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tarithenurse · 3 years

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Spark - 15

Fandom: Enn Enn no Shouboutai / Fire Force. Pairing: Shinmon Benimaru x fem!reader. Content: Hints of smutty thoughts, angst, lack of proofing, suppressed emotions, assholes, fighting, sarcasm. Not necessarily in this order. A/N: Feel free to ASK (or reblog) for tag – in fact: always reblog. Thanks to those who have already <3

15. Choking

… Reader …

The dust clings to your sweaty skin as you force your way through Benimaru’s powered offence. Even if the flames he produce don’t hurt you, the heat steals your breath and the pressure of the air still feels like walking through a storm. Clenching the jaw to hold back curses, the best option is to somehow dodge the blasts of fire and come in low, aiming for his ankles in an attempt to knock him off balance.

Easier said than done. And sure enough, when your legs swing around, he simply jumps and somersaults over to land right behind you. One hand grabs one of your arms, fingers tangle into your hair, pulling your back into an arch against the knee he has you pinned with.

“Now what?” he drawls and your subconscious projects lewd images into your mind – most scenarios where he is pulling your hair for “slightly other” reasons.

Your own hand is small around his wrist but the grip is strong and he doesn’t fight as hard against you as a real attack would which means you can pull him along into a tumble that lands you splayed over him on the ground. The hard panes of his muscles cushions your back a bit while the air is knocked out of him. The only problem now is that he somehow has the wits to change the grip, locking your arms by the elbows – the tangle of limbs is angling you awkwardly and pressing you chest out and shoulders back. A slight tilt of the head brings his bored expression into view.

I can grind into his groin, catching him by surprise and -

“Waka! WAKA!” Mamoru and a few of the other men burst out into the sunlit back yard.

Fists clenched, chests heaving, and eyes filled with nervousness, it’s obvious even to you that something’s wrong. Benimaru must have realized to, because he releases you and pulls you to your feet as he urges the men for an explanation.

“Civilian cops -” Mamoru doesn’t get further for the others.

“- they’re everywhere -”

“We heard it’s the same in Sumida and Taito!”

The panicked voice glide into the background and you grab the oversized clothes you had discarded before the sparring, pulling on socks and shoes without bothering to wipe the sand off your feet.

“Other places too, but the worst thing is -”

Mamoru finally manages to overpower his team mates, “- everywhere Company Three is conveniently there too.”

Shinmon’s voice calms your galloping heart though the words are lost on you – they are not meant for you anyways, but the men who set out to track and delay the unwanted search units in their progress as according to the Worst Case Scenario Plan.

“[Y/N].” Like conjured out of nowhere, Benimaru stands before you, his hot hands wrapping tenderly but sternly around your upper arms. “Keep your head clear. You know what to do?”

You could drown in the calm fire of his mix-match eyes. “Yes.”

“Don’t come out until I come for you...” It almost seems like he wants to say something more, his gaze flicking across your face, but his mouth closes and he turns you with a slight push to get you moving.

And move you do.

For once, you don’t bother about removing your shoes as you speed inside, feet beating a scrambling tattoo as you rush down the hallways and into the men’s bathroom (keeping you gaze fixed on the window and ranting apologies to the startled guy who is unaware of anything going on outside). It’s a stretch for you to get up and through the half-sized window, only pausing to check if the little back street is clear.

As you spill out onto the ground ungracefully, a little thought in the back of you head says you’ll be bruised from this. Thankfully, adrenaline is coursing through your veins and forces the body to move on its own.

Over the wall into the neighbour’s garden.

Spot the little outhouse in the north-west corner...and onto the roof while keeping low.

The thoughts have warped into Benimaru’s voice instead of your own, keeping the objective clear just like he would have wanted. Dirty hands reach for the second floor window in the next house, sliding the loose glass pane sideways without the slightest tremble. Are those my hands? They must be, because they do as you want, reaching in and unlocking the window.

It’s a storage room, you realize after entering and closing the unorthodox entry. Technically, some bored-looking wise ass had revealed that days ago but it only really becomes relevant enough to understand now as you clock the futon in the corner. Under there, there’s a couple of altered floorboards to create a hiding space.

Pushing up the cover, you glare at the cramped spot, a hand sliding across your stomach that has gotten softer thanks to Konro’s amazing cooking granting you regular meals. It’ll be tight. Very tight.

... Benimaru ...

Cops. Benimaru can’t recall the last time they had set foot in Asakusa – the district has been more or less self-governing for as long as anyone can remember and institutions like police and firefighters had been a part of the neighbourhood watch roles. Still is, but a fraction of them (the ones best at handling combustions) had been selected by Konro and formed the Seventh’s Special Fire Force. The people of Asakasu protect their own...but it had still taken too long to round up the unwelcome “visitors” and even longer to find the sleazy bastard from Company Three who had managed to sneak into the headquarters.

It had taken all of Benimaru’s willpower to keep from reducing the man to ashes. The taste of blood seeped into his mouth, while Doctor Giovanni spoke of the so-called righteous need to study and use (abuse) the young woman. Fiery rage simmered beneath the captain’s skin at the outsider’s obvious lack of compassion, the refusal to see [Y/N] as a human with rights.

Thankfully, Konro had been able to think. His voice could cut stone as he calmly stated what the accepted channels for cross-jurisdiction work were and in particular how they had been violated during this “unauthorized operation”.

That’s when they were handed the official documentation overruling anyone in Asakusa. I could take them on and win. But Konro took the option away by accepting the order from the higher-ups and telling Company Seven to stand aside.

...

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Konro grated out.

No. The twins had been fast, grabbing the few belongings that could betray [Y/N]’s existence and stashing them in the storage together with other goodwill things.

“The intel was...incomplete,” Giovanni conceded, goosebump-inducing sweetness slathered onto every word. “I’m thankful for your help. It’s a relief to know we can trust our colleagues across all of Tokyo to be true to the law and the interest of the nation. Imagine if someone had indeed kept vital information Haijima and the Holy Sol...”

Benimaru nearly cracked his teeth at that, but managed to keep a stoic facade despite the inner rage.

“Yes, where would we be without the government?” Konro reiterated rhetorically. “Humanity would be vulnerable, and we’re here to protect the people, after all.”

The words hung for a moment heavy in the room until the sound of departing vehicles rumbled by the building. Police is leaving.

“...indeed. Yes.” A few fingers touched the brim of the hat, tipping it lightly in salute. “At least today was...fruitful.”

What? The two men in charge of Company Seven didn’t dare move until the door had closed behind Giovanni. [Y/N]. I have to...she has to...if she’s not -

“Beni.” Konro’s hand was heavy on the younger man’s shoulder, his eyes darker than normal with worry. “You have to wait ‘til they are gone.”

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limelocked · 3 years

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ngl the pro-dream imprisonment ppl scare the shit out of me like. how long until these losers become pro-cop just bc the cops got sicced on someone they personally didn't like? we had an entire discussion abt how fighting fire w fire doesnt work and instead worsens the situation yet the moment the target switches from the uwuwu traumatized child to the fandom hated white boy its justified. please make it make sense

bro i wish i could make it make sense but nay the fandom is just frighteningly pro government without critique and more so with being pro solitary and just...

it feels like its human nature to think that things are justified when they happen to people we dont like, its like its ingrained in us to just want them removed from our group no matter the cost and hey if theyve done a crime then thats all the more reason to punish them! no matter the cost to the person! no matter how bad that makes us!

people try to justify their views about pandoras by saying that dream deserve to be there for his crimes but.. thats not why he’s there, hes not there to atone or to get better or to be punished or anything. he is there to be used at a later date

or else he’d be dead, it was pandoras or death

people that think that theres nothing wrong what so ever with dreams conditions or think its wrong but that he deserve them scare the shit out of me as an abuse victim who has been where tommy was during exile, i hate to say it but abusers are people too and they need to be punished yes, they need to learn better yes, Do They Need Life In Torture For Emotional Abuse? N O ! what the fuck

some of the people that are pro dreams imprisonment need to watch a video from the norwegian prison that focuses on making good neighbours for when the inmates come out instead of yknow... torturing them

#dsmp #finally answering this ask and i still dont feel ive done it justice #dsmp fandom critical #Anonymous

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derireo · 4 years

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no such thing as honor ↦ tasuku (izumi-centric)

tasuku insults one of izumi’s favourite playwrights and gets his ass handed to him like he deserves.

warnings: alcohol consumption, swearing, fighting

「 read here on ao3 」「 1.5k words 」

Sakyo had come home to a bundle of the kids standing at the balcony, screaming and whooping at something that was happening in the courtyard while a few of the adults watched.

They were loud; no doubt disturbing the other houses in their vicinity while Itaru, Azuma, Omi, and Tsumugi watched on with amusement.

"Shut the hell up! What are you all doing here so late at night?!" Sakyo had griped, grabbing Banri and Taichi by the back of their shirts to catch everyone's attention.

All of the adults ignored his stare once he turned his head without waiting for any of the teens to answer, his eyes burning with a wrath that no person wants to deal with.

Itaru and Tsumugi kept sipping at their beers while Omi only returned his glare with a smile. Azuma chuckled behind his cup of sake, and pointed in the direction of the courtyard where two people were standing.

"Tasuku got our little Izumi all riled up," the silver haired man said adoringly, "and she demanded they settle things with a fight."

He took a calm sip from his cup while his smiling eyes awaited for Sakyo's reaction, and the blond did not disappoint.

"Takato! Tachibana!" He shouted from the railing, completely throwing away his worries about their neighbours. Tasuku dwarfed Izumi; what was that girl thinking, trying to solve a dispute with physical force?

Izumi's head snapped up to where Sakyo stood at the balcony, her eyes filled with pure hatred and a tinge of sadness. Her face was flushed, a tell-tale sign that she was drunk as well as unable to make right decisions.

"Tasuku said the script to my favourite play was trash, Sakyo-kun!" She cried pitifully, her hand shooting out to grab the culprit by the neck of his shirt to make him face everyone on the balcony.

"Make him apologise!" Izumi demanded, shaking a glaring Tasuku who also seemed to be quite inebriated.

The scene playing in front of Sakyo was so ridiculous that he barely had enough time to react to the informal honorific Izumi had used, and he pinched the bridge of his nose at the absurdity of it all.

"Why should I when that playwright has never produced anything good in his life?" Tasuku snapped back, appalled at the idea of apologising when all he said was the truth. The truth!

Tsumugi sunk into his chair with a disappointed sigh. Tasuku and Izumi were around the same age, so they had no qualms removing any honorifics, but they seemed way too comfortable to be shouting at each other like this.

Itaru was busy tapping at his phone while his empty beer can hung from his lips, and Omi along with Azuma were only watching with those smiles of theirs; already deeming the situation non-salvageable.

"Both of you.." Sakyo groaned. He really didn't want to cause more of a ruckus than they already have.

He turned around to face the kids who were still standing there and began to push them towards the entrance. "All of you. Get back inside—"

"Holy shit!" Banri shouted, running past Sakyo's arms to run back to the railing with Taichi in tow.

"Izumi-san!" Muku shouted in terror, pupils dilating in terror as Juza tried to shield the poor boy from whatever was happening.

Even the adults had jumped out of their seats, Omi already rushing out of the balcony to head downstairs while Azuma followed with large, but slow strides. Itaru let out a guffaw while Tsumugi called out for Izumi in shock.

Everyone calling out Izumi's name had Sakyo spinning around to see what had happened to her, and he was just about ready to curse Tasuku out until he saw the scene in the courtyard: Takato groaning in pain on the grass while Izumi held her foot against his throat, one of her hands pulling his arm straight up in the air; a threat to apply pressure on his throat if he retaliated.

"Is Tasuku-san okay?!" Taichi gasped as he peered over the railing with Banri who was laughing at the whole scene, Izumi breaking down into tears once she saw Omi and Azuma showing up in the courtyard. The young woman ran towards the silver-haired man with a sob and ran into his open arms, pointing down at Tasuku as if she were a child telling on another.

"He hurt my feelings, Azu-san.." She wept, tears falling from her eyes like streams as the other adult brushed his fingers through her hair to keep the girl calm.

"Oh, sweetheart, it's okay." He cooed, chuckling as he watched Omi help the Winter Troupe member up. "But that wasn't very nice of you to do to poor ol' Tasuku."

Tasuku's face was still contorted with pain. Sakyo didn't get to see it, but everyone saw the man try to remove himself from Izumi's grip, only for the girl to counter him and throw his large frame over her shoulder by having an even firmer grip on his collar, her free hand curled around his wrist.

"Shit.." Tasuku tittered, the corners of his mouth lifting into an annoyed grin. Omi patted his back while not at all trying to hide the look of mirth in his eyes, and the acting junkie sighed. "That definitely sobered me up."

"So Izumi knows self-defense," Omi finally laughs, brushing off the grass that stuck on the actor. "good to know for next time, right, Takato?" he teased much to the dismay of the dark teal haired man.

Izumi looked up at Azuma with teary eyes causing the man to sigh in resignation as he used his thumbs to brush away her tears.

"Both of you need to apologise." Sakyo's voice boomed from where everyone else was standing at the balcony, the hype of seeing Izumi throw a six foot man over her shoulder finally dying down.

A huff from Tasuku, a sniffle from Izumi.

Both Azuma and Omi pushed the two forward so that they'd be standing toe-to-toe. Izumi had stopped crying at this point, but her face was still tinged a shade of pink, making Tasuku feel uncomfortable.

In order to patch things up, Tasuku offered himself up to Izumi like Azuma had done earlier. He didn't expect such a forceful hug from Izumi though, and he sputtered in surprise when she dove into his chest with a whimper; still very much drunk off her sixth can of beer.

"I'm sorry, Tachan." She burst into tears once again, her voice beginning to wilt as she called Tasuku by his nickname.

Everyone giggled, and seeing how the pair was calming down, Sakyo had convinced the youngsters to move their asses back inside.

"Huh. She's kind of cute like that." Itaru mumbled through his next can of beer, Tsumugi doing his best to rub away the frown on his forehead.

"..I'm sorry too." Tasuku grumbled unhappily, but held Izumi tight against his chest to calm her down. He was embarrassed at the fact that it was so easy for her to pin him to the ground, but was thoroughly impressed as well.

"Next time though," Tasuku leaned down to press his lips to her ear, voice eerie and scarily ominous, "you're dead."

"Hey." Omi chided, obviously hearing what Tasuku said. The taller man didn't have a chance to scold Tasuku any further though as he was kicked down to the ground once more, with Izumi sitting on his stomach while relentlessly slapping his chest

"You're only getting prince roles for the next few plays!" She shouted angrily, kicking her feet like a child as Omi struggled to pull her away from Tasuku.

"Absolutely not! That's not fair!" The man roared back, seething as Izumi tried to pounce again (she was caught by Omi).

"You lost your acting rights, Takato!" She growled.

"FUCK Y—"

Izumi and Tasuku were found kneeling in the lounge the next day, foreheads firmly pressed to the back of their hands at the feet of a pissed off Sakyo.

"You got the neighbours to call the cops on us for a domestic dispute." The yakuza hissed venomously.

All the kids who saw or heard the scene last night were biting at their nails in the dining room, terrified to see both Izumi and Tasuku humble and silent in front of their father figure.

"I don't care if you two wreak havoc, but it better not affect the company." He murmured, arms crossed over his chest with authority. Izumi and Tasuku's apologies were gentle, finished off with a 'sir', before they picked themselves up from the floor, continuing to kneel until Sakyo left the room.

Everyone in the kitchen sighed in relief thinking that everything was resolved, only to hear a startled scream from Izumi.

"Takato!" She groaned as she was pinned to the floor in the same way she had done to Tasuku last night. "Get o-off of me!" She squealed with a breathless laugh part growl, writhing underneath his wandering fingers as they tickled her sides and neck.

"You better give my rights back." He grinned devilishly, causing Izumi to shout in protest.

..And at this point, all the kids decided to leave those two on their own.

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huntergatherercreator · 4 years

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The Take Down | Part Three

Pairing: Mob!Tom Holland x Detective Reader

Summary: NYC has a new drug lord determined to wipe out any and all competition in order to grow his empire. You're going undercover to stop him.

Warnings: Mentions of prostitution and drugs.

Notes: All proof read but it’s been a long day so fingers crossed I haven’t missed anything obvious. The suit I’ve been picturing him in for this chapter is the grey one he wore to the Audi Polo Challenge event back in 2018, serious mob!tom vibes plus he’s just a full on snacc in it.

Enjoy! :)

Catch up here: Part One | Part Two

Part Three - 1700 Words

It was a risky decision but there wasn’t anyone I could trust more than a fellow cop. Especially one who knew what I was going through. "Zoey", as she was going by, had been under for 9 months. She was working to take down a prostitution ring. Like me, that meant immersing herself into the world. Dealing with the lowest of the low and having to contribute to the revenue to stay relevant. I knew from chatter on the streets that she was currently working out of a speakeasy in lower Manhattan. It was notorious for hosting an exclusive set of clientele and for books cleaner than a legitimate business’. We'd never been able to tie them down for any of the shady dealings rumoured to take place within its walls. If my conversation went well, then Zoey and I would be running two operations that could finally close its doors.

Staring up at the block of apartments the third floor window was open, curtains fluttering in the wind. It had just gone 7 am. Tate had cornered me earlier in the night and without a word had handed me a rucksack containing everything I needed to sell. I’d stashed it in the apartment, taking only what I needed with me to do a sweep of my new territory then set about following Zoey home from the bar. At this point I was running on fumes.

It didn’t take long for the first commuters of the morning to leave. No-one in this area knew their neighbours. No-one wanted too, so it gave me the opportunity to slip into the stairwell past a young waitress without getting a second glance. Reaching the apartment door I assessed the best way to approach her, deciding to knock and stay out of sight. It took a second before I caught soft footsteps approaching. There was a slight hesitation at the door before it cracked open. I made sure to step into view slowly.

“Hello, Zoey.”

She leaned out of the doorway, scanning the hall before stepping back. “You better come in.”

She waved to the loveseat at the window and I took a tentative seat. Her apartment appeared refreshingly tidy, but on closer inspection it was due to the lack of any personal items. There were no magazines on the coffee table. No favourite mug set next to the coffee machine. It wasn’t far off what my own must look like.

Detouring to the fridge Zoey removed two bottles of beer before joining me. I took her in as she got settled, feet tucked under her. She hadn’t got around to removing her nights make-up yet, hair still tight in dark plaits that hung to her waist.

She broke the silence first. “You look like shit.”

“I’ve been worse,” I reminded her. “You look like you’re doing well.” I watched her laugh humourlessly before taking a deep sip of her drink.

Her fingers started toying with the end of a braid. “Yeah, I’ve been having a great time.”

“That’s not what I meant,” I started to protest but she shook her head with a small smile.

“I know. It’s just been tough” Letting her braid drop she finally made eye contact with me. “I take it you’re not here to tell me I can come home.” There was no glimmer of hope in her eyes, she already knew the answer. I put my untouched bottle onto the coffee table and clasped my hands to chase away the chill it had left.

“I’m under too. I need your help.”

“I feel like I’m going to need something stronger.” Waving at me to start my story she moved to dig around in her kitchenette cupboards for a clean glass and a bottle of whiskey. I ran through what had happened, who I was after and laid out my proposition to her.

“I want to use your girls to help sell the extra supply. I’ll still be working independently each night to keep pushing to my regulars and-” Zoey was shaking her head before I could finish the sentence.

“Y/N, I’m running a brothel out of the club. I can’t be a mistress and a drug mule. It’s bad enough I can’t protect the girls when I’m stuck behind the bar all night. I can’t be keeping my eye on any users too.”

“How many girls would you let in on the deal?” I questioned, trying to work things out.

Her lips pursed as she stared into her already half empty glass. “There’s maybe five that I could trust to do it discreetly.”

“What if I agree to play security? With five girls I can make the target. If we up the price, to one more suitable for their type of clients, then I can use the profit to pay off a dealer and keep my streets covered leaving me free. The rest will be split between the girls.”

“You’d give them the profit?” Her brows had risen in surprise.

“Of course. I’m not looking to advertise that I’m making more than the required amount. Not yet anyway.” She downed what was left in her glass and held out a hand.

“You’ve got a deal, as long as you understand that if this starts to affect my investigation then I’m out and you’re on your own.”

“Understood.” I returned her handshake.

****

The first few nights of our new agreement had gone smoothly, if slowly. The girls took to selling easily in between their other activities. The issue had been convincing the men to buy, most had other sources already, but by the end of their allotted time they’d usually been won round by one of the girls. As promised I watched them every night, ensuring no-one harassed them while they worked their way around the room. The club had security guards to ensure only men on the guest list got in and break up any fights between them. They never stepped in for the girls.

Seated at the end of the bar I alternated between watching the entrance and keeping tabs on them. The main room held maybe 100 people and was already full twenty minutes after opening. The smooth gloss top of the bar ran from beside the stairwell door to the opposite wall. The back shelving was pristine glass, the upper shelves backed with mirrors while the bottom had soft looking purple velvet which matched the plush walls of the VIP area at the opposite end of the room. Instead of an obnoxiously loud DJ, soft jazz was filtered in from the ceiling speakers. Loud enough to block out conversations but not enough to disrupt them. Dimmed crystal sconces lined the walls, one over each of the eight booth seats, casting the room in a warm hazy light. With it being a Friday night every seat was taken up by a businessman of some description. All were completely indistinguishable in the sea of navy and black suits.

Zoey caught my eye across the bar; minutely tipping her head towards the VIP area that had slowly filled up. I watched one of the girls coyly drag one of the occupants out through the adjacent door that led behind the scenes. The bar was situated on the basement level of a convenience store and the restricted area extended well under the neighbouring two buildings allowing plenty of private spaces out of earshot. I threw Zoey a questioning look and she rolled her eyes before moving a hand to subtly rub her side. I snapped my eyes back to the VIP’s. It took a second for me to pick out who she was referring to as they stood just behind the curtain fringing the area. His face was shadowed as he stood stock still watching over the men around him. I’d first placed him as a newbie, unsure what his place was after being dragged along after work, suit not as expensive as the others as it was cut wrong and too bulky around the body. I’d got it wrong. I clenched my hand to stop it shaking. It wasn’t a tailoring error. It was to help conceal a weapon. I cursed myself.

I made to do a sweep of the room, get closer to properly assess him but Zoey shook her head. She was right; it was too dangerous with the club this full. I was completely off my game. I took a steadying breath and tried to focus.

As I watched, a new man entered and took a seat at the booth’s edge, hand instantly waving to get the attention of a server. My stomach tightened as I recognised him. Sam Arnold, looking as sleek and kept as he had during our first encounter relaxed into the seat and started chatting to the fellow VIP’s. I ran over the faces of his companions. Each one was nondescript. I couldn’t tell if they were associates from his business or from Hollands. My jaw clenched as I bit back my rising frustration.

I barely had time to dwell on how I’d managed to let so much slip past me before the entrance opened again. My breath caught as a figure entered donned in a long duster coat, the collar up around their face. With his head down all I could see was dark curls. A hush started, trailing around the room like smoke until everyone had stopped talking to appraise the newcomer. I tried to tell myself he wouldn’t be that brazen. He wouldn’t be caught in a public place when his weekly death toll had reached double figures.

They stopped at the VIP entrance. Shrugging his jacket off to reveal a light grey suit, he hung it over the back of the last vacant seat. I didn’t dare blink. The build, the height, those curls. My brain refused to process that he could be here. He turned then, unbuttoning his suit jacket leisurely and taking in the expanse of the room. Holland was here. My heart beat double time, my fingers itched to reach for a gun I didn’t have. He was here in my sights and I’d have to sit and do nothing.

---------

Taglist:

@spideylovin

@lukesbabylon

Part Four now up!

#mob!tom #mob!tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland

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alexanderwrites · 7 years

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Remembering George A. Romero: The Lasting Political Impact of Night of the Living Dead

What is a zombie? Is it a creature from some far away place? An inhuman monster from a far flung planet? Or is it a person that you know turning on you? George A. Romero’s seminal 1968 Survival Horror Night of the Living Dead is a film that knows that a true and visceral fear comes from the latter of these options.

The 1950′s were a golden era for cold-war paranoia Horror cinema, where the constant threat of annihilation came down from distant worlds. Horrors like The Thing from Another World played ferociously into the fear of invasion of the body and the home (even if that home is a research base in the Arctic) by creatures from far away places. Films with a more satirical slant like Invasion of the Body-Snatchers criticised that fear, and the awful McCarthy Witch-Hunts that fuelled it. These films (and the classic Twilight Zone episode The Monsters are Due on Maple Street, which is Rod Serling at his most scathing and brilliant) paved the way for the onus in Horror to fall onto the specific individual rather than the vague alien threat. Audiences of the 1960s got a new thirst for movie monsters that looked like people, and that thirst was only encouraged by the one-two knock out that kicked off the decade with Psycho and Peeping Tom, both released within months of each other and both exploring killers that are terrifyingly human.

The decade continued with enough Vincent Price led horrors to fill a House of Wax (I know - that was from 1953. Just let me have that joke), movies mostly about sadists and torturers, yet most of whom bared recognisably human traits. They became your friends and neighbours, and so the paranoia continued. The Horrors of the 1960′s were either personal or political, but not usually both. Similarly, the films were either about Monsters or Human monsters, but not usually both. In 1968, that changed. It’s hard to express what a strange and careful amalgam Night of the Living Dead is, and harder still is to work out how the hell it manages all that in a tight 90 minutes. The film is personal and political, about monsters and human monsters.

Though the concept of Zombies had been tackled on screen before, Romero’s film laid the ground rules for what a zombie is and should be, as well as crafting the framework for almost every Zombie film to come. The actors playing the Zombies in the film have very little makeup applied* and don’t look all that different to their still breathing counterparts. They just move a lot slower and aren’t as chatty. Modern audiences are used to running, screaming, SmartZombies with almost super-human abilities, which I don’t take too much issue with. Different directors will interpret monsters in their own manner. But it does make them inhuman, and what makes Romero’s Zombies so effective is that they really aren’t all that special, that they sort of ARE still human. They’re just a bunch of occasionally naked people who are acting on a disturbingly primal instinct: to kill and to eat.

*this might have been down to budgetary issues - the film cost a meagre $114,000

The violence these ex-people inflict upon the living is far more upsetting and troubling than any violence that a creature from mars could inflict: Barbara being attacked towards the end of the film by her brother Johnny is invasive and terrifying. What is really scarier: being attacked by a monster, or being attacked by a loved one? The commentary is bleak but pertinent - that humanity’s tendencies to turn on and cannibalise itself is the ultimate terror. Romero builds his film on more specificity than this, highlighting that the violence of Modern America is this cannibalisation in effect. When the gun that is used prolifically throughout the film is first discovered, the one item we see placed directly next to it is the American Flag.

To have such a vivid criticism in a Horror film from 1968, when absurd jingoism battled with the vanguard of objectors and protestors, is bold to say the least. 1968 was when the Vietnam War saw its bloodiest year, and the culture of violence against the so-called other was at its peak. This leaks its way into the film, through the crowds of Zombies outside, and seeps through into the boarded up house, where the real terror unfolds. For all the violence that America committed overseas, it also committed at home. This violence befell upon on its own citizens - namely Black citizens. Medgar Evers and Malcolm X had been assassinated by the time the film’s script came together, and Martin Luther King would be assassinated just months before the film saw its first cinematic release. Though Romero has claimed that in retrospect, he would’ve liked to have explored race in the film more thoroughly, it is hard to watch the film and not see political and racial commentary permeating the story. It is impossible to watch the film and not recognise that Night of the Living Dead is one of the only (if not THE only) major Horror films of the 1960′s to feature a black protagonist. This in itself is landmark, but even more so is how the black protagonist, Ben, is portrayed.

Make no mistake about it: Ben is the hero of the film. He is consistently portrayed as a natural leader, and moreover, he knows he is the leader. He discovers that the Zombies are afraid of fire, and he sets about dismantling and re-assembling the home as a fortified refuge. He is a literal fucking torchbearer.

Eschewing tiring stereotypes of the era (stereotypes which would be heavily reinforced in the Blaxploitation genre a couple of years later), Ben is allowed to be a true original, bearing none of the harmful and limiting cliches that white writers loved to apply to black characters in that era (and hell, lets not pretend it was just a 1960′s thing. Black characters in Horror - and cinema in general - are still wildly underrepresented and often poorly written or underwritten). Ben doesn’t cower in the corner, he isn’t superstitious or paranoid, and when faced with a panicky coward who attempts to overthrow his authority, he only gains agency. Because creeping up from the basement is the real villain of the film, and he’s not a Zombie. He’s just a regular looking guy named Harry.

He’s been hiding in the basement, all the while Ben has been protecting and reinforcing the home that Harry has failed to protect. “How long have you guys been down there? I could’ve done with some help up here”, Ben says. What is great about this right from the get-go Ben is not taking any crap from Harry. He’s not allowing him to get away with his selfishness. Harry is immediately threatened by Ben, and spends the rest of the film this way. He constantly speaks in a raised voice to Ben, he calls him “crazy” and “stupid” and meets every suggestion of his with anger and confusion. Harry is so used to being the boss that he wilfully segregates the house, even though that means putting himself and his family in mortal danger, in a dark basement with only one exit. “The cellar is the strongest place!” he insists. He is using his masculine, almost militaristic bravado by relying on the concept of ‘strength’ and ‘power’, when really what the situation calls for is intelligence - and the ability to get the fuck out of there if they need to. He is tearing down a house that Ben is trying to keep together.

Ben blankly tells Harry: “If you’re staying up here, you’re taking orders from ME”. This sticks in Harry’s throat, and he carries this with him throughout the film, unable to fathom that he has just been told what to do. Harry is someone who is asking for a fight - he wants a chance to be angry, to exercise his power, or just to speak his mind about everything. The growing tension and air of violence within the house mirrors the torn world outside of it, and highlights just how prone to violence Men can be if they tell themselves they are ‘protecting themselves’. And yet, Harry has nothing to protect himself from in regards to Ben. Ben is not a danger to him and is the one trying hardest to - and most likely to - keep them all alive. Harry is consistently the aggressor in the situation, and uses everything in his power to remove the agency and power of this Black Man who is smarter and more of a hero than him. Harry doesn’t realise that in trying to sabotage Ben, he is really sabotaging himself - or maybe he does know but he doesn’t care, because he’d rather die than listen to a black man. Harry is just like the Zombies outside: functioning on his most primal emotions. His happen to be fear and anger. Towards the end, Ben desperately tries to push back the Zombies and stop them from overcoming him. But it’s already too late, because the real threat is in the house and he’s not looking to help.

He’s looking at the gun which Ben has dropped, and which he wastes no time in grabbing and turning on Ben himself.

What reason does he have to point the gun at Ben, who is unarmed? What purpose is he serving, besides acquiring a sort of ‘power’ from the gun, and from having something that Ben doesn’t? This is what Harry is obsessed with: Power. Not Zombies, not survival, but supremacy. And it is ultimately his suicide, as a fight over the gun leads to Ben killing Harry. Harry, once again, was the aggressor, the one who purposefully provoked Ben and couldn’t believe it when he stood up for himself. This moment is iconic, landmark, and a confrontation that the film has been building towards. It is what the film runs on, the hubristic, prejudicial fear of the White American Man that anyone who is not you is your enemy. And by the time morning comes and the Zombies have left, something much more terrifying has taken their place: the so-called saviours.

Throughout the film we see footage of this group of cops and vigilantes, who look and function scarily like a lynch mob. The news footage of them is frighteningly authentic as they casually boast about how to kill Zombies, almost as if they were never people at all. They show no remorse, no emotion, and almost enjoy their self-appointed work. There are shades of Vietnam Soldiers in them, as well as striking visual similarities between them and the vicious foot-soldiers featured in harrowing news footage from that era, sent in with weaponry to disperse protestors and marchers. And of course it is them who enact the bleakest ending to a Horror Film ever put on the screen.

Ben, who has done everything right throughout the film, is murdered by the mob. They don’t call out to him when they see him. They don’t attempt to ascertain whether or not he is infected. They aim and they shoot. His so-called protectors kill him. They are the ones appointed to help, but they are hunters. “Nice shot”, says one of them. It is a sport to them, and not a human life that they’ve just taken. The phrase “Shoot now, ask questions later” comes to mind. The White authority figure has killed the Black person. The action of pulling a trigger is as simple and unremarkable to them as taking the life of the victim is. It is all too familiar.

Whether or not this film was intended as political, these images carry an inherent cultural relevance unlike any images seen in a horror film since. We may not live in a world of Zombies, but we do live in a world where scenes like this happen every day, enacted by people with power stolen from their victims. It is an audacious final scene; remorselessly grim but achingly real. Horror films have implemented the fake-out happy ending ever since. Final frames will always attempt to lull you into safety then throw you back out again. Jason will burst out from under the water to claim another victim. Death will convolutedly send a swinging billboard to swoop down and crush a teenager.

But do many horror films carry the weight that Night of the Living Dead carries? That weight was achieved by tapping so keenly into what we fear and what we know about our culture, and what we fear and know about ourselves. The twist wasn’t that there were still Zombies out there, it was that there were people out there and that they were the monsters. This may have been covered many times since, but in a 1968 monster movie, it was revelatory and unflinchingly critical.

We are currently going through a resurgence of quality, smart Horror cinema. We are also going through a time of Political and Societal inequality. We need more of our art to reflect this. Aren’t the shittiest political times when we get the best Hip Hop and Punk albums? Shouldn’t Horror cinema be the same? Horrors that tap into social politics should be thriving - and the best (but perhaps only) example of this in modern Horror is Jordan Peele’s Get Out, which doubtlessly and deservedly will be entered into the great modern Horror canon. After the passing of Romero, Peele has expressed his love of Night of the Living Dead, and I hope that more Horror directors begin to make films that carry with them this social comment. I hope we get more Horrors from Directors of Colour, and Female Directors. I hope we start to get perspectives that we haven’t heard enough from in the genre. Now is the time for angry, personal and political filmmaking, and I hope that we get Horror films that are as pertinent today as Night of the Living Dead was in 1968 - and still is in 2017.

#night of the living dead #george a romero #horror #politics #cinema

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todaybharatnews · 5 years

Link

via Today Bharat nbsp; At the centre of the issue is Seva Mitra, the Telugu Desam Partyrsquo;s official app.Haripriya Sureshnbsp; The governments of Andhra Pradesh and Telangana have now locked horns over a data breach allegation of over 3 crore people. Andhra Chief Minister N Chandrababu Naidu, his son and minister Nara Lokesh and the Telangana Chief Ministerrsquo;s son and MLA K T Rama Rao have all traded accusations. At the eye of the storm is Seva Mitra, the Telugu Desam Partyrsquo;s official app. The complaint It all began on March 2, when the office of private firm IT Grids, the developer of the Seva Mitra app, was raided by the Cyberabad police. The raid was carried out after a complaint was filed by T Lokeshwar Reddy, a data analyst. In his complaint, Lokeshwar alleged that IT Grids stole data of beneficiaries of Andhra Pradesh schemes from the state government database and processed the data without their consent. The Cyberabad police, along with cybercrime officials, raided the office, took four employees into custody and confiscated computers, hard disks and other devices. The firm was then booked for violating provisions of data theft (under the IT Act), cheating and criminal conspiracy. Lokeshwar filed the complaint after he claimed to have found that TDP cadres were going door to door to collect data using the Seva Mitra app. However, the app has features that would classify voters based on constituency and booths. Party workers going door to door were allegedly expected to identify voters at the booth level and enter their data, including caste, political party preference, rate a party on a scale of 1 to 10, and other personal details. The app also collected voter data on the number of government schemes a voter avails of and the amount received in state subsidies. However, the TDP maintains that it is their official app, which is used for communication among the partyrsquo;s 75 lakh members to give them information. Jurisdiction On March 2, the day the Lokeswara filed his complaint with the Madhapur police station in Hyderabad, the Cyberabad police began their investigation and detained four persons from IT Grids for questioning. The same day the IT company owner, D Ashok, filed a missing persons complaint with the Andhra Police regarding one of his employees. A police team from Andhra Pradesh then arrived in Hyderabad and took control of the IT Grids office located at Madhapur. This unannounced entry by the AP police into the Cyberabad police commissionerate miffed the Telangana police who had arrived at the firmrsquo;s premises to raid the office. Four persons from IT Grids were taken in for questioning and several computers were confiscated by the Cyberabad police.nbsp;nbsp; On March 3, another team from Andhra Pradesh arrived to investigate the case of missing persons filed by the IT Grids firm. This team went to Lokeshwarrsquo;s residence in Hyderabad. The local police and some leaders of the YSR Congress Party reportedly resisted the Andhra Police team's attempts to arrest him. This team of Andhra police from Guntur allegedly abused and threatened the data analyst in front of his family. According to reports, Lokeswara claims the AP police even tried to take him away with them but their plans were put on hold by a team of Telangana police. The Telangana police now have offered the data analyst protection. They have also booked cases against unidentified persons from the AP police department. A fight then broke out between the Andhra Pradesh and Telangana governments over who had jurisdiction over the case. ldquo;Telangana has no jurisdiction to take action or file FIR in this particular case. The YSRCP and the TRS are claiming that they have there is information of 3 crore people of Andhra. Then why didn't the Telangana govt, upon receiving a complaint from an individual, immediately contact the Andhra Election Commissioner or the Chief Election Commissioner?rdquo; TDP spokesperson Sadineni Yamini told TNM. KT Rama Rao addressed this in a press conference on March 4 and said, ldquo;The crime took place in Hyderabad, the complainant is also in Hyderabad, then why shouldn't we take action?rdquo; He also objected to the actions of the Andhra police, who reportedly tried to detain Lokeshwar. ldquo;What job does the Andhra police have in Telangana? The crime took place under Telangana police jurisdiction. How can Andhra police raid a whistleblower's residence and abuse him? Isn't it wrong?rdquo; he asked. Allegations The rift between the two states over the issue also played out on Twitter with #TSGovtStealsData becoming a trending hashtag. The TRS alleged that the TDP had hired an agency to trend the hashtag with tweets against the government. The party even released names of verified twitter handles that were tweeting using the #TSGovtStealsData hashtag against the TRS. Lashing out at Chandrababu Naidu and Nara Lokesh, KTR said, ldquo;Let Naidu and Lokesh accept that there has been a data theft. Let them stand up for scrutiny. If there has been a data theft, let them face the music.rdquo; On the other hand, the TDP has alleged that the TRS government had stolen their data as the hard disk and other material was seized without giving any prior information or notice to the owner of IT Grids. This, according to the spokesperson, was because the TRS and the BJP are trying to help YSRCP chief Jagan Mohan Reddy, who is the Andhra governmentrsquo;s opposition party and an ally of the TRS. The spokesperson also alleged that the seizure of the hard disks showed that there is no safety of data for companies in Telangana, and that the TRS government has been attacking companies and industries from Andhra. The police After four employees of IT Grids were detained by the Cyberabad police when they searched the office on March 2, Ashok, the firmrsquo;s founder, filed a habeas corpus petition with the Telangana High Court. The TDP had alleged that the four employees had been kidnapped. However, the court dismissed this petition after the police presented the four detained employees and clarified that they did not arrest them but detained them for investigation. But the Cyberabad police went ahead with its investigation. Addressing a press conference on March 4, Cyberabad Police Commissioner said that on the basis of Lokeshwarrsquo;s complaint, a case was registered against IT Grids at the Madhapur police station on Saturday under sections 20B, 379 (Punishment for theft), 420 (Cheating and dishonestly inducing delivery of property) and 188 (Disobedience to order duly promulgated by public servant) of the Indian Penal Code (IPC) and sections 72 (Penalty for breach of confidentiality and privacy) and 66B (Punishment for dishonestly receiving stolen computer resource or communication device) of the IT Act. Cyberabad Commissioner Sajjanar said that Ashok, the head of IT Grids, was the main accused in the case and since he failed to appear before the police despite being served notice, he should surrender along with the materials. The Telangana police also suspect a link between the misuse of data and deletion of voters' names in Andhra Pradesh. Sajjanar said the police in the neighbouring state had registered over 45 cases against people who have lodged online complaints seeking removal of names of eligible voters from the electoral rolls. The police have also issued a notice to Amazon Web Services private limited for the production of a database relating to the application and other data. "We are also writing to the UIDAI and the Election Commission for more details,rdquo; he said. The Police Commissioner also took strong exception to the team from the Andhra Pradesh police rushing to Hyderabad without permission and interfering in the investigation. A case of criminal trespass and intimidation has been registered against the Andhra Pradesh cops at the Kukatpally police station. ldquo;In what way is Lokeswara Reddy linked to the missing case booked in Pedakakani in Guntur? When the witnesses in the data theft case are with us, without consulting us, how can Guntur police book a case? Within three-and-half hours after the case was booked, an FIR was registered and AP cops came to Madhapur from Pedakakani. AP police team not only intimidated the complainant in a data theft case, but also went to the houses of the families of witnesses and recorded their statements. We have booked a case against the AP cops and the law will take its course.rdquo; Sajjanar told Times of India. nbsp; On March 5, Chandrababu Naidu warned the Telangana government that if it files one case, he will respond with four cases. He also lashed out on Twitter and said, ldquo;We won't remain calm if you keep raid under the guise of data theft, data is party's private issue. If somebody interferes in it, it will shake your foundations. You will have to pay the price for your crimes, be careful.rdquo; ldquo;Who are Telangana police to file a case when the data belongs to Andhra Pradesh? Some random person complained and since you have data, will you raid the companies in Andhra Pradesh?rdquo; he added. KTR, lashing out at Naidu, tweeted, ldquo;By obstructing Telangana police and filing false petitions in courts, AP CM @ncbn is only indirectly confirming his role in leaking personal information of crores of AP citizens to a private organisation. He needs to answer people of Andhra Pradesh.rdquo; nbsp; A complaint was also reportedly filed against Chandrababu Naidu at Hyderabadrsquo;s KPHB police station.

#IFTTT #Today Bharat

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marilynngmesalo · 5 years

Text

A TALE OF 2 ARRESTS: Milwaukee cops confront a white man and a black man, one gets shot

A TALE OF 2 ARRESTS: Milwaukee cops confront a white man and a black man, one gets shot A TALE OF 2 ARRESTS: Milwaukee cops confront a white man and a black man, one gets shot http://bit.ly/2SErs6F

MILWAUKEE — In the course of 15 months and in the space of one city block, Milwaukee police twice encountered two suspects they believed were armed.

One was black; one was white.

One was in fact unarmed; one had a gun.

One was shot; one was not.

That the black man was the one who was shot — though he had no weapon — might come as little surprise at a time when police shootings involving black men seem commonplace nationally.

Milwaukee has been an epicentre. In 2014, Dontre Hamilton, a mentally ill man, was shot 14 times by police. In August 2016, 23-year-old Sylville Smith was killed by an officer. After the first, the city equipped police with bodycams; after the second, there were riots.

The shooting of 19-year-old Jerry Smith Jr. in 2017 did not set off similar convulsions. And the blood-free resolution of the standoff involving 20-year-old Brandon Baker this past November drew little notice. But taken together, they prompt a difficult and unanswerable question:

If their races were reversed — if Smith were white, and Baker were black — would Baker have been the one who was left bleeding and writhing in pain?

———

In the darkness on Nov. 6, Election Day, Baker took to the roof of his apartment building and started firing guns. His neighbours, alarmed, called police.

Until then, his criminal record consisted of minor traffic violations, pot possession, and carrying a concealed weapon in September.

This undated photo provided by the Milwaukee County Sheriff’s Office in December 2018 shows Brandon Baker. (Milwaukee County Sheriff’s Office via AP)

He’d created his Twitter account a few days prior and started writing about running for governor, promising money for underfunded schools, pledging to legalize marijuana. He would pardon all felons so they could regain their right to bear arms.

Just after 5 a.m., two police officers sent to the scene encountered Baker on Michigan Avenue, in front of the entrance to the building.

He refused to drop the AR-15 semi-automatic rifle he was holding. He admitted that he had fired the shots earlier, and said he had posted a video of it on Twitter. He told the officers he was running for governor, that he was going to the polls to “air it out,” that he was going to start a militia. He had a right to bear arms, he said.

As they talked, other officers approached him quietly from behind, and tackled him.

“I’m not moving, don’t shoot me!” Baker screamed in the video he was broadcasting, which WISN-TV obtained before its removal from Twitter.

Not a shot was fired.

In addition to the rifle he was holding, Baker had three loaded handguns — one in his backpack, another in his waistband, and a third in his jacket, prosecutors said. In his apartment, they said officers found 232 grams of THC, the psychoactive ingredient of marijuana; 14 stamps saturated with LSD; and 73 jars of what were believed to be psilocybin mushrooms.

Baker faces numerous charges, including recklessly endangering safety and “maintaining a drug trafficking place.” His public defender, who did not respond to requests to comment, has ordered a second doctor’s evaluation to determine whether he’s competent to stand trial.

———

On Aug. 31, 2017, officers Melvin Finkley and Adam Stahl were on patrol when they received a call about a man with a gun in the predominantly black neighbourhood west of downtown Milwaukee. Finkley is black; Stahl is white.

It was around 1 p.m. when they got to the parking garage at North 29th Street and West Wisconsin Avenue. Jerry Smith was on the roof.

That afternoon, he and a friend had gone to a house in the neighbourhood to confront someone with whom Smith had a problem. Police later said Smith and his friend were looking for a fight, and after a brawl ensued with several others, Smith left to get a gun. When an officer approached him to ask about the fight, he ran away and took to the roof.

A handful of officers below were yelling commands, telling him to put his hands up because they had him surrounded.

Two officers stood on the stairs leading up to the garage’s roof. When Finkley and Stahl approached, Finkley asked: “He got the gun in his hand?”

“He doesn’t have a gun in his hand, but he was hiding behind the AC unit,” an officer responded.

The tip that Smith had a gun came from the people he’d been fighting.

Finkley and Stahl climbed to the roof with their guns trained on Smith and joined the chorus of officers yelling commands. Smith briefly extended his arms just above his waist to show his empty hands, palms out, then began crouching slowly to the ground. That’s when the two officers fired three shots, with one bullet grazing Smith’s head and the others striking his abdomen.

“I’m going to die!” Smith wailed in agony, on the ground. “I didn’t do nothing.”

The encounter lasted about 10 seconds. No gun was found.

———

Smith survived, but his right leg is partially paralyzed and he needs a cane to walk. He wasn’t charged with a crime and has a pending federal lawsuit against the police, alleging officers acted “with deliberate indifference.”

“I had my hands up. It’s on them,” Smith said at a recent news conference.

“Everybody scared of the police, every black man that’s from around” the neighbourhood where the shooting occurred, he said.

youtube

But the Milwaukee district attorney’s office reviewed Smith’s shooting and concluded the officers’ actions were justified because they “reasonably believed” Smith was armed, based on information from dispatch, and they thought he might reach for a gun behind the air conditioning unit.

Milwaukee Police Chief Alfonso Morales said people need to consider “the totality of the circumstances” when an officer is involved in a shooting. He said officers are under stress and taking in a lot of information — from what they are told while responding to a call to their own observations — and they have to make sense of it all in seconds.

“I’ve been involved in these things. And I can tell you, in the incidents I’ve been involved in more than once, when it happened, my body just did it. … There are things that are instinctual after you do it over and over again,” Morales said, at a Dec. 6 meeting of the Milwaukee Common Council.

This shooting was recorded in its entirety by Stahl’s body camera. Experts who viewed the video at the request of The Associated Press were not in agreement on what it revealed, though they acknowledged that there was little in it that justified the shooting.

Jeff Noble, an officer for 30 years who’s now a law enforcement consultant, said he saw no “immediate threat” posed by Smith but echoed Morales’ wariness of criticizing the officers’ reactions, if only because the camera did not capture everything the officers saw: “I have the luxury of sitting here in my office watching this and playing it back multiple times.”

Kevin Cokley, a psychology professor and director of the Institute for Urban Policy Research & Analysis at the University of Texas at Austin, was unequivocal: “This was not a justified shooting.”

Smith didn’t exactly follow the officers’ commands to keep his hands up, Cokley said, but he also didn’t make a move toward his pocket or waistband and police already had a tactical advantage with their guns pointed at him.

Cokley, who has written op-eds about police shootings of unarmed black men, said, “Reactions based on fear within the context of policing are often driven by implicit bias. Black males are viewed as more dangerous, even in instances when they pose no danger.”

———

Milwaukee Mayor Tom Barrett declined to comment on Smith’s shooting because there’s pending litigation, but in a statement he cautioned against comparing the Smith and Baker cases.

“Comparing two separate incidents is inevitably problematic because circumstances police officers face and observations they make are different in every situation,” he said.

Others, though, are troubled by two encounters with very different outcomes.

Alderman Khalif Rainey, who is black, contrasted Smith’s shooting with how police apprehended Baker “without having to harm him at all.”

Rainey said he’s stopped believing he’ll never find himself in a situation like Smith’s.

“It’s real serious. At one point in time I thought, ’Not me,”’ he said. “But now it’s like, something goes wrong, you make the wrong move, you make the wrong gesture … and now I’m shot. Now I’m paralyzed. Now I’m dead.”

Click for update news Bangla news http://bit.ly/2CTfCQy world news

#metronews24 bangla #Latest Online Breaking Bangla News #Breaking Bangla News #prothom alo #bangla news #b

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vidhi-fate · 5 years

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Do we really need “culture”?

Let me clarify what I mean when I say culture. I come from a land steeped in heritage and culture - India. We tend to glorify our past and ignore our follies. Our past has given us and the world amazing inventions, concepts, people, etc. We are proud of our culture and Indians the world over try to hang on to notions of the past and dreams of the future.

Our culture also has unpleasant things, which we hang on to refusing to let these practices go. What unpleasant things? The list can vary from person to person. For me though, the two things that I really wish we let go of and look beyond are (a) the caste system, and (b) toxic patriarchy.

These concepts worked in the past for historical reasons, and were rigidly enforced to keep people in check. It was perhaps felt that for a population comprising millions of people, society needed to find a place for everyone and define roles. Seems logical enough. Where the system breaks down is when people don’t want to be defined by those rules anymore and want to change. Then society steps in to either “discipline” these individuals or ostracize them altogether. No free will here.

Let’s take the caste system first. It is a logical construct, an ancient division of labour, if you will. Roles are dished out to different communities about what is expected of them and how they are to behave. The system enabled vast volumes of knowledge to be passed down from one generation to the next. A plethora of ideas, concepts and inventions. Universities that were known the world over in ancient times and attracted one and all as beacons of light. Even though these universities were destroyed, a lot of the knowledge survived through the people. I am not saying that this is because of the caste system, only that perhaps it was one plus side of the system of knowledge transfer that happened within castes.

Unfortunately, people are people and instead of looking at the castes as guidelines, and allowing people to move within caste due to merit rather than birth, people abused it for their own personal gains. Caste fiefdoms were formed and continue to this day. These are not only “upper caste” fiefdoms, but each caste has their own set of organisations, committees, lobbies which fight for their own personal gain. It builds and fosters a sense of mistrust, entitlement, and violence, the likes of which puts even animals to shame. Mob lynching, rape, discrimination, opportunism - everything we see in the news - are a symptom of a deeper rot. A rot which is well known and exploited by nefarious elements which exist in all strata of society. Why blame just politicians, or cops, or administration? They come from among us. The rot exists in the common man too. The famed common man who is often shown as a hapless pawn in the hands of the corrupt. The common man who sits silently when a woman is being eve teased; who sits silently when people suffering from mental health issues are labeled “mad”; who knowingly attends weddings where dowry exchanges hands; who cuts people from inter-caste marriages out from society; who blames the victims rather than the oppressors. We, the commoners, are all responsible for this rot. And we do nothing about it. No one wants to rock the boat. Everyone wants to move in a herd mentality. Because of our silence and cowardice, our society has cases of child abuse, the Muzzaffar Nagar abuse racket, violence on helpless citizens who just want to express an opinion, and so on. Why go out? Look at domestic violence and abuse in our own homes.

The next is toxic patriarchy, and in the same breath toxic matriarchy too. For both concepts attempt to subjugate one at the expense of another. Men don’t cry, mard ko dard nahi hota (a man doesn’t feel pain), men must not show weakness, men must bottle up all emotions except aggression (that one can be on free display; the more aggressive the more “manly” one is), men must provide, men must fight, the list is endless! Women must not wear this or that, they must protect their socially defined “modesty”, must not go out late at night, must not trust boys, must not be aggressive or ambitious, must cook, must take care of the house, it’s a pretty demanding list too. And now with the MeToo movement, ironically we can’t even object for fear of having our careers torpedoed. Men and women are both trapped in this vicious cycle of hate and deprivation. We receive it and hence dish it out with equal fervour. We become vanguards of the very system that represses us. For what? To score imaginary brownie points with the culture police? With our own society? With our own family? To show we stick to the line and will also enforce it? Why can’t we respect people for who they are rather than who society wants them to be?

Scores of reformists in the past attempted to change this mindset. They made significant headway for their times. Unfortunately, somewhere in the rush of making money and earning our daily bread, we forget that this fight must go on. The fight to remove this plague from our society, not just some isolated sections of society, but every town, every village, every home, every person. We forgot that while India has existed for hundreds of years, still it is but a 70-odd year young country united under one banner for the first time in history. We were a collection of kingdoms, each subject to the personality of its monarch. If the monarch was good and progressive, the people prospered. If not, the people suffered. They were divided and hence open to constant invasions. No one spoke in one voice, and hence we were ruled by many outsiders over our history.

For the first time, we are united under one banner - India, or perhaps a more apt description would be United India. For the first time, our diverse populace is all in it together. What affects one, affects the other too. For the first time, we have a collective voice as one nation. Unity in diversity, as we were taught in school and a lesson I kept close to my heart ever since.

We must remind ourselves that we are a young old nation. Old enough to have a memory, but young enough to know that there is a lot of work ahead of us and a lot we must do. We need to clear our house of the scourge of the past and move forward to a new country. Unfortunately, it isn’t only economic growth we must focus on, but social growth and unity as well. That isn’t going to happen if fringe elements with violent dispositions start taking the centre stage and hijacking the narrative. Misguided and outdated custodians of “culture” cannot make us feel unsafe in our own country and tell us how to think. Our “culture” has always been open minded and open to interpretation. Each person’s side has been demonstrated in epics such as the Ramayan and Mahabharat, and no one is spared the rod of Karma. Jaisi karni, waisi bharni (you reap what you sow).

It is time that people stood in support of sense rather than mindless violence. In support of ambiguity rather than absolute autocracy. In support of many truths rather than one absolute truth. We are, after all, the land of 33 million gods; a fact that stuns foreigners, but as Indians we know that it stands of freedom of faith for each individual. Each individual has always had the freedom, as enshrined in our “culture”, to debate and come to their own conclusion. As long as our faith harms no one else. We will continue to believe and not try to change others to our way. That freedom is what constitutes culture, in my opinion. The freedom to see perspectives of both Ram, and Ravan, and understand that the truth perhaps lies with neither one but with both, or somewhere in between.

So do we really need “culture”? No, definitely not some archaic, one-sided version of what someone thinks our “culture” was, is and should be.

What we need is perhaps a new shape of culture, free to take the good from the past and let go of things that divide us. Free to craft a new version of the future to build a pluralistic and humanitarian society where every job is respected and every person is important. Not every community or caste, but each individual person on a very personal level. Just like the human body with its various organs which all look different, and serve different functions but at the end are united in one body. Every organ can’t be the lung, neither the toe. We need each disparate part to make a whole. Everybody need not have the same religion or eating habits or worship the same god or even the same method of worship, but we all come together under one body of United India. With one goal - a pluralistic society that lives in peace with one another and its neighbours. India has the amazing opportunity to be a beacon, perhaps once again, for the rest of the world to achieve this dream given the sheer scale of our country. And for that we don’t need outdated definitions of culture, but new ones.

#culturepolice #culture #India #freedomofthought #freedom #faith

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ericbarkman · 7 years

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Tales of WID 72 #8 The Twin Swords

“What the hell happened here?” Detective Carl Bendis asked as he entered the crime scene. It was an apartment, although it was now missing the wall on the side of the building. A chunk of the wall to the next door apartment was missing too. “Happy New Year to you too,” his partner, Detective Sara Knight said. “We’ve got three dead bodies in here. One of them had a wallet on him, and the ID says he’s a guy named Howard Stewart. The other two don’t have any kind of ID.” “It wasn’t a bomb though, was it?” Carl asked. “I’m not seeing much debris.” “Near as we can tell, the wall was just vaporized. And you’ll never guess what kind of weapons these guys had on them.” “Laser guns?” “Nope, you’re thinking the wrong way, they had swords.” “Swords?” Carl asked. “Yeah, swords. The unidentified guys each had one, and Howard, he had two of them. But those two are stuck in their scabbards.” “They are what?” “Yeah, I know we usually get the weird ones,” Sara said. “But this is something else.” “Thank you for your assistance,” Carl said to the neighbour before the door was closed. He walked over to Sara. “So, either the people in this building are the heaviest sleepers in the history of the world, in which case I am insanely jealous, or whatever took out that wall was super silent.” “Yeah, I’ve been hearing the same thing from the tenants I’ve been talking to,” Sara said. “But like, what could even do that?” “Got me. Have the science guys figured anything out?” “Not yet, last I checked.” “Have the swords been bagged and tagged and sent back to the precinct already?” “Yeah, why, you want to get a look at them?” Sara asked. “I mean, I’m really curious about Howard’s swords. If this was a fight, why would he have swords he couldn’t use? Have we figured out anything else about him yet?” “According to one of the neighbor’s I talked to, he’s a florist.” “A florist?” “Yeah, has a flower shop a few blocks away.” “How does a florist get involved in…whatever this is?” Carl asked. Carl picked up one of the swords and looked over the scabbard, and the hilt. The design looked ancient, yet it was still in perfect condition. He tried pulling the sword out, and despite what he had been told, it came out without any trouble. “Hmm, that’s interesting,” he said. He held the sword up and looked at the blade. He was not an expert, but it looked to be exceptionally well made. Carl put it down on the table, and picked up the other one. It looked identical to the first. As he was looking it over, the first suddenly returned to its scabbard on its own. “Huh, that’s weird,” Carl said. He removed the second sword from its scabbard, and put it down on the table, checking his watch. After a minute it too returned to its scabbard as if by magic. He spent a bit of time experimenting with it. As long as he was holding the swords they would act normally, but if they were not in contact with him for a minute, they would return to their scabbards. This case just kept getting more and more strange. Carl sat down at his desk, just as Sara was hanging up the phone at her desk. “Any leads?” Carl asked. “Notifying family,” Sara said. “He’s got a sister in Jersey. She’ll be driving out here later today, but she said they haven’t really had much contact in recent years, so I don’t know if she’ll know anything. You learn anything from looking at the swords?” “Were you the one that tried taking the swords out of their scabbards?” “I was one of them. Several of us tried, why?” “I had no problem with them. They came right out, no trouble.” “Huh, weird.” As they were talking, a woman came up to their desks. “Excuse me, I was told you were the detectives investigating Howard’s murder.” “Yeah,” Carl said. “Did you know him?” “Yeah, we were friends. I’m Victoria Madison, we were…we were friends.” “I’m sorry for your loss,” Sara said. “Do you know anything about what happened?” “Umm, a bit,” Victoria said. “Do you have his swords here?” “Yeah,” Carl said. “They are in evidence.” “Yes, yes, of course,” Victoria said. “Umm, they were supposed to go to me if…if anything happened.” “Well, they are evidence,” Sara said. “But hopefully we can get this solved quickly, and then you can have them when this is done.” “Yes, yes, of course,” Victoria said. “Here’s let’s go over to the interview room, and you can tell us what you know,” Sara said. “So, what was he doing in that apartment?” Sara asked. “We know he lived in the building, but on a different floor.” “I don’t know,” Victoria said. “But I know he had been talking about how there were members of some kind of cult living in the building, and he was worried about what they were up to.” “Did he share these worries with anyone else?” Carl asked. “Landlord, police, anyone?” “Not that I know of,” Victoria said. “But then, he didn’t really have any proof, so it probably wouldn’t have helped anyway.” “Do you know what kind of cult?” Sara asked. “I don’t know,” Victoria said. “He mainly told me that he had been hearing strange things from inside the apartment.” “How did that start?” Carl asked. “Like Sara said, we know he lived on a different floor. Not directly above, for that matter, so it’s not like he was hearing something through the floor.” “He didn’t mention that,” Victoria said. “Do you think he would have gone and investigated on his own, maybe bringing his swords for protection?” Carl asked. “Maybe,” Victoria said. “Or at least to make himself seem armed. I’m sure you’ve noticed that they are stuck in their scabbards.” “They seemed to come out pretty fine to me,” Carl said. “What?” Victoria asked. “You were able to unsheathe them?” “Yeah, it was no trouble at all,” Carl said. “Umm, I need to go home and take care of something I just remembered,” Victoria said. “Uh, that’s okay right?” “Yeah, sure,” Sara said. “Could we get your number in case we have more questions?” “Right, right.” Victoria scribbled her number onto a piece of paper, and handed it to Sara before heading off. “Well, she clearly knows a lot more than she’s saying,” Carl said. “Yeah, I’ll get someone to follow her,” Sara said. “Just in case.” “So, what’ve you found?” Carl asked the medical examiner as he entered the morgue. “Well, the two unidentified individuals were definitely killed by the slashes they received from the swords,” Doctor Joyce Clarkson said. “But Howard wasn’t?” “I don’t believe so, his wounds are not severe enough, but I honestly don’t know what else would have caused him to die. But that’s not the weirdest part.” “Do I even want to know?” “Both of the John Does had a rare poison in their blood.” “But you’re still certain it was the swords wounds that killed them?” Carl asked. “The amount of poison should have killed them almost instantly, but from what I can tell, it’s been in their blood for decades.” “So we have one guy that shouldn’t be dead, and two that should have died a lot earlier.” “That’s the long and short of it,” Joyce said. After leaving the morgue, Carl stopped by a street vendor and bought a hot dog. As he was walking and eating, Victoria came up next to him. She had a book of some sort with her. It looked like a journal, but an old one. “Hi again, Detective Bendis,” Victoria said. “Miss Madison,” Carl said. “Take care of what you needed to take care of?” “Kind of in the process of that right now. You said you were able to draw the swords from their scabbards? Howard’s swords, you’re certain of that?” “Pretty certain, and I’m not sure why everyone seems to think they’re stuck.” “Umm, well, you see, they are stuck for everyone except for one person. That person was Howard, but now that he’s dead they pass on to someone else, and that someone is apparently you.” “Right,” Carl said. “You’re saying they’re what, magic?” “I know it’s hard to believe, but you saw the crime scene and how weird it was. How else do you explain what happened there?” “I don’t know, maybe it’s alien tech or something. I know that’s real.” “But two years ago you’d have thought I was crazy if I suggested aliens. Maybe it’s time to update your worldview again.” “Okay, let’s say, for a moment, that I believe you. What happened there, and what’s your part in all this?” “I’m the journal keeper for the swords and their master. The swords are the only thing that can keep Alket contained in his realm. Those cultists were trying to stop Howard from doing that.” “Alket?” “It’s an Eldritch Abomination. It was once a God, but he desired even more power, and tried to become more than that, and had to be trapped away.” “Uh huh.” “I know you don’t believe me, after all, extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence.” “And you have some extraordinary evidence on you?” “Not on me, no, but I will be able to do so if you come with me.” “Uh huh,” Carl said before looking around. “If you’re looking for the officer you had tailing me, I lost him an hour ago.” “Right.” Victoria led Carl down an alley, to a door, which she knocked on. An eyehole opened up, and the guy on the other side asked for a password. “Solaris,” Victoria said, and the door was opened. She turned to Carl. “Try not to freak out.” “I’ll be fine,” he said as he followed her in. He looked around at the other patrons. A lot of them looked Human, but some were clearly not. There was a Centaur playing darts with a Pixie at the back. And at the pool table was a Ghost playing against someone who looked Human, at least until Carl saw his fangs. And those were just a few examples. “What is this place?” “It’s a bar for people of the supernatural community,” Victoria said, as she led him up to the bar. “Hey Tori,” the bartender said. Her fangs indicated that she was a Vampire. “I’m sorry to hear what happened to Howard.” “Thanks, Kat,” Victoria said. “He was a good guy, and I’m going to miss him. But now I have to start getting his replacement up to speed.” Kat looked Carl over. “A cop from the looks of him. But I suppose nobody’s perfect.” “Look, I never agreed to being any replacement or anything,” Carl said. “I’m just here for the proof of magic, so I can figure out this case. And, don’t get me wrong, I’m seeing some convincing visuals, but how do I know the people here aren’t just aliens or something?” “He doesn’t even believe in magic?” Kat asked. “How did he even wind up with the swords in order for them to choose him?” “He was investigating what happened, and yeah,” Victoria said. “It’s unfortunate, but it is what it is.” “So, is there normally a process you go through?” Carl asked. “Normally the journal keeper will take the swords, and give them to trusted individuals until someone is chosen by them,” Victoria said. “Can’t you just do that now, and let someone else be chosen?” Carl asked. “I mean, hypothetically speaking, assuming any of this is true.” “The only way out of being their wielder is death,” Victoria said. “Or losing your soul, that’s happened at least once.” “Not really a fan of either of those options,” Carl said. “But anyway, about the proof that this is actually all magic.” “Is Cid around?” Victoria asked. “No, haven’t seen him in a few days,” Kat said. “But there’s someone else you can talk to. You ever meet Hermes?” She pointed to a table where a few people were playing a game of poker. “Have the Greek Gods been repowered?” Victoria asked. “Because if not, I don’t know how much help he’ll be.” “No, but Hermes still has a few tricks up his sleeve,” Kat said. Victoria shrugged and started walking over there, and Carl followed. There were five people playing poker. A Satyr, a Gorgon, and three others that looked Human. “Is there a risk of turning to stone?” Carl asked. “Not in this bar,” Victoria said, before they walked up to the table. “Hermes?” “Yes?” one of the Human looking people asked as he looked up. “Oh, you’re the journal keeper of the twin swords of Mars, aren’t you?” “Yeah, could we talk to you for a minute?” Victoria asked. Hermes looked at his hand. “Sure, why not, I fold,” he said as he put it down, and stood up. “Don’t any of you think of taking my winnings, I’ll be back shortly.” Victoria led Hermes and Carl to a booth near the back of the bar. “So, what can I do for you?” Hermes asked. “I mean, you people are servants of a Roman God, and I’m a Greek God. You know we don’t exactly get along.” “The war was a long time ago,” Victoria said. “And either way, Alket is a threat to everyone.” “Everyone on Earth anyway,” Hermes said. “I’ve been considering a move to another planet. Plus it’s January, Alket clearly failed in its attempt to get into our world, so we’re good for another year.” “The last wielder of the swords was killed during the attempt, and now I have a year to prepare the new one,” Victoria said. “But first I need to convince him this is all real.” “Good luck, by the way,” Carl said. “I’m not feeling particularly convinced yet.” “Really, I’d have thought you’d be easily swayed by anyone and anything,” Hermes said as he suddenly had Carl’s wallet in his hands, and took out a lottery ticket. “I mean really, you know what the odds are on these things?” He tossed the wallet on the table in front of Carl. “And I supposed to be impressed with a pickpocket?” Carl asked. “Check your back pocket,” Hermes said. Carl pulled out his wallet, and put it down next to the one Hermes had put there. They were identical, including the contents. “A simple duplication spell,” Hermes said. “Without my innate powers there’s only so much I can do.” “I mean, I’ve seen stage magicians perform some tricks that I couldn’t explain,” Carl said. “That doesn’t make it real magic.” “What would it take?” Victoria asked. “I don’t know,” Carl said. “But more than this.” “I have an idea,” Hermes said. “But first I have a poker game to get back to. I can meet you two later tonight.” As Carl and Victoria were leaving the bar, Carl’s phone started ringing. Caller ID showed it was Sara. “Hello?” Carl answered it. “Where are you?” Sara asked. “Just following some leads,” Carl said. “Not sure if they’re panning out or not though. You talk to his sister yet?” “Yeah, she positively identified the body, but didn’t have much to offer beyond that. But we might have just IDed the other two dead guys.” “Might have?” “Well, we got identities on them based on their fingerprints, but those identities were of people that died back in the eighties.” “So they faked their deaths?” “Possibly, but if so they did a really good job of it. And on top of that, they were both in their nineties when they supposedly died back then.” “Of course they were. I don’t suppose you’ve found out anything about them that would explain anything?” “I don’t think so, not yet at least.” “Okay, I’ll be back at the precinct shortly. See ya then.” Carl hung up and turned to Victoria. “Can this magic stuff of yours explain how the other two dead guys apparently died back in the eighties?” “Resurrecting a person is possible,” Victoria said. “Although it has to be done within approximately twenty-seven hours of death. Rules get a bit murkier though for magical beings such as undead and Gods and such.” “So what you’re saying is it might explain it, but you don’t know how it does so in this situation.” “Sorry, but there are multiple cults that worship Alket, and this is a newer one. I don’t really know their methods that well.” “Look, I’m still not entirely convinced on this whole magic thing, but I’ll meet up with you later when we go see Hermes. For now though, I need to go back to work.” “Right, right, see you later.” “Welcome back,” Sara said as Carl returned to the precinct. “Thanks, do you have reports on their original deaths from back in the eighties?” Carl asked. Sara handed them over. “At the time they were ruled as suicides because they couldn’t find evidence of anyone else’s involvement. It was poison.” “What kind of poison?” Carl asked as he flipped through the reports. “Huh, this is the same kind of poison that was in their bodies in excessive quantities according to Doctor Clarkson.” “So they supposedly die from this poison in the eighties, but then their still alive now, decades later, but still with what should be lethal amounts of poison in their systems.” “And then they die from being slashed by swords. What do we know about them from before they died?” “They seem to have been relatively normal guys. Both were long retired by then, of course. One was a banker, the other was a pharmacist. Both had wives and kids and grandkids. No criminal records or anything.” “Hmm, maybe they’re Zombies or something.” “I almost wish, at least that would at least explain some things,” Sara said. “You ever encounter anything that seems supernatural before?” “I mean, I’ve seen some weird shit in my time, but there’s always been a logical answer. Why? You don’t think there’s something mystical going on here now, do you?” “I don’t know. I mean, it’s been a weird case, and I don’t know. I mean, two years ago we’d have thought aliens were ridiculous, and yet now we live in a world where they control chunks of Europe.” “Maybe, but even still, aliens make more sense than magic.” “Okay, we’re here,” Carl said as he followed Victoria out onto the roof of an apartment building. “Excellent, I’ve been waiting,” Hermes said. He was sitting in a circle that was drawn with chalk, and had various symbols drawn inside it, but he stood up and left it as they came up to him. “So, what’s this?” Carl asked. “It’s a summoning circle,” Hermes said. “We’re going to summon a few magical beings and see if any of them can convince you.” “Uh huh,” Carl said. “What kind are we summoning?” “Why don’t we start with something small,” Victoria said. “Like a minor Demon.” “One minor Demon coming up,” Hermes said as he walked around the circle, and touched a few of the symbols inside. Each one he touched briefly glowed, and the sixth one stayed glowing. “It’s kind of like a telephone number,” he said. The circle itself started glowing, then there was a bright flash of light, and suddenly there was a small humanoid figure in the circle. He had red skin and horns, and looked almost straight out of a cartoon. “What’s the meaning of this?” he asked. “Who dares to summon me and interrupt me from my Game of Thrones marathon.” “Game of Thrones marathon?” Carl asked. “You know how hard it is to get HBO in Hell?” the Demon asked. “I had to call in so many favors. Fine, whatever, why am I being summoned.” “The Human here needs to be convinced that magic is real,” Hermes said. “What?” the Demon asked. “Of all the ridiculous things I’ve been summoned for over the years…I mean, I suppose this isn’t the most annoying but it’s definitely up there. This one time some asshole summoned me to just play a game of Call of Duty. But okay, let’s get this over with.” The Demon snapped his fingers and turned into a crow. Then he somehow snapped his feathers and turned into a shark. Then there was again the sound of fingers snapped from his fin, and he turned back into his normal Demon self. “I mean, that’s certainly impressive, but how do I know it’s not just an illusion of some sort?” Carl asked. “Step into the circle with me, why don’t you?” the Demon asked. Carl looked at Hermes who nodded, and Victoria who shrugged. He stepped into the circle, and the Demon pointed at him, and snapped his fingers again, and suddenly Carl was a flamingo. Carl looked at himself, and tried to speak but it just came out as squawking. The Demon snapped his fingers again, and Carl turned back into a Human. “There, that convince you?” the Demon asked. “Um, yeah, that’s um… that’s pretty convincing,” Carl said. “Good, now can I get back to my show?” the Demon asked as Carl got out of the circle. Hermes once again pressed the final symbol he had pressed before. There was another flash of light, the Demon was gone, and the glowing had stopped. “Well, I take it my work here is done,” Hermes said. “So, I’ll see you two around sometime, maybe, maybe not.” “So, you’re convinced now?” Victoria asked as she and Carl walked along the sidewalk. “Mostly, yeah, but why me?” Carl asked. “We don’t really know why the swords choose who they choose. They were originally created by Mars, for his sons Romulus and Remus. Initially they each used one, but things were complicated.” “I’m not exactly an expert on mythology, but didn’t Romulus kill Remus?” “Thus the myths say, the truth is that they faked that. After they created Rome they decided that one of them should publicly run it, while the other ran a sort of secret police to guard it. They were called Custes, Latin for Guardians. And as one of the things they protected it from was Alket, eventually Romulus gave his sword to Remus to use both. After Remus was eventually killed, Romulus took over, even though it meant giving up his position. And when he died the swords passed to another, and then another, again and again through history.” “But you don’t know how it happens?” “Nope, Mars probably created the mechanism, but I don’t know that he has ever told anyone what it is.” “And what does this mean for my case? I mean, I’m convinced that magic is real, but I’m not sure how open the rest of the precinct is going to be to that. And I don’t know if we want to turn them all into birds one at a time just to convince them.” “Even if they were, the magic division of the ESS would step in before too long. They try to keep magic hidden from the general populace.” “Why?” Carl asked. “And who even is that?” “Top secret organization that protects Earth from threats, mostly of super-science, but they created a magic division back in the eighties or nineties. As for why, it’s a bit more complicated. The short version is that magical entities and users have already been mostly keeping themselves secret for the last few centuries for a number of reasons. Some to avoid persecution, others to take advantage of their anonymous nature to be able to get away with things. And the ESS continues this because keeping things secret is their way of dealing with a lot of things.” “So, I ask again, what does this mean for my case?” “You already basically know that Howard and the people he was fighting killed each other. But exactly what happened may just stay a mystery as far as the official record goes.” “So, I just lie about it?” “You omit that which you wouldn’t be allowed to say anyway,” Victoria said. “And we start your training. It would probably be easier if you weren’t a police officer.” “I’m not just going to quit.” “Then we’ll have to work around that. But we need to make sure you’re ready for the next time Alket tries breaking through into our universe.” “Which is when, exactly?” “Every year, New Year’s, at midnight when the year changes.” “Really? That’s a regular thing, and wasn’t just a coincidence this time?” “When it comes to magic, some things are influenced by belief and cultural consciousness. New Year’s is a time of endings and beginnings in our society, and it’s thus the time when the borders between realms are at their weakest. So we have the next year to prepare you.” “Not to mention finding out some more answers about how Howard died, and how those cultists were not already dead. Even if I’m not solving it as a cop, I still want answers.” “As do I,” Victoria said. “And we’ll probably need them to make sure you stay alive too.”

#Carl Bendis #Sara Knight #Victoria Madison #Kat #Hermes #Alket #Howard Stewart #twin swords of Mars #Mars #Romulus #Remus #Custes #Tales of WID 72 #Eric J. Barkman

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