in one swig.

"Better?" Tord watched him curiously.

Rather than answering, Tom just leaned forward in his bed and grabbed the jug from the bedside table before taking a chugigng it down. Tord stared at him in silent awe. The Brit nearly managed to drain the entire thing of its contents before he placed the jug back down; wiping his mouth with one hand. "Now I am."

The Norsk chuckled at his antics, shaking his head slightly as he moved to sit down again. He began to fiddle with his hands, his expression softening. "Has this happened before?" He asks.

"Sometimes." Tom rubbed his eyes in a fruitless attempt to stay awake a little longer. "But I don't know what triggers it." He paused, his face grim.

Holding his own shin, Tord hummed deep in thought. "Thomas, do you by any chance have been getting trouble sleeping?"

The Brit's empty gaze lifted, and met his. "For a while now." His voice, barely a murmur.

"Why is that?" Tord asks.

He shrugged in response. "I don't know."

Tord frowned, somewhat disappointed he wasn't getting any clear answers. Another mystery to add to the jumble. He pursed his lips, tilting his head. "Then this sudden blackout and short coma could be as we had anticipated." He deduced. "Perhaps your lack of sleep has simply been trying to keep up with you. And when your body couldn't handle it anymore; your system running on fumes just to keep working, your body shut down until you got enough energy back."

"You mean like, a computer restart system, or something?"

"Precisely like that." The Norsk nodded. "And the only way to stop it from happening, is to get plenty of rest until you are back to proper health."

"If you say so." Tom muttered, not the least bit fazed by this information. It's easier said than done.

Tord stared at him in dismay, not sure how to fix the problem. "Is it insomnia, or nightmares?"

"Nightmares." Tom answered begrudgingly, eyes closed shut.

The Red leader blinked in surprise. Maybe Tom is finally warming up to him after all! An idea suddenly hit him, and he started to rummage through his uniform's pockets. "I have just the thing that can help you friend! Here-!" He pulled a tiny black disc out from his chest pocket.

Tom blinked as Tord placed the tiny thing on his hand. He brought up to his eye-level for a closer inspection, turning it in his fingers. He has no idea what it is. But it looks rather tasty. Tom numbly tried to take a bite of it.

"Wha-? Tom no! You're not supposed to eat it!" Quick as lightning, Tord took away the disc from Tom's hold before he could actually damage it.

The brit whined in disappointment. "It isn't? But it looks like a tiny burned cookie!" He stared at Tord's hand; the one which currently held the disc. "What is it then?"

"This, is a special device that I personally invented to help users gain a peaceful sleep, undisturbed by nightmares. I created it for my own needs, but I figure you need it more than I do." Tord explained, turning the disc around in his hand; inspecting it for any substantial damage inflicted by Tom's baby-bite. There doesn't seem to be anything wrong, thankfully. He leaned closer to Tom. "All you have to do is place the device in your ear, and then press this switch right here to activate it. Then you just go to sleep, and the device shall do its magic." He instructed, showing him exactly what he needed to do. He carefully placed the device into his ear, like so, and backed away. Tom scratched behind his ear, a little bothered by the thing; though the sensation wasn't that much different from wearing an earphone.

Another uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Red leader took a deep breath, running one hand through his own hair. Somewhat hesitant now, he cleared his throat. "Tom, I am going to be away for a while." He announced.

Tom raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Away?" Echoed, as if the word was foreign to him. "How long?"

"Hopefully, this shouldn't take more than a couple of months. But still… it will be a while." Tord murmured, glancing down at the ground. "Paul and Pat will be looking after you while I'm gone. I merely request that you behave accordingly, and be nice to them." He paused, shifting his weary gaze back to Tom. "One thing is for you to aim your anger and frustration at me, for all the sh#t I put you through; and rightfully so. But they are good people. They are only following orders, and don't deserve to be mistreated. So please don't be difficult with them." He requested, before a sad smile graced his features. "Though, something tells me you won't be nearly as stubborn with them as you are with me. You seem to get along with them far better than we ever have."

If he detected the wistful tone in his voice, Tom showed no signs. "Where you going?"

The Red leader straightened himself, fixing the collar of his uniform. "I need to check my other bases. As leader, duty always calls." He answered. "Oh. It's also best that I should warn you now before I go. Since you haven't consumed any alcohol these last few days, you will probably start feeling the effects of the withdrawal soon enough. It ain't gonna be pretty." He advised. "These next couple of weeks are going to be… hm, how do you so eloquently put it? Oh, that's right! Lame."

"Nice." Tom says sarcastically.

Tord chuckled. "But I'm sure you'll be fine. After all, you're gonna have both of my best soldiers looking after you." He reassured, though Tom wasn't entirely convinced. Tord's expression softened. He leaned forward and ruffled Tom's hair slightly. "I suppose this is goodbye for now, old friend."

A low grumble was uttered by the Brit, but he did not voice a complaint or displayed any signs of aggression at the contact. Once more, all he did was blink with a blank expression.

"See you in a few months!" Tord smiled, waving his test subject farewell as he stepped away and made his way out the room.

"Wait."

At his call, Tord halted in front of the door. He glanced back at him. "Yes?" He blinked expectantly.

Tom shifted in his bed, feeling conscious all the sudden. "I… Shucks I'm going to regret saying this, ain't i? Uhm..." He mumbled, rubbing the back of his head nervously. He sighed in defeat. "I'm sorry for the way I acted before. And ripping off your eyepatch. I don't know what came over me, but I didn't really mean to do it. You just… get on my nerves."

At this point, Tord is sure this is just a dream. He is still sound sleep on his chair, he will wake up, and see that Tom hasn't awaken; proving that this is all just a figment of his imagination. Tom is apologizing? Surely this can't be real? The only thing Tord could think to explain the weirdness of this situation, is that Tom might be suffering the effects of the withdraw, and that's why he's been so unresponsive than usual.

Subconsciously, he touched his eyepatch. "It's fine, Thomas." He reassured. He took a deep breath, remembering Patrick's words from earlier. "I am… sorry as well. I shouldn't have provoked you, and I acted immaturely for a leader." And for the second time that day, the Red leader felt his pride get wounded. He could practically see Patrick's triumphant smirk if he were to see this development.

When there was nothing more to be said between them, Tord gave him a nod of acknowledgement. The door slid open with a hiss, and the Red leader left the room with a final wave of goodbye.

Breathing a tired sigh, Tom fell back on his bed; gazing at the ceiling. Things are finally going his way it seems. Life decided to take pity on him at last, and grant him a few months free of Tord. Yeah, the withdrawal sucks. And he's still at the red army's mercy. But at least he won't see Tord's smug face anytime soon.

But he had more pressing matters to worry about. More notably, his blackout. He wasn't lying when he said that it happened before. But the thing is, it wasn't triggered by lack of sleep. The real reason is worse. Much worse. Thankfully enough, nothing seemed to have happened this time. But it's only a matter of time until the thing gains its strength back, and manages to break free one more. Tom dreads that day. All his hard work to keep it under control, and it was for absolutely nothing in the end.

He picked the tiny device from his ear and held it up to his face, twirling it in his fingers as he dived deeper into his own thoughts. Whatever happens here on out, Tom will just have to toughen up and take it. But one thing is for sure. By the end of the year, either one of two outcomes will come into fruition.

The worst-case scenario; Tord ultimately wins. He finds out all his secrets, and finally gets what he wants from him. Using him in his schemes as he sees fit. Or the best possibility; Tom becomes just another one of Tord's failed attempts, and he joins all the other fallen test subjects. He will die during the experiments. It would definitely be the better outcome out of the two. He wouldn't let Tord win. The monster will be gone forever. And he won't hurt anyone ever again. His miserable existence will finally be put to a rest. He knows it's for the best.

Dark thoughts continued to drift around in his mind. He hadn't realized it, but tears were pricking the corners of his empty sockets.

#angst #tomtord #ew tom #ew tord #MLTS #mlts Reagan #eddsworld

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justinagana-blog · 7 years

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About the Game

Grand Theft Auto is an open world action-adventure video game developed by DMA Design and published by BMG Interactive. It was first released in Europe and North America in October 1997 for MS-DOS and Microsoft Windows. It was later re-released on 12 December 1997 in Europe and 30 June 1998 in North America for the PlayStation. It is the first installment of the Grand Theft Auto series, a series that has sold more than 150 million units as of September 2013. The story follows a group of criminals in three fictionalised versions of US cities as they perform bank robberies, assassinations, and other crimes for their respective syndicates.

The game was originally intended to be named Race'n'Chase and to be developed for the Commodore Amiga, starting in 1996. However, it was nearly cancelled due to production issues.

Its successor, Grand Theft Auto 2, was released in September 1999.

Gameplay

Grand Theft Auto is made up of six levels split between the three main cities. In each level, the player's ultimate objective is to reach a target number of points, which is typically achieved by performing tasks for the city's local crime syndicate. Each level is initiated at a telephone box and has its own unique set of tasks. Successful completion of a mission rewards the player with points and opens the opportunity to attempt harder missions for higher rewards, while failure awards fewer points and may permanently seal off opportunities for more tasks. Completing missions also increases the player's "multiplier", which increases the points the player gets for doing other tasks. When the player amasses a total of $1,000,000, the next city is unlocked.

There are eight playable characters in the game, four male and four female: Travis, Troy, Bubba, Kivlov, Ulrika, Katie, Divine, and Mikki (the PlayStation version only includes the four male characters, however). In actual gameplay, there is no real difference, since all player-characters wear the identical yellow jumper, although they do wear different coloured trousers and hair colours to each other and have the correct skin colours. Players may also name their character which, with the correct name, acts like a cheat code and alters gameplay.

The player is free to do whatever they want, but have limited lives upon doing so. The player can gain points by causing death and destruction amid the traffic in the city, or steal and sell cars for profit. To get to the large target money required to complete a level, players will usually opt to complete at least some missions to build up their multiplier. Some criminal acts have an inherent multiplier; for example, using a police car for running over people doubles the number of points received. If the player is arrested then their multiplier is halved. Unlike in later games in the series, the player can be killed, or "wasted", in one hit without body armour. If the player is wasted then they lose a life. In both cases the player loses their current equipment. If the player is wasted too many times, they must restart the level.

Even during missions there is still some freedom as most of the time the player is free to choose the route to take, but the destination is usually fixed. It was this level of freedom which set Grand Theft Auto apart from other action based computer games at the time. The PC releases of the game allowed networked multiplayer gameplay using the IPX protocol. Some places in the game have to be unlocked by completing missions.

Synopsis

Grand Theft Auto takes place in 1997 in three primary settings, all of which are modelled on real locales: Liberty City is based on New York City, Vice City is based on Miami, and San Andreas is based on San Francisco. All three suffer from rampant crime and corruption, with constant feuding between the local crime syndicates, random acts of violence from street gangs, organised thievery and murder, and corrupt city officials and police officers.

While Grand Theft Auto: London 1969, Grand Theft Auto: London 1961 and Grand Theft Auto 2 would use different locations, these three cities have been individually revisited as the settings in later Grand Theft Auto games, with differing layouts - for example, Liberty City was the sole city in Grand Theft Auto III, Grand Theft Auto Advance, Grand Theft Auto: Liberty City Stories, and Grand Theft Auto IV, Vice City was the city in Grand Theft Auto: Vice City and Grand Theft Auto: Vice City Stories, and San Andreas, becoming a state based on regions of California and Nevada, was the setting for Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas and Grand Theft Auto V.

Development

The development of Grand Theft Auto began on 4 April 1995 at DMA Design in Dundee. It originally had a protracted four-year development, which included a title change and numerous attempts to halt development

The game was originally titled Race'n'Chase. It was originally planned to be released on MS-DOS, Windows 95, PlayStation, Sega Saturn and the Nintendo 64. However, it was never released for the two latter consoles. During the development of Grand Theft Auto, many people overseeing the game's progress attempted to halt the development, which led the crew at DMA Design to have to convince them to allow them to continue.

There were specific milestones planned for Grand Theft Auto

An original design document, dated 22 March 1995, was posted online by Mike Dailly on 22 March 2011. The author of the document credited is K.R. Hamilton, and the released version is 1.05. It contained information about elements of the game discussed in various meetings held from 23 January 1995 to the writing of the document which also contains many similarities to the 1986 Commodore 64 Miami Vice. According to the original design document, the introduction to Grand Theft Auto is a pre-drawn/rendered animation. The Windows 95 version was developed using Visual C++ v2.0. The DOS version was developed using Watcom C/C++ v10, Microsoft MASM 6.1 and Rational Systems DOS extender (DOS4GW) v 1.97. The program used to make Grand Theft Auto was said to produce "a 3D array which can be used by both the perspective and the isometric engines". It was said to consist of "a grid editor which is used to place blocks on a grid, with a separate grid for each level", and "allow any block to be placed at any level". It was said that the world may have had to be 256×256×6 blocks.

The original concept of Grand Theft Auto was "to produce a fun, addictive and fast multi-player car racing and crashing game which uses a novel graphics method".

David Jones, the game's producer, cited Pac-Man as an influence. He noted that the player runs over pedestrians and gets chased by police in a similar manner to Pac-Man.

Gary Penn, creative director of DMA at the time, cited Elite as a major influence, "But I'd been working on Frontier, which is very different and there were definitely other people on the team who had things like Syndicate, Mercenary and Elite very much in their minds as well. That combination definitely led to the more open plan structure there is now. The game as it stands now is basically Elite in a city, but without quite the same sense of taking on the jobs. You take on the jobs in a slightly different way, but incredibly similar structurally. It's just a much more acceptable real world setting. The game was cops and robbers and then that evolved fairly quickly -- nobody wants to be the cop, it's more fun to be bad. And then that evolved into Grand Theft Auto".

Ports

The original Grand Theft Auto was developed for MS-DOS, but then later ported to Microsoft Windows (using SciTech MGL), PlayStation (developed by Visual Sciences using their "ViSOS" framework), and Game Boy Color. The Game Boy Color version was technologically unabridged, which was quite a technical achievement due to the sheer size of the cities, converted tile-for-tile from the PC original, making them many times larger than most Game Boy Color game worlds were because of the handheld's limited hardware. To cater for the target younger generation, however, the game was heavily censored, with gore and swearing removed.

The PC version comes in several different executables for DOS and MS-Windows, which use single set of data files (except for the 8-bit colour DOS version which uses different but similar graphics). It was previously available as a free download as part of the Rockstar Classics (alongside Wild Metal and Grand Theft Auto 2), however the free download service is currently unavailable.

Grand Theft Auto was to be released on the Sega Saturn, but due to the console's rapid decline in popularity before development was finished, the project was halted and the game was never released.citation needed After the PlayStation's successful release, development began on Grand Theft Auto 64, a port of the game for the Nintendo 64, rumoured to have graphical enhancements and new missions. However, development was cancelled without ever having a public appearance.

Cover Art

The cover art for Grand Theft Auto is a photograph of a New York Police Department 1980s Plymouth Gran Fury rushing through the intersection of Fifth Avenue and 56th Street, with Trump Tower in the background of the picture. The same cover art was also an alternative cover for Grand Theft Auto 2 in selected markets. There was also a cover featuring a yellow Buick GSX. There are other covers, but the one shown above is the most common.

Soundtrack

Grand Theft Auto has seven "radio stations", plus a police band track, which can be heard once the player enters a car; however, each vehicle can only receive a limited number of these radio stations. In the PlayStation port each car only had two stations.

PC players can remove the CD once the game is loaded and replace it with an audio CD. The next time the character enters a vehicle, a song from the CD will randomly play. This can also be done in the PlayStation port.

The game's main theme is "Gangster Friday" by Craig Conner, credited to the fictitious band Slumpussy, and is played on N-CT FM. With the exception of Head Radio FM, the names of songs or the radio station names are never mentioned in-game. However, the soundtrack is listed in the booklet which comes with the game.

The Collector's Edition of the PC version included the soundtrack on a separate CD. The track-listing gives the names of the fictional radio stations, bands and their tracks, and for some of them the fictional album that they are from.

Reception

The game was a best-seller in the UK. The game was a commercial success, though it received mixed reviews upon release.

GameSpot's 1998 review for Grand Theft Auto said that, although the graphics may look "a little plain", the music and sound effects are the opposite, praising the radio stations and the sound effects used to open and close vehicles. They also praised the freedom of the game, favouring it over other games that make you follow a specific rule set and complete specific missions in a specific order.

IGN were critical of the graphics which were said to be "really quite shoddy" and dated. They were also unimpressed by the "fast-food programming and careless design", including the controls. Overall the game was considered to be fun but with problems which could have been fixed.

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gravityresearch · 5 years

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Jean-Martin Charcot's careful clinical and pathological account of a patient with demyelinating lesions or “sclérose en plaques” in 1868 provided the world with the first clear description of multiple sclerosis (MS) [1]. Despite almost a century and a half of our acquaintance with this disease, its pathogenesis remains elusive and we continue to lack therapeutic options to treat progressive MS [2].

Eighty-five per cent of cases of MS present with recurring episodes of isolated neurological syndromes, which usually resolve with conservative management (termed relapsing and remitting or RRMS). The remaining 15% of cases present with a gradual and progressive loss of neurological function that does not recover (termed primary progressive or PPMS). Of the 85% of the cases who present with RRMS, the majority begins to suffer from progressive neurological decline after one to three decades (termed secondary progressive or SPMS) that is similar in pattern to PPMS [3, 4].

MS has traditionally been viewed as an immune-mediated inflammatory disease. An immune response is thought to be responsible for causing the spontaneously remitting relapses in RRMS. Immune cells migrate across a compromised blood brain barrier and cause the focal and disseminated inflammation typical for RRMS. The traditional view of MS as an inflammatory disease has resulted in almost all therapeutic strategies taking an immunomodulatory or immunosuppressive approach [2].

The idea of MS having a primarily inflammatory component is challenged by the observation that focal inflammation may be absent in a minority of cases of progressive MS [5]. Neurodegeneration may play a more central role in its pathogenesis [6]. As the majority of current therapeutic options for MS are based on immune therapy, there is at present no definitive therapy for progressive MS, whether primary or secondary [7].

Accumulating evidence of a dissociation between inflammation and disease progression warrants a revised perspective on the role of neurodegeneration in the pathogenesis of MS and therefore the therapeutic strategies. In this review, we explore the evidence of neurodegeneration and the players in its pathogenesis that lead us to the potential of the ketogenic diet for use as a therapy for progressive MS.

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2. Is MS Primarily a Neurodegenerative Disease?

The traditional model of MS is based on an “outside-in” approach. In this model, a dysregulated immune system attacks the central nervous system. Peripheral immune cells cross a compromised blood brain barrier to enter the central nervous system and give rise to acute multifocal inflammatory lesions, which are either asymptomatic or manifest as relapses in RRMS involving a variety of neurological symptoms disseminated in time. Although RRMS is the commonest mode of MS presentation, the vast majority of patients presenting in this way enter into a progressive phase of MS (SPMS) as long as three decades after disease onset.

The duality of the inflammatory and neurodegenerative components is made salient by the observation that MS can “worsen” at exactly the same rate regardless of whether a patient started off with decades of isolated inflammatory relapses or entered directly into progressive MS. Pathophysiologically, no difference can be found between the two disease phenotypes [8, 9].

2.1. An Alternative Model of MS

Such evidence of a distinct dissociation between disease progression and inflammation has challenged the traditional “outside-in” approach. Progression in the absence of immune attacks is indicative of a separate and parallel pathogenic process. Some authors have proposed an “inside-out” model of MS where primary cellular degeneration is the initiating factor that then triggers inflammation [10]. The degeneration releases antigenic cellular matter that then invites an immune response.

2.2. Halting Inflammation Does Not Halt Disease Progression

Although there is as yet no conclusive evidence to suggest that degeneration might be the initial event that triggers the inflammation seen in MS (the age-old chicken and egg question), clinical findings support a dissociation between the two, where, at the very least, degeneration does not follow inflammation and may occur independently of inflammation. Most varieties of immune-modulating therapy that reduce and even eliminate inflammation have little bearing on the progress of MS in the very long-term, although a few of the newer immunomodulatory agents may hold greater promise [11–14]. Autologous haematopoietic stem cell transplantation therapy, though highly efficacious at reducing inflammation, does not halt axonal degeneration and brain atrophy [15]. Progressive neurodegeneration and axonal atrophy in the absence of inflammation are observed in MS [16].

2.3. Harding Syndrome

There is pathological evidence in support of the theory that neurodegeneration may occur in complete isolation in MS without any evidence of preceding inflammation: foci of damage have been observed in the inner layers of the myelin sheath with the outer layers remaining intact. This starkly challenges the possibility of a T cell mediated external mechanism [17, 18]. In Harding syndrome, there is evidence that neurodegeneration precedes and then causes the neuroinflammation seen in classical MS. In this condition, the cellular degeneration occurring as a result of defective mitochondrial function may trigger an autoimmune response in those who are “immunologically primed” [19]. Although Leber Hereditary Optic Neuropathy (LHON) is more penetrant in males, females are at greater risk of autoimmune disease and this may explain why there is a higher incidence of Harding syndrome with MS-like inflammation in females, despite involving the same mutation as LHON [20].

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3. The Role of Mitochondria in Multiple Sclerosis

Whether neurodegeneration triggers inflammation or is triggered by inflammation or occurs as a parallel process, the evidence that MS involves neurodegeneration as well as neuroinflammation is ever increasing. Mitochondrial dysfunction is thought to play a central role in the neurodegenerative disease process and a growing body of evidence suggests that mitochondrial dysfunction may also be of great importance in the pathogenesis of MS [21, 22].

3.1. Mitochondrial Function May Determine the Fate of “Struggling” Axons

Axonal degeneration is a prominent feature of MS and is notably present even in the absence of local demyelination [23, 24]. Animal models suggest that mitochondrial injury may be a necessary step preceding axonal degeneration. The generation of reactive oxygen species may contribute to mitochondrial injury as the detoxification of reactive oxygen species reverses the injury and halts axonal degeneration [25].

Once chronically demyelinated, some axons degenerate while others may survive. It seems possible that mitochondrial “stealth” may determine the fate of demyelinated axons. Degenerating axons are seen to contain dysfunctional mitochondria, whereas the axons that survive demyelination contain highly functional mitochondria with increased respiratory chain activity [26, 27]. These findings mirror a recent study on glaucomatous optic neuropathy where it was observed that robust mitochondria may offer protection from neurodegeneration despite the presence of high intraocular pressures [28]. It is thought that, where axons degenerate following demyelination, they do so when energy production by mitochondria becomes inadequate. Mitochondrial function seems to determine the fate of axons under duress.

3.2. Mitochondrial Dysfunction Is Seen in “Normal Appearing” Grey Matter

Grey matter atrophy is a recognized feature of MS and the rate of atrophy is seen to increase as the RRMS stage progresses to SPMS [29]. Furthermore, neuronal atrophy can be seen to occur independently of demyelination, in areas of “normal appearing grey matter” as ascertained by immunohistochemical staining techniques and microscopy [30]. Mitochondrial function within cortical neurons in MS has been shown to be compromised. Campbell et al. (2011) used complex IV/complex II histochemistry, immunohistochemistry, laser dissection microscopy, and PCR and DNA sequencing methods to demonstrate a striking reduction in the activity of complexes II and IV within the oxidative phosphorylation chain in neurons obtained from autopsies of cases of SPMS [31].

3.3. Progressive Mitochondrial Compromise May Correlate with Reduced Recovery from Relapses

Levels of the transcriptional cofactor PGC-1a, which plays a key role in the activation of nuclear transcription factors involved in mitochondrial function, may be reduced in cortical neurons in progressive MS. Its expression was found to correlate with neuronal density [32]. Given the observation that the rate of brain atrophy increases as RRMS progresses to the SPMS, the decline in PGC-1a may suggest a parallel worsening in mitochondrial function [33]. During this stage of progression, recovery from relapses becomes progressively incomplete [34]. The progressive decline in mitochondrial function with a resulting decrease in ATP availability may plausibly cause a decline in axonal resilience, making recovery from each episode of relapse increasingly difficult.

A reduction in PGC-1a levels has also been observed in other neurodegenerative conditions such as Alzheimer disease [35].

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4. Mitochondria and Neurodegeneration

Several groups have proposed a model for neurodegeneration in which mitochondrial dysfunction is central to its pathogenesis [36, 37]. In this model, mitochondrial dysfunction precedes synaptic dysfunction, atrophy, and neuronal loss.

In an animal model of MS, experimental autoimmune encephalomyelitis (EAE), mitochondrial injury has been shown to precede inflammation and to be the trigger for neurodegeneration [38]. Although the precise molecular pathways leading to mitochondrial damage remain unknown, oxidative damage is one possible route [39].

Early studies of antioxidant therapies in animal models of MS are showing promising results. Superoxide dismutase 2 has been shown to salvage axonal loss in EAE-related optic neuritis [40]. A synthetic antioxidant, Mito-Q, has been shown to be neuroprotective and delay disease progression in EAE, despite having no effect on inflammation, further confirming a dissociation between the two disease processes and demonstrating that neurodegeneration might be more worthy of therapeutic intervention in order to improve disease prognosis [41].

To date, one of the few available therapeutic options used in MS that may have some beneficial effects on progressive MS is Dimethyl Fumarate or DMF [42]. DMF is the only current therapy for MS that in addition to having an immunomodulatory effect is also a potent antioxidant agent. It is thought to reduce oxidative stress through the NRF-2 pathway and hence have a neuroprotective effect [43]. This neuroprotective effect has also been evident in other neurodegenerative settings [44].

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5. Mitochondria as the Therapeutic Target for Progressive MS

The paucity of treatment options for progressive MS indicates an urgent need to find therapeutic targets. The role of mitochondrial dysfunction in neurodegeneration suggests that targeting mitochondrial function may be a useful therapeutic strategy for progressive MS although clinical trials examining the efficacy of agents promoting mitochondrial function in non-MS diseases with known mitochondrial pathology have shown variable results. Some of this variability may stem from differences and difficulties faced with drug delivery and dosage [45].

There are a limited number of studies to date testing the efficacy of agents that target mitochondrial function in the setting of MS, but they offer considerable promise in the efficacy of mitochondria-targeted therapy. Coenzyme Q10 has antioxidant properties and forms part of the electron transport chain interacting with complex I. A randomized placebo-controlled double-blind study of Coenzyme Q10 supplementation over 12 weeks in patients with relapsing and remitting MS demonstrated a reduction in IL-6 and MMP-9 levels [46]. The results of another similar trial by the same group demonstrated a reduction in depression and fatigue [47].

Mouse models of MS (EAE) are based on an immune/inflammatory model and not a degenerative model limiting the ability of the mouse model to accurately reflect the oxidative damage occurring in human MS. This may explain some inconsistencies in the results obtained from mouse model studies of MS [48, 49]. Mito-Q, an antioxidant that contains ubiquinone, has been shown to delay disease progression and reduce neuronal cell loss in a mouse model of multiple sclerosis; however, one study using a synthetic analogue of Coenzyme Q10 failed to prevent disease progression [50].

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6. Glucose Hypometabolism

Some studies have suggested that there may be a bioenergetic shift taking place within neuronal metabolism prior to the onset of clinical signs of neurodegeneration, where glucose uptake and utilization become progressively reduced. This glucose hypometabolism may reflect a decline in mitochondrial function. The shift has been observed to occur long before the onset of clinical signs of neurodegeneration, suggesting the possibility that glucose hypometabolism may be the initial step leading to axonal atrophy and neuronal loss through a reduction in ATP availability [51–54]. The bioenergetic shift appears to specifically affect the metabolism of glucose. No such shift is seen with ketone body metabolism [54, 55].

6.1. Glucose Hypometabolism in MS

The neurodegenerative process underlying progressive MS may also result in glucose hypometabolism. This would suggest a potential therapeutic advantage in boosting energy supply through an alternative route, such as ketone metabolism. A study that compared 47 MS patients with varying levels of fatigue and 16 healthy controls showed that the patients had reduced cerebral glucose metabolism in various regions within the brain, including the prefrontal, premotor, and supplementary motor areas and the putamen when compared to control subjects. There was an inverse correlation between degree of fatigue and glucose metabolic rate [56]. Another study on 8 MS patients and 8 gender matched healthy control subjects demonstrated lower glucose uptake in 40% of the brain compared to healthy controls [57].

Extramitochondrial metabolism increases in the presence of impaired mitochondrial metabolism of glucose. In a pilot study comparing 85 patients with relapsing and remitting MS and 54 patients with secondary progressive MS as well as 18 healthy controls, extramitochondrial glucose metabolism showed a correlation with disease progression, suggesting that impaired mitochondrial metabolism of glucose may play a significant role in disease progression in progressive MS [58].

Further molecular evidence of impaired glucose metabolism playing a role in MS is seen in the altered distribution of glucose (GLUT) and monocarboxylate transporters (MCT) within chronic lesions of MS where there is a decline in axonal GLUT3 and MCT2 expression. These changes may confer resistance to glucose entry into demyelinated axons, depriving them of adequate fuel supply resulting in glucose hypometabolism [59].

The possibility that providing the brain with an alternative source of fuel may reduce the rate of neurodegeneration is a promising avenue to explore, particularly where there remains a paucity of therapeutic options [60].

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7. The Potential of Ketones to Provide an Alternative Fuel Supply

In 1967, Cahill et al. demonstrated that, during prolonged fasting, the body provides the brain with an alternative source of fuel, in the form of ketone bodies. The central nervous system is unable to use fat as a direct energy source and after prolonged carbohydrate restriction, fat is converted into ketone bodies in a process referred to as “ketogenesis.” Ketogenesis takes place primarily within the matrix of mitochondria located within the liver. Ketogenesis results in the production of the ketone bodies beta-hydroxybutyrate, acetoacetate, and acetone which replace glucose as the brain's main sources of fuel [61]. Hans Krebs first made the distinction between the normal, “physiological” ketosis that is induced when following a carbohydrate-restricted diet where levels of ketones do not exceed 8 mmol/L and diabetic ketoacidosis, a complication of diabetes where ketonaemia can exceed 20 mmol/L and result in acidosis [62]. Ketone bodies can easily cross the blood brain barrier and the brain's usage of ketone bodies increases as their concentration in the serum increases, up to a concentration of 12 mmol/L [63]. A meta-analysis of animal studies has shown that the cerebral metabolic rate of glucose decreases 9% with every 1 mmol/L increase in total plasma ketones. Ketones bypass the glycolytic pathway and directly enter the Tricarboxylic Acid (TCA) cycle within mitochondria, contributing to anaplerosis.

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8. A Ketogenic Diet for the Neurodegenerative Component of Progressive MS

The ketogenic diet has traditionally been used for the treatment of resistant epilepsy, but it is increasingly becoming apparent that its benefits may apply to a wider spectrum of neurological disease. Although research on its use outside the realms of epilepsy is still at its infancy, the findings are promising and hold great potential for the treatment of neurodegeneration, particularly with regard to mitochondrial function.

A ketogenic diet has a favourable effect on mitochondrial function. It reduces levels of reactive oxygen species and increases ATP availability. The diet may provide neuroprotection and reduce inflammation. Ketones produced during a ketogenic diet can be used as an alternative source of fuel in the setting of impaired glucose metabolism.

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9. The Effect of the Ketogenic Diet on Oxidative Stress

A ketogenic diet has been shown to reduce the generation of reactive oxygen species through its effect on uncoupling proteins. It also increases levels of antioxidant agents including catalase and glutathione through its inhibitory action on histone deacetylases and activation of the Nrf2 pathway.

9.1. The Ketogenic Diet Increases Mitochondrial Uncoupling Protein Levels

The process of oxidative phosphorylation generates reactive oxygen species. The extent of reactive oxygen species generation correlates strongly with the potential difference across the inner mitochondrial membrane. Uncoupling proteins (UCPs) can reduce this potential difference by allowing the entry of protons into the mitochondrial matrix. Although this “mild” uncoupling may incur a small reduction in ATP generated through oxidative phosphorylation, its overall net effect is to enhance respiration and ATP levels through a reduction in reactive oxygen species formation and protection from apoptotic events [64]. A ketogenic diet appears to promote UCP activity, specifically the activity of UCP2, UCP4, and UCP5 with a corresponding decline in reactive oxygen species [65].

9.2. Ketones Inhibit Histone Deacetylases

The ketone beta-hydroxybutyrate has a direct, dose-dependent inhibitory activity on class I histone deacetylases (HDACs) including HDAC1, HDAC3, and HDAC4. The ketone acetoacetate has also been shown to inhibit class I and class IIa HDACs. Beta-hydroxybutyrate's inhibition of HDAC promotes the acetylation of histone H3 lysine 9 and histone H3 lysine 14 and increases the transcription of genes regulated by FOXO3A. These include genes leading to the expression of the antioxidant enzymes mitochondrial superoxide dismutase and catalase [66].

9.3. A Ketogenic Diet Leads to the Activation of the Nrf2 Pathway

The ketogenic diet raises glutathione levels in the hippocampus of rats [67]. This is thought to occur through the Nrf2 (nuclear factor erythroid 2-related factor) pathway. When the ketogenic diet is first initiated, there is a temporary increase in oxidative stress. This may be activating Nrf2, since, a week after the temporary rise in oxidative stress, there is increased expression of Nrf2. Three weeks after the start of the diet, oxidative stress declines to below baseline levels and Nrf2 remains raised [68].

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10. The Effect of the Ketogenic Diet on ATP Levels

A ketogenic diet enhances ATP production. The administration of beta-hydroxybutyrate immediately following bilateral common carotid artery ligation in a mouse model of global cerebral ischaemia preserves ATP levels [69]. Feeding mice a ketogenic diet for three weeks resulted in increased levels of ATP and the ATP/ADP ratio in the brain [70].

The improvement in ATP levels may partly be explained through the ability of the ketogenic diet to reduce oxidative stress. Although the diet may reduce reactive oxygen species generation through an increase in UCP activity, any reduction in oxidative phosphorylation incurred through UCP activity is outweighed by the enhancement of respiration and associated ATP production occurring as a result of reduced oxidative stress.

A ketogenic diet also appears to preserve ATP levels in the event of mitochondrial respiratory chain dysfunction, possibly through the replenishment of TCA cycle intermediates [71]. Beta-hydroxybutyrate attenuates the decrease in ATP production caused by a defect in complex I of the electron transport chain. It is thought to increase levels of the TCA intermediate succinate, which bypasses complex I when entering the TCA cycle [65, 72]. This carries considerable implications for MS, since defects in complex I within the electron transport chain have been observed in white matter lesions as well as in “normal” regions of the motor cortex [39, 73]. Ketones can also preserve ATP levels if complex II of the electron transport chain is inhibited, but this effect shows some regional specificity [74].

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11. The Effect of the Ketogenic Diet on Mitochondrial Biogenesis

Mitochondrial biogenesis within the rat hippocampus and cerebellar vermis is increased by the ketogenic diet [75, 76]. Although the precise pathway for this is not known, it is thought to involve the PGC1α family of transcriptional coactivators, which promote transcription factors including NRF-1, NRF-2, and ERRα[77].

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12. The Effect of the Ketogenic Diet on Inflammation

The anti-inflammatory effect of a ketogenic diet has been demonstrated in a murine model of lipopolysaccharide-induced fever [78]. In a rat model of MS, the diet suppressed the expression of inflammatory cytokines and enhanced CA1 hippocampal synaptic plasticity and long-term potentiation, which resulted in improved learning, memory, and motor ability [79]. The anti-inflammatory effect of a ketogenic diet may partly be explained through the inhibition of the NLRP3 inflammasome by beta-hydroxybutyrate in a manner that is independent of starvation-induced mechanisms such as AMPK, autophagy, or glycolytic inhibition. The NLRP3 inflammasome is responsible for the cleavage of procaspase-1 into caspase-1 and the activation of the cytokines IL-1β and IL-18. Its inhibition prevents IL-1β and IL-18 generation and their downstream effects [80].

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404botnotfound · 5 years

Text

The Line [4]

...and where to draw it

SERIES: Destiny WORD COUNT: 6,516 SHIP: Quinn/Drifter CHARACTERS: quinn leonis (AU), glyph, ash, finn, adebole, the drifter

iv. gambit

n. a device, action, or opening remark, especially one entailing a high degree of risk, that is calculated to gain an advantage.

Her boots hit solid ground with a crunch of dirt and her senses rush back with dizzying speed. Blinking away the disorientation of being in one place and then another massively distant one in the next instant, she thinks—not for the first time—that long-distance transmats never stopped being unpleasant.

They’ve been dropped into a small cave littered with arches and levels, and ahead of them sunlight peeks through a set of openings out into what must have been their arena. Everything around them is painted in deep browns and unnaturally vibrant reds and earthy greens, the usual for Nessus scenery.

Quinn realizes then that none of them had discussed any sort of strategy.

Ash lets out a cheer and charges forward before she can even consider gathering one. “C’mon! Last one to bank buys drinks!”

I’m not drinking with you, she thinks to herself as Glyph drops her auto rifle into her hands. Stepping forward and hopping down from the high ledge they’d been transmatted onto, her knees bend with the landing and she starts forward with the rest of her team hopping across the higher level rock formations above her.

“Get ready for a firefight, and drop those motes in the bank!” The Drifter’s voice crackles in through her helmet comms and a waypoint appears in her heads-up display directly ahead. “Enemies inbound at the base.”

She wonders what that’s supposed to mean as they all exit the caves.

Their arena is laid out in a semi-circle ahead of them, penned in by a towering cliff that stretches around on either side like arms until it drops off at a sharp horizon and blue sky with the hazy backdrop of Nessus fading into the distance far below them.

A series of caves consumed by Vex machine architecture sits high in the left hand side of the cliff, and to the right is a small copse of red-leafed trees. The ground shudders under her feet with a teeth-rattling grinding noise filling the air as a massive Cabal resource drill drops into the ground somewhere behind those trees.

Immediately in front of her on a light incline sits one of the Drifter’s mote banks, already filled with twisting Taken power, and next to the cave entrance they’d just exited is a circular gate made of Vex tech. It looks altered, somehow, but she doesn’t waste time examining it further—it was likely the portal to the other arena they’d been told about.

Her teammates continue on ahead and she follows, all of them winding around a rock formation and finding the familiar industrial, rigid engineering of the militaristic Cabal stretched out across carved white stone.

A pair of Cabal legionnaires jump jet into sight ahead of a group of their fellows, all of them seven feet tall and massive in bulk compared to the four of them.

Here we go.

Ash and Finn reach the two legionnaires first. One well-placed hand cannon bullet pops a legionnaire’s head from its shoulders with a hissing geyser of organofluid and a crackling, electricity-fueled shoulder charge turns the other into a three-hundred pound, charred pancake against a base wall.

Sparkling, opaque motes like the one Drifter had shown them pop upwards from the felled bodies and are picked up by one or both of their ghosts, dematting them out of sight.

At the top of her HUD, a bar she hadn’t noticed until now fills slightly with gray.

‘The Drifter’s ghost sent the rest of us details on what to track and send back to her,’ Glyph explains. It’s a tracker bar for how many motes they held, then—and divided into halves, the other side ticking up slightly.

A way to keep the pressure on for them, letting them know where the opposite team was at in progress.

Adebole nearly runs her over in his haste to reach more enemies approaching them, forcing her to hop back and fight the immediate, irritated urge to take aim at the back of his head.

It’d definitely be one way to let loose steam, and she has no issue with knocking New Monarchy supporters down a few pegs—unfortunately, she does want to win, and that meant tolerating Adebole’s arrogant behavior for the time being and hoping all four of them have enough semblance of coordination to make this work, strategy or no.

Charging forward and jumping up she plants her foot on a rock face and pushes off of it, two pulses of light letting her hop through the air as though she were on stepping stones, heading away from her teammates towards enemies they’d overlooked.

Her boot lands directly on the face of a legionnaire’s helmet and her momentum knocks it off balance. It makes an angry, unintelligible roar in an alien language before she unloads her auto rifle into its head and silences it, then she turns her fire on another.

Like with Ash and Finn’s victims, two more glowing motes appear. She collects them both with Glyph’s help and then moves ahead into the base on the hunt for more, aware of the alien weapons fire filling the air around her.

Adebole curses her whenever she grabs the motes that drop near her from his gunfire, but she’s seen several of the motes vanish and fade after being left in the open air for too long, so he can kiss her ass.

After picking up several more Glyph starts to mutter something about them. A Cabal centurion, meanwhile, larger and with hellishly nastier weapons than its lesser-ranked peers, turns its attention on her.

Its heavier weapon knocks down half of her overshield before she manages to duck into cover. “Glyph, later, please.”

‘Sorry!’

Bracing a knee on the ground, she spins out of cover and takes aim, squeezing the trigger and gritting her teeth while the rapidfire bullets chip away at the centurion’s shields—which pop and shatter after a full magazine.

She reloads quickly and then cuts it down with another hail of bullets. Unlike the lower-ranked legionnaires, it drops a handful of motes rather than a single one.

She darts forward and they all disappear as Glyph grabs them for her.

‘That’s it, I can’t carry anymore without them doing damage to me and to you,’ it says, sounding uncomfortable. What the hell are these things? Nothing in the field she’d picked up had ever caused damage while in Glyph’s inventory.

It’s all well and good either way, she supposes. Not like she plans to hold onto them for long.

She twists around, her knees bending with the abrupt shift in direction and her boots and greaves scraping the stone underneath them as her momentum halts; ahead of her she can see all three of her teammates already running for the mote bank.

A new waypoint appears in her HUD, directing them to the network of Vex caves dug into the cliffs with waterfalls of crackling white liquid flanking its entrances.

Her teammates drop their held motes in the bank, and on her HUD the gray-filled portion on their side of the tracker bar fills halfway with the color blue. Two bloated orbs of glowing Taken energy burst up through the steady stream of it piercing the sky above the bank.

Her stomach twists. She’d completely missed seeing that earlier.

Keep it together.

Just as she reaches the bank the other team’s bar fills with red and a roar of power explodes from the bank. It retracts into the base dug into the ground, and the quiet plea with herself flies out the metaphorical window as a Taken knight materializes in her path.

Its twisted, unnaturally twitching body swathed in glowing, oily darkness drips black ichor that poisons the air and ground around, and it sends a flood of terrified adrenaline through her veins.

The white orb that serves as the creature’s face, floating amidst the mass of what had once been a Hive knight’s head, twitches sickeningly to settle on her and her heart leaps into her throat. A roar leaves its mouthless face and its arm lifts above her.

She skids to a halt, nearly crashing right into it, and her skin starts crawling immediately with the sucking sensation of otherworldly power and the scent of ozone washing over her.

The ground shakes with the force of a downward swing that she barely dives out of the way of in time.

Before she can even think about turning around to fire on the knight, the same swelling roar of energy crashes through the air twice, and two grotesque caricatures of Cabal phalanxes with their massive arm-mounted shields join the knight.

Both are far too close for comfort.

“Guys, guys, we’ve got Taken blocking the bank!” She yells over the comms, trying and likely failing to keep the panic from her voice.

“So take care of ‘em, miss ‘trial-by-fire’!” Ash calls back mockingly.

She glances towards the new waypoint where her teammates’ friend-or-foe tags are shown. Not a single one of them turns back to the center of the arena. She’s on her own with her worst nightmares right in front of her.

The split-second glance away is a mistake.

A rush of ionized air tasting like ozone strikes her in the chest and throws her off her feet back into the thick roots of one of the trees in the arena, knocking the breath out of her and sending a wash of stars across her vision that she hurriedly blinks away.

Her shields are gone and her back aches from the blow, and one of the two phalanxes is rushing her with its shield held out before it—it’s going to crush her against the tree.

Forcing her lungs to cooperate, she sucks in a gasp of pained air and taps into her light, vanishing in a flash of blue sparks and light and reappearing a few feet to the side just as the phalanx and its shield slam into the tree.

The bark cracks and splinters under its force.

Unphased, the phalanx turns for her again.

Dropping her rifle to the ground at her side, she pulls her hand cannon from the holster on her thigh and takes aim, firing a handful of rounds into its glowing eye.

It stumbles back with every heavy round until it vanishes as though sucked through a vortex, the remains of its corrupt energy seeping into and poisoning the grassy ground it had stood on.

The knight chooses then to remind her of its existence, roaring in a way that sends a ripple of gooseflesh over her skin, dredging up horrible memories of similar howls stalking her in a dark, lightless place.

Her aim follows her line of sight as she looks at the enemy—it’s stooped over with its arms wide, and she knows immediately what’s coming next.

Liquid fire erupts from the knight, spat from a mouth that isn’t there, and it arcs through the air in her direction.

Grabbing hold of her discarded rifle, she dives to the side with flame licking at her coattails and boots. Earth-shaking booms strike the ground from the knight’s massive, alien weapon as she darts under the lifted roots of a tree and around to the other side.

She has Glyph demat her rifle. She needs these things gone fast, and the rifle’s lighter bullets did fuck all against an enemy that was half-incorporeal and soaked them up like a sponge.

‘Your shields are back up,’ Glyph tells her as she reloads.

When she leaves the cover of the tree’s roots, the remaining phalanx is waiting for her with its shield raised and ready to slam down on her. Her first instinct is to turn and run away, her throat tight with terror—instead she puts on a burst of speed and jumps forward, throwing her shoulder into the center of the Taken’s massive form, knocking it back.

She would’ve hoped to knock the shield from its hand, but it was fused to the damn thing’s arm by whatever atemporal bullshit the Taken were made of.

It doesn’t need time to recover, and she wouldn’t have given it time to even if it did, her gun lifting. She shoves it into what counts for its face—one, two, three shots, and then like the first its form melts and vanishes.

Unlike the Taken, she needs time to recover, but she doesn’t have it. Before the phalanx’s form has fully dissolved, she sidesteps it and breaks into a run towards the knight that had appeared first. It roars at her, stooping in what she can only interpret as rage-filled challenge.

Fire erupts from it again and streaks towards her; she leaps from the ground, a pulse of light propelling her above the arc of flame and directly for the knight.

Her free hand closes around her hand cannon as she takes aim in midair, her legs outstretched and boots landing on the abhorrent creature’s chest. It falls under her weight and momentum and she unloads the rest of her clip into its head, the send of weightlessness from the fall nothing but an afterthought.

By the time her feet hit the ground again the knight has dissolved just like the phalanxes.

Her hands are shaking with adrenaline as she reloads her gun, dropping the empty cartridge and replacing it with one that Glyph transmats into her palm. She barely notices the sound of beeping and the hiss of the bank reopening behind her.

Right in the middle of an intense competition isn’t the best place to have a complete meltdown, but she can feel her vision narrowing and breathing growing shallow with the sudden panic overwhelming her now that it has nothing to push it back.

Her eyes well up with tears.

The Deathsong is a horrible roar in her ears, and massive claws reach through the blank emptiness between planes for everything she is.

Behind her the bank beeps and then retracts once more.

‘Quinn,’ Glyph trills at her in alarm, and it has to repeat itself twice before she even registers her own name, ‘Quinn! More Taken inbound!’

A pathetic whine accompanies her sharp intake of breath and she stumbles, spinning around as more booms reach her ears. Two more phalanxes appear. She lifts her gun in shaking hands, but before she can fire off any panicked shots a void light grenade erupts between the two Taken and melts them.

The bank beeps as though mocking her and reemerges. She exhales, lowering her gun and noting Ash and Adebole dropping down into the center of the arena from the Vex caves. Ash is laughing at her, and Quinn swallows down a wave of shame.

“So much for ‘preferring trial-by-fire’, huh, blondie?” Ash mocks, hopping up to the bank cheerily and dropping her motes into it.

She hopes her flinch at the rush of energy that lifts into the sky isn’t noticeable.

Adebole moves wordlessly to a different mote node and does the same, and eager for a distraction from the mortification Quinn notes that when he does so another swell of power doesn’t follow Ash’s.

Before anything else can be said the Drifter cuts in, “Invader on the field! Find ‘em before they find you!”

Through everything else she had completely forgotten about the second goal the Drifter had explained to them. Invading. Portal to the other arena and kill the opposing team, depriving them of the motes they needed to win.

A gunshot cracks across the arena, an expert sniper round catching Finn through the helm in midair and killing them as they drift down from the caves on a stream of their light. Their body drops to the ground limply and their ghost appears, frantically trying to revive them.

“That came from behind the drill!” Adebole calls out. He and Ash rush into motion, moving around her and disappearing into the trees.

She, on the other hand, darts around to the side of the bank opposite where they’d gone and ducks down, her panic vanishing once more under the weight of pure, cold survival instinct.

Another pair of shots ring out. Glyph grays out her teammates’ FOF tags in her HUD.

This guy was good.

Her hands are white-knuckled around the grip of her gun as she waits, kneeling behind the bank and alternately watching her radar and surroundings. Her radar lights up with red and she braces herself, lifting the weapon in her hands.

A titan, broad-chested and wearing dark red armor and a black mark clipped to his belt, crosses into her line of sight with a wicked-looking shotgun held in his hands.

She adjusts her aim.

He notices her right as she fires off a trio of shots, the first two knocking out his shields and the third piercing his helm. His body drops, and his ghost appears and glowers at her. Before it can revive him both disappear in a flash, transmatted back to the other side.

Her breathing hitches when the Drifter’s laughter crackles on her comm. “You didn’t start that fight but you did end it. Good job.” Somehow, his voice being right in her ear was worse than just hearing it aloud, and she still can’t decide why it affects her that way.

The rest of her team reappears from back in the cave they’d arrived in initially and she finally drops the damn motes she’s been carrying into the bank. Maybe she was imagining it, but the wave of energy that blooms from it and surges upwards seems bigger than the ones her teammates had caused.

As though to spite her, the bank retracts again and the portal that appears erupts into a form that makes the first handful look like dust particles in comparison.

Oh, fuck is the only thing she can manage to think as the lumbering, hunchbacked form of a Taken ogre with its bulbous head and wicked teeth towers over her. Its presence alone is enough to warp the air and space around it with power, making her feel ill, and the roar it lets out rattles in the cage of her chest.

She’s sure she’s white as a sheet under her helmet.

It occurs to her, then, that the Drifter had said that the nastier the Taken that appeared in the arena, the more motes they had to bank—if she was carrying the most motes possible, had she dropped one of these behemoths on the enemy team?

This was a terrible idea. She should have left the Drifter’s ship the moment she had found out this competition involved the Taken.

She can’t do this.

‘Guardian, move!’ Glyph’s terrified voice snaps her out of her daze and she blinks, her heart leaping into her throat at the sight of the ogre’s massive arms raised and ready to crash down upon her.

Swearing a blue streak, she dives out of the way. The pressure of a clawed fist almost three times her size displaces the air she had been standing in only seconds before, and it slams into the ground hard enough to make it quake.

The shockwave sends her flying and she rolls to a stop fifteen feet away, her back slamming into the hard surface of her team’s gate.

She had to do this.

She’d already made the choice—stupid or not—to come here, to participate, and damn her but she can’t stay paralyzed with fear of the Taken forever.

Gritting her teeth and gripping her hand cannon tighter, she forces herself to her feet.

Her teammates open fire on the ogre and draw its attention from her, ducking in and around the Nessus trees as the creature’s powerful eye blasts are aimed at them.

She joins them in the gunfire, popping off shot after shot and diving out of sight whenever its attention returns to her; she could handle a handful of shots from lesser Taken, but an ogre’s eye blasts would vaporize her with ease, overshield or not.

Over the comms the Drifter tells them their invasion portal has opened up for use and she barely notes it. They have better things to worry about—

—or do they?

She glances at her HUD and notices two things: the first being her team is leaps and bounds behind the other, and the second is that judging by the large gray section on the other team’s bar, they were holding onto a lot of motes.

When the other team’s invader had killed Finn, they had lost the motes they’d been heading to bank—and if the other team was holding onto their own motes and not banking them in order to send bigger, badder enemies their way…

‘Gambit’. A calculated and intentional, but risky, move.

She gets it, now.

The ogre bursts with a few more well-placed shots, its form losing cohesion and being pulled back into the Ascendant realm it came from. None of them have any time to celebrate—immediately after it vanishes, a knight and another ogre take its place.

Son of a bitch.

All of them take aim and lay in, but after a few potshots Adebole lets out a noise of frustration and then changes direction, running past her and nearly knocking her over again on his way for the bastardized Vex tech holding a Taken portal.

She stops firing long enough to attempt and fail to reach out and grab him. “We need your help, Ade!”

“If you were competent you would not.” He snaps back at her and then vanishes through the portal. It closes behind him.

Provided the Taken don’t succeed in sending her into a complete meltdown by the time this match is over—and provided she doesn’t get herself killed—she’s absolutely going to kick his ass. Lips pulling back in a snarl, she latches onto her anger and uses it to push aside her lingering fear at having Taken close by.

Fifteen seconds later the Drifter announces to them that their ally was being sent back without a single kill on the board.

The ogre and knight are gone by the time Adebole reappears from the cave, and while Ash and Finn dart off to the newest set of enemies, Quinn stands there and glares at him for a long, heated moment.

He’s radiating the same kind of absolute loathing she knows she is, and as she finally runs off for more motes she wonders if they’re even going to make it to the end of the match before one of them attempts to strangle the other.

Focus.

It’s easy to say when she isn’t facing down her worst fears.

Try as they might, they can’t catch up to the lead the other team built. Quinn finds herself missing the cohesion of her own team; no one on this team seems to want to pay attention to strategy, only caring about collecting as many motes as possible and ignoring their allies and other aspects of the competition.

If they wanted to win, they needed a strategy. Adebole was too arrogant to care about the rest of them, but maybe if she can come up with an idea, Finn and Ash would play ball.

They suffer through another invasion and one more phalanx blocker, and by the time the other team’s bar has been completely filled and their red is replaced with yellow, they’re frantic. They bank as fast as they’re able to pick motes up, the yellow bar on the enemy’s side slowly being chipped away as they go.

Was that the part of the competition the Drifter had opted not to explain to them?

Adebole tries invading twice more and only manages to knock out one of the opposing four in both attempts. Curiously—and concerningly, to be honest—she notes that the one kill he does manage drives the yellow bar on the opponent’s tracker back up slightly.

Best efforts still get them nowhere, and they haven’t even filled their bank by the time the Drifter announces the opposite team has won the round.

If feels really fucking bad, almost on par with how awful her first encounter with the Taken in years was. Both are mortifying, and as she feels the transmat pulling them back up to the Drifter’s ship she braces herself to deal with more mockery.

Shockingly, none is forthcoming after four sets of boots settle back on the transmat deck.

Ash, Finn, and Adebole are all as silent as she is. The last of the three is simmering in a quiet that speaks of rage rather than frustration, and it’s almost doubtless that he’s blaming the rest of them for their round loss.

“I like your team,” the Drifter calls out, drawing everyone’s attention up to him on the podium; he’s gesturing to her team, but the praise is immediately followed by, “do better.”

To add insult to injury, he then turns to the other team and says: “Other team looks great, keep it up!”

Yeah, there was the humiliation she’d been waiting for.

She steps off her transmat pad and waves up to get the Drifter’s attention. “Hey, coach, time out?”

He must be able to hear the weariness in her voice. Between the energy expenditure and the adrenaline rushes, the emotional turbulence from the last few weeks, and the lack of decent sleep she felt wholesale terrible—and he can tell, a shrewd smile on his face as he kneels down on his podium and nods at her. “Two minutes.”

He sounds amused. She scowls.

Muttering a weak thank you, she steps over to her teammates. Both Finn and Ash gather up without protest, but Adebole remains apart, apparently unwilling to swallow his pride long enough to figure out how to work together and win.

“Look, guys,” she says, keeping her words on the closed team channel rather than the open air of he bay, “I get we’re all strangers and none of us are particularly happy we got matched up together, but if you want to win we can’t just run off and do whatever we want. There’s too much involved in this for it. We need a strategy.”

“And I assume you have one?” Adebole sneers at her, crossing his arms and looking blatantly unimpressed even behind a concealing helmet.

“Actually, I—” she blinks, surprised to find that she does, in fact. The beginnings of one, anyway. “I do.”

Ash’s hands settle on her hips and her head cocks to the side, skeptical. “Right, sure, we’re gonna leave strategy to someone that nearly pissed themselves because of a few little Taken.”

Quinn starts to snap back that she’s got a damn good reason for being so afraid of them, but she bites it down and instead lets out a soft exhale. “How many motes did you guys bank after that first wave?” She asks, instead.

Whether the question confuses them or they just don’t know how to answer, she grits her teeth past the aggravation and waits, acutely aware that they’ve only got a few minutes to figure out how the fuck to turn this around.

“My ghost says I had twelve.” Ash says.

“Nine.”

She, Ash, and Finn all look at Adebole, who suddenly seems hesitant to speak. He shifts in what Quinn thinks might be bare discomfort. “...Four.”

A beat of thick silence. “How many did you bank total?”

“...Seven.”

Quinn balks at him. All that hotshot talk of not being a rookie and the haughty arrogance, and he had the smallest haul? Is he serious?

Up on the podium the Drifter starts laughing uproariously. Yep, he was definitely tapped into their team comms.

Inhaling through her nose and counting to five, she forces the building wave of incredulous fury out of her mind. Later. Focus on the ups.

Maybe he had grabbed the smallest amount of motes, but she had grabbed a significant number from enemies he had felled. “Okay, so out of the four of us, Ash and I managed to grab the most during a single wave. Finn and Adebole, you guys are good at clearing the enemies out.”

Finn picks up on where her mind is going without further explanation. “We steamroll, you gather. Bank fast, rinse-wash-repeat?”

Quinn nods.

“Aww, but I like killing the bad guys.” Ash pouts.

“I don’t think the ‘bad guys’ are planning on taking it lying down, Ash. You’ll still be able to kill them, but we need those motes to win and you and I seem like the fastest on the team.” Quinn replies, pausing for a moment to consider how sleep deprivation was going to start rearing its ugly head soon. That little fact likely wasn’t going to last for much longer. “There’s a max to how many we can carry, though, so Ade and Finn will have to run in and collect anything we leave behind.”

“I like it.” Finn says. “What about the invaders?”

Her mouth opens but the Drifter interrupts her. “Time’s up! Get ready for transmat.”

‘What about the invaders?’ is a damn good question that she doesn't have an answer for. They’re like the Taken, she supposes—deal with them as they become a problem.

By invading they can deprive the team of motes to fill the bank, putting them ahead, and if she hadn’t just been hallucinating—which was a whole possibility considering how tired she was and how far she was pushing her endurance—then when the opposing team had filled their bank, killing them would drive that inexplicable gauge back up.

It made little sense to her, yet, but she has disturbing suspicion as to the reason. They were dealing with the Taken, after all.

Damnit, she hates the Taken.

‘I’m not so sure volunteering to carry as many of these mote things as possible is a good idea,’ Glyph mutters to her unhappily as she steps back onto her transmat pad.

“Maybe the more we hold onto, the faster we’ll get used to them.” She offers, weakly.

‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea, either.’

Before she can respond, she’s pulled through space once more and lands on the red, grassy ground of Nessus. Instead, something else occurs to her when she catches sight of the bank outside the cave. “Guys, one more thing: we need to work together to clear out the blockers. These things hit hard and take a lot of punishment.”

“Got it!”

“Woohoo!”

Well, it wasn’t exactly an acknowledgement, but with Ash, she’ll take it. “Ade?”

“Yes, yes! If you’re so sure this will work, just go!” He snaps back. Still pissy, but at least he realizes that running off half-cocked hadn’t done them any favors last round.

Her and Ash move ahead of the other two, following their waypoint to the giant drill, and Finn and Adebole both hang back once they get close enough to start picking enemies off from afar.

Glyph warns her they’ve picked up the maximum safe amount to carry far faster than in the first round as her and Ash dodge and weave in and out of enemies and under flying weapons fire. When she glances over at Ash, the hunter gives her a cheery thumbs up—followed immediately by her jabbing one of her knives into the throat of a legionnaire that had been trying to catch her off guard.

The opposing team hasn’t even banked before she and Ash do, the sickening rush of Taken energy exploding upwards from the bank. Both of them turn and head for the next waypoint up in the Vex caves without pause.

On comms the Drifter lets out a cheer. “You just dropped two Taken ogres on the other side! Let ‘em chew on that for a while.”

His response—far too excited given the nature of it—is both validating and terrifying. It confirms her worry from last round and also makes her fear how many of those things they were going to have to face again.

If the opposing team was feeling petty, the fact that they’d just air dropped two ogres at once to deal with from the offset of the round meant they may do their damndest to return the favor.

Knights and lesser Taken are already bad enough. Ogres are the powerhouses, short only of—

She dashes that line of thought, an involuntary shiver nearly giving an ordinary phalanx the chance to crush her skull against the walls of the cave with its shield. She’s been struck by those things one too many times today as it is, thank-you-very-much.

“I am invading!” Adebole calls. Hundreds of feet away, she can hear the burst of the Taken portal as it activates and then shuts down behind him.

Even down one person, the Cabal in the Vex caves go down quickly and in droves. Quinn isn’t vain enough to assume it’s because her threadbare plan is that good, but she’ll at least allow herself to believe that her sense for people was still a high point on her list of skills.

On her HUD, the enemy team’s partially-filled gray bar is dashed in half.

‘They lost collected motes,’ Glyph remarks. ‘This is...beginning to make sense.’

Beginning to make sense, and, ignoring her unknowingly forcing herself to confront her fears, beginning to feel like fun. Glyph isn’t going to like that. “How many?”

‘Judging by how much our gauge fills with how many we collect, thirteen. Best guess. Oh—eighteen, maybe. Drifter’s ghost isn’t sharing details.’

With the Vex caves clear, Quinn and Ash head back for the bank again. Finn trails behind to collect what they’d left behind.

A pair of phalanxes wait for them; they fall quickly under the thankfully coordinated effort of her, Finn, and Ash. All three of them drop their motes in the bank and run for the next wave, a freshly returning Adebole with two kills under his belt following after he exits the transmat cave.

He seems pleased, now, offering her a nod of grudging approval when she passes by him on her way back to the bank. She returns it and allows herself a small smile, and the four of them set to work clearing out more waves in between clearing blockers and banking.

Her smile vanishes when the Drifter alerts them to another invader; her and Ash are both carrying fifteen motes apiece, and if the opposing team’s bar is any indication, they were getting close to catching up. If this invader takes out three of them as he did last round, it’s all but a certainty.

“Base!” Finn shouts moments before the first long-distance round echos off the cliff walls of the arena, coming from the area they’d indicated.

Quinn winces. Twice now. Poor Finn.

Glyph makes an equally unhappy noise as it grays out their FOF tag on her HUD. Eight motes down.

Ash darts past her in a flash, a quick, rolling dive tearing her through reality into the light of the void and rendering her invisible to the naked eye, hiding from bullets she knows have preemptively marked the two of them as priority targets.

Quinn swears under her breath, bursting through the Nessus trees into the center of the arena—only to turn right back around and make a break for some kind of hiding place, wishing she had spent more time with Nyx trying to learn the trick Ash had just pulled out of her sleeve.

Another shot echoes.

Fire blossoms in her midsection, a white-hot lance from a heavy round that cuts through her shields and armor like a hot knife through butter. Her vision goes white for a split second from the severity of the pain and she knows right away that the round hadn’t just pierced flesh.

Ribs, she thinks, sucking in a gasp of air and unpleasantly confirming her first guess, had to have nicked the bone.

She forces herself to keep moving, every movement leaving her in agony. “Glyph?” She coughs out hoarsely, diving back into the reaching roots of the trees and ducking out of the open before the invader’s next shot can go through her skull.

‘I can’t! You have to be healing yourself or I can’t isolate the material from your light!’ It replies, sounding like it was trying very hard not to panic and failing miserably.

She already knew Glyph couldn’t heal her itself—she’s not sure why the idea that it can’t just grab a bullet lodged within her energy field and transmat it out had caught her by surprise.

Not even the Cabal use hard, solid slugs like guardians do. She’s never had to deal with an injury like this before.

Well, now she knows why Shaxx won’t let her in the Crucible.

Another sniper round cracks out. Ash’s FOF tag is grayed out as well.

Both teams are now neck and neck.

Heavy footsteps approach her from behind as she leaves the safety of the trees, trying to reach the cover of the jagged rock formations within the caves. She braces herself to spin and throw up one of her bubble shields.

Before she can, a shotgun blast booms behind her and her stomach drops, a sense of vertigo hitting her as she waits for the inevitable pain to arrive.

None does.

Adebole breaks the startled spell she’d fallen under with a harsh bark and the cocking of a shotgun’s slide. “Gather yourself!”

She inhales sharply, the pain of the round lodged in her torso throwing everything back into stark clarity. Everything hits her at once, then. The fire in her midsection from the injury, her fear of the Taken and the stress of facing them again, the bone-deep and pervasive exhaustion she hasn’t been able to chase away with sleep since returning from the reef.

The cold sting of loss, and the frustration of not knowing how to deal with it.

Frustration gives way for cold, rather than boiling, rage. Her head feels clear for the first time in months.

Her eyes flick up just in time to see the opposing team’s gray collection bar tick up and surpass their own. Not banked, but they’d have one serious problem if it was.

“Portal’s open!” Drifter calls out. “Go give ‘em hell!”

Teeth grinding, Quinn makes one doozy of a stupid fucking decision and spins, sprinting back to the center of the arena—and then she turns and heads for the portal rather than the bank, completely ignoring the fact she was still carrying a full group of motes.

Fuck it.

Glyph lets out a tinny series of fearful noises. ‘What are you doing?’

Hell if she knows, at this point.

She doesn’t answer it. “I’m invading!” She tells her team, similar protestations from her teammates following after her as the swirling portal in her eyes grows larger and the sucking sensation from another realm grips at her.

Ash, on the other hand, lets out a whoop and a, “Get ‘em, girl!”

Without any of the hesitation she knows she should be feeling, Quinn leaps through the portal.

#v: destiny #f: the line #sh: embrace the dark #c: quinn leonis #c: ash #c: finn #c: adebole #ch: the drifter #c: glyph

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