Catholic Priests DIY Hazmat Suits ‘Just For The Kids
Create meme "Brew (Brew , breaking bad , hazmat suit
Far-Right Trolls Use Coronavirus Meme to Spread Anti
Covid-19 Cartoons and Comics - funny pictures from
teacher hazmat suit meme
teacher hazmat suit meme - win
[Megathread] Wuhan viral outbreak
This Megathread has been superceded by Megathread #3. Please share all articles and information pertaining to the viral outbreak that originated in Wuhan in that thread instead. January 30:
Singapore Ministry of Manpower - "Precautionary measures for employers and employees travelling to and from Mainland China and known affected countries in response to increase in cases of Wuhan coronavirus (Wuhan virus)" - https://www.mom.gov.sg/wuhanvirus
Stay out of Swagville or face the consequences. First and final warning. Let me introduce myself - I’m a swaglord who lives ride-or-die by the YOLO mentality. I’ve trolled not only the losers at my school but all of my fucking annoying teachers. (Except for Mr. Devon in my sophomore year 3rd period health class. He let us look at boobies in the textbook and ignored me ripping fat clouds of my mango juul in the back of the class. A complete bro, through and through). My point is that I’m pretty much a badass. If you’re scared of me now, just see what happens if you cross my turf. I reside in my humble, 4.5 story, 57,000 square-foot mansion abode, located smack-down in the middle of America’s most highly-esteemed township. If it wasn’t obvious, I’m talking about Swagville, Population: me - a highly secured and restricted area that doesn’t take shit from anybody. Even the government and all of their nosy cuck feds who can’t mind their own business know better than to try anything, especially after last time. You see, Bill Clinton had tried to negotiate some kind of business deal where he’d do some form of “trafficking”, and would be able to fly in and out of Swagville as he pleased in his infamous private jet, theTrollita Express. I told his ass to shut up and go back to filling out crossword puzzles with his hag of a wife... just like the nerdy libtard he is. No way I’d be dealing with extra stop lights, endless road construction, slower speed limits, or any project involving traffic. I have my driving situation as good as it gets: making my own roads and obliterating obstacles at <90 mph in my 2007 Hummer, complete with blinding LED headlights and a modded horn that plays Gangnam style. Bill Clinton deserves no respect from a man as a epic me, no matter how seductive and alluring his saxophone skills may be. At the end of the day he’s just a band kid and a simp, one who couldn’t even get himself to ditch Hillary for Monica (who was a complete babe and is now a complete milf). Even though most people would piss their pants and cry to their mommy at the thought of approaching me, I still have a procedure for handling anyone stupid enough, or ballsy enough, to step foot on my property. 270 hours of paintball and shooting squirrels with my air soft gun make me the possibly the best marksman on this side of the flat, spinning, coin-shaped earth. Want to hear a joke? Yo momma is so fat, she’s the only person my elephant tranquilizer wouldn’t be able to take down! That’s right, all trespassers will a get a dart impaled 3 inches into their skin, releasing a fast-acting concoction of ketamine and Xanax, cut with a little ammonia and antifreeze. Keeps them knocked out cold, guaranteed. The trespasser gets to have one last snooze before their life quite likely becomes a living hell. From there I can haul their body onto my all-terrain golf cart, and take them to my backyards extra-large tool shed, which I’ve meticulously renovated into a makeshift interrogation room. When they wake up, all they’ll be able to see is a bright lamp, the wooden table that their ankle is cuffed to, and a printed copy of my annually written, trademarked and certified ‘swag test’™️, one of the few accredited tests in the nation that will measure and quantify the test taker’s swag. If the trespasser receives a score of a 69* or above, they will have passed the test and will move on.* Those who move on are required to take the the yolo code oath; in doing so they have thereby sworn to live life by the YOLO mentality, and continue their efforts in the pursuit of divine swag. If the oath is taken, the trespasser may now freely leave Swagville so long as they do not speak of what occurred. Those who truly impress me may be given my steam username and will receive an invite to join my discord server; they may also be invited back to the property for one of my annual paintball tournaments. So all ends mostly well for those ‘well-endowed’ with swag - they are pardoned, left with only a little bit of liver damage and some heart palpitations from the tranquilizer. But this best-case scenario is truly a far cry from the more common scenario. You see, swag is a limited resource. Some overflow in it, leaking swag juice from the very pores of their skin. Hell, if I were squeezed like an orange I’d probably pour out a liter or two of swag juice (pulp included). But most people couldn’t even muster a mere drop of swagade. Not even diet swagade. These are the pitiful geeks who can’t help but inevitably pull an epic fail on my Swag Test™️. All the luck in the world couldn’t save them - not that they could ever receive luck in the first place. You see, luck is a force attracted to swag and conversely repelled by its absence. This is can be used to explain why ugly people are unlucky and have terrible lives. Luck and losers are like opposites who just do NOT attract, whatsoever. Sucks to suck, I guess. The swagless trespassers who fail the test face a much darker path ahead of them. They are lead down an old hummer trail to my state of the art, WWII Japanese prison re-enactment facility, a nearly exact replica of one of the camps used to keep American POWs. Say what you like about them, but Japan sure did know how to make people’s lives awful back in the day. Makes me glad they calmed down and became a submissive society, all but fully domesticated by their cartoons and video games. Once imprisoned, the person is forced to do tiring labor. What they must do is spend all hours of the waking day scouring the internet for funny rage comics and ‘try not to laugh’ video complications on YouTube. These is how I find my daily entertainment, avoiding all the boring stuff in between like news, politics, and of course all of the cringe-inducing attempts at comedy littering the internet. If a prisoner fails to provide me with one meme worthy of a “lmao”, or I sit through one of their selected ‘try not to laugh’ videos without producing but a single laugh, this will be considered an insult to myself and they will suffer one of the most severe consequence I can impose. Before describing this punishment, I’d like explain the food system currently place, and how meals that I serve demonstrate a compromise made between gourmet quality and affordability. I like to keep a degree of both present in prisoners’ meals, in order to help keep them on top of their game and support their swag growth, while also helping to reduce costs the of operation for my facility. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and I could never afford to make shortcuts with it. This could risk harm to prison labor performance during the morning hours, when fresh memes and after-hour memes from the previous night are plentiful. As such, it includes a pop tart and a 16oz monster energy drink, both being legitimate, on-brand products that ensure high productivity. Compromises were rather focused with the prisoner’s lunch and dinner, which both consist of a serving of microwave-prepared, grocery store-brand pizza rolls, served at an absurdly hot temperature (as customary) with a side of knock off Doritos and a slightly cool glass of Mountain Shoutin’, which surprisingly only leaves a slight aftertaste resembling sunscreen. Although not ideal, the food provided is tolerated by prisoners without much issue. As I said before, the punishment for prisoners who fail to meet my labor standards is very severe. Rather than a standard meal, a prisoner facing such punishment will receive 3 pounds of fibrous vegetables, comprised mostly of celery, radishes, and raw, unwashed cauliflower. This atrocity is served to them in place of all their meals for one whole business week. They are also provided a beverage to wash this down with - a noticeably thick glass of orange juice that’s been blended with toothpaste. Most people figure after a couple days on this diet that it’s easier to skip meals and fast for a week than it is to eat and digest the equivalent of a small shrub. Those who do not stop eating these meals, whether by choice or by not realizing they are allowed to skip them, end up with a cellulose-clogged digestive system and a uncomfortably full and firm stomach; they describe feeling as if their abdomen and torso were full of bricks. They become lethargic from a lack of calorically dense food, even more lethargic than those who fast - the energy it takes to simply digest and pass pounds of plant matter can potentially surpass the amount of energy provided by the vegetables themselves. Perhaps worst of all, these prisoners end up with remarkably terrible constipation- sometimes even leading one to consider the necessity of stool softener, or even surgical removal. This meal replacement never fails to provide a traumatizing experience and ensure that these men manically hunt down kek and avoid all cringe, working in such a primal and frantic way, as if their very lives depended on it. Not only does this mean they can begin to understand and distinguish what exactly constitutes epic swag, but it means they will respond with violence and anger towards shitty memes. They’re well on their way to become a professional internet patroller and kek enforcer. Last but not least, the experience can induce the prisoner with a lasting form of PTSD, a clear step in the right direction. I mean, how swagtastic is it to be triggered by certain noises, smells, images, etc., and just go batshit crazy on everyone nearby? You’re like a sleeper spy, except you have no orders, just some adrenaline and a feasurvival-driven aggression that needs to be unleashed. It’s a total power move to be screaming about your memories of celery, painful shits, and extreme hunger in the face of confused and pathetically submissive cowards. You could even call this person an alpha male, the type of man we all aspire to be. Through this labor, through their punishment, through all of the hardships and trials they face, each prisoner can be reborn. They can learn to identify swag from lame, kek from cringe, and beta cuck loser from self. They can become more attuned to my mentality, and begin to embrace it themselves. Slowly the meaning of YOLO will be clear to them. They can request a Swag test at any time to see if they have attained a high enough level; if they pass, then the oath may be made and sworn and their freedom will thus be granted. However, with each additional failure there is a proper price. They are forced to drink a 2L of water, and must consume a very strong caffeine pill, acting as a diuretic. For 24hrs they’ll have no bathroom access, and if they pee their pants they must stay in the same clothing for the complete duration of the remaining time. How uncomfortable and embarrassing... Got’em! However, some may never escape their pit of shame and lame, never accepting swag into their lives, always pushing back against my efforts to fix them. If they refuse change and deny the teachings, they shall never be released, a fate most tragic. They will remain locked away, working as their mind and body deteriorate. They are tormented up until facing one last epic fail - a humiliating and anticlimactic death. In my experience, these individuals last, like, 8 weeks tops. And if they are still around by then they days are numbered, like maybe 3-4. Not even two months total. This is admittedly pretty short for a prisoner to end up dead, but at the end of day it is honestly their fault for being stuck-up try hards. Usually it only takes other inmates a couple of weeks along with a little elbow grease to earn enough swag, pass the test and be released. I know people who had more difficulty getting their temps in high school. Swag-deniers are relentless, I’ll give them that. Their devotion and hatred actually inspires me to strengthen my passion and embrace for swag, seeing the fate that could have been mine had I instead taken the path of denial. These dumbasses won’t suck up their pride and always say shit like “swag is dumb, just be kind, polite, and civil like a normal person”. What the fuck are you talking about, bruh? It’s laughable how stupid they are. One example of their determination is seen with the meal plan and some of the issues it has, and their attempt at a solution. Due to my oversight of some basic human nutrient requirements when planning a diet which prioritizes swag, the normal meal plan was made lacking any citrus fruits or other vitamin C sources. Like pirates are sea, except not nearly as cool, most of these sticks-in-the-mud would develop scurvy given enough time. In fact, some of these idiots have tried to work around it by purposefully being punished with the vegetable meal, just so they could drink the disgustingly-minty orange juice and toothpaste blend. Maybe this seems clever at face value, but nerds and geeks really are not that smart (if they were, they wouldn’t have let themselves become social outcasts and hang out with other cringe loners). Doing this meant they either had to fast or eat a bunch of unsubstantial vegetables, and no matter which option they chose they would lose concerning amounts of weight. Eventually they have to choose either to starve and die looking like a ghoul, or give up on the OJ to die from some scurvy-caused infection, but not before going half bald, having dead gums and a nasty breath, and being covered in lesions. Why are these people so relentless and stubborn? Why do they insist on being devoid of swag? Bro, chill the fuck out and just accept swag as your lord and savior, how fucking hard is it? I almost feel bad for these type but then I just imagine how much they would burden humanity by being some of the nerdiest,socially inept buzzkills on the planet, and realize it would be a disservice to release them. When they finally kick the bucket, I have to pull out the ol’ hazmat suit and retrieve their icky bodies while trying not to vomit. Really gives me a newfound respect for the sick, sadistic fucks who choose to work at a funeral home or a morgue. You’re still weird, but you make life easier for the rest of us normal folk, so I tip my hat to you all. Back in the deep woods of Swagville, the corpses get thrown into my compost pile and begin to turn into worm food. I keep it far away from the house, not because I fear being caught (the government is too pussy to do anything) but because it smells like the epitome of a loser, one who never showers or wears deodorant, and people want to say something but they don’t want to end up on your list (yes, everyone knows you have a list). I’ve considered using the topsoil made from bodies, just to show my appreciation to poor the worms and bacteria who had to eat such garbage. However, I am certain that any fertilizer containing such high concentrations of lingering crazy, stupid, and shame, would probably infect the seeds and attack the roots. Without a doubt I’d be left with the most beta looking plants imaginable. Even God himself, if he so exists, would be insulted by what had become of a plant created in his vision, and would strike it down with a bolt of lightning, burning it to a crisp in an act of mercy. Anyway, that’s my tale and my warning to all who dare enter my domain. Only those possessing or capable of achieving swag will make it out alive. Now I’m going to perform some meditation. Swag lords have many important matters to dwell on. For starters, I must complete my list of potentially epic movie crossovers and my plans to gain production rights. I’d also like to spend some time remembering how hot Megan Fox was in transformers 1 & 2... or how Mark Wahlberg wasn’t good enough to replace Shia LaBeouf, and how those last couple of movies shouldn’t have been made at all. They are lucky China is obsessed with action movies involving CGI alien robots. After my mind is cleared I think my evening will be spent browsing some rage comics and trolling kids. Peace out and god bless *Any score on the Swag Test™️ between 69 and 100 will suffice for trespassers who wish to appease me and be pardoned from their imprisonment. However, for those taking the test with the intention of applying to highly exclusive, swag-related groups or institutions, such as FaZe clan, a score of exactly 69 is extremely preferred, and will be valued much higher than even a perfect 100/100 in the selection process.
Stay out of Swagville or face the consequences. First and final warning.
Let me introduce myself - I’m a swaglord who lives ride-or-die by the YOLO mentality. I’ve trolled not only the losers at my school but all of my fucking annoying teachers. (Except for Mr. Devon in my sophomore year 3rd period health class. He let us look at boobies in the textbook and ignored me ripping fat clouds of my mango juul in the back of the class. A complete bro, through and through). My point is that I’m pretty much a badass. If you’re scared of me now, just see what happens if you cross my turf. I reside in my humble, 4.5 story, 57,000 square-foot mansion abode, located smack-down in the middle of America’s most highly-esteemed township. If it wasn’t obvious, I’m talking about Swagville, Population: me - a highly secured and restricted area that doesn’t take shit from anybody. Even the government and all of their nosy cuck feds who can’t mind their own business know better than to try anything, especially after last time. You see, Bill Clinton had tried to negotiate some kind of business deal where he’d do some form of “trafficking”, and would be able to fly in and out of Swagville as he pleased in his infamous private jet, theTrollita Express. I told his ass to shut up and go back to filling out crossword puzzles with his hag of a wife... just like the nerdy libtard he is. No way I’d be dealing with extra stop lights, endless road construction, slower speed limits, or any project involving traffic. I have my driving situation as good as it gets: making my own roads and obliterating obstacles at <90 mph in my 2007 Hummer, complete with blinding LED headlights and a modded horn that plays Gangnam style. Bill Clinton deserves no respect from a man as a epic me, no matter how seductive and alluring his saxophone skills may be. At the end of the day he’s just a band kid and a simp, one who couldn’t even get himself to ditch Hillary for Monica (who was a complete babe and is now a complete milf). Even though most people would piss their pants and cry to their mommy at the thought of approaching me, I still have a procedure for handling anyone stupid enough, or ballsy enough, to step foot on my property. 270 hours of paintball and shooting squirrels with my air soft gun make me the possibly the best marksman on this side of the flat, spinning, coin-shaped earth. Want to hear a joke? Yo momma is so fat, she’s the only person my elephant tranquilizer wouldn’t be able to take down! That’s right, all trespassers will a get a dart impaled 3 inches into their skin, releasing a fast-acting concoction of ketamine and Xanax, cut with a little ammonia and antifreeze. Keeps them knocked out cold, guaranteed. The trespasser gets to have one last snooze before their life quite likely becomes a living hell. From there I can haul their body onto my all-terrain golf cart, and take them to my backyards extra-large tool shed, which I’ve meticulously renovated into a makeshift interrogation room. When they wake up, all they’ll be able to see is a bright lamp, the wooden table that their ankle is cuffed to, and a printed copy of my annually written, trademarked and certified ‘swag test’™️, one of the few accredited tests in the nation that will measure and quantify the test taker’s swag. If the trespasser receives a score of a 69* or above, they will have passed the test and will move on.* Those who move on are required to take the the yolo code oath; in doing so they have thereby sworn to live life by the YOLO mentality, and continue their efforts in the pursuit of divine swag. If the oath is taken, the trespasser may now freely leave Swagville so long as they do not speak of what occurred. Those who truly impress me may be given my steam username and will receive an invite to join my discord server; they may also be invited back to the property for one of my annual paintball tournaments. So all ends mostly well for those ‘well-endowed’ with swag - they are pardoned, left with only a little bit of liver damage and some heart palpitations from the tranquilizer. But this best-case scenario is truly a far cry from the more common scenario. You see, swag is a limited resource. Some overflow in it, leaking swag juice from the very pores of their skin. Hell, if I were squeezed like an orange I’d probably pour out a liter or two of swag juice (pulp included). But most people couldn’t even muster a mere drop of swagade. Not even diet swagade. These are the pitiful geeks who can’t help but inevitably pull an epic fail on my Swag Test™️. All the luck in the world couldn’t save them - not that they could ever receive luck in the first place. You see, luck is a force attracted to swag and conversely repelled by its absence. This is can be used to explain why ugly people are unlucky and have terrible lives. Luck and losers are like opposites who just do NOT attract, whatsoever. Sucks to suck, I guess. The swagless trespassers who fail the test face a much darker path ahead of them. They are lead down an old hummer trail to my state of the art, WWII Japanese prison re-enactment facility, a nearly exact replica of one of the camps used to keep American POWs. Say what you like about them, but Japan sure did know how to make people’s lives awful back in the day. Makes me glad they calmed down and became a submissive society, all but fully domesticated by their cartoons and video games. Once imprisoned, the person is forced to do tiring labor. What they must do is spend all hours of the waking day scouring the internet for funny rage comics and ‘try not to laugh’ video complications on YouTube. These is how I find my daily entertainment, avoiding all the boring stuff in between like news, politics, and of course all of the cringe-inducing attempts at comedy littering the internet. If a prisoner fails to provide me with one meme worthy of a “lmao”, or I sit through one of their selected ‘try not to laugh’ videos without producing but a single laugh, this will be considered an insult to myself and they will suffer one of the most severe consequence I can impose. Before describing this punishment, I’d like explain the food system currently place, and how meals that I serve demonstrate a compromise made between gourmet quality and affordability. I like to keep a degree of both present in prisoners’ meals, in order to help keep them on top of their game and support their swag growth, while also helping to reduce costs the of operation for my facility. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and I could never afford to make shortcuts with it. This could risk harm to prison labor performance during the morning hours, when fresh memes and after-hour memes from the previous night are plentiful. As such, it includes a pop tart and a 16oz monster energy drink, both being legitimate, on-brand products that ensure high productivity. Compromises were rather focused with the prisoner’s lunch and dinner, which both consist of a serving of microwave-prepared, grocery store-brand pizza rolls, served at an absurdly hot temperature (as customary) with a side of knock off Doritos and a slightly cool glass of Mountain Shoutin’, which surprisingly only leaves a slight aftertaste resembling sunscreen. Although not ideal, the food provided is tolerated by prisoners without much issue. As I said before, the punishment for prisoners who fail to meet my labor standards is very severe. Rather than a standard meal, a prisoner facing such punishment will receive 3 pounds of fibrous vegetables, comprised mostly of celery, radishes, and raw, unwashed cauliflower. This atrocity is served to them in place of all their meals for one whole business week. They are also provided a beverage to wash this down with - a noticeably thick glass of orange juice that’s been blended with toothpaste. Most people figure after a couple days on this diet that it’s easier to skip meals and fast for a week than it is to eat and digest the equivalent of a small shrub. Those who do not stop eating these meals, whether by choice or by not realizing they are allowed to skip them, end up with a cellulose-clogged digestive system and a uncomfortably full and firm stomach; they describe feeling as if their abdomen and torso were full of bricks. They become lethargic from a lack of calorically dense food, even more lethargic than those who fast - the energy it takes to simply digest and pass pounds of plant matter can potentially surpass the amount of energy provided by the vegetables themselves. Perhaps worst of all, these prisoners end up with remarkably terrible constipation- sometimes even leading one to consider the necessity of stool softener, or even surgical removal. This meal replacement never fails to provide a traumatizing experience and ensure that these men manically hunt down kek and avoid all cringe, working in such a primal and frantic way, as if their very lives depended on it. Not only does this mean they can begin to understand and distinguish what exactly constitutes epic swag, but it means they will respond with violence and anger towards shitty memes. They’re well on their way to become a professional internet patroller and kek enforcer. Last but not least, the experience can induce the prisoner with a lasting form of PTSD, a clear step in the right direction. I mean, how swagtastic is it to be triggered by certain noises, smells, images, etc., and just go batshit crazy on everyone nearby? You’re like a sleeper spy, except you have no orders, just some adrenaline and a feasurvival-driven aggression that needs to be unleashed. It’s a total power move to be screaming about your memories of celery, painful shits, and extreme hunger in the face of confused and pathetically submissive cowards. You could even call this person an alpha male, the type of man we all aspire to be. Through this labor, through their punishment, through all of the hardships and trials they face, each prisoner can be reborn. They can learn to identify swag from lame, kek from cringe, and beta cuck loser from self. They can become more attuned to my mentality, and begin to embrace it themselves. Slowly the meaning of YOLO will be clear to them. They can request a Swag test at any time to see if they have attained a high enough level; if they pass, then the oath may be made and sworn and their freedom will thus be granted. However, with each additional failure there is a proper price. They are forced to drink a 2L of water, and must consume a very strong caffeine pill, acting as a diuretic. For 24hrs they’ll have no bathroom access, and if they pee their pants they must stay in the same clothing for the complete duration of the remaining time. How uncomfortable and embarrassing... Got’em! However, some may never escape their pit of shame and lame, never accepting swag into their lives, always pushing back against my efforts to fix them. If they refuse change and deny the teachings, they shall never be released, a fate most tragic. They will remain locked away, working as their mind and body deteriorate. They are tormented up until facing one last epic fail - a humiliating and anticlimactic death. In my experience, these individuals last, like, 8 weeks tops. And if they are still around by then they days are numbered, like maybe 3-4. Not even two months total. This is admittedly pretty short for a prisoner to end up dead, but at the end of day it is honestly their fault for being stuck-up try hards. Usually it only takes other inmates a couple of weeks along with a little elbow grease to earn enough swag, pass the test and be released. I know people who had more difficulty getting their temps in high school. Swag-deniers are relentless, I’ll give them that. Their devotion and hatred actually inspires me to strengthen my passion and embrace for swag, seeing the fate that could have been mine had I instead taken the path of denial. These dumbasses won’t suck up their pride and always say shit like “swag is dumb, just be kind, polite, and civil like a normal person”. What the fuck are you talking about, bruh? It’s laughable how stupid they are. One example of their determination is seen with the meal plan and some of the issues it has, and their attempt at a solution. Due to my oversight of some basic human nutrient requirements when planning a diet which prioritizes swag, the normal meal plan was made lacking any citrus fruits or other vitamin C sources. Like pirates are sea, except not nearly as cool, most of these sticks-in-the-mud would develop scurvy given enough time. In fact, some of these idiots have tried to work around it by purposefully being punished with the vegetable meal, just so they could drink the disgustingly-minty orange juice and toothpaste blend. Maybe this seems clever at face value, but nerds and geeks really are not that smart (if they were, they wouldn’t have let themselves become social outcasts and hang out with other cringe loners). Doing this meant they either had to fast or eat a bunch of unsubstantial vegetables, and no matter which option they chose they would lose concerning amounts of weight. Eventually they have to choose either to starve and die looking like a ghoul, or give up on the OJ to die from some scurvy-caused infection, but not before going half bald, having dead gums and a nasty breath, and being covered in lesions. Why are these people so relentless and stubborn? Why do they insist on being devoid of swag? Bro, chill the fuck out and just accept swag as your lord and savior, how fucking hard is it? I almost feel bad for these type but then I just imagine how much they would burden humanity by being some of the nerdiest,socially inept buzzkills on the planet, and realize it would be a disservice to release them. When they finally kick the bucket, I have to pull out the ol’ hazmat suit and retrieve their icky bodies while trying not to vomit. Really gives me a newfound respect for the sick, sadistic fucks who choose to work at a funeral home or a morgue. You’re still weird, but you make life easier for the rest of us normal folk, so I tip my hat to you all. Back in the deep woods of Swagville, the corpses get thrown into my compost pile and begin to turn into worm food. I keep it far away from the house, not because I fear being caught (the government is too pussy to do anything) but because it smells like the epitome of a loser, one who never showers or wears deodorant, and people want to say something but they don’t want to end up on your list (yes, everyone knows you have a list). I’ve considered using the topsoil made from bodies, just to show my appreciation to poor the worms and bacteria who had to eat such garbage. However, I am certain that any fertilizer containing such high concentrations of lingering crazy, stupid, and shame, would probably infect the seeds and attack the roots. Without a doubt I’d be left with the most beta looking plants imaginable. Even God himself, if he so exists, would be insulted by what had become of a plant created in his vision, and would strike it down with a bolt of lightning, burning it to a crisp in an act of mercy. Anyway, that’s my tale and my warning to all who dare enter my domain. Only those possessing or capable of achieving swag will make it out alive. Now I’m going to perform some meditation. Swag lords have many important matters to dwell on. For starters, I must complete my list of potentially epic movie crossovers and my plans to gain production rights. I’d also like to spend some time remembering how hot Megan Fox was in transformers 1 & 2... or how Mark Wahlberg wasn’t good enough to replace Shia LaBeouf, and how those last couple of movies shouldn’t have been made at all. They are lucky China is obsessed with action movies involving CGI alien robots. After my mind is cleared I think my evening will be spent browsing some rage comics and trolling kids. Peace out and god bless *Any score on the Swag Test™️ between 69 and 100 will suffice for trespassers who wish to appease me and be pardoned from their imprisonment. However, for those taking the test with the intention of applying to highly exclusive, swag-related groups or institutions, such as FaZe clan, a score of exactly 69 is extremely preferred, and will be valued much higher than even a perfect 100/100 in the selection process.
Saw this article and thought it would be helpful and provide some perspective #StaytheFuckHome & read Dr. Susan Block's missive from edge of the Coronapocalypse, including Mother Nature's perspective, fighting a war without bombs (the Bonobo Way), SEX in isolation (let's all cheer for masturbation) and LoVE in the Time of Coronavirus: Click Link for Full article with pics => https://www.counterpunch.org/2020/03/27/coronavirus-spring/ by Dr. Susan Block. It’s Spring, and nature is blooming. Coronavirus has done (temporarily, at least) what no Paris Agreement, Green New Deal, man, woman or even that scrappy teen, Greta Thunberg (who may have also contracted COVID-19), could do. It has shut down a huge amount of the industrial, transportation and pollution-belching business activity that is destroying life on earth. Tragically and terrifyingly, this comes at the expense of thousands of human lives (so far), the health of millions and the mental health of billions. Ironically, it comes—like an ecogasm—to the benefit of the rest of world. With so many Anthropocene operations shut down, the air is noticeably cleaner in many areas. We can see the difference—at least in waves. As the disease overtook China and the government ordered the shutdown of factories and other businesses, the smog lifted, nitrogen dioxide and greenhouse gas emissions lowered, and the skies brightened so much you could see the difference in satellite images. Now that the Chinese seem to be getting a handle on the virus, people are back at work and pollution is resurfacing. But at the moment, almost every other country is struggling to contain the viral varmint with quarantines, handwashing tutorials and shelter-in-place virtual sing-a-longs, trying to heed the medical experts’ advice to (despite our Trumpublican representatives pushing us to get back to “normal” and #DiefortheDow) scrap all nonessential activity and #StaytheFuckHome. So, throughout the planet—notably in Europe—the skies, streets and waterways are clearing up from human-generated debris. In Thailand and Japan, gangs of monkeys and deer roam streets now devoid of tourists. Dolphins and small fish are swimming in the Venice Canal (or just some canal near Venice, but it’s still impressive). It’s Mother Nature’s own Homemade Green New Deal. It’s a Coronavirus Spring (with apologies to Rachel Carson). Sounds almost lovely. However, unless you just hate human beings, it’s not lovely at all. A War Without Bombs As the virus spreads throughout humanity, it is waging a vicious World War that, despite all our bombs and Pentagons, we are not at all prepared to fight. Yet fight we must—for our individual lives, and for our neighbors whose lives are deeply intertwined with ours. They always have been, of course. Humans, like bonobos and common chimpanzees, are an intensely social, interdependent species. But thanks to the power of capitalism that enhances our feelings of competition, greed, desperation and jealousy, we’re not usually very cognizant of our inherent communal connection. Now that truth is laid out—or sprayed out—in “droplets,” statistics, “community spread,” sickness and death. This despite the misleading, self-adoring, stock market-fellating, “I don’t take responsibility at all” putrid blather the Trumpus pulls out of his Rumpus (where’s that toilet paper when we need it?) at these unsafe press conferences he tries, in vain, to turn into rallies. Though he does fancy himself to be a Wartime President. Of course, we started this war. And I don’t mean Mr. Tomato Head’s trumped up wars with China and whoever disagrees with him; I mean humanity’s war on the rest of nature. Over the past few thousand years, especially the last century, we have made the Earth and its atmosphere sick as a COVID-19 patient, feverish with global warming, hurricane sneezes, fiery coughing fits, the damaged lungs of the rainforests and atmospheric shortness of breath. In short, human civilization has been a plague upon the Earth. Now, in a science fiction-like way, the Earth appears to be fighting back against its human plague by dropping this horrible modern plague, Coronavirus. Like a bomb. On us. The Coronapocalypse is a war of wars, yet everything we *know* about war does not apply. Wars are typically fought with guns, grenades and guided missiles; the war against COVID-19 is fought with swab tests, ventilators, face masks and hand sanitizer. In traditional wars, the old send the young to fight and die for their corporate investments. In the Coronavirus War, the old are most likely to die, as the young alternate between fighting valiantly on the hospital frontlines and spreading the virus willy-nilly. This is almost always inadvertent; many are contagious for days before symptoms appear. But sometimes it’s deliberate with active “Boomer Removers” spitting on fruit in your local Ralph’s. Ironically, as the virus spreads, more young people are getting sick and dying in this war too. That Mother Nature is such a trickster. In other American wars in the past 80 years, except for the occasional “terrorist,” the U.S. military has been doing the killing and dying in some faraway place, while here at home, we continue life as usual, barely aware of the havoc America wreaks on other nations. Now we know what it’s like to shut ourselves into our homes, crazed with fear and boredom, waiting for the bombs to drop. Another difference between this war and others is the folks in uniform. I have never felt like thanking our troops for fighting, killing and helping to perpetuate our Perma-Wars; they don’t “protect” us from anything except the good will of other peoples. But I get down on my proverbial knees to thank our doctors, nurses and medical technicians who are facing this “enemy” with as much courage as the most decorated soldiers have ever faced combat, and with a lot more integrity, life-saving value and genuine service. Wouldn’t it be great, smart and very bonoboesque to take 95% of the ridiculously bloated U.S. military budget and spend it on COVID-19 tests, ventilators, respirators, masks, gowns and other necessities? While we’re at it, let’s bring most of those troops home to help the first responders and medical teams fight this real-life enemy of the people. Short of that, American billionaires ought to stop worrying about Wall Street and start buying supplies. Some are doing that, but their contributions are far from enough. It’s one thing to hoard toilet paper; it’s quite another to hoard billions of dollars when, due to a lack of basic medical necessities, your fellow citizens are dying in such high numbers that stacks of bodies are being hauled away in freezer trucks. Love in the Time of Coronavirus What about sex? Sadly, the coronavirus is, in a way, a sexually transmitted disease (STD), a plague of human physical intimacy, as are all viruses. Not that we need to have sex to *catch* these colds, flus and viruses; all that’s required is that we be close to each other, inhale each other’s breath, somehow ingest each other’s germs or even just pick up each other’s phones. How can we have sex without being close? How can we connect as we self-isolate? How can we make love in the time of Coronavirus (with apologies to Gabriel Garcia Marquez)? As a sex therapist who counsels others to explore and enjoy the pleasures and healing benefits of consensual touch, it feels odd to advise people, including myself, to do the opposite in order to save their lives. Talk about an about-face! But here we are. Not that you can’t have any sex, but I, a proud bonoboesque pansexualist, must agree with the New York City Department of Health (NYCDOH) COVID-19 guidelines that say it’s better to just “love the one you’re self-isolating with,” at least when it comes to in-person sex. That means just one or, as the NYCDOH liberally suggests, “a small circle” of sex partners that you can really trust (how you know whom you can “really trust” is another story). Monogamy may be unnatural for humans, but it has never been so sensible. Having in-person casual sex is playing Russian Roulette… at least until they make a special sex-friendly hazmat suit, which is coming, I’m sure. But not soon enough. Fun Fact: COVID-19, though swimming in saliva, has not been found in semen or vaginal fluid. Unfortunately for the analinguists out there, it has been found in fecal matter. Therefore, NYCDOH guidelines warn: “No rimming” (don’t you just love that kinky specificity in a metropolitan health office?). It’s great that the NYCDOH is hip to rimming. But does that mean other kinds of oral sex are okay? And how do we even get to that point if we’re staying six feet apart? Nobody’s that well-hung. What do we do if we’re single and dating? It sounds cumbersome, but maybe the exhibitionists among us could set up plastic booths and perform peep shows for our dates. There are other ways to handle the six-foot rule. Personally, I think it’s a good time to eat raw garlic because 1) it’s good for your immune system and 2) it keeps people from getting close to you. Of course, when we say “close,” we mean physically close. We simply can’t (or shouldn’t) get physically close to someone we’re not self-isolating with. A tale of two cities during the H1N1 influenza pandemic of 1918 demonstrates how important it is to play “keep away”: After a few cases of the deadly virus floated into Philadelphia and St. Louis, Philly held a big, crowded, military parade while St. Louis shut everything down. Within days, the City of Brotherly Love was overwhelmed by the “Spanish Flu” (which was really the “Kansas Flu,” as that’s where it started, but the WWI-neutral Spaniards were the first to report on it, so got stuck with the name), killing more than 12,000 Philadelphians in six weeks, while St. Louis “flattened the curve” and kept their death toll under 700. My father was one of the thousands of Philadelphia children who caught the influenza of 1918. Obviously, he survived and lived a full life, but he contracted Parkinson’s Disease towards the end; it is said by some that H1N1 may have led to Parkinson’s, so this hits me close to home. I wonder what scars might be carried by those who “recover” from COVID-19. “Kissing through the Waves of the Web” So, here we are playing physical “keep away” on a grand scale. Really, “social-distancing” is a misnomer. It makes it sound like we have to stop socializing, communicating or caring about one another. That’s not very bonobo, or very human. It also sounds rather anti-socialism (even Democratic Socialism). I prefer the term “physical distancing,” which is bad enough, but not as bad. To “flatten the curve,” we need to “physically distance” ourselves from each other, but we can maintain, expand and deepen our social relationships through our otherwise demonic devices to our social-lite/influencer hearts’ content. Yes, our devices can be vices—bad habits, stupefying sources of alienation, depression, misinformation and a host of other ills. But in our war against COVID-19, they may prove to be lifesavers, a vital means of communication, a loneliness balm, a means to let off steam, and a way to stay in touch without touching. Alas, we don’t all have balconies from which we can sing our solidarity, like the Italian flash mobs… though as balcony scenes go, the New York couple getting married on the sidewalk under the minister’s fourth floor apartment window is a good one. Not that we all should be singing through the pandemic, as evidenced by the cringe-worthy ruination of John Lennon’s “Imagine” in the voices of Gal Gadot and her clueless celebrity cohorts. Celebrities in general tend to be tone deaf on these global concerns, but exceptions to the rule include Fran Drescher Nanny-spanking “capitalism” and the surprisingly socialist pop princess-turned-MILFBritney Spears exhorting us to “write virtual love letters… learn to kiss and hold each other through the waves of the web. We will feed each other, re-distribute wealth, strike.. Communion moves beyond walls” (italics mine). Amen and Awomen, Comrade Britney! And thanks for the three rose emojis, a Springy symbol of the Democratic Socialists of America. Still, it’s so sad we can’t kiss. Kissing could be one culprit, besides intergenerational housing (another lovely Old World tradition), in the deadly COVID-19 spreads of Italy, France and Spain, countries where everybody kisses everybody else, at least once on each cheek, sometimes twice. Those gentle pecks on the cheek are so delightful, and now… fatal. Bonobos love to kiss, showing us how basic to our Great Ape heritage is the desire to lock lips and swap saliva. But with COVID-19, a simple smooch can be the kiss of death. So, we must try to “kiss… through the waves of the web,” express solidarity through social media, convey compassion, organize efforts, send money and wave to each other from our Microsoft Windows. We can communicate harmony and disharmony, share poetry, ideas, frustrations, kinship. We can cry with each other on the phone. We can make each other laugh online. Laughter is a mental orgasm, and almost as important to human health as consensual touch. Deprived of the latter, we’re going to need plenty of the former. The interesting thing about “sensory deprivation” is that it makes our un-deprived senses even more acute. When you can’t see, your ability to hear is heightened. Without touch, our other senses might rise to the occasion, helping us to make love, or a kind of love (there are many kinds), through the sticky juicy interwebs, the Erotic Theater of the Mind. We can have phone sex, webcam, or sext each other. It’s not for everyone (though after a few more weeks of isolation, maybe it will be), but it’s possible to have a very “close,” intimate yet “virtual” conversation—even a long-term relationship—over our vice-filled devices. And yet… physical touch is so vital to mammalian—especially primate—life. Most primates don’t have as much sex as bonobos, but almost all thrive on grooming, petting, hugging, playing with and touching each other. Infant monkeys deprived of touch won’t eat, get sick and die. The human primate is not much different. Tragically, COVID-19 is not only a human virus, but also deadly to great apes, including bonobos. A shred of good news is that China is closing its wild animal markets, and other countries are following suit, but poachers in the Congolese Rainforest are still murdering bonobos and other endangered species as “bushmeat,” even though it’s illegal. It pains me to say it, but if bonobos catch Coronavirus, they will almost inevitably give it to each other, as touch is integral to their lives. Consensual touch is pretty integral to human life too, but we can force ourselves to forego it, with willpower and, let’s call it what it is, tremendous self-repression. This is a big sacrifice—much bigger than the Dow plummeting—that we as humans all must make. So… don’t touch your friends, strangers, neighbors, anybody except your significant other(s). And scrub those hands raw before and after you do. And whatever you do, don’t touch your face! Though everyone does, even Dr. Fauci. But you can touch yourself. And in this case, below the belt is better than above the neck. Isolation Sex Back to the NYCDOH which is downright effusive in its unequivocal support of masturbation: “You are your own safest sex partner.” I’ve been extolling the virtues of masturbation for decades, as has my mentor, the Godmother of Masturbation, Dr. Betty Dodson, and other sexperts, often to sniggers, hypocritical outrage and Puritanical censorship. When Surgeon General Dr. Joycelyn Elders suggested that masturbation be considered a safer sex alternative in school sexuality classes, President Bill Clinton fired her (he, of all people, should have taken her advice). No, Dr. J didn’t mean the gym teacher conducts a circle jerk; she meant that school sex education programs list solo sex, along with condoms, dry-humping and abstinence, as a way to avoid STDs. I guess it took a lethal pandemic to turn the authorities around to our point of view, but here we are. The NYCDOH is officially begging you to masturbate. Hallelujah. You may think of sex as “dirty,” but as was always the case, even before the pandemic, wash your hands before you start choking the chicken or polishing the pearl. As my mom used to say, “Your hands are dirty and it’s clean down there!” Everybody’s self-pleasuring now, even Trumpublicans. This is a good thing, except maybe when former Arkansas Governor Mike Huckabee tweets out that he really likes shoving corn cobs up his ass: “Those of us from rural south know how to handle toilet paper shortage. Eat more corn on the cob! The corn isn’t important, but the cobs are free and work great! (Just don’t flush them!) You’re welcome!” Corn cobs: Mother Nature’s own dildos. Though I prefer cucumbers. But don’t you still need that human connection? While maintaining scrupulous “physical distancing,” you can put the old AT&T jingle into practice: Reach out and touch someone (virtually)… while you touch yourself. Phone sex is a lot sexier than abstinence, safer than a hazmat suit and very stimulating in a sapiosexual way. It’s aural sex. I adore the romantic mystery of the phone, but if you’re visual, bump uglies on webcam. If you’re self-isolating in the family room with your parents or kids, get into sexting. On second thought, maybe you shouldn’t be masturbating in the family room… Nobody said this would be easy. But, to quote an oft-used cliché right now: We will get through this! Actually, only some of us will. The cold, breathless truth is that cases and fatalities are mounting every day, and any one of us could be next. Hopefully, those of us who do “get through this” will have learned something about love, ecology, caring, sharing, communication, masturbation and our entire society’s need for universal healthcare (thanks Bernie!). Hopefully, the survivors of the Coronavirus Spring (and Summer?) will have learned how and why it’s important to get back into Mother Earth’s good graces. Now that you’ve read this dirty article, wash your hands and get busy!
Agni-Heaven/Hell Ah Muzen Cab-Man Bee Ah Puch-Zombie King Amaterasu-Shrine Priestess Anhur-Beast Tamer Anubis-Chibi Ao Kuang-Samurai Aphrodite-Preppy School Girl Apollo-Suit and Tie/Al Capone Arachne-Black Widow Ares-Paladin/Guardian Of Light? Artemis-Huntewith gun and hunting clothes Artio-Nature LoveHippie basically Athena-Guardian of heavens gate Awilix- Jaguar tamer Bacchus-BartendeDrunk Buisnessman Bakasura- a tick a bloodsucking tick Bastet-Foxy skin Bellona-Knight Cabrakan-Insane Asylum Patient or Colossus from xmen Camazotz- Crow Cernunnos- Buck/Deer skin or Red Nosed Reindeer for christmas Chaac- Fury skin like pure rage aura around a knight Chang'e- Battle Medic or medic from WW2 Chiron- Evolving Skin he starts human then evolves to Centaur Chronos- Old man with hunchback with cane that has time on it Cu Chulainn - Something that looks like aquaman Cupid- Suit and Tie Da Ji - 9 Tails made like Doc Ock from spiderman/Girl Wolverine Erlang Shen - Ninja Fafnir - Keeper of the Dragons fortune/or Ult is charzard and human is poke traineash Fenrir- Beagle/German Sheperd Freya- Magis or 1980s stripper Ganesha- Mammoth Geb -WW2 Tank when he turns into a dash or like Ruckus Guan Yu- Bald Monk with staff and his ult would be him being carried by subordinates/underlings on a carpet Hachiman- Bouncer Hades- Universal Damnation He Bo- Volcanic ash Hel - Democrats and Republicans Hercules- Drunk football player Hou Yi- Reverse Succubus Hun Batz- Planet of the Apes Isis- Griffin Izanami- Fast food with scythes being spatulas and ult is BBQ sauce Janus- King of dimensions with royalty coat and shiny crown/TerminatoScientist Jing Wei- Spa person Kali- Ben 10 Four Arms Khepri- Roach or Tick Kukulkan- Rattle Snake Kumbhakarna- That person that sleeps on beds in stores/ or A fast food addict Kuzenbo -Snapping Turtle Loki- Hazmat Suit/CDC ult he says sorry you were infected/Nightwing Medusa- Mirror Mirror on the wall Morrigan- Roque from x men Mercury- Usain Bolt/ Olympics medal/ Ice Skating Ne Zha- Race Track driver Neith- Witch Nemesis- Judge Judy (just a judge tho) Nike- Hit girl from kickass Nox- Drama Queen Nu Wa- Digital like pixel Odin- Professor Egghead from sonic Osiris- mad scientist Poseidon-(xStorm Reaperzx) Michal Phelps Ra- Seagle Raijin- Drummer from kiss Rama- Leather Armor with a wooden bow and hes white not purple Ratatoskr- Ferrit or Raccoon/Rocket Raccoon Ravana- Jackie Chan/Ninja/Bodybuilder Scylla- Gothic/Human girl with Octopus Tentacles Serqet- Scorpion from spiderman/or Skunk Skadi- Russian Gymnast with Yoga pants dog is made of Protein bar. Sobek-Ferraligator from pokemon Sol- Ice god/Housewife with oven mits/Sandwich artist Sun Wukong- Magician/Wallet Thief Susano- Master swordsman/Blacksmith/Sasuke from naruto (too many memes about it so make it reality) Sylvanus- Herbalist TeacheBotany teacheGroot from guardians of galaxy with Rocket Raccoon on top Terra- Club Bouncer Thanatos- Dubstep Skin/Satanic Ritual like Anubis/Trench coat with sword instead of scythe/Knight Thor- Hacker Thoth- Seagull/ScholaLibrarian with small eyeglasses/ Tyr- Medieval ExecutioneFood Critic and sword is a giant fork Ullr- Geek Vamana- Troll/Yoda Vulcan- Instead of fire its water and he stole Posidons Staff/Kim Jun Unn with nukes insead of rockets Xbalanque- Juggernaut from xmen with a sign ripped out for the axe and car door for shield Xing Tian- Venom from spiderman bc the mouth,or carnage/Traveler Ymir-Fire Giant/Earth Elemntal Zeus- Electrician/Shazam/Gamer Zhong Kui- Artist/PlumbeMechanic/Fast Food MangeGuildmaster from a rpg or something/Comedian/Bug Exterminator Recal Idea: Waterfall Volcano Tsunami Dubstep Dance Recall that would be cool Shadows A gate spawns in front of you and you walk threw it Janus portal WARD IDEAS Train Action Figure Volcano Television Xbox Goblin Ghost Magic wand Thunderclouds MUSIC THEMES PIxel old rpg music like FF1 or something EMOTES Joined Dance like in destiny Handshake Taunt emotes that are funny Combat Roll Sleeping Rage Backflip Animations at the end of each mach you see the winning team standing there and spamming there laugh or something or like top player video at victory screen show a chest fall from the skin if you got one and you can unlocked it there Custom MOTD Ive always wanted to make a custom match with no cool downs and infinite mana I think this would make custom games more interesting and also the boss gamemode on pc should come to xbox
Even a Hitman needs dishsoap (A people of Walmart ISOT)
Four squads of Helicopters hovered in formation over the walmart as they kicked up arizona dirt into the air.. Chinooks had Men dressed in all black repelling down as Jets flew circles around the Walmart now in the middle of no where.. An older middle aged man watched as as trucks took off to the desert following people trying to drive off.. A woman in a Colonel’s uniform shook her head, “This is the last Time I ever decide to come to this D@#$ store..” Several of the men come running. One of the men with a siler bar yells, “Hands where we..” “It is Colonel Blackstone United States Airforce..” Taking a deep breath, “Where is your CO?” The lead man hit the female Colonel with a rifle, “F#$%ing C#$% you were told to..” The man standing next to the downed Colonel, caught the man all in black off gaurd.. A loud snap filled the air, Followed by the man grabbing the rifle using him as a shield.. “You lost your gos D@#$ mind son.. Or just your god D@#$ map and Compass. The Colonel Asked you a question..” From the Ground Colonel Blackstone coughed, “Let.. Let him go soldier..” Several of the other Men and black where kneeling in firing positions.. A man in a black suit coughed,” Master Chief.. Reign in the dogs.. Son.. Let the idiot officer go..” Walking past the soldier, the man in the Black suit reaches down.. Taking the Colonel’s hand, “Colonel Blackstone.. USAF.. “ The man smiles, “Agent Rhiends.. I am glad you are US military.. Right.. Care to explain where this..” Looking at the building, “Came from.. Looks like a walmart..” The man lets the injured officer go, and shoves him forward to the ground as the JSOC team glares at him.. “Who won the last superbowl,” Colonel Blackstone spoke? “F#$% me..” Taking a deep breath, “Redskins blew out the broncos last month.. Superbowl 22..” “S#$%.. Boys,” Colonel looks around.. “Search everyone here.. Bring in those that walked off.. “ turning to the crowd of people from inside walmart, “How many of you are Veterans? We have a F@#$5ing problem..” Several of the men and women stepped forward.. “Mam,” The group spoke.. “You are all back to active duty at your ranks you where last in.. Including you soldier,” The Colonel spoke to the man with the JSOC weapon.. “You will help Agent Rhiends secure this facility for the federal government.. We have a huge F#$%ing problem.. It is 1988.. Ronald Reagan is president..” “Mam, “ Agent Rhiends gets a look on his face.. “I am the officer in charge.. Care to..” “Contact Davis Mothan.. Agent You are going to need a lot more people and security.. I want that road shut down immediately.. Find everyone who left.. We will need generators.. “ Taking a dep breath, “None of your people are allowed in the cars or the store..” “Who the H#$% do you think you are,” Agent Rhiends was getting pissed.. “Because the US Government will never let any of you see your families again if you go in there..” Colonel Blackstone leans forward, “Get me a line to someone at Fort Meade Maryland.. An Agent Blackstone, My father.. Tell them Colonel Rita Dell Blackstone from 2018 wishes to speak with him..” Agent Rhiends pauses, “2018…” Swallowing hard, “My god.. 30 years worth of technology..” The man with the JSOC gun snapped his fingers, “Get moving.. Your bosses at Quantico will fry you if you do NOT do as the Colonel says..” The Man tosses the rifle to the Master Chief, “Your men will want to listen to.. Do not even peak inside the store..” The master chief is eyeing the man, “I would say army.. Been out a long time.. Agent.. I would call Forte Meade for verifacation..” The Master chief looks at the man, “Your off son..” “Corporal.. I went spook old man..” Leaning forward, “Wetworks. “ “They dont call it that,” The Master Chief narrows his eyes.. “F#$% a private contractor?” Looking at the FBI agent, “Octavius..” The man smiled,” Private Contractor..” thinking fast, “GS 11.. Fredrick Octavius.. Colonel Blackstone is correct.. You might want to add in not to speak with those you chase down..The main reason none of you want to interact a lot.. Some of these people might have Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus. MRSA..” “S#$%.. Medically resistant staff infection,” Colonel Blackstones words makes everyone freeze.. “And every man here will be decom’ed..” Seeing Agent Rhiends face, “Some of the diseases have evolved in the next thirty years. The common ones are developing a resistance to any form of medicine..” Agent Rhiends walks over to one of the jeeps and crawls in.. “Mr. Octavius.. I will need your support,” Colonel Blackstone spoke as quiet as possible.. “I dont recall a..” “Mam.. I retired,” The fortyish year old man was eyeing everyone.. “That man has to sit in decom.. Dont touch him.. No hand to hand with combatants..” “Master chief,” The Officer has guns pointed at him by the other members of the JSOC team. Everyone is staring at each other for a few awkward minutes. Agent Rhiends has the sat phone brought out,”Agent Blackstone is being located.. I was advised to let you handle the people on your end colonel.. Pending proof you are who you claim to be..” Octavius looks at a black man in blue jeans and T-Shirt.. The man readjust his MAGA hat.. Another white female has a thought cross her mind, “Wait.. This is 1988..” She looks down at her t-shirt Hillary was robbed, “We can stop that sexist bastard!” “B#$%.. We can stop the people they killed,” The Man with MAGA hat spoke.. “Wait.. “ An evil smile crosses the man’s face, “Whitewater.. Vince Foster!” Octavius rolls his eyes and walks over to a car.. “You two shut the F#$% up,” The Colonel growls.. “Or I will have these men shoot you dead!” Opening the car he takes out a pack of Cigarettes.. Packing the cigs, he then opens them.. Taking one out he digs out his lighter.. “Master Chief,” Octavius speaks to the Two men who followed him at a distance. “Those F#$%ers should just both be shot on priciple..” The Master Chief takes out a pack of Cigarettes and lights one up.. “What is that S#$% about?” “Octavius,” Colonel Blackstone growls.. “Mam.. they need to know what to listen for.. They may have to kill these people if they talk out of turn..” Octavius responds raising his hands.. “There will be no mention of politics.. Or anything else until we talk with natives in the military..” Colonel Blackstone glares at the man in the MAGA hat.. “Thank you.. We can convince them to stop T,” The woman goes to the ground from a back hand.. “Say nothing..” Leaning over the whimpering woman, “I voted for bernie!” “Colonel,” Octavius speaks with raised eyebrows? The master Chief quietly eyes Octavius.. Realizing he stared to long, “politics?” Looking around at some of the people that the former military were talking to, “They are dressed funny..” “The people of walmart Master Chief,” Octavius nonchalantly speaks.. “A meme where I am from..” “Meme,” The Master Chief puffed.. “Clive..” Octavius smiles evilly, “Welcome to the new world..” “I never mentioned my first name,” Clive looks at Octavius.. Everyone turns and looks at the two men.. Agent Rhiends and Colonel Blackstone walk over.. “You know this man,” Agent Rhiends speaks.. “Why the F#$% did you not say so? We can start..” “You are thinking about retiring.. Clive got an offer from the FBI to teach at their head quarters.. “ Octavius smiles politely, “Just got divorced from your third wife..” “You,” Clive nods his head to the Agent.. “Ok.. What are my childrens names?” “Rebecca, Joseph, and little timmie..” “Nice try I do not have any children,” Clive shakes his head.. “Sir..” “Rebecca, Germany eight years ago.. Joseph, mexico four years ago..” Octavius grins evilly, “And little timmie was born to your sister in law last year. DNA test are a b#$%.” Agent Rhiends looked at the Master chief... “Please I was in Germany nine year.. Oh,” Master Chief took a deep breath.. “I did not sleep with my.. F#$% !!” “Relax Master Chief.. The DoD cant afford to lose your skills.. And none of your CO get to know about this.. It will be classified eyes only for those read into this..” Octavius takes a long drag, “We are wasting time.. You need to be planning Colonel.. The brass are going to be jack A$$es..” “Let me get this straight,” A man in a very expensive suit was very pissed.. “This GS 11 Octavius.. Knocked out one of the Hazmat workers and escaped..” “Sir,” Agent Rhiends tried to speak..”He..” “Your Master Chief on loan from JSOC, reported that he did not believe This Octavius..” The man spoke coldly, “I have to report to the Man Reagan put in charge a few hours ago.. You want me to tell him What?” The master Chief walks up and drops a black bag in front of the agents.. “Colonel Blackstone..” Shaking his head, Clive is pissed.. “This is worse then we thought.. A sniper Rifle.. And..” Pointing towards a car, “We found a body in the trunk.. Colonel I was right..” “He knew you,” The Colonel shook her head.. “And idea who it was?” “Me,” Master Chief took a deep breath.. The man in the suit raised and eye brow, “So.. That is how he knew your personal..” The man chuckles, “He is a wetworks operative.. “ Master Chief shows a badge, “Colonel.. What is this Department of Homeland Security..” The two agents look at Colonel Blackstone, “Long story sir.. We have to catch this mother F#$%er..” “No S#$%.. Lucky for you,” The Agent freezes.. “Carl.. Leave her alone,” A man walks up.. “So you claim you are my baby girl?” Both agents tighten up, “Sir she let..” “Boys.. “ Mr. Blackstone spoke, “If your my little girl..” The Colonel smiles, “Dad..” She rolls up her uniforms legs showing a red line, “Ice Skating..” raising her shirt, “Appendix when I was twelve.. “ Agent Blackstone takes a deep breath.. “You burned down your grill last year during the forth of July.. Your last words to mama was her favorite bible passage.. “ Colonel Blackstone swallows hard, “My younger brother is actuall Jilly’s son.. You and mama adopted him.. You dont tell anyone of the rest of us till you are on your deathbed..” “Ok.. Littlelady..” “I lied to you last night if it is the date I think it is.. I just lost my virginity to the man I marry.. “ The Colonel looks at her father, “And shut the F#$% up dad.. You were right I divorce him when I am a major..” The Colonel has one hand on her hip and points at the Agent.. Blackstone has to lean on Carl and Rhiends, “I believe my little jelly bean..” “You call me your little Green bean,” Colonel Blackstone looks at her father all serious.. “And you know I HATE that fucking nickname!” “That is her mothers attitude,” The older Agent is laughing.. “All right.. Colonel We will catch up later.. For now we need to know the nature of the biohazard. Gr..” The agent stops cold, “D@#$.. You grow up to have your mothers manneris..” Another glare shuts the Agent up.. “It should be containable.. The only problem is this octavous man.. We will need to do a general health check and eliminate the risk.. We have the risk of several diseases..” Colonel Blackstone speaks, “Lucky for you dad we have a doctor, the pharmacist, and a few others in the store..” “We completely lock this area down and no one gets out till they go through a full decontamination,” Agent Blackstone smiles.. “We will need to talk.. Technology, history.. All of it.. We are gonna have a lot to talk about.. Me and my littler green bean will be talking..” “Our main concern immediately is this.. Dad,” The colonel shakes her head.. “He killed a man and casually sat next to the live man.. He is some kind of hit man..” “It gives ua a body to compare with a living man..” Agent Blackstone took the Colonel’s arm, “Give me a tour of this walmart.. We will be scouring this store for fingerprints.. Lets see if we can find him.. “ “Dad.. There is a lot of technology inside,” Blackstone grinned.. “You wont believe the computing power available on our cell phones..” After a few seconds, “Wait.. We can bring up the tapes and see what he touched.. “ As they got away from several of the people, “I believe your story..” Agent Blackstone told his daughter, “Now.. What are you not telling me?” “I met with DoHS agent Clive blueson two days ago dad..” The Colonel closed her eyes fighting her emotions.. Opening them, “I met Octavius at the base.. Dad.. I did not know he was a contract killer I swear to god.. I..” “You slept with him,” Agent Blackstone smiled.. “Good.. “ “Because even in our mistakes, their is always something of value,” colonel Blackstone grinned.. “Thats my girl.. You slept with him for several days to several weeks.. You can help me build a profile of him.. How hard is it going to be to catch him,” Agent Blackstone spoke softly.. “So that is why you where here.. You were meeting with him for a quickie..” Sighing as she looked at her father.. “He is professional.. He is also... lonely.. Dad.. I dont think he lied to me directly.” The Colonel smiled, “D@#$ near impossible dad.. He was doing this under all our noses.. With more advanced technology at our disposal.. He wont try to contact his family.. They are dead to him already.. His .. He mentioned his first girl friend.. He said.. Texas.. Dad.. He lived in Texas when he was younger.. The accent and he mentioned the night life at Deep Elm..” “You know I will have to speak with my little green bean.. She needs to develop better taste in men..” Fatherly, Agent Blackstone took a minute, “Leave that part out of your official report.. Now show me this technology.. We will all go through decom.. The CDC is on its way.. The President has been briefed.. This whole mess has been given a project name already.. Project Morlock...” A man in a suit is on his knees, “I am made man.. You are dead.. Do you understand me?” A masked man pulls the trigger splattering the italian man’s brains over the wharehouse.. The other hitters on their knees defiantly stare forward.. “Now.. I am glad I have you attention,” Octavius’s voice comes from the masked man.. He snaps his finger and a briefcase is set on the ground with masked men around Octavius.. He kicks the brief case to the largest hitter, “Your boss was outing all of you to the FBI. Louie.” “You are full of S#$%,” Louie looks up as a woman in cuffs is brought forward.. “Louie.. Help me,” The woman begs as she is tossed to the ground.. “The Don’s mistress,” Louie is wide eyed.. “Pam,” Octavius grabs the woman by her hair.. “You convinced them I was deal bad S#$%.. Your boys in undercover poisoned my weed shipment.. Killing my customers..” “Louie..” Pam had fear in her eyes, “He is lying.. I..” Several more men with blackhoodies over their faces are dragged in.. Thier mask are removed as they are shoved to the ground.. Beaten and bloddied the four men try to stand and cant even stand.. Taking out a police issued side arm from his long coat, “We are going to play a game.. You officers are going to sing for Louie..” An unbeaten Louie is stood up and sat in a chair.. His hands are cut free, “You.. Undercovers..” “I am an officer of,” The man dies from a side arm discharge.. One of the other three falls to the ground and passes out.. Octavius shots the man that fell in the back of the head.. “Pam.. You got to tell them..” One of them speaks, “We did not have anything to do with this..” “I.. I dont know who you,” Pam winces when octavius kills the man speaking.. “Louie.. He..” Louie weakly stands up, “Stop.. The boss will want to speak with them..” Octavius puts the gun in the face of Pam, “She is the Don’s favorite..Louie.. Louie..” Taking a deep breath, Octavius nods.. The other hitters are cut free professionally.. “You are asking me on behalf of the families to hand these two over to you,” Octavius smiles evilly from behind the mask.. “I aint a Don,” Louie has to hold onto one of the other hitters.. As Octavius cocks the hand gun back, “Yes.. It is family business..” Ocatvius tosses the gun on the ground, “Louie.. Leave the gun, it is the last man’s side arm.. I do this because of our long friendship.. Just you..” “I do not F#$%ing know you,” Louie growls.. Octavius laughs for a minute as his own men get nervous.. Octavius stops, “I had to try.. Tell the don nothing moves into california without me being paid..” After a few seconds to let it sink,”I will ship out weed.. I want your boss to sell only the finest..” “Looks.. Youse not an idiot.. My boss doesn do bidness dis way..” Louie shook his head as the other hitters are moved back, “My boss is one of the most feared..” Octavius leans forward lifting the mask.. He starts whispering in Louies ear.. Louie goes white faced, “You.. You a made man… “ Louie gives a greeting in Sicilian.. Octavius responds in Sicilian.. After the response, “Everyone but Louie turn around..” Lifting Louie’s sleeve, “ Your coded mark..” Octavius lifts his sleeve showing a black dragon.. Louie backs up wide eyed, “My.. My mark..I..” Octavius puts his finger on louies lip.. He whispers, “Don Corlesi.. I am going to put an end to the drug flow.. And this bullS#$% of killing women and children.. Weed is the only drug you allow..” “Weed don hur no one,” Louie is wide eyed.. “What da F@#$ Soldier..” Louie raises Octavius’s hand and removes Octavius’s left glove, “Holy S#$%!!” Octavius puts back on the glove, “Mr. Corlesi..” Two briefcases are brought in.. Louie opens the briefcases, “What da F#$% is this..” Louie takes out a document, “Dis .. Dis is the list of ..” Louie is wide eyed, “This is a list of..” “Undercovers in the bosses organization,” Octavius looks through the mask eyes.. “The boss does not like human trafficking..” Louie is wide eyed, “Kid.. You a soldier.. But.. De mask S#$%..” “Fed’s cant track me if they dont know who I am,” Octavius smiles.. Taking the card out of the other brief case, “This is a new credit card.. What if I told you I can make sure the Feds cant track the BOSS anymore via finances..” “Da boss would.. He would,” Louie slides the card up.. “You a soldier making his move.. The don..” “My first payment to the Don for the families operations I know run.. The feds do not have the ability yet to track the funds..” Octavius grins evilly as he snaps his fingers.. Clean clothes are brought out by a masked kid.. Respectfully another masked kid stands behind Louie.. “I had a car brought around for you.. One of mine.. Clean.. “ Octavius grins, “A plane is waiting for you at LAX..” Louie turns as the two guest hare drenched in Alcohol.. A masked woman injects a struggling Pam.. “I.. I a.. Am..” Pam passes out.. The female repeats the process on the last undercover.. Coldly turning, Octavius stops at the door as Louie and the other hitters watch.. “You all need to leave.. It is about to become unsafe here in Cali for a few weeks..” “Not safe.. What are you going to do,” Louie is wide eyed? “Wipe out all of the competition..” Octavius smiles, “We are still in the middle of the Second mob war.. Decades before the rumbles of a third one..” “Leave H. H. alone..” A texas Accent fills the air, “All right class.. Quiet down..” A kid with a sad face takes a deep breath as several of the kids glare at him.. “So what started this,” The teacher looks at one of the bigger kids? “HH said we where stupid.. “ A dumb sounding kid spoke, “If I went back in time I would bet on sports games.. Like marty McFly did..or Stocks.. ” “You mean Biff,” HH speaks.. “Mrs. Towler.. I told Ed that he would be broke in a few years.. He did not earn the money.. He would be robbed by those beneath him..” “Please.. I would deal with them..” The bigger kid pointed at HH.. “Loke your plan would work.. USe advanced technology to build an empire.. The criminals would wipe you out cry baby. Pose as a mobster.. Limited Resources and scarcity with diminishing returns.” Mrs. Towler smiled, “Well.. I am surprised you are having an economics conversation.. Ed.. That is why the coach put you in this class.. You need to learn the basics of money..” “Please.. When I make the NFL I will have a money manager,” Ed spoke confidently.. “I run.. I only need to focus on the game..” One of the teachers came into the classroom, “Janie.. Turn the TV on..” “Mrs. Johns..” Mrs. Towler looks up, “Will we get reception.. HH.. Can you get the TV to work..” HH walks past several kids who make weird faces at him.. Mumbling to himself, “not if I got them first.. “ “Pu$$y,” Ed whispers.. “Like you would ever be able to fake being a made man..” HH turns on the TV and checks the cable running into the back.. Playing with one of the Cables, “Here you go.. I think it should..” The sound and video turns on.. “The Governor of California, George Deukmejian, has officially called out the national guard,” The reporter and camera man duck behind a wall..”A massive Gang war has broken out in the streets of LA. SWAT units and poli.” “We aint going down like dogs.. You tink the popo’s,” A sniper round kills the gang banger in red.. “F#$% me,” The next round ices the gangbanger in blue.. In the back ground a huge explosion is followed by flames and smoke rising into the air.. Several of the Members of the combined gangs are gunned down by fully dressed SWAT.. The students in the classroom swallow hard as they watch the gun battle.. HH looks at the screen and then at ed.. He shakes his head, “Nah..” “...declared martial law.. Those helicopters are part of the national guard un,” The reporter is hit by bullets.. Mrs. Towler quickly turns off the television, “Crap..” Looking at her class, “This… This a historical moment.. I will let your parents explain ..” HH closes his eyes, “HH.. I do apologize.. “ Everyone is whispering.. A well dressed woman peeks inside the classroom, “Mrs. Towler.. Erica Pierce.. I am .. I need to speak with little H.H.” “Can you watch these kids for a minute..” Mrs. Towler sees Mrs. Johns nod yes, “H.H.” H.H. just walks out in front of Mrs. Towler.. H.H. sees an older well dressed man and pauses, “Uncle Teddy?” H.H. ‘s eyes go wide at the in shape man, “Mrs. Pierce.. You found my uncle..” “Kid I just found out my sister died.. I was traveling the US trying to find myself..” Uncle Teddy smiled, “I immediately came back to town..” H.H. hugs his uncle, “You.. You got my letters.. I sent them to your PO Box like you said..” “I got them,” The meticously dressed Redson looked at Mrs. Towler.. “Who is this?” Mrs. Towler blushes and sticks out her hand, “Janie Towl.. Towler.. I am glad.. Glad..” Mrs. Towler shakes her head and stops looking at redson in the eye.. “I am Little HH’s econ teacher.. And I am his homeroom teacher.. Your his Uncle Teddy Redson..” Mrs. Pierce coughs subtlely, “Mr. Redson.. I see this is your nephew.. If I understand correctly your sister left you her old house.. “ “We will be staying at a hotel.. I am going to renovate the house and rent it out…” Teddy grinned, “My real estate agent has several houses we are going to need to look at..” Hitting HH on the arm, “Your going to have to go looking with me.. The first house is old man Gentsons..” “Mama looked at that house..” HH sounded excited, “Before she got sick.. She.. She wanted to sell ours.. And move in there.. “ “So you want me to just put an offer on that big empty house,” Teddy grinned.. “Some repairs have to be done.. “ “Mrs. Redson should love that house,” Janie Towler tried to be slick.. “Uncle Teddy is single,” HH responded.. “Oh..” After a few more seconds, “Wait.. I.. I am going home with Uncle TEDDY!!” Mrs. Pierce smiled, “If that is what you want.. I will report to the judge that this visit..” “Mrs. Pierce.. Judge Schmidt approved it earlier today.. He is an old family friend,” Teddy grinned.. “Now you are going to have to bring that husband of yours for our housewarming party.. I have already invited the Judge.. Tell Waid I’ll make sure we have his favorite beer..” Mrs. Pierce hit Teddy in the arm, “You remember Waid.. From school.. He said you knew each other..” “I have not forgot,” Teddy grinned evilly.. One of the other Teachers stuck his head out of his classroom, “Janie.. “ Seeing Teddy he walks out of the classroom.. “Teddy..” The two shake hands as HH gets a loo on his face.. “Mr. Wesson..” Teddy hits the man in the arm, “I am screwing with you.. “ Instinctually Paul hugs Janie, “You are back in town.. To pick up your nephew..” Paul rubs HH’s hair getting a pissed off look from HH.. “The news man.. My class is watching it.. The Governors of Arizona, Nevada, and Oregon have called out their NG units..” Teddy whistles, “D@#$..Pardon my language.. IS it getting that bad?” “The gang war is threatening to spill over to their states..” Paul catches the coldness from Janie,”I hope we are still on for dinner baby..” Politely smiling, “We will talk later..” Janie towler takes a deep breath, “I have to get back to my class.. HH.. I am glad your Uncle found you..” Looking at Mr. Redson she sticks out her hand, “Ot is nice to meet you Teddy..” Shaking her hand back, “I will need to speak with you later Mrs. Towler..” Seeing Pauls face, “Relax old dog.. I have to review my nephews school work..” An Evil smirk crosses Teddy’s face for half a second, “I hope to see you in church tonight Paul.. You to Mrs. Pierce..” Seeing the two of them recoil..”I have changed since we last saw each other..” “Wait.. You found baby jesus,” HH gets a look on his face.. Teddy kneels in Front of HH, “You wont believe me if I told you.. Lets say the universe is vast.. I have in my darkest hour my faith has got me through a lot.. I am not going to preach to you.. You will have to go to church.. Sunday mornings and evenings.. And every wensday night.. IT is good discipline building to have all your clothes and chores down.. Around a tight schedule..” Janie smiles and speaks out, “Dawn goes to the same church.. Her father is Deacon and business manager.. We do.. “ “No preaching,’ HH looks at Teddy.. “From you or bible thumping?” Nope.. I hate that crap..” Teddy stands up slowly, “You need the good influences in your life.. So you do not end up at bars and strip clubs..” “Stop by Mr.Redson.. After school today,” Janie goes back into the classroom.. “The national guard is in a street by street fight,” A different reporter’s voice filled the air.. “This is a battle for the soul of the american people.. Stay tuned.. We will bring you up to date reports on what is being called the battle for California..” “Mr. President.. Project Morloch might can help,” Agent Blackstone takes a deep breath.. “Mr. President.. We .. I understand sir..” Wearing a single star, Rita picks up another phone.. “Mr. President.. Brigadier General Blackstone.. Sir.. Let me be clear.. I know several people are filtering the information you are recieving.. Sir.. I do not care.. This is exactly why you formed Project Morloch.. Sir the issue here is tactical.. Sir no offense.. The people you have advising you do NOT know what they are dealing with.. You can NOT handle this like you did earlier in your career in california..” “Brigadier General Blackstone,” Agent Blackstone growled.. “This is the president of the United States..” Looking at her father, “First kill the god D@#$ news feed.. Second shut off water and electricity.. Third withdraw the national guard to the military bases.. Four have the bases serve as forward commands for the National guard. Five set up safe zones for the Families of the dependants.. Six have special forces go with marines and retrieve family members.. Draft the JSOC members into the NAtional Guard..” Laughter came from the phone.. Reagan’s voice filled the, “George recommended the very same thing.. He recommended we use all our assets to stop this. As is the JCS...” “Sir.. Project Morloch’s upgraded satilite capabilities can make this like shooting fish in a barrel..” Rita Blackstone paused for a second, “If I have to I will go myself MR. PResident.. We can coordinate our assualts very easily without revealing our new tech sir.. Also.. check EVERYONE going into the Safe Zones sir.. Strip search all of them for drug and weapons.” “I will not set up camps,” Reagan’s voice was clear.. “How soon can our.. Our edge be deployed..” “Now Mr. President.. The issue will only be the ground units doing exactly what they are told..” Brigidier General Blackstone smiled, “Sir.. We do have a few non leathals we could deploy..” A buzzing of a disconnect comes from the phone.. “God D#$%,” Agent Blackstone looked at a TV screen outside the office.. “Mr. President..” Brigadier General Blackstone calls out, “Hello.. Mr. President!” “Rita,” Her father pointed to a screen outside the office.. “My god..They.. They hit the white house..” Rita just stood there, “That mother F#$%er just.. My god.. He had Reagan killed..” “I take it that this was not supposed to happen either,” Agent Blackstone was pissed.. “What is Octavius up to?” “Brigadier General Blackstone,” The Blackman sans his MAGA hat swallowed hard.. “NSA just got this SIGNET in.. You are going to want to hear this.. They are say it is going out over radio..” “Play it Lt. Freeman,” Agent Blackstone growls.. An electronic voice comes from a computer, “ We are the Weather Underground.. We will no longer tolerate the attacks ordered by our government on our brown brother and sisters. We stand in solidarity.. We must destroy the military industrial complex.. As-salāmu ʿalaykum, Comrades of the socialist movement! Comrades of the Jihad.” “Why would he use the Weather undergrou.. F#$% me.. Lt.. Check on the future POTUSs,” Brigadier General Blackstone got worried.. They watched as the new satilites brought up a display.. “Mam.. They are all safe,” Lt. Freeman shook his head.. “Octavius just turned Reagan into a martyr..” “Any reports on the weapon system used to hit the white house,” Agent Blackstone shook his head? “Dad.. Ask for the time index..” Rita hits the Lt. on the back as others are at stations, “Time index on the launch..” The screen shows the time as the computer people go backwards and follow a path.. On the screen three catapults appeared.. “You have to be S#$%ting me.. Catapults.. He has knowledge of future technology and goes primative,” Agent Blackstone hits an ear piece, “General We found the weapons.. We are sending you the photo’s now..” Brigadier General Blackstone took a deep breath.. She brought up the pictures of a burning white house as another round launched, “Impressive.. Those flames Lt.. White phosphorus with tungsten shards..” “Have the Jets destroy them now,” Agent Blackstone growled.. “Yes a second round is coming..” Agent Blackstone paused as the balls hit and exploded… “Mam..” Lt. Freeman whispered, “Octavius just F#$%ed a lot of things.. But he may have a purpose..” “Explain,” Agent Blackstone paused.. “Sir.. Where we come from the political environment was highly.. Charged.. There was a lot of theories about the source of the problem..” Lt. Freeman took a deep breath, “This links three problems.. Terrorism, Economics, and Politics.. It will be several generations before the socialist ideas dare show there heads.. Octavius just charged the environment.. IF Regan is dead.. The republicans will trounce the democrats..” A woman walked in the building with tears on her face.. She was dressed professionally, “There was a car accident in Arkansas.. The governors wife was injured..” Swallowing hard, “There are reports that they found.. Found propaganda from the weather Underground in her car.. He tried to kill Hillary!!” “Julie,” Rita Blackstone had to sit down.. “Let me see the reports..” “We have to stop this,” Julie handed a pad over to the Brigadier General.. Lt. Freeman laughs, “No mam.. We can not interfere.. We are going to find out if Bernie can take Donald Trump..” The group in the command center from the future were quietly discussing things.. “This is bad,” Agent Blackstone watched the conversations.. “Rita darling..” Brigadier General Blackstone had her fist balled up as she heard the conversations.. “All of you shut the F#$% up!” Everyone went quiet.. “We live in the here and now..” Brigadier General Blackstone watched the different screens, “First we need to figure out who Octavius really is..” Lt. Freeman took a deep breath, “Mam.. We have chatter.. Looks like we are going to get an early kick off to the war on terror.. The CIA is reporting..” Reading his screen, “ Several terrorist networks are supporting the Weather Undergrounds actions..” Taking a deep breath, “F#$%.. Mam.. The Russian Ambassador is having a press conference..” “S#$%.. This might be war,” Agent Blackstone took a deep breath.. “Janie.. It is ok.. You can call me Teddy.. Mr. Redson is so formal,” Teddy smiled.. “So what has my nephew got into trouble for..” Mrs. Towler blushed for a second, “Uhm.. Teddy.. He was not doing ok before his mother died.. He was sent into.. Well..” “HH did not have the tools to emotionally adjust to the loss of his mother.. “ Teddy closed his eye, “When my mother died I did not either.. A good teacher tried her best to keep me on the right path.. I got a love of history from her.. Right path, not so much.” “You know.. It is so funny you say that..” Janie smiled again, “My degree is in history.. I have recommended several books.. H.H. is a big science fiction fan..” Janie sighs, “He likes me.. I should not have given him that new book by S.M.Stirling.. I was trying to encourage him.. He got a puppy dog look in his eyes.. I want you to know I would not..” “Marching through Georgia,” Teddy smiled.. “The new book by Stirling.. I love it.. Are you a star wars fan by chance?” “You read it,” Janie blushes! “May the force be with you..” “You are a big geek..” Teddy smiled, “In my younger days I had a crush on an older woman.. She was a big Heinlein fan.. She got married to a loser.. Always thought if I got the chance I would roll the dice.” “What was her favorite book,” Janie asked coily.. “She used to be a librarian.. She ..” Teddy was looking into Janie’s eyes, “Her favorite book was Stranger in a strange land.. I read it multiple times.. I never had the heart to..” “That is so much a small world, I started as a librarian..And That is MY favorite book,” Janie shakes her head.. “Paul hates science fiction.. What is your favorite book..” “Time enough for love,” Teddy softly smiles..”I am so with Lazusus Long.. Screw the critics..” Janie tosses her hair, “I know.. “ Taking a deep breath, “We are getting off the subject.. “ Janie looks deeply into Teddy’s eyes, “It is funny I feel like I know you Mr…. Teddy.. “ H.H. walks into the room followed by a young lady.. “Dawn.. The Jaguar belongs to my uncle..” An older man walks in, “Mr. Redson.. H.H. was just telling me that you will be at church tonight..” “Mr. Burger,” Teddy stands up and sticks his hand out.. As the two men shake, “I.. I know I have a past in this town.. I turned over a new leaf.. I have a nephew to raise..” “Teddy..” The large white man smiled, “That is the past.. God took you on a journey.. You look like he took care of you.. And Teddy.. Mr. Burger is what your nephew calls me.. Its Jim..” “Well I know I am a member is bad standing.. The good lord has taken care of me through hardship and joy.. Mr. Burger.. Jim.. I am hoping me and my nephew are welcome.. He was telling me that saturday you are having a bake sale.. “ “To repair the Fellowship halls roof,” Jim Burger smiled as he sniffed out something.. “We are trying to raise ..” Teddy reached into his sports coat and took out a checkbook, “I wrote the check for the church as soon as he told me.. Twenty thousand dollars..” “That is to much, “ Jim took the check.. He got a look o his face.. “I made some good money in the commodities market.. I invested in a few businesses with it.. I am a silent partner with several gas distribution companies..” Teddy smiled, “The church did so much for my sister and my nephew..” Teddy closed Jims hand, “God takes care of those who take care of his people.. And vice versus.. If you try to give it back to me I will ..” “Teddy.. Your a changed man.. I see god has moved in your life,”Jim put a hand on Teddy’s shoulder.. “Dont go getting your feathers ruffled.. Your definately Teddy.. “ “You have enough time to go cash it.. And to get the money into the Church’s accounts..” Teddy smiled, “Now.. I..” Looking at a rolex watch, “I have to go get My nephew some new clothes.. So we are dressed appropriately for church..” HH got a look on his face.. “Tell you what Ms. Burger.. If your dad is ok with it.. Perhaps we can run to the mall real quick.. JC penny, Dillards, and Macys are open..” Looking at Janie, “Perhaps you can ride with Mrs. Towler.. If HH is anything like me at his age.. Shopping with him is a pain in the arse..” “Uncle Teddy.. My clothes are ok,” HH got a look on his face.. “Daddy.. Can I please go to the mall with Mrs. Towler and Mr. Redson,” Dawn was excited.. “If Mrs. Towler goes,” Jim smiled at his daughter.. “We are having potluck tonight so no food after four little girl..” “My car is low on gas,” Mrs. Towler sighed.. “I would love to continue our conversation..” “Least I can do for multitasking a woman on a teacher’s salary..”Taking out his keys, “You drive the Jaguar.. I will drive your car to the gas station and fill it..” Dawn is wide eyed as Janie catches the keys.. “I.. I am not on your insurance,” Janie bites her lip.. “Please.. I only paid five thousand for the body.. Then four thousand for the parts and labor..” Teddy grinned, “If anything happens the car is fully insured.. I will do the same thing again..” Jim nodds in approval.. “Then.. After church we have to to our hotel room.. I am renting a room at the four seasons..” Teddy shook his head, “It will take a few months.. I only rented it for a week..” Jim shook his, “You cant live at a hotel, HH needs a stable home.. Hum..” “Do you have a room I can rent.. Well two rooms,” Teddy spoke.. “I can pay for all four months..” “We do have the mother in law house.. You and mama were talking about renting it out..” Dawn spoke, “Mama said she was fixing it up first..” “That is right,” Jim spoke.. “I will talk with the missus..We can work something out Teddy..” HH’s eyes sparkle..
A monarch butterfly descended onto my camera lens like a leaf, letting the soft breeze guide it more than its wings. Eddie stood near the treeline, whipping the tall grass with a long stick, loving the sound it made through the air, and reveling in the blades becoming decapitated. I snapped pictures, admiring the nature of the place, looking forward to keeping the scenery forever unchanged on my computer. I would always be able to revisit this spot, even if Eddie and I couldn’t be here physically. “Hey,” Eddie finally spoke up, taking a breath from his reign of destruction. “Do you miss Mary?” I had knelt down to take a picture of a passing frog as one simultaneously formed in my throat. “What?” I said, pretending not to hear him at first. “Mary,” he laughed, “I wish she hadn’t moved.” “Yeah,” I slowly got up, “Me too.” We met in the middle of the grassy circle. We were in an opening in the local woods. What it was cleared for, I’ve never known and no one else I’ve met knows either. But those cluttered, dark, and tangled woods had a beautiful opening dead in the center. That’s where I could be with my best friend and hide away from the cluttered, dark and tangled aspects of my own life. Not that I knew what real problems were. I was just a kid. I didn’t discover real darkness until much later.
“You know… I never told you this. But we kissed before she left,” Eddie said, putting his hands behind his head. He marched on before me as we wandered. It was difficult to hide my concern from that comment. I had feelings for Mary from the moment I saw her. Sure it was just a juvenile crush then, but it sure felt like love. We’ve known each other since preschool, and her, Eddie and I were inseparable throughout Elementary school. She came back into my life when I started High school, and I found out that juvenile crush had evolved into something more. And as I would later find out, Eddie had felt the same. “No way,” Were the only two words I mustered. “Yeah…” Eddie sighed with a prideful smile, “I just didn’t want to tell you. You know, because we’re friends and all.” “Well, it’s not like I liked her or anything,” I lied. Eddie nodded and turned back to me. As much as we were friends, he also enjoyed one-upping me.
We continued on, climbing trees around the circumference and fighting each other with any large sticks we could find. We talked about other girls in our class and how much certain teachers would bother us. I also confided in him about Flash bullying me, to which he replied, “If I ever see that kid again, I’ll lay into him.” And lay into him he did, much later in our Middle school life. Eugene, now commonly known as Flash, has always held a grudge against Eddie for punching him that one day. Not as equal of a hatred as he held toward me, however.
The sun started to move past the treeline, and the air around us turned a deep orange. Fireflies came out from hiding, and I did my best to take some decent pictures with the lighting that was available. We both ended up sitting in the center of the circle and watched as the fireflies increased in number the more the light receded. Eddie laid down. “My parents are gonna split up.” I laid down too, and we both just looked into the sky without saying much. “How do you know?” was all I could think to say. “Overheard them fighting downstairs last night. I dunno. It's probably because they don't like me... I’m just a loser.” I turned my head to face him. “You don’t think that, do you?” After Eddie caught a glimpse of my concerned face, he chuckled. Any previous pain on his face receded. “Doesn’t matter what I think,” he punched me in the arm. “Just glad you don’t think so, buddy.” The comment felt bittersweet.
I don’t know if it was the same one, but before the sun completely left us, a monarch butterfly came to investigate our area. Before long it landed on the face of a closed-eyed Eddie. He spluttered and fidgeted for a moment but it didn’t budge. I broke out laughing, “No, no, don’t move,” I hurried to get out my camera, and sat up to get a good position. Where Eddie was once bothered and upset, he laughed and smiled wide. I think that was the first picture I ever took that I was proud of. Peter shot up in a bed, screaming. He was cuffed to metal bars on the sides of the mattress, and he gasped for air. His skin was crawling and he felt thicker than usual. Regardless of being in an unfamiliar room with no memory of how he got there, he also felt an intense sense of fear. His vision was bouncing in and out and he could swear his adrenaline rush could be physically felt, as it gushed through every vein in his body, like it was screaming at him, GET OUT NOW He tugged and spasmed, attempting to get the cuffs off and looked around for any exit points. No windows, only one solid metal door with no handle, at least on this side of the room. Everything was pure white, in the tiles, in the ceiling, in the table next to him, in the chair in front of it. “Somebody help me!” Peter lurched out from exhausted breath and building saliva in his throat. “Where am I!? Get me out of here!” He was panicked and wouldn’t rest until the sensations in him ceased. He was in grave danger, that’s all he knew. And his body needed to flee. beep The door before him swung open. Three people dressed in hazmat suits as white as the room charged in. Peter could hear one of them giving commands to the others, but the stranger’s voice was muffled by the mask, as well as by Peter’s internal screaming. Two held him down to the bed… or attempted to. In the end they succeeded, but Peter was impressed at his ability to resist them, keeping himself up for a long time, staring down the third suited enemy, who was preparing a deadly looking syringe. Peter had never seen a needle so long on one before. But in the end, as Peter’s strength seemed to rise and fall, shifting in strange patterns, he was pinned by elbows and knees, as they put all of their might into keeping him still. The third was a man, as revealed by his deep voice as he got close to Peter, “Sorry kid. But this is going to hurt quite a bit,” he said, loading something small into the back of the syringe. Peter attempted to squirm but he was in the low of his shifting strength. The needle was brought to his shoulder, and it seemed to go inside his skin endlessly. It was merely a continuous pinch, until the man pressed his thumb against the back, as something was injected into him. It was something small and solid that had tore through his tissue and muscle and something about it was unbearable to handle. He didn’t even yell out or cry. A split second of immense pain was all he experienced, and his body and mind gave out. Darkness was all his reality became. Peter slowly lifted his lids to see a light. His eyes hurt and he felt groggy, but soon a silhouetted man cast a shadow over him. Peter was confused and unsure of what happened, and he desperately wished for his vision to clear. “Oh thank God,” said an older woman’s voice. “Thank God, he’s waking up, dear.” He immediately recognized the voice as his Aunt May. He turned to his left to see blurry versions of his Uncle and Aunt, who had gotten out of their seats to stand closer. “Please don’t get too close or startle him,” said the silhouetted man, shielding the blinding light. “He needs to take it slow.”
After a minute or two of listening to his Aunt interrogate whoever was in the room, and closing and opening his eyes to try and force some clarity, he could see a little better. He was clearly in a hospital room. The man who stood over him was a doctor and he was speaking with his Aunt and Uncle at the end of the bed. They caught him sitting up, and his Aunt rushed over to sit by his side. She was about five years younger than his Uncle and, even though they both looked younger than they were, it clearly showed. Her hair was a stronger, healthier looking silver than Ben’s, and she brushed it aside as her baby blue eyes held back water. “Peter, how foolish can you be?” she said, a scold dowsed in concern. “You of all people should know how dangerous a place Oscorp can be. Why would you pass into any restricted areas there?” After some thought, Peter recalled why he was in the hospital at all. One of the spiders in the tanks broke out and bit him. Worry started to build up inside him as to what that could mean. Was he poisoned? Was he dying but was brought to the hospital in time? What if they couldn’t remove the venom and it was too late? “I was worried sick,” May continued, “But now that I know you’re okay, I think I have some right to be angry, mister. Who knows what Oscorp puts inside of those spiders? It could have been radioactive for heaven’s sake.” “Come on, May, let’s not go too far. He was probably just trying to impress Mary.” “Stop,” Peter managed to slur out of his mouth as he adjusted to waking life. “Please Ben, now isn’t the time for jokes. He could have been seriously injured or… or God knows what else.” “I’m fine, really,” Peter said, although he could barely believe it. May was right, Oscorp does unthinkable experiments on animals, insects - he’s even heard of people volunteering to be test subjects, usually those who are already sick and dying, or just simply have nothing left to lose and sign their life away. He picked up his glasses from the side table and slowly shifted his way toward sitting up in bed. “In fact,” he put slipped on his round glasses, “I feel great. Time to go now, right?” He smiled at his Aunt, who in return shook her head, but couldn’t resist a small laugh. “I blame you for his mouth, you know,” she said, directed at Peter’s Uncle. “He’ll develop my sense of humor too, I’m sure,” responded Ben. “Laughing in the face of danger? That’s the Parker way.” Peter and Ben laughed while May stood up and sighed.
After much consultation with the doctor, and assurances to his Aunt to be more careful, his Uncle wheeled him out to the emergency room entrance, while May walked beside the two. He still felt woozy at certain times, but when he didn’t he felt better than his old self. Like his skin was cleaner, and he felt more confident raising his head high. But Peter had better questions on his mind. According to his Uncle and Aunt, Peter was taken by Oscorp before being brought to the emergency room. Why? May and Ben were furious about this, but apparently Norman visited personally while Peter was unconscious. It was an awkward meeting, as May tells it, but Ben said he appeared truly apologetic, and even apologized for the continued involvement of Oscorp in their lives. Ben kind of appreciated that. Peter took out his cell phone to six unread messages. One from Eddie: Yo, where are you at? Everyone’s looking for you. Four from Mary: I’m so sorry about Harry. He was just trying to help, I’m sure. Where are you? We’re all meeting in the lobby. Peter? They just said you’re in the hospital? What's going on are you okay? Text me back as soon as you get this! One from Ned: lol check out this meme At the Parker household, May cooked dinner while Peter sat in the bathroom texting his friends back. First, he let Mary know he was okay, while he told Eddie that he just was in the emergency room. After sending his message to Eddie, his hands trembled and dropped his phone, as his woozy feeling returned. He leaned back against the bathtub, closed his eyes and attempted to focus on his breathing. What is going on with me? I remember the bite, but not much else… Did I really go into a restricted area? He dozed off, for what felt like a few seconds. He awoke at the dinner table with his Aunt repeating his name. “Peter, are you listening?” she said. Her and Ben were looking at him. They were clearly worried. “What?” Peter took an enormous fork-full of spaghetti to his mouth, without really thinking about it. He didn’t even have time to be in awe at his loss of time. All he could think about was how hungry he was. “Well,” said Ben, lifting up some pasta of his own, “At least he’s touching his food now. Good enough for me.” “You’ve been acting like a zombie,” said May, “Maybe we should take you back to the doctor.” Peter wanted to respond, but his stomach was stronger than his willpower. Hunger was ravishing him and he desperately needed to satisfy it. He responded with a full mouth. “I’m just hungry, I guess,” he said, but it came out as Ahmjshngryagess. They sat in silence, apart from Peter’s noises from eating. He finished in about five minutes and looked up to see his Uncle and Aunt staring. Peter felt awkward. “Is there any more?”
Peter went up to his room with a large bowl of pasta, five slices of garlic bread, and a gallon of ice cream. He creeped up the stairs, knowing his concerned guardians were watching him from the stairs. He didn’t know what was going on with him, and he wanted to explain, but at the same time he didn’t care. Eating was all that was on his mind. And eat he did, everything he brought up with him, and by the end of the night he probably ate enough for three grown men, having taken the rest of the meal May had prepared in addition to eating his own share at the dinner table. He should have felt like puking, but instead his stomach was comfortable. Not engorged. He passed out in his bed, surrounded by dishes and an empty ice cream carton.
In his sleep, he saw a giant spider before him. Peter was drawn toward it, and had flashbacks of when it bit him, when it was smaller in size. Its pull was as strong as ever. “What do you want from me?” Peter asked. “That’s the wrong question,” it responded, in a voice he couldn’t pin down. No clear gender or pitch. The words just appeared in his mind. “You wanted something from me. I provided.” Visions of a man and a woman, both in lab coats, the man injecting something into a spider, and the woman with her arms around his waist. Visions of the two of them speaking to a group of similarly dressed people. The people left shaking their heads, as the man and woman begged for them to listen. Visions of them hurrying out of a smokey room, with the man packing documents and papers into a briefcase. All of these visions from a tiny point of view, through some kind of glass. The man slammed the briefcase in front of the glass in order to attend to something else. The front of the briefcase clearly read, R.L.P
Peter’s eyes flipped open, along with sweaty skin and panicked breath. He was looking at a smooth surface, and he was crouching on hands and knees. “What was all that?” he heaved, and he felt a strange sensation, like his positioning wasn’t correct. He was in some kind of room, where all the surfaces were smooth and… he turned his right to see his bedroom light. “What?” He looked up, and found his bed, his side table… his floor… were all above him. His hands and feet were pulling ceiling to skin, like he was shifting his gravity somehow. “Oh my God…!” he gasped, “What…? How - ” He lost his grip for a moment, then scrambled to catch it again. Then it all went at once, and he fell to his bed. The next second, it was morning and he was waking up from beneath the sheets. On the bus, on his way to Midtown High, Eddie and Ned puzzled over Peter’s face. “Look, you see his left eyebrow and cheekbone?” Ned pointed, leaning over the seat in front of Peter and Eddie. “Those two do a weird flinching thing every ten seconds or so.” “I dunno,” responded Eddie, “It all looks pretty random to me.” “Come on guys,” Peter complained. “Look!” Ned exclaimed, pointing his finger even closer to Peter’s face, “There it goes again! There’s a pattern, I’m telling you.” “Eh… I guess,” Eddie said, then pointed at the corner of Peter’s mouth. “That one makes me laugh,” chuckled Eddie, as the corner of Peter’s mouth twitched every so often into a half smile. “Alright, ha ha,” Peter laughed sarcastically. His face had started twitching in various places all morning, along with his arms and legs. It felt like his body were pulsating deep within, like certain areas were growing and shrinking. And the twitching wouldn’t stop. His friends were consoling him well. “Thanks for the concern by the way guys, really appreciate it,” said Peter. “Come on man, you look fine,” said Eddie. Peter shot a look at Eddie as his face twitched in various ways. “Does this look fine to you?” Peter said, as he smiled, frowned and gawked at Eddie all at once. Eddie could no longer contain his laughter. “Sorry buddy,” Ned said, “I had no idea you were in the hospital at all until you texted me. I’d say you’re lucky. Getting bitten by anything at Oscorp seems like a bad thing.” “Yeah, like, what if that thing was radioactive or something?” said Eddie. “Exactly what my Aunt said,” Peter responded, massaging his face, trying to relax his muscles. “Maybe you’re gonna turn into a spider, man,” said Eddie, nudging Peter’s arm. “Or maybe a man-spider,” said Ned. “Don’t worry we’ll still probably, maybe, hang with you.
The bus arrived at Midtown. As Peter approached the front doors, Eddie caught up with him. “Hey, I was meaning to ask you,” he said, then paused for a moment. “Is this about the briefcase?” Peter asked. “Woah, how’d you know?” Eddie reeled back, and they both stopped in the hallway as crowds of kids passed by them. Peter recalled his dream, the visions of the man and woman - the R.L.P in front of the glass - his being clung to the ceiling... “Just a guess,” said Peter. “Well I know we talked about this a couple of months ago but…” Eddie, looked around at everyone walking by. “Let’s open it, man.” “What?” Peter was shocked. “This is sudden, Eddie. Why?” “I dunno man, with you going to Oscorp and all, it got me thinking about our deal. Was going through the old pictures of our folks together, and reliving some memories. I don’t want to wait any longer. There’s something about it, I can feel it.” Honestly, Peter felt the same. The briefcase was always on the back of his mind. And now with everything that’s been happening… and that dream. “Let’s talk about it later,” said Peter. “No pressure, just… you know, think about it,” Eddie lifted his fist. Peter bumped it, and they both headed off to class.
Peter rushed off, the twitches and spasms finally, slowly, wearing off. So much weirdness has happened the past thirty-six hours, but the only thing on his mind was Eddie’s comment. Opening the briefcase. For starters, they had no idea how to, and the only way to open it would be to ruin it. In addition, they made a pact. And opening it now would break it. And Peter didn’t know how he felt about that. He knew the moment that briefcase opened, everything would be different. Turning a corner in the hall, something felt off about the air. His breathing changed and the world felt slower and more fluid. He could hear steps coming his way, and that was the only sound that mattered, because he knew he needed to move. Move. NOW. He spun around, as Mary-Jane Watson stopped in her tracks and cringed for the potential impact. Peter steadied his stance and wondered where that move came from. Mary slowly opened her eyes and they looked at each other for a few seconds. “We should really stop meeting like this,” said Peter. Mary didn’t respond. She just walked up and hugged him. Peter’s face turned red and it took him a moment to remember to hug back. “I was really worried about you,” she released, “I had asked you to come over after you texted me back and you didn’t respond.” “I was having a really strange night,” said Peter, scratching his neck. “And, you know, my brain just wasn’t in the present moment. I’m feeling p-pretty good though,” he stuttered a moment, before his arm flung out and bashed into the locker next to him. Peter fidgeted as Mary eyed him up and down. “You don’t seem fine…” “Well hey,” said Peter, ignoring her comment, “I’m really late for the bathroom so I - I mean, I’m - Class is late so… bathroom…” He trailed off as the room spun. “Uh… I gotta go,” he hurried off. The second time he’s ditched Mary for the bathroom. Except this time he really needed it. He sped down the halls and as soon as he arrived to his destination, he charged through a stall door and hurled into the toilet.
Peter slumped against the stall and caught his breath. He started to become himself again, but he knew this sick feeling would continue to come and go. He had to have the flu, or had the stomach bug… or something. Something was definitely wrong. And in the back of his mind he thought of the spider bite. He approached the mirror he took off his glasses and washed his face in the sink. He was already ten minutes late to English. Might as well skip. Might as well skip? He looked at his blurry self in the mirror. I’ve never skipped a class in my life, he thought. What was getting into him? He caught his arm bending as he picked up his glasses. After feeling his bicep, and travelling his hand up to his shoulder and down to his torso, he lifted his shirt. He looked at himself for a moment before laughing and, for a few seconds, forgetting all problems in his life. “Where did this come from?” he smiled wide. His body was toned, like an experienced swimmer, with muscles he’s never had before. He recalled the pulsations in his body, his intense hunger, and strange mood… had his body been going through some kind of transformation? And is it still happening? “Mr. Osborne,” Doctor Curtis Connors had entered the Monarch lab to be met by the rest of Norman’s executive team. “You’re late, doctor.” Norman responded, not turning to face him. He was seated in a chair, observing a monitor which displayed blood cells on one screen, and various graphs and a GPS on the other. “I’m sorry, sir,” Dr. Connors looked down at the floor after some well-suited men had given him a glare. “Martha hasn’t been feeling well, as you know, and I had to see her… I hope you can understand.” Norman Osborne turned in his chair, and a smile formed above his square jaw. “Of course, Curtis. However, as you can see, today is quite the special day, with our friends from G.T here,” he stood up and gestured to the four men standing with him, “As you can see, we’ve had to start without you.” Curtis paused for a moment before inquiring into what would come next. “So the GPS is…?” “Up and running,” said the main representative of the visitors, who was typing away on a keyboard. “This is huge,” Norman said, approaching Curtis and putting an arm around his neck, in a friendly, yet a little too firm, kind of way. “I know how you feel about this, but this is an enormous opportunity for Oscorp. To show what we’re really made of.” “And the Parker family? What’s left of them, I mean.” Curtis asked. “I personally visited the boy in the emergency room. Offered my condolences, apologized for any inconveniences, assured them we took action as soon as we could… you know. The usual spiel.” Curtis stopped walking, and Norman’s arm was released. “I’m sorry, sir,” Curtis said, looking down at the floor, “But this is Richard and Mary’s son. Their only son. After their devotion to the cause, and - and your relationship together, both personal and professional. We can’t possibly be thinking of this.” “We just saved his life, Connors,” Norman’s voice boomed across the lab. The only sound was the clacking of fingers on a keyboard afterwards. Then, he took a deep breath and calmed his voice. “We will simply observe. To see what the legendary Parker involvement in Monarch has to offer us.” Curtis, after a moment of looking around at the staring eyes and Norman’s welcoming gesture to follow him further, he nodded his head. “All stats should be properly linked,” said the typing man. “We should know where he is, and see his development in real time now.” “Thank you,” Norman brought Curtis over to the man. “Dr. Connors, I’d like you to meet Dr. Kravinoff. You two will be partners from here on out.”
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