United’s hopeless pursuit of Jadon Sancho – the real story Laurie Whitwell, David Ornstein and more(Other contributor: Raphael Honigstein) Ole Gunnar Solskjaer identified Jadon Sancho as his principal target this summer in what was seen as a vital opportunity for squad enhancement following Champions League qualification. But after 10 weeks of opportunity for talks, Sancho remains a Borussia Dortmund player and the simple truth is that United never got close. The Athletic has been told that Solskjaer urged Ed Woodward to keep trying, and financial concerns meant other signings were pushed to the periphery until the final 48 hours of the window. Donny van de Beek arrived on September 2 but sources say United waited to pull the trigger on other purchases until it became clear Sancho was not arriving. So for the third window in a row, United were active on deadline day, completing the signings of Edinson Cavani, Alex Telles, Amad Diallo and Facundo Pellistri. In January, it was Odion Ighalo, hot on the heels of Bruno Fernandes. Last summer, the club were trying to sign Mario Mandzukic or Paulo Dybala. The cause for this year’s unedifying sense of late freneticism appears to centre on the priority given to the Sancho move and, fundamentally, a misunderstanding by United of Dortmund’s intentions. Essentially, United did not believe Dortmund would stay firm on the price-tag of €120 million or their deadline of August 10, embarking on a long-running game of poker without realising that the Bundesliga club weren’t even at the table. United effectively sat still in the hope Dortmund would blink first and place the call they were ready to do business. Intermediaries attempted to broker a deal but were waiting on United to move, which did not happen. Some sources felt Woodward was holding until the last moment to place an all-in bet, giving the impression of resistance in the ambition of driving the price down. But instead, United kept their chips and stayed true to their valuation. By never ruling themselves out of the deal though, United’s actions seriously annoyed Dortmund’s executives, who became even more entrenched in their position as the weeks went on. When Dortmund sporting director Michael Zorc stood at the side of their training pitches on August 10, the first day of pre-season, and said the decision on Sancho staying was “final”, one alarmed United director made a call to check whether the statement was genuine. The response was along the lines of, “What did you expect? You knew the terms.” Hans-Joachim Watzke, Dortmund’s chief executive, is said to have personally phoned United at the start of the summer and explained very clearly how much the deal would cost and when it needed to be done by. United privately argue that the continued conversations after that point, conducted via intermediaries Emeka Obasi and Marco Lichtsteiner, were evidence of Dortmund remaining open to a sale. But the reason for the involvement of agents is hotly disputed. United insist Dortmund wanted talks done through Obasi and Lichtsteiner, and some believe this was so Dortmund could stick to their public stance while having a backchannel to a potential resolution. United held lengthy discussions and made known what they were willing to pay, which held a firm limit given the current economic environment. Sources say Dortmund reject that idea and deny they ever appointed agents. Previous deals with Arsenal and Barcelona for Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang and Ousmane Dembele respectively were based on face-to-face meetings with club counterparts. On this occasion, they believed that they had provided the fee to United and since Woodward failed to match it by August 10, there was no need for further direct discussion. United felt there was tacit encouragement to keep lines of communication going but the only way they could have got the deal on after that date was with a “crazy” offer along the lines of Neymar’s £200 million transfer to Paris Saint-Germain. Sources told The Athletic that if United had come in with an offer of €140-£150 million then Dortmund might have done business. Conscious of their reputation having set their position out so publicly, Dortmund would have been able to sell that as a turnaround made in extraordinary circumstances. United argued that the €120 million price tag did not take into account the financial hit caused by the pandemic. Executives genuinely felt it should come down, given the full total of the transfer was potentially enormous. The Athletic has been told initial calculations rose to €250 million including wages and agent fees. United made what has been described as a “calm decision” to refuse that amount and felt vindicated when the government postponed the return of fans to stadiums costing the club another £50 million in lost revenue. But it is understood that Dortmund originally planned for the €120 million as a “minimum” — and ideally wanted nearer the €147 million fee that Barcelona paid for Dembele — so it was an adjustment to even consider a bid that could reach that figure in installments. In any case, United never got near to that guaranteed sum. One offer, submitted by chief negotiator Matt Judge through the agents in the final week of September, amounted to £80 million, plus add-ons. Once passed to Watzke, it was immediately rejected as too little too late. There was a sense at the Westfalenstadion that United did not take Dortmund’s demands seriously or were acting without full intentions to actually complete the signing. All proposals were said to have been relayed to Dortmund via the agents knowing full well they would be turned down. Sancho himself is believed to have felt undervalued by the offers and even if United had placed the right bid late on, it is understood he would have questioned why it did not come earlier. Sancho was never going to agitate for a move unless United came close to Dortmund’s demands. Illness kept him out of the squad for Saturday’s 4-0 win over Freiburg but Sancho then attended a house party in London with Tammy Abraham and Ben Chilwell, in breach of lockdown rules, and will join up late with England as a result. He has since apologised. The forward was prepared to join United but not “desperate” to move this summer. He was relaxed either way. That was the sense drawn by England team-mates at the September camp. That being said, others close to United were under the impression he “would walk to Old Trafford”. Sancho texted Marcus Rashford about United, and the pair were said to be excited at the prospect of linking up. Sancho has many friends in Manchester from his time at Manchester City. Other United players were in touch too and so was Solskjaer, who as long ago as January wanted to ascertain Sancho’s willingness to join and to get a personal sense of his character. Having privately acknowledged the possibility of a sale, Dortmund were aware of the conversations, which are standard for most transfers. There had actually been dialogue with Sancho’s representatives dating back to when he left Manchester City for Dortmund in 2017, but talks commenced in earnest this year once United had secured Champions League football on July 26. United’s exit from the Europa League was disappointing, but some close to the club felt it would at least reinforce the impetus for signings — a reminder to the Glazer family that funding was required to take the next step. “But extending the window to October 5 is probably the worst thing for Solskjaer,” said a source. “I can see United taking talks to the wire again.” There were some raised eyebrows at United over reports of Sancho’s lateness to training and fines for breaching lockdown regulations in Germany. But United viewed the indiscretions as attributable to a desire to move on from Dortmund. “We’ll make Carrington a place where he wants to come to work every day,” one member of staff told a colleague. Solskjaer had determined Sancho would be his main target, with one source saying in April: “We are ready to go, we know who we want, the people at the top are now certain.” But that conviction was not found in the pursuit, with Dortmund soon frustrated at United’s reluctance to commit to a fee or structure. There were allegations of “freestyling”, a refusal to provide a top line, and when pushed for answers, Judge suggested the issue lay with “the owners”. Agents proposing other players were told of a £50 million net spend budget. Executives feel they have a responsibility to protect the long-term strength of the club by not over-paying. The Athletic has previously reported how Joel Glazer, in daily contact with Woodward, is involved in all major signings and paid particularly close attention to the Sancho deal. There were accusations of a split in opinion between the pair over the price to be sanctioned, with Woodward advocating a higher fee, but United insist board members were united on their view that €120 million was too much in the post-COVID-19 climate. Recruitment staff were told about a significant budget being allocated to Sancho but later the internal line back from Woodward was that the deal was “too much money”. Privately United suggested the €120 million figure could be reached including some unrealistic bonuses, which may have allowed Dortmund to save face with a headline figure. Dortmund were resolute in their stance though and believed a higher price could be achieved next summer. The cause for their confidence was revealed when Zorc announced a previously unknown extension to Sancho’s contract, meaning it did not run out until 2023. United insist they knew all those details and were for a long time frustrated by what they perceived to be the slow process of dealing with Dortmund through Obasi, Sancho’s agent, and Lichtsteiner, the brother of former Arsenal player Stephan. The two intermediaries are described as “very close”. Lichtsteiner previously assisted on the departures of Aubameyang and Dembele to Arsenal and Barcelona respectively, and has vast experience of difficult transfers. He is said to be well-regarded and very discreet with information. United have in the past worked on deals through agents, and last summer placed an offer for the Newcastle United midfielder Sean Longstaff in this manner. Sources at Newcastle suspected this was so United had deniability if unsuccessful. On other occasions, the technique has worked well. Woodward conducted the purchase of Juan Mata from Chelsea without one word to his counterparts at Stamford Bridge to block any chance of Wayne Rooney being brought into the conversation. Chelsea wanted to buy Rooney that window. Before any fee could be finalised this time, there were difficulties over wages and agent fees. It has been suggested to The Athletic that the opening contract offer to Sancho was actually slightly lower than his Dortmund salary. As is customary in Germany, Sancho’s contract was heavily incentivised and contained bonus payments for each point Dortmund achieved. Conscious of maintaining a certain wage structure, United’s initial proposal was less than Sancho’s total pay packet at Dortmund. Van de Beek joined on £110,000 a week, for instance, and his representatives were told that was in line with a refined structure given Fernandes signed for £150,000 a week. A second offer to Sancho, in early August, is said to have achieved parity with his Dortmund deal, with the potential for a fractional increase based on performance. This was not accepted. Sancho’s representatives, who carefully organised a move away from City in 2017, were clear in their view of Sancho’s worth and expected to be recompensed as such. Though not asking for money equitable to David De Gea, who signed a deal worth more than £375,000 a week within the final 12 months of becoming a free agent, the terms desired were thought to be in the region of Paul Pogba’s £250,000 a week. There were reports that wages had been sorted in the first week of August but this was not the case. United believed leaks to that end emanating from Germany were an attempt to “put pressure” on the process. Still, there was positivity about a solution. Sources say the Liverpool manager Jurgen Klopp was keeping himself abreast of Sancho’s situation and around this stage told friends he believed the player would end up at Old Trafford. There was eventually a breakthrough on Sancho’s salary in the second week of September. Running parallel were negotiations over agent fees. Some have suggested an initial proposal for a payment to the agents put United on the back foot. After negotiations, a lower sum was agreed. But that still left the transfer fee and, as the gap remained, other options were considered. A prospective loan deal for Gareth Bale was set up but the Wales international declined to wait as a reserve for Sancho. He had the emotional pull of Tottenham Hotspur in any case. Watford’s Ismaila Sarr, previously not regarded as a genuine option, came into the reckoning in the final fortnight of the window when United explored a loan move. With Watford in the Championship, Sarr has until the domestic deadline of October 16 to join a Premier League club. Talks also commenced over Dembele. An original inquiry for the Barcelona forward was made in July but at that stage, Dembele was not interested. Sources say Liverpool also made a check back then. But while Liverpool instead signed Diogo Jota on September 19, it was United returning in the dying embers of the market to investigate whether Dembele might join on loan. It was a late move. A source close to the Barcelona dressing room said at the time: “He intended to stay at Barcelona. In pre-season, his attitude was really different and the players were super happy to see how he was training and how involved in the routine. Therefore, everything has to have changed a lot for him to have decided to go to United.” In the end, United only wanted a loan. Barcelona demanded a sale, so the situation looked unlikely to develop until a late change of stance by the La Liga club on Monday evening. Barcelona indicated they would agree to a loan but only if Dembele extended his contract at the Nou Camp, and the deal was off. Industry insiders reported numerous other inquiries and proposals put to the club by representatives, such as Real Madrid’s Luka Jovic, Inter Milan’s Ivan Perisic and Juventus’ Douglas Costa. There was exasperation among some at Carrington that United were leaving business so late again and having to work down their list to second and third options. “Looks like a panic buy,” was the assessment by one source close to the dressing room of the Cavani signing. United did ask Bayer Leverkusen for Kai Havertz in January but were put off by the €100 million fee and never made a follow-up call this summer, clearing the path to Chelsea. Meanwhile, the Sancho failure represents the third time Dortmund have got their way over United this year, after the signings of Erling Haaland and Jude Bellingham — two episodes that have caused lingering frustration. Some agents who have worked with United on other deals believe the club should have halted talks on Sancho much earlier if €120 million was seen as too much and pursued alternatives. There are accusations the delay speaks to a fundamental issue in recruitment, which sources call a paralysis of decision-making. But given how much Solskjaer wanted Sancho, United wanted to try for their No 1 target for as long as possible. United accept they have missed out on a top player but insist they have not over-extended their finances. The signings of Diallo and Pellistri, both 18-year-old wingers, are regarded as viable options for the first-team once bedded into England through the under-21s side. Diallo’s cost of €21 million plus €20 million is not insignificant, however, inevitably inviting questions about why United refused the extra money for Sancho. Diallo has been scouted since 2016 and is considered one of the most exciting prospects in Italy. There are echoes when Anthony Martial signed for big expense and little experience and became Joel Glazer’s favourite player. Sancho will stay in the crosshairs, for the next time trading opens. It’s understood he long since shifted his focus to a future transfer rather than moving in the current window. But it is anticipated more clubs will be in the reckoning for his signature by then.
Despite a busy schedule u/eruwenn kindly helped me be twice as productive this week, teamwork pays off. Bonus chapter! First / Prev / Next Aaron sat in the open air-lock on the Porkchop Express, looking out over the treetops of Eden from his perch high above the park wall. He picked up the datapad and flicked to a screen with a map and six red dots, one of which had the name Tony floating next to it. Jolie, another red dot, was nearby - she was the third leokas that had grown healthy enough to be released into Eden. After Tony had shared his kill with her, she had stuck close to him. Aaron was glad his friend had bought his date dinner first. He was so engrossed he didn’t notice Alexa approaching until she kicked him. “We’re leaving soon.” “Ow!” He exaggerated. “And, I know. I was just trying to spot him. Ya’know, one last time. In case he needed some biscuits or something.” Alexa slid her back down the wall to sit beside her human, wrapping her arm around his. As her head rested comfortingly against his shoulder, she reached out with her other arm to enlarge the map. The dots of Tony and Jolie were now side by side. "You saved his life. You found him a home, and gave him his freedom. He even has a mate. You've done enough, Aaron. He is the richest leokas in the world, his merch selling on practically every planet in the Federation, and he even has a breakfast cereal with his likeness on it” “It’s grrrrreat.” Aaron laughed half-heartedly at his own joke. “It has entirely too much sugar in it,“ she scolded him gently. “But, the toys were a nice touch.” She snuggled into him, enjoying a rare moment when he wasn’t being chased by a member of the crew with business issues. She savoured their privacy, remembering the first few cycles with just the three of them in the animal pens onboard the Azrimad. “One day, you, Sassie, Aiov and I should come back and visit Tony. Just the four of us.” Aaron choked up a little, realising that Aiov would eventually be another goodbye. “She has a spot reserved in Eden, once she’s grown up.” The door to the Overlook opened and Daynd came stomping towards them. “Will you two get back in the Tulseria damned ship! I need to re-check all of these seals, since you keep using the airlock as your personal viewing platform.” He waited for them to stand, tapping the metal tool in his hand against his leg. “Hurry up, Pilot, pre-flight checks are your job as well.” Managing to make her salute as sarcastic as possible, she led Aaron by the hand back into the ship. “He’s grumpier than usual. It's been a few celes since he was on a planet for such a long stretch... I think he likes it here.” The human sympathised; the ship would feel pretty small after Kasur, and a little emptier without the guest in the cargo hold. As he thought about it, another member of the crew had seemed rather absent lately. “How’s Norrin?” Alexa shrugged. "In his barrel." Her herald had been struggling to maintain his solid form, so Aaron had put a barrel in his room. It had seemed like a dumb idea at the outset, but allowing Norrin to spend time as a semi-liquid had indeed helped to slow his deterioration. “And you?” Aaron wasn't sure whether he feared asking the question or receiving the answer more. She released his hand and poked his undefended stomach. “I can still kick your ass if you keep looking at me with those sad eyes. Don't worry," she added, reaching up to mess with Aaron's hair, "we can get what we need on the world we were found on. There are Inorganics there who can help.” Aaron huffed, reaching up to try to re-tame his hair by flattening it down. Kasur didn't have barbers, as fur needed no cutting, and after a long period of wearing him down Chae'Sol had finally managed to convince him to sit for a haircut. Upon seeing the results of the Niham’'s efforts, Alexa had then made an attempt to fix Chae'Sol's fix. After that, it had been up to Aaron to fix the fixed fix, using a pair of scissors as well as an animal clipper to try to sort out the back and sides. In the end, it was a haircut, but not a good one. Without careful styling, it looked like he was a cast member in Dumb and Dumber. "Good," he replied after a last press-down on his unruly locks. "Having one crew member in a barrel is quite enough.” Upon entering the Bridge, they found Embar and Chae'Sol waiting, already running their tests. Sassie was present as well, asleep on her back in the captains chair. Aiov was also sleeping in a legs-in-the-air pose, nestled in her small, open-topped box under the seat. Aaron tried to reclaim the captain's chair for himself, but though he tried to squeeze himself onto the seat beside his dog, the German Shepherd didn't budge. The Niham navigator passed a datapad to Alexa. “Your checks are done.” As she nodded her thanks, he turned back to watch the power struggle unfold. “Just let her have the seat. She spends more time in it than you.” The human frowned. “There’s space for both of us if she just moved over.” After another shove, Sassie grunted and finally allowed the human to slide her rump around. Tail swishing, she licked his face as he leaned over her, and he scratched her tummy as he sat down beside her. He wiped his face on his sleeve and tapped the screens in front of him. Danyd’s checks, he noted, were also complete. “Set a course for…” He paused, looking to Alexa. “What is your world called again?” Alexa shook her head. “It isn’t our world, it’s just where we were found, and it has a twenty seven digit alpha-numeric designation given by the research team.” “Eurgh. Screw that.” He raised a hand stopping her from reeling off the forgettable digits and paused to consider his options. “Set a course for planet Alpha-Numeric Designation!” Alexa turned her seat away from him. “We have to take off first, idiot.” “Fine! Just get on with it.” He stood up. Being the captain was a lot less fun than he had hoped. “Sassie, you have the bridge. I’ve got a call to make.” After Aaron made his defeated exit, Alexa opened comms to the Kasurian flight controllers. At the same time, Chae’Sol brought his Navigation console to life and checked over his calculations. “Are you nervous?” he asked the Inorganic. “Nervous?” She looked at the controls. “No. I am an excellent pilot.” The Niham and Rinoxian laughed together. Embar’s deep voice replied, “Not the flying. Are you nervous about taking your human home to meet mom and dad?” “Not at all,” she lied swiftly. “And, we don’t have parents. Anyway, it’s a barren world with only a select group of my people manning a small facility. What could he possibly do?” “True, true.” Chae’Sol rubbed his chin. “But what about your people? Before you made Norrin your herald, didn’t he want to kill you?” Embar tapped the pistol on his hip. “We’re prepared for that eventuality.” She couldn’t help but smile at the protectiveness of the large Rinoxian general. “Thank you, Embar. And Norrin didn’t want to kill me. He wanted to remove the parts of me that make me me; my individuality. Hopefully, we can discuss things calmly with the others of my kind.” The navigator folded his arms across his chest. “Hopefully. However, Ranjaz is taking bets on how many we kill, and whether or not we start a war.” The silver-haired girl scrunched up her nose, focusing on her piloting so she could appear to be ignoring the Niham as he continued, “I put credits on three, and no war.” Down the corridor and through the Overlook, Aaron closed the door to his workspace and took a seat. He propped his datapad up against some prototype cereal boxes and sent a notification to the councillor that he was available when she was. The response was almost immediate and he tapped the datapad screen to see the councillor at her desk as always, the fish tank behind her an ever-present distraction for him. The Anatidae bowed her head in greeting. “Ambassador Cooper, thank you for making time to speak with me.” Aaron was slightly thrown by the more formal than usual greeting, but bowed his head as he responded in kind. “I always have time for a Councillor of the Galactic Federation.” She smiled; he had followed her cue perfectly. “Thank you, I will make this brief as I’m sure you have other matters to attend to. I understand you are preparing a selection of Earth’s media for release? I look forward to learning more about your home world.” The human nodded. He knew that the Councillor had access to Earth’s media already. In fact, she had been the one to provide him with the data. Something wasn’t right, but he replied carefully, hoping to connect the dots as they spoke. “We have chosen a varied selection, and hopefully there will be something to your taste. I would be most interested in hearing feedback from you, should you look through the options. It would help us immensely as we prepare the next selection.” Eruwenn continued smiling and nodding; another show for the Sentinels. “My work keeps me quite busy, but I will send you what feedback I can. Now then, down to the business at hand. We are finalising the renaming process before we update the records across the Galactic Federation. As you know, we can not stop you calling your worlds whatever you please, but for us to update the central databases it would be beneficial to have some more information, especially regarding some of the naming conventions used. For instance, you wish to rename the star Optimus Prime?” Aaron tried not to smile. “A great hero from Earth’s mythology, he died for us and rose again. He was a great leader who believed that freedom was the right of all sentient beings.” “Very noble.” She took a note, it seemed the human was playing along nicely. “And the first world and the accompanying moon?” The human leaned back in his seat, putting his hands behind his head. “A childhood friend who would always come first. I named the planet Konrahd after him, and the moon is Talon X which was his online name in Gran Turismo.” Tapping away, the Anatidae didn’t look up from her datapad. “Ah, of course. The human obsession with coming first. Please continue.” “Sure.” Aaron leaned forward, reaching under the table to where Danyd had installed a small fridge. He took out a can and opened it loudly. “The second planet has been defaced by a meteor impact, all smashed up with an exposed and dead core. We’re calling it Alderaan, after a destroyed world in our pop culture. The two moons took quite a lot of damage as well. The lumpy one is Freak and the one with the big slash across the surface is Scar. No special meaning, one’s a bit freaky and the other has a scar, makes it easy to remember.” “And the third planet?” “New Terra.” He drank deeply and then stifled a burp, the development team had definitely put too much gas in this mix. “Nothing clever in the name, but it has potential. The moon is Elune, named after a lunar goddess. You’ll know more about it once we release the vanilla game.” She looked up, narrowing her eyes. “It’s a marketing stunt for a game release?” “An homage,” he corrected, although he already had a team working on merch and a possible theme park, with a whole line of cosplay accessories being planned. The councillor didn't believe him for a second, and on some level was shocked he had not yet named a world Buy A Cupcake. “And that brings us to” -how she loathed this name- “Earth Two Electric Boogaloo, and I really must ask again. Why?” He laughed, poker face slipping at her obvious discomfort. “Human joke, we add the suffix Electric Boogaloo to unwanted sequels. Plus, it really irritates Alexa.” Eruwenn realised now why the former inspector clicked his pen so often. She would have appreciated a tactile release right now. “Perhaps she should have had more influence over the names. And the moon, El-ahrairah? Am I pronouncing that correctly?” “Good enough. It’s named for the Prince with a thousand enemies.” His jovial tone vanished; Aaron knew what would happen to the rabbits if they began to colonise E.T.E.B. “Read the book, or watch the movie. Next.” With that avenue of questioning closed down she moved on, marking her notes Royalty for the record. She was now quite curious as to which book he was referring to. Clearly it was an emotionally charged subject. “Next is Gaia? And the moons Lakshmi, Kratos and Milda.” Aaron relaxed a little. “Some of humanity's old gods, I’m hoping to bring them out of retirement.” The councillor paused. Were he intending to start a religion, it would certainly prove to be popular. She decided not to ask, in case it gave him any ideas. “And the large gas giant with seven moons?” Now his smile returned in full. “Snow White and the seven dwarves. I can’t name them from memory unless you want some reindeer names mixed in. A folk tale; the gas giant is a perpetual blizzard.” Eruwenn made another note, folk tale. The council would have questions and the more vague her answers were the better. “Next is Tortuga, which has a flag already, how delightful. Is that a human skull and bones?” Aaron nodded emphatically. “We won’t actually be encouraging piracy.” He noticed the alarm in her eyes and hastily added, “Yeah, Jarby didn’t like that one either, even after my Captain Sparrow impression.” He saw the incomprehension on her face and explained further. “I did the impression for the asteroid belt as well, but nobody appreciated that either, and I wasn’t about to draw that stupid tattoo on my face.” She looked at her reference map. “Ah yes, between Snow White and the planet Gallifrey, you have Tyson’s Belt. With asteroid mining advances you should have a steady supply of materials once your initial construction phase is completed. And those names?” Aaron finished his can and crushed it, they may need to tweak the caffeine content down a notch as he could feel his heart racing. “Sports, and medical.” She smiled. Naming a planet after someone from a medical field was commendable. “And who was Doctor Gallifrey?” “Doctor who?” He recognised the wires that were crossed. “No, the Doctor was from Gallifrey.” “Oh, my apologies. And his name?” she politely enquired. “Who.” “The doctor.” “Doctor Who.” “The one from Gallifrey!” she snapped, if she had a pen it would have been clicking furiously. “He was on first base.” The plumage of the councillor's green crest was beginning to rise, so Aaron opened one of the cereal boxes, snacking to provide time to think. Eruwenn was still staring at the screen, confused and frustrated when finally he spoke with slow deliberation. “He was called Doctor Who. Can we move on, because the four moons around Gallifrey are Stark, Banner, Odinson and Rogers, and if you can’t follow Doctor Who I’m not getting into Marvel multiverse theories. Just put named after myths and legends or something.” “Fine.” She did as instructed, but was still a little confused over who the Doctor from Gallifrey was and why he was now a myth. “The largest planet by far is next, and you called it Pluto.” A mixture of triumph and anger came over the human. “Yeah, fuck you NASA, Pluto’s not too small now, bitches! You can chalk that one up to revenge, it’s named after a planet from my own solar system that got downgraded on a technicality.” The councillor had hoped to gain an insight into the human mind through the names he chose for these worlds. What his priorities and aspirations might be, and what he held dear and wanted written in the cosmos. It seemed that he was just as insane as Rilla had repeatedly warned her he was. “Fine.” She didn’t understand a word of what he said, but named after a planet from home was good enough for the bureaucrats. “And Pluto’s five moons?” “Michael, Tito, Marlon, Jackie and Jermaine.” Much better than Alexa’s choice, she had wanted to name them after the Spice Girls. With a resigned tone he added, “just put down musicians or something.” Between the insanity and marketing was another welcome addition, music was a beautiful thing that almost all races could share in. “Wonderful, I look forward to listening to them on Musicify.” She had listened to some of Earth’s music during her research, finding that it was as varied as everything else they produced. She had found the classical genre most pleasant, especially while drinking tea. “And finally, on the very edge of the system, the frozen world and the two ice moons.” The human was relieved to be on the final planets, as the energy drink was buzzing through his veins. “The world is Elsa, named after a princess, and the moons are Cube and Vanilla. You can put those under music, but maybe put an asterisk next to Vanilla.” The councillor was once again very confused, but did as she was instructed. So often when dealing with the human she felt like she was one step out of time with the conversation. “Well, that concludes my questions. I can get this sent over to our stellar cartographers and the updates will go live in a few cycles. Thank you for your patience.” “What?” Aaron was confused, he could have done this via a written message. What was the point in the video call? “Oh, ok. Well, thanks for the call, I guess.” After some minor pleasantries it was over, and he still had no idea what it had been for. Mildly disappointed and confused he picked up the prototype cereal box he had been eating from, looking at the cartoon leokas on the front. Turning it over in his hands there was a large drawing on the back for the kids to colour in, and he laughed at another of his prestigious contributions to the galaxy. Estrilla entered, quickly closing and sealing the door. “Here.” She tossed him a small datapad, that had clearly been modified judging by the bulky addition on the back. It began to vibrate. “It’s Eruwenn. For you.” She looked at his stupid face and snapped. “It’s a secure line, answer it!” The crew had been called together for an urgent briefing once they had jumped out of Kasur space, and as they gathered around the central table of the lounge they noted no snacks to be tested. This was a serious meeting. Sassie and Aiov were under the table, and the little leokit with eyes opened was stumbling about with her four-legged guardian watching over her. Despite this development, there was no joy in Aaron's expression. Next to him, in front of the screen, Estrilla paced back and forth, and the Captain gently reached out to put a hand on her shoulder. "She's your friend, you can start." The doctor wanted to argue that they were no longer friends, but she realised her feelings had changed of late. “Fine.” She cleared her throat, shooting Ranjaz a sharp look clearly indicating that none of his usual nonsense would be tolerated. “As you all know, I am a former shipmate of Councillor Eruwenn Aix Sponsa. Many of you have even met her. We were part of a crew led by a former Imperium soldier and we worked behind enemy lines. For Eruwenn that work never truly ended, she just realised her targets were closer to home. She entered politics to engage with them on their terms, while also using her experience as a covert operative to gain whatever advantages she could.” The yellow Kachna began to pace back and forth again. “There is a group of powerful people who want to see us return to war. They want to stir up the Hive and the Imperium and, as yet, we don’t know what their goals are. Power, profit, using one atrocity to hide another - we just don’t know, but we plan to stop them. Though this is Eruwenn's goal, if she can gain more power for her people and herself she'll likely take those opportunities as well." It was a harsh truth, but Estrilla no longer knew exactly where the Anatidae's loyalties truly lay. Aaron walked forward and took a seat at the table. “We can delve into the lore later; let’s just show them the message.” “Right.” The doctor picked up the modified datapad, noting some confused looks around the table. “This is a relay datapad, off the standard networks. It uses encrypted back channels or something - I’m a doctor not a spy, so don’t ask me how it works. Just know that this message is not to be talked about with anyone outside of this crew, and you are to keep no records on personal datapads. Am I clear?” There was a murmur of consent. Even Ranjaz seemed solemn, acknowledging the gravity of the situation. Either that, or he was simply missing Skeena. Hoping for the best, the doctor stepped aside as the screen blinked on. The view was obscured at first, and nothing could be heard except heavy breathing. Then glimpses of a corridor could be seen between someone's fingers - the camera was being carried at a run. The view cleared, sweeping along the corridor to reveal scorch marks from energy weapons and several bodies on the floor. A sibilant voice echoed down the hall from elsewhere, and the camera shifted. "Shit," said a different voice, and a Lacertan came into view, still on the move. "They'll find me soon, I have to be quick. I have a small drone hidden in the debris field and I'm uploading to it. Long after this is over it should head to a relay and send this message on your network. I pray this reaches you in time." The camera operator pushed through a door, still breathing heavily. "This is the lab," she said as the camera panned around slowly. More scorch marks adorned the walls, and the bodies this time were wearing high level bio-hazard suits. "They were working on a weapon, some sort of pathogen, to kill the Hive." Energy weapon fire could distantly be heard, and the Lacertan leapt behind one of the counters. As she huddled into a ball, she began crying. "Tell my mother I'm sorry. You'll do that, won't you?" Her terrified eyes were pleading with the camera. "I promised her I'd come home safe. I promised. Tell her I'm sorry for ever complaining about the pink packages and that I loved every single one. Tell her I love her, and that I'm so sorry.” The sobbing intensified, and the camera sagged in her grip. The security uniform with a badge reading Amel came into view - she was a lieutenant. There came a deep breath, and the camera swung back up to her face. "Sorry. I was prepared for this when I volunteered, don't blame yourself. Just... stop them." Her eyes were now ablaze with anger as she tried to share as much information as she could. "They have a plague from this cursed shithole we've been orbiting for cycles. Last time I stopped them when they got too close to the answer they were looking for... by releasing it. Killing some researchers. People I knew, and worked with. I'm sorry for that, but it worked to stop their progress and I thought they would give up.” She shuffled further around the counter, trying to get as much cover as she could. “Almost a full bost ago a Sentinel paid us a visit, bringing with him some new data. The diseases on this world are thousands of generations away from the original plague, but this data was the real deal. Their research surged ahead, and I didn’t have time to react. Tulseria curse them to eternity, some brainless Doctor Dix defrosted a patient on the edge of Tulseria-knows-where, and now these assholes are going to start a war and kill billions. You have to stop them.” Voices and footsteps could be heard in the corridor and her voice became hushed and frantic. “They have to be close to release it, and somewhere with a lot of traffic so it reaches deep into their territory before they realise. It isn't finished. It was supposed to target only the Hive, but I heard Doctor Glimnop talking with his assistant about that not yet being the case. It mutates fast, too. It it gets out it could devastate the galaxy. You have to stop them.” She leaned back against the counter, her breathing becoming ragged and her voice cracking. “They needed more time.” She was gasping. “I needed more time, I could have stopped them. The Sentinel said something about new colonies, and the need to tidy up. I knew, then.” Her gentle sobbing returned. “I ran.” The sound of the lab door opening caused the slits of her pupils to widen with fear, and it was a moment before she whispered again. “Don’t come to Darnis, we’re already dead.” The camera panned down to her stomach, where her uniform was burned away and the scaled skin beneath charred and split, bleeding profusely. “Stop them releasing it, promise me!” Angry yelling could be heard and the camera spun to show a Niham in a smart grey suit, his weapon raised. He fired twice. The camera fell to the floor for a moment before being picked up by the killer. “Damn it!” he cursed, “Find where this is transmitting to!” Then the video cut out. The silence hung for several tiks as everyone processed what they had just watched. Estrilla gave them the time they needed. “They didn’t find the drone, and other than Eruwenn and her assistant, we are the only ones to have seen this.” “You hope,” Embar said carefully. “They may have traced it, and then used the drone to follow the signal. Anyone who’s seen this is dead if the Sentinels find out.” The doctor nodded. “That would only lead to the councillor, not us. She won’t talk.” Embar was more dubious. “Torture can loosen lips. You think she can tough it out?” Estrilla looked the general in the eye. “She has before.” He gave a polite nod, veteran to veteran, and she moved on. “We don't have much to go on. Sentinels have their past erased, and are good at staying off of the grid. With only a picture and a voice sample, our chances are slim... and if we look too closely, we'll give ourselves away.” “His name is Krast.” Everyone turned to look at Ranjaz, who savoured the moment. “He’s the bastard who paid me to break into the military research centre. Asshole thought he was smart. He was going to steal something else, and use my job to cover it up.” All eyes were on him and he gave a mean grin at the memory of betrayal. “But, I beat him to it. Took the lot, and that’s when he set me up. I knew that fucker suspected me, so I kept my mouth shut. Played it innocent while he was watching from the shadows, did my time in Xeno-Biology Protection like a good boy.” Allistan’s pen was clicking furiously. “What in Tulseria’s name did you steal?” Everyone was looking intently at the Kittran, and he reveled in the attention for as long as he thought he could get away with before he shrugged. “No idea.” Next
JoJo's Bizarre Adventure OC Tournament #5: Round 2 Match 2 - Maxwell Tenet VS Ace High!
The results are in for Match 1. The match had proven to be very aerial, both performers very quickly finding ways to fulfill the letter of the ‘try and stay on the ropes’ directive Conqueror Worm had left for them while literally and figuratively flying in the face of its spirit. Alexis Williams needed to very frequently replenish her balloon armor as she bounced around, opportunities to actually get as close to Wrenn Aflight as she’d needed to being very difficult to come by. Though with her Stand acting as it was, perhaps she didn’t mind such a thing. There was something about the quiet resolve of Kingdom of Desire, even as it wore a certain familiar ring, that was making her almost afraid of what this extension of herself, her traumas, her memories of her, might do. In the meantime, this guy who had agreed to be her opponent had been trying to sing, hiding his pain and his vitriol under his own sort of strong face and performing for the crowd. A tornado of dust had begun to engulf the arena, courtesy of his efforts, and the Vegas-veteran knew a dramatic, flaming ring when she saw one. As it was, a swing and a near miss had placed her positionally several meters underneath the performer, her own form having been harmed on occasion by the influx of particulate-based chip damage, sweating from the mounting heat in the room, and unable to see many of the balloons she’d left in the fog of smoke as the performer covered the arena; she could barely see the walls, or the windows, let alone any of those. Alexis needed to put literally everything she had into one final balloon dash. If she could close the distance between herself and Wrenn, she could certainly end this match in close quarters, and if he closed that cyclone of his in on her before she could get out of it, she would be burned badly by the glowing singer. It was a quick-draw, then. “Hmm?” Wrenn seemed to register something, his eyes facing her yet not seeming to be focusing on her at all - had something she’d set up earned the attention of that eye-dust he’d scattered about? Already, the burning dust storm was starting to lower, extremely slowly and not seeming to constrict yet to Alexis’ surprise. Hell, she could even see the balloons she’d left nearby the windows now in one of the points she’d flown towards them, tried to catch Wrenn offguard. Why was he drawing it out when he’d seen what she could do? Why would he waste time on that? This place could catch alight! “Hey!” The boy clinging to his umbrella above her called down. “These people want their finale! You’re on the same stage as me, so make it grand!” That was all Alexis needed to hear, even bringing a smile to her face where she was expecting misery. Willing blast after blast of the amassed balloons, she sent all that she could utterly flying. The tinted windows, which had started off so durable, had not only already begun to crack, but melt under the intense heat, and the balloons close to them blew them open on all sides, filling the previously quieter air with the shocked swears and calls for security of their small audience. “Wrenn, you changed your mind?!” She wanted to cry for a different reason, but knew now wasn’t the time. That move would likely have only startled them, with holes in the glass of that size (a move by design for Alexis), so the pair would need to think fast in order to avoid being put down for this. “You’ve been my LEAST favorite kind of audience!” He called eagerly, the flaming cyclone rising again and quickly funneling through the various windows, its burning intensity turned away from Alexis and towards the occupants of each of the viewing boxes. “If you’re putting people in shows like these, then *you have this coming!”*** The screams of the few watchers intensified. With players’ scores matching at 69 (Nice), you could say the real winner was teamwork… Probably.
Category
Winner
Point Totals
Comments
Popularity
Judecca Highrollers
10-19
With a three-vote lead, once again, popularity resolved in a way where the thirtieth point is burned away by a spinning cyclone and balloon blast after blast.
“C’mon, Alexis, don’t choke now! Get us out of here, that guy probably protected himself, and Worm guy definitely has!” Truthfully, Wrenn had meant to finish her off as the show demanded, secure his own safety, but when his eye-dust had noticed the window-damage, seen that past its cracks there were Fox and the other watchers on all sides, and from there little stairways up into the abandoned stations above and from there, up to the city. For now, trying not to flinch from the sights of people in pain, he used his spread-out eye-property dust to look into all four sides he could leave from, trying to quickly assess all information. In one room, Conqueror Worm stood, looking extremely amused at this turn of events and doing little to help those trying to get to safety before hopping up into the ceiling and vanishing. In the second, easily the most burning avenue of escape, a strange fellow in a maroon turban and face coverings stood right by the edge of the destroyed window, not at all minding the flames even as they caught the outfit alike, beginning to lift it up to remove with unsettling fearlessness; the only thing Wrenn saw as flames overtook the area and made its ceiling collapse was this figure grinning widely at him, accentuating a jagged-looking scar along the revealed lower half of their face. The third side, he could see Fox quickly transform a rock sculpture of an annoying-looking dog into a makeshift shield, protecting himself, that golden-suited Tigran Sins guy, and a shocked looking Metra Doria from the initial, less lethal glass blasts as if he’d seen the flames coming, the structure seeming highly heat resistant and similar in makeup to the balloon armor as it hurried away. The fourth was mostly just filled with screaming guys, and the stairs still looked accessible. “Holy hell, are you crazy? Look, uh… Don’t worry about me!” The voice of Metra amplified and pleaded, resonating loudly and clearly in the heads of both fighters, even through the crackling and pain. “I’ll be fine, just… Just escape! I agreed to this because I wanted to ensure you three would survive!” Well, that settled the guilt on that dilemma. Wrenn quickly pointed to the safest bet. “Blast us that way before we burn up and die! You can’t get cold feet in a place like this!” Alexis was taken aback, but KoD knew not to let them die for this. Quickly, audible pops! blasted the replenished flying gymnast up towards the singer, right as his umbrella caught alight and he began to fall. He dropped into Alexis’ grasp, and from there in seconds flat they were up and blasting through the direction Wrenn had pointed out, landing safely in the stairways and very quickly making their ways up. “What… What the hell did you need to go that far for?” Alexis asked, still rattled as the pair caught their breaths. “Sorry for-” Wrenn coughed a lot, then spoke in a less affected tone. “Sorry for doing what you asked, and trusting you in the end! ‘Put our minds together,’ ‘don’t get caught off-guard,’ ‘get out of here…’” He looked away towards the sound of approaching sirens, voice sounding even heavier, as if a massive weight were on his lithe shoulders. “What did you think that would mean?” Alexis’ lip trembled, and she hugged herself, finding her stand’s arms around her doing the same thing after a moment. She couldn’t rebut. This was Wrenn trusting in her, wanting her help in escaping these death games, but to do that..! To leave people in such a state, and that the worst perpetrators clearly survived anyway, and that Metra was still stuck with that guy..! “They’re not going to chase us like this,” he continued, as much trying to convince himself not to break down as he put on his hardest ‘strong face,’ different from that which Alexis had seen before. “So many of those guys probably killed people like us, innocents, too… This is a blow to a whole crime ring.” Not far from the site of the fire, authorities would find remains of a John Doe later identified as local entertainment industry manager Thutmose. Despite the incident earlier that day, authorities deemed it extremely unlikely these events were connected. The final toll of the fires were seven dead, three missing, fifteen in critical condition, all of whom accounted for a majority of the audience of the match. Though many suspected members of Sound’s Garden’s criminal underground were lost to the flames, with many other regulars having tuned in through dark web streaming, operations on the blood sports were able to continue. What a first match to open up the round on! Obviously, results are already in, so there won’t be results announced with M3 going up, but at this point, until the very tail-end of the round the typical posting schedule should be in full swing. Scenario: A scrapyard on the northwestern edge of Los Fortuna’s slums, 7:46 PM Ace High was getting tired of having to move around so much, and for this long. Tailing this “Modern Holiday” man was starting to get on his nerves - despite being a detective, he preferred to deal with these kinds of situations in more direct ways, and passing through desolate streets and heaps of junk didn’t exactly fit his definition of “a good time”, even if his stand helped streamline the process a bit. He’d been following Holiday at the request of Vitus Calamai, a man who SKADE had worked alongside before in an attempt to get in the good graces of ODIN. Furthermore, he’d already done the same to Holiday’s coworker, a woman by the name of Peres Straviat. Unlike before, however, Ace was alone - Kisa had opted to investigate his own leads, leaving the Sharp Lookers behind, and every other member of the team was occupied with their own tasks. It seemed as if Holiday had something in mind that he wanted to do in the slums, as he’d supposedly been wandering around the area quite a bit recently, for some reason that neither Ace nor Vitus were aware of. However, Ace did hear that Holiday had some history with a few shady gangs and groups in the area, and considering the man’s track record, it was clear that an investigation was warranted. As the man moved along, and entered a decrepit scrapyard by the edge of the district, Ace began to notice it - a burning stench that pervaded through the massive scrapyard, and a billowing cloud of smoke rising in the distance. The visibility wasn’t very good - smog filled the air, making it harder to discern what he was actually looking at. Furthermore, his vision was already occupied by the massive mounds of scrap around him, and couldn’t make out much of the area due to needing to remain hidden from Holiday. Holiday’s path seemed to lead him closer and closer to the source of the smoke, and eventually, he seemed to stop and began looking around. He’d almost spotted Ace, who’d just barely dived behind a pile of scrap in time before Holiday spotted him. He could just barely overhear Holiday saying something, though he couldn’t make out exactly what it was. He had to get closer in order to get within earshot of him. Moving forwards and peeking up from underneath the pile of scrap, Ace could see it - Holiday and a brown haired man wearing a red leather jacket, standing on the edge of a large crater, from which the smoke seemed to be emerging. Ace raised his head up further, getting a better look of what exactly was within the crater, and spotting the source of the smoke - multiple fires seemed to be burning from within, and some sort of figure stood from within, facing in the pair’s direction. Was that a stand? Before he could think further about what exactly that was, Ace heard a rustling from behind him. Quickly turning around, he saw it - a stand, rising from the smog behind him, reaching out towards him.“Shit!” Ace quickly began scrambling backwards, up the pile of scrap. “Gangster’s-” Before Ace could finish calling for his Gangster’s Paradise to help him, the mysterious stand firmly grabbed his leg and pulled him back into its reach, and Ace lost consciousness. An alley on the south side of Los Fortuna’s slums, the day prior to Ace’s investigation, 8:32 PM Maxwell “Ten-Ten” Tenet sat on the ground, back against a graffiti-filled wall, breathing heavily while clutching his side. Bruises and cuts peppered his body, small droplets of blood falling onto the dirty floor beneath him. He wasn’t in the best shape. Still, the passed out body of the man by him was clearly far worse off than Max himself was. “...heh. Who'd've thought that mugger would be a stand user as well?” Max idly mused to himself. This wasn’t the first time it had happened, and it probably wasn’t going to be the last. “Well, whatever. Just gotta hope this place calms down eventually...” With a pained grunt, he slowly got up. He was just on his way over to the Elephant Bones, wanting to surprise London with a visit, when he got sidetracked after hearing the faint noises of some sort of altercation happening far away from him. Quickly checking it out, he quickly realized that it was a mugging, and stepped into the scene to stop it without hesitation. Things quickly spiraled out of control when the mugger tried to fight back against Max with his own stand, but the outcome was inevitable from the very beginning - Max came out on top, albeit having sustained a few wounds here and there. Beginning to make his way out of the alley, Max sighed. The slums weren’t very peaceful during the best of times, but recently, these kinds of things seemed to have been happening more and more in there. He knew why as well - with the incarceration of “The Gambler”, things were somewhat of a mess for many of the residents of the slums. He didn’t live there himself, but his boyfriend did, and Max came over and patrolled them often enough that he couldn’t help but notice it. “Sucks, doesn’t it?” Max was taken aback, hearing an unfamiliar voice come from behind him. Turning, he took a look at the person in front of him - a man with a young-looking face, blonde hair, and a wide grin on his face. “It’s just like six years ago, huh? Total chaos. Try as they might, I guess the Temple of Syrinx and the Bakkers aren’t doing a very good job keeping the criminals in check, haha! And just when it seemed like things were improving for the slums!” Despite the man’s dour words, his tone of voice was upbeat and casual. “And who’re you?” Max tilted his head, curious about who exactly the odd man was. “Oh, I guess I forgot to introduce myself, haha! The name’s Modern Holiday, but you can just call me ‘Holiday’!” “Holiday..? Hm..” The name sounded familiar to Max. “What’re you here for, Holiday?” Holiday seemed to pause for a bit, his smile briefly fading away before he took a deep breath and began speaking. “Well, I’m glad you asked! Actually, I’m here because-” “Oh! I remember! London mentioned that one of his coworkers met someone called ‘Holiday’! Her name was Glitch, d’you know her?” Though he was slightly taken aback, Holiday seemed to lighten up at the mention of Glitch. “Oh, Glitch! Yeah, I know her! She’s a fun person, haha! She makes good food!” “Anyways… The reason I’m here because I need your help! Or rather, I suppose I’ve got something in mind that I think you’d want to help me out with, since you seem to be the crime fighting type! Well, you aren’t really going to be fighting ‘crime’, but... well… uh...” Holiday stumbled over his own words, unsure of how to to word what he was going to say. “Hey, just tell me what you want and we’ll see if I can help, yeah?” Max said nonchalantly. “Yeah, you’re right… Sheesh, this isn’t like me...” Holiday said with a sigh. “Well… I want you to kill a stand.” “A stand?” Max’s raised a brow, a slight frown finding its way onto his face. “So... wouldn’t that mean killing the user as well? If that’s what you’re asking, then I’m not interested.” If that was what this ‘Holiday’ really wanted, then this was just a waste of time. “Wh- no, no! God no, that’s… Yeah, no, I won’t- that’s not what I’m asking!” Holiday said loudly. “This stand’s user… well, she’s…” Holiday sighed and looked down, scratching his head. “She’s already dead. Has been for a while. It’s just… her stand isn’t dead. It’s still out there.” Oh. “It didn’t disappear after she died?” “Yeah… Los Fortuna has a weird effect on stands like that sometimes. The stand, Gasoline Family, just… stayed. Ever since then, it’s been mindlessly rampaging around the spot of her death, attacking anyone that gets nearby and making a mess. They say stands are manifestations of our ‘fighting spirit’ or our ‘souls’ or something like that, yeah? Knowing that, and seeing the only remnant of her act like that, it’s not a very nice sight to look at. No one’s really done anything about it until now since it’s so far out of the way of most people, but I want to… to free what remains of her, you know? If that makes sense. I don’t think she’d have wanted this to be what remained of her. And at the very least, I don’t want any unprepared person who goes there to find themselves killed by it.” There was a moment of silence as Max took in Holiday’s words. “Did you know her? Gasoline Family’s user, I mean.” Max asked, his voice more quiet than before. In response, Holiday chuckled. “Yeah, I guess that was pretty obvious, huh? You could say we were friends back then.” A far cry from his previous demeanor, Holiday was somber. It made sense, considering the subject matter at hand, but it was an odd sight nonetheless. “My stand, Sleep Apnea, can help protect you in the fight against Gasoline Family, but it’s not really suited for direct combat. I can’t do this without your help. I saw you fight that mugger - your stand is strong.” Max thought back to his own past friendships and relationships, then to the people he knew in Los Fortuna. Were a similar situation to happen to someone he knew, he’d… he didn’t want to think much about that. “Well, sure. I’ll help you out.” Max said with a smile, to which Holiday responded with a slight grin as well. “... Yeah. Thank you.” “So - when are we doing this, and what can this ‘Gasoline Family’ even do?” Back in the scrapyard, 7:55 PM The first thing Ace noticed when he woke up was the splitting headache he had, and that he was lying on the ground. The second thing he noticed was the pissed-off face of Modern Holiday, staring right at him. He quickly turned away, looking at his surroundings. He’d been dragged closer to the decrepit, smoke-filled crater, and was right by its edge. Despite his best efforts, he’d gotten caught, somehow. Was the stand that attacked him Holiday’s? It just popped out of the smog behind him, and the moment it grabbed Ace, he passed out. Did it activate its ability on him? Other than the headache, he felt normal, for the most part. Slightly cold, which was weird, considering how close he was to the fires. “So, you’re awake. Care to explain why exactly you were following me?” Holiday said with a scowl. Ace wasn’t entirely sure how to respond. There was silence for a few seconds, where nothing but the crackling of the fires within the crater could be heard as Ace thought to himself about his next move. From what he’d heard, Holiday was quite a sociable person, and one who was liable to slip up every once in a while, occasionally revealing some useful and sensitive information. Then again, Vitus also said that he was pretty good at catching on to others’ motives and giving people the slip when he didn’t want to converse with them, so it would be tricky, but if Ace could gather some information from Holiday, then that’d be very good. Of course, Holiday did seem pretty pissed right now, which was somewhat understandable considering that Ace had been tailing him for quite a while. “Well, you know… I was curious about what you were up to, yeah? Walking around the slums so much, almost makes me think you’ve got something in mind~” “And what if I do? I’m- Ugh. Look. I know that you’re with SKADE, and that Vitus probably put you up to this. This isn’t related to the Ocean Soul, and it isn’t anything that you should be concerned about or that you need to snoop around for.” Seemed like Holiday wasn’t really in the mood for a conversation, like he was on edge for some reason. Even if what Holiday said was true, Ace’s own curiosity had been piqued at this point, and furthermore, he needed more information. “Well, I’m still quite curious - what’s it about, then?” “You want to know? Fine. Get up.” Holiday turned away from Ace and pointed down at something within the crater. Ace took a closer look at it. Within it, he saw piles of scrap and debris tossed about haphazardly, a few of them the sources of raging fires, emitting pillars of smoke into the air. By the border of the crater was the man that Holiday talked to before, and within it was what seemed to be a stand of some kind, the same figure that he’d seen there before. “You see that figure over there? That’s Gasoline Family, a stand. Its user is already dead, but it’s stayed here for a couple of years by now, making a mess of the area and attacking anyone that gets close enough. I’m getting help from someone in order to destroy it. Not a fan of seeing the only thing that remains from an old friend of mine do… this.” Holiday said, waving his hands to direct Ace’s attention to the chaos within the crater. “A stand, huh? I see… What’s it do? Something related to fire, I assume.” So that was the reason for the disarray of the area here. “Actually, know what - how about I help you out with this ‘Gasoline Family’? As compensation for tailing you, yeah?” Ace said, grinning. “Hm? You want to help?” Holiday said, mildly surprised. “Well, sure - I was just about to ask you to do the same. While you’re here, might as well make yourself useful. It should also help reassure you that I’m not doing anything illegal here or something like that, if you don’t believe me.” “Alright, perfect-” Ace said, taking another look at the crater. “I assume those fires hurt stands, right? Uh… Got any tips about dealing with that? If I don’t know any weaknesses or whatnot, it’ll be hard to deal with Gasoline Family when my stand’s liable to be burnt up just like that. I’d rather not get flash-fried.” Ace said with a chuckle. “Oh, that? Shouldn’t be a problem for you. See, my Sleep Apnea has the ability to force out ‘aspects’ or ‘parts’ of objects or people into copies of them that it creates. By putting the copies together, they’ll merge, but otherwise, the original body will lose said ‘aspect’ forever. Now, when Sleep Apnea first touched you, I made it activate its ability on you. It removed your body and your clothes’ ability to heat up. Of course, this means that the fire won’t hurt you or your stand at all, so that’s not going to be a problem.” Now this was information that was useful to Ace. Knowing Holiday’s stand would certainly be useful for Vitus, but… It didn’t take long for the analytical part of his brain to realize what the catch here was. His body wasn’t heating up, but it could probably still cool down - that might’ve been why he felt colder before. “And I assume you’ll bring me back to normal once Gasoline Family’s dealt with? I’d rather not freeze to death, you know.” “Well, don’t worry about that - I’d rather not have anyone’s death on my conscience, so I’ll return you back to normal so long as you don’t try to attack me or keep me from killing Gasoline Family, alright?” The anger in Holiday’s voice had disappeared, now replaced by a more nonchalant attitude, though Ace knew that he probably hadn’t calmed down much. With a sigh, Ace took a step towards the crater in front of him. “Well, alright then - catch me up on what exactly Gasoline Family does, and I’ll get to work.” Knowing that his life was in Holiday’s hands wasn’t very uplifting, but this could very well turn out to be in Ace’s advantage if he played it right, and if he showed Holiday how useful and cooperative he was to make him lower his guard and spill information. Max wasn’t sure what to expect when Holiday first mentioned Gasoline Family and told him where to go, but now that he was here, at the center of the crater in which it resided, he could see just how intimidating the stand was. The crater was absolutely decimated - thick puddles of a liquid that seemed to be gasoline were spread around, many of which had already been ignited. Piles of scraps and soot were strewn around, and the smell of smoke was overwhelming. However, Holiday used his stand on him to give him resistance from the fires, which would help in the fight. Well, if he wanted to get anything done, he’d have to actually get closer to the stand. He briefly glanced behind him, towards Holiday, and spotted someone else descending down the pit towards him, a man with a checkered suit and a bowler hat. “Oh? Who’re you? Did Holiday get you to help out here as well?” Max asked nonchalantly. In response, Ace grinned and spoke. “I guess you could say so. The name’s Ace High.” Ace sounded quite calm, unphased by the dangerous stand at the center of the crater. “Huh, I see. I’m Max. Having anyone else around to help deal with this is nice.” With a shrug, Ace took another step forward and spoke. “Heh, yeah - just make sure that you don’t get in my way, yeah? We just gotta get this over with quickly”. Max wasn’t sure if Ace was just cracking a joke of some kind or if he was belittling him. Either way, it slightly annoyed him. “Oh yeah? Sure, sure, I’ll stay out of your way… But I’ll probably be done with it by the time you get close - and if you step in front of one of my attacks, it’s your fault, not mine.” Max responded. Dealing with Gasoline Family was of utmost importance, of course, but he did get a slight urge to try and outdo Ace. “Hey, I’m just joking around, yeah?” Ace said, noticing the effect of his comment. This wasn’t entirely true - in his mind, the most important thing would be gathering information from Holiday, and performing impressively against Gasoline Family could help build trust between Holiday and him. To that end, Ace really would have preferred it if Max stayed out of his way. “And don’t just blindly rush that stand down, it’s not gonna help. That is, unless you’ve got a deathwish, of course.” Ace said, his comment doing nothing but further annoying Max. The two men stood at the bottom of the crater, taking a look at the stand in front of them while preparing themselves for the fight ahead of both of them. It likely wouldn’t be easy, but neither of them was going to leave until the stand was dealt with and the fire raging in the scrapyard was finally extinguished. OPEN THE GAME! Location:A crater at the bottom of an abandoned scrapyard by the edge of the slums. Each tile is 4x4 meters, making the map 64x64 meters overall. The players are currently at the bottom of the crater, 8 meters deep into the ground. The grey border is the incline / drop from the outside to the crater into the crater itself, and it’s quite steep. The dark grey areas are the outside of the crater, and are inaccessible to the players. The light orange shapes surrounding the map are puddles of gasoline formed within depressions in the ground - these are roughly 0.2 meters deep, and are currently the only areas of the map capable of containing pools of gasoline deep enough for Gasoline Family to teleport to (though more might end up being formed as the match goes on). The ground is a mixture of dirt, soot, and ruined pieces of (non-conductive) scrap. Despite the mess, Max is somehow still able to rollerskate around without much issue. The hollow circles are burning pieces of scrap (mainly tires), constantly emitting dense smoke. The area that the smoke obscures is represented by the transparent red circles. Piles of scrap (which also contain various pieces of conductive metal scraps of varying sizes) are littered around the area and are represented by the areas filled with various small light grey shapes, piling up to about a meter in height. At the bottom right corner of the map is Modern Holiday, whose purpose is explained in the Additional Information section. Goal: Make sure that you contribute more to the defeat of Gasoline Family than your opponent! Additional Information:Gasoline Family’s sheet (and a shortened description of its ability) can be found here.Pastebin version here For the purposes of this match, thanks to Sleep Apnea’s ability, the characters, their stands, and any and all gear that is on them, are functionally immune to any and all fire or heat damage, not even feeling it. Force from explosives can still be felt and smoke is still hazardous to breathing. Modern Holiday has briefed both characters on Gasoline Family’s abilities, and on how it fights - In general, it will remain mostly quiet, sometimes punching an object near it out of frustration but otherwise staying still until someone gets close enough for it to fight them. Gasoline Family doesn't seem to be capable of very complex thoughts or of formulating involved plans, but it doesn't need that most of the time - its overwhelming power and durability grants it the edge it needs to win out in most direct encounters, but it also knows how to use its ability to grant itself an extra edge. In close combat, Gasoline Family knows how to create and activate buttons in the environment around it to create explosions for extra damage, and even purposefully tears them off and utilizes the gasoline streams as projectiles should its opponent stay for too long outside of its range. In addition, it will attempt to advance towards any opponent that has gotten close and that is now trying to escape. After taking enough damage, Gasoline Family will attempt to teleport away to the puddle that is furthest away from where it currently is. Put in numerical terms, this happens when it loses a fifth of its “health”, meaning that it will teleport four times over the course of the match. If no puddle is available, it will attempt to fill the “viable” pools with more gasoline using streams, and if any of them have been plugged up, then it will dig out more with its own two A pow hands. At any moment it will try to make sure that there’s at least two pools available and filled with gasoline, though more than that may form as the match goes on. Modern Holiday is watching the match from the bottom left corner of the map, at the top of the scrap pile, and is willing to assist you out in a limited degree - he’s willing to use Sleep Apnea on any object tossed to him, and will toss you back the copy of it that the stand creates (without manipulating any property or aspect of it), which will be a stand object, and as such will be able to hurt Gasoline Family. Should you try and leave the map or directly and knowingly attack Modern Holiday, he will simply refuse to return your bodies back to normal after the match and you will eventually freeze to death, just as Ace predicted. Same goes for attempting to kill your opponent - injuring them is allowed, but not to an extent where they wouldn’t be able to assist in the fight any more.
“M-Maybe the attacks weren't meant to hurt us... they were meant to douse us with gasoline!?” So you’re going to have to get rid of this stand before you can get any information from Modern Holiday, but that’s fine - you’ve handled worse in the past, and you can already think of a few ways to manipulate this situation to your advantage. During the match, make use of the environment and of the various stands within it!
“He doused himself with the gasoline... He panicked, because you were going to finish him off!” You’re not sure how this whole situation got so crowded and messy, but dealing with Gasoline Family shouldn’t be too bad either way. In fact, this might even open up some new opportunities for you - During the match, make use of the environment and of the various stands within it!
Link to the Official Player Spreadsheet Link to Match Schedule As always, if you would like to interact with the tournament community and be among the first to get updates for the tournament, please feel free to PM a member of our Judge staff for an invite to our Official Discord Server!
Purchased 1g HBT1, a non-excitotoxic high impact AMPAR positive allosteric modulator with negligible agonistic effects, from a reputable vendor. You can read more about it on your own if you're interested. Here are some notes. There's not very much research on it, and my ultimate verdict is that, at the current point in time, despite its robust effects, it is not worth purchasing, as the price per dose is astronomically high, and the investigational TAK-137, which has more animal research behind it, should be more potent, orally active, and affordable, and should be investigated further as a nootropic rather than HBT1. I tried multiple routes of administration, and found the only ROA which produced any perceivable effects was intranasal. I discussed this with my chemist friend, who told me he believed the peptide-like bonds would be hydrolyzed in the stomach if taken orally, and that the compound is not lipophilic enough to cross the BBB. At a glance, it doesn't resemble any endogenous compound which would be granted entry to the brain by way of a membrane-bound transporter. This supports my experience that with HBT1, intranasal administration is the only ROA worth pursuing, as it should be able to bypass the BBB by way of nerves exposed to the nasal cavity. I didn't notice much from my initial experiences. I titrated up from a dose of 5mg all the way up to 50mg (intranasally, I tried various doses sublingually/orally to no avail). I then consulted the study and found that, in the presence of 3 millimoles of glutamate, up to 10 micromoles of HBT1 was necessary to achieve a significant effect on Ca2+ influx. The investigational compound TAK-137 appears to be much more potent, being orally active at human equivalent doses of 5mg orally, and has much more animal research behind it. My money considered wasted at this point, I decided to titrate higher out of sheer curiosity. I highly recommend against this kind of reckless behavior, but I'm relatively experienced with self-experimentation. I would have run tests blinding myself but money was the prohibitive factor here, and my supply was dwindling. Over the course of 24h, I consumed roughly 500mg of HBT1 intranasally, in increments of 100mg. I also coingested 10mg methylphenidate after several hours of the 400mg dose, which is reckless for most, but I took this compound starting in early childhood so my brain is thoroughly used to it. I dosed 10mg methylphenidate orally with the next dose as well, and redosed 20mg on 2 other occasions totalling 60mg, my prescribed daily dose. After each increment, and after each methylphenidate dose, I tested my digit span using the human benchmark tool. I also tested my reaction time at each dose increment. While this might be considered reckless, I'm quite experienced with methylphenidate, and I wasn't worried as AMPAR PAMs are known to increase inhibitory signalling as a compensatory mechanism, explaining their anxiolytic effects, and I also coingested a low dose of an NMDA antagonist, 600mg NAC, and Magnesium Malate (as I always do with methylphenidate to prevent tolerance), so I wasn't concerned about excitotoxicity. The compound has a silicate-like consistency, and intranasal administration without the use of a nasal spray lended to some getting in my lungs, which was not pleasant. It also resulted in a paste-like substance forming in my nasal cavity out of the HBT mixed with my mucous several hours later, which was unpleasant and required flushing my nasal cavity with warm saline after loosening the mucous with NAC, Ginger (pressed against the roof of the mouth), and a warm wash cloth on my face, as well as relying on the decongestant properties of methylphenidate and adding Quercetin and Boswellia. Now onto the effects. WOW. When I say wow, I mean wow. I'm simply blown away at the magnitude of effects from something I originally thought was placebo and a waste of money. This blows any nootropic or stimulant I've ever used out of the water. My digit span as measured by humanbenchmark increased from an average of 9 to an average of 12. My reaction time increased from an average of ~325ms to ~190-200ms. Interestingly, the methylphenidate did little to improve my reaction time compared to the HBT alone, and I write the improvement in performance off as negligible (the HBT gave me nearly a 110ms increase at 400mg, while adding methylphenidate only increased my reaction time by roughly 30ms by the time I'd dosed all 60mg, and my final test was actually lower than it was when I tested it at 40mg mph + 400mg HBT). HBT gave me an extreme increase in visual clarity unlike anything any nootropic or stimulant ever has. It was like switching from a 30fps monitor to a 60 or 120fps monitor. That's the only way I can describe it. Brighter colors were brighter and darker colors were darker, but it was like the "framerate" increase of CDP-Choline times twenty. I can't put into words how much smoother objects appear to move, and how much easier it is to discern their relative velocity. It really does feel like I've been seeing the world at a lower framerate, like I've been taking in less visual information at once. The visual improvement is on par with the auditory improvement from adamantyl-carbonyl-proline, which felt like going from 2D to 3D hearing, and made me aware of the overtones in my voice, as well as the way sounds were bouncing around in my environment. There was a significant auditory improvement from HBT1, but it was nothing compared to the visual improvement. My mental sketchpad was also much more vibrant, and when I was thinking of tasks, I could reach back further in my memory and put together complex tasks more easily. It was like there was less uncertainty with the information and skills in my mind, and I knew exactly what I was capable of. Memories resurfaced from my past rapidly, and I felt a persistent warm, calm, stimulated feeling quite similar to my early experiences with low dose DXM. There is definitely something shared between NMDA antagonists and AMPA PAMs as is said in the literature. It certainly felt like the antidepressant, stimulant effects of NMDA antagonists without the dissociation. Everything felt as if life was a video game. This gave me the idea to start work on my own video game, and putting together the pieces of the workflow was easier than I imagined. I was enveloped by this subtle feeling of nostalgia, similar to the "honeymoon" effects of stimulants. The memory of eating cheese on the beach with my first girlfriend, kneeboarding with my best friend, the time we went to his family's beach house spontaneously and played Magic the Gathering and chugged sugar free monsters in high school flooded my mind. I must note, this wasn't a high, just a content, refreshed feeling. I felt like my old self. It wasn't euphoric, it was just refreshing, like drinking ice cold water after playing a sport under the hot sun. This next effect of HBT1, the memory enhancement, is what was the deal breaker for me. As an 11 year old on stimulants, I had an incredible memory, one I've wished I could achieve again. HBT1 gave me temporary freedom from the brain fog and mental fatigue that has been plaguing me most of my life that sometimes is lifted by stimulants for a few fleeting moments without any of the antisocial or anxiety-inducing effects, or the dopaminergic rush. I was simply content, clear, and capable. I also couldn't stand the taste of cigarettes and didn't smoke for the entire day. When I was 11, I once memorized 46 digits of pi off a poster in my math teacher's room out of sheer boredom. I often cited this as the peak of my cognitive performance before stress, puberty, and drug use took that away from me. With HBT1, I blew that out of the water. As of now, I am capable of reciting over 120 digits of pi. I memorized all of them in roughly an hour or two on HBT1, and they are still with me today, the day after the experience. I do feel some residual effects of HBT on my consciousness but the magic is gone. I'm simply not as free from my mental shackles, though there is significant enhancement of my vision, just nothing like HBT1 gave me. So why is my final verdict a no? HBT1 is not efficient at what it does, and it's damn expensive. I insufflated as much powder and money as a cokehead does at a party to achieve these effects, and there's not even been animal research done, so we have no idea what this stuff does in the long run. There is a bit of info on the hydrolyzed metabolites, that is if intranasal HBT1 is metabolized that way, and none of them scream toxicity, but it's still something we don't know the safety on yet, and you would need to ingest huge doses of it through a not-so-healthy route. Ultimately, my verdict is a no, it's not worth $80 for about 2 of these experiences and the potential dangers of it. On the bright side, the preliminary research on TAK-137 seems extremely promising, and it even binds to the same site, termed the "HBT1 site" in the literature. I'm extremely excited for a potentially potent and orally active drug that works the same as HBT1, and I think that is exactly where we should be putting our bets for the next grand nootropic. TL;DR yeah I'm a reckless idiot and HBT1 is awesome but it's probably not good to do in the long run and absurdly expensive as well as uncomfortable to dose. TAK-137 is what you should have your eyes on in the near future.
I Can Make You Hot!: The Supermodel Diet (by Kelly Killoren Bensimon) -- Part One
NOTE: Although I was originally planning on posting this whole review at once, I was about a third of the way through the book when I realized that I was already quickly approaching the full length of my previous posts. So, in the interest of making this a pleasant experience for us all, I'm sharing the first half now, and will follow up with the second half in a few days. And honestly, KKB's writing reminds me of Inception in that it's almost certainly hazardous to spend too much time immersed in any single sitting. So fasten your seatbelts, and enjoy the ride! ------- So, a lot of you guys have been asking about Kelly Killoren Bensimon's I Can Make You Hot! (wow, is this what it feels like to be an influencer?), and I am thrilled to report that my adventure through this book's 264 pages was even more confounding than I could have possibly anticipated. I have a feeling that I'll need every ounce of my strength if I want to have any shot at conveying to you all exactly how bonkers this purported self-help book is, so -- without further ado -- let's begin. I Can Make You Hot!, subtitled The Supermodel Diet, has a fairly straightforward premise. Kelly, who "has done it all when it comes to nutrition and her body," will share her hard-earned wisdom with us, her humble readers. Or, as she says in her own words on the back cover:
In I Can Make You Hot! I'm going to clue you in to all the tricks I've learned from a variety of experts and that I now use to live my own life. I want you to be the best you -- happy, attractive, shapely, interested, interesting, and most of all, smokin' HOT!
The blurb promises that the experience of reading this book will be "like rooming with a supermodel and going on a diet together." Truly, only someone with Kelly Bensimon's tenuous grasp on reality would say this as if it were something exciting, rather than a scenario taken directly out of the third circle of hell. But before we can truly learn what it means to be HOT!, we're treated to a foreword by none other than Russell Simmons. As he shares with us:
Kelly is a great mother and is constantly instilling strong principals [sic] in her daughters. In my opinion, that's the essence of being HOT. Kelly is smokin'.
And just like that, I Can Make You Hot! is knocked out of the running for First-Book-I've-Read-By-A-Bravolebrity-That-Is-Also-Free-From-Glaring-Typographical-Errors. Better luck next time, champ! In case you were at all hesitant about Kelly's suitability for the job of helping the less fortunate among us reach their maximum potential, Russell clarifies:
Her beauty truly comes from within, and her clear internal compass and well-balanced lifestyle is what makes her an arbiter for what's hot. She has always had her own individual road map and is one of those people who beats to their own drum. Many are amazed by her leaps of faith and courage, which are products of her sustainable soul. And back to that energy! I used to think: If we could only package it. And now Kelly has!
I would kill to be a fly on the wall during a conversation between Russell Simmons and Kelly Bensimon. But all of these endorsements are making me impatient to dig into Kelly's advice, so I skim over the next few pages and arrive at the introduction: "What's HOT and What's Not." Almost immediately, Kelly reassures us that she was not always the gorgeous, talented socialite she is today -- "No. Let's just say that I was never one of those tiny, cute blonde girls who guys named their hamsters after." Excuse you what?I literally just walked away from my laptop to go talk to my boyfriend and make sure I'm not just ignorant of some otherwise well-known traditional male courtship ritual in which young men adopt rodents and christen them after the women they love. That doesn't seem to be the case, although please reach out if you can shed any additional light on this situation. Reasonably enough, before we can learn how to be hot, we have to know what hot is. Fortunately, Kelly wastes no time in getting us up to speed:
When I was trying to come up with a title for this book, I kept asking myself how I would define what I love. "HOT" is the word that best describes what I love, and it's not a word I throw around lightly. "HOT" is attractive, unique, and first-rate -- never mediocre. Avril Lavigne made a video called "HOT." There are "HOT" issues of all my favorite magazines. Hotmail.com was given that name to indicate that it was the best e-mail service, and www.urbandictionary.com, whose definitions are created by their readers, defines "hot" as (among other things) attractive, the best, and someone who makes you wish you had a pause button when they walk by because you don't want that moment to end. (I want you to feel like that "someone.") Health, wellness, and fitness are always hot topics. "HOT" may be a buzzword but it's also how I describe the best there is and the best you can be. I've used the words "smokin' hot" for everything from a killer chicken wing red sauce to a coveted couture gown.
There is…a lot to unpack here. My leading hypothesis is that Kelly must have accidentally exposed her internal circuitry to water and started shorting out while writing this passage, causing her to string together a rambling parade of incoherent sentences with no relationship to one another, save a tangential association with the amorphous concept of hotness. Also, it's factually inaccurate. A cursory Google search reveals that Hotmail.com was not "given that name to indicate that it was the best e-mail service." Rather, the service's name was selected as a reference to the use of HTML to create webpages, as is more apparent from the original stylization, HoTMaiL. I know from her savvy allusion to "www.urbandictionary.com" that Kelly is capable of navigating the Internet, so I'm disappointed that she's made such a careless oversight within the first three pages of the book proper. Kelly next takes us through a few scenes from her past to illustrate how she has come to understand the true meaning of "HOT." Here are just a few of the assorted pearls of wisdom that Kelly is gracious enough to share with us:
Is skinny hot? Naturally skinny is hot. Starving yourself in order to change your natural body type in order to get skinny is not hot.
For me, the ultimate HOT girl is the nineteenth-century Gibson girl.
…Bethany Hamilton, the young surfer who lost an arm in a shark attack and didn’t let it stop her from pursuing a sport she loves. She's smokin' HOT.
pregnancy is smokin' HOT
I'm distracted from my diligent note-taking by a line that truly makes me laugh out loud.
I don't want to pretend that I'm "just like you." To do that would be disingenuous, and you wouldn't believe me anyway. But I may be more like you than you think. My hair may be ready for Victoria's Secret, but my values are still Midwestern.
I appreciate the honesty! As I continue reading, I am pleased to learn that I am, in fact, already consuming this piece of literature in the appropriate way. As Kelly says:
I urge you to make notes as you go along, either in the book itself or, if writing in a book is anathema to you, in a little notebook to use as your own personal guide. Jotting down ideas as they pop into your head is the best way to process them and be sure that they don't leave again before you've had a chance to commit them to long-term memory. Then, if you've made a mistake, when you go back and see it there on paper, you'll remind yourself not to do it again. Or, as I like to say, you'll avoid getting bitten by the same food dog twice!
Bitten…by the same….food...dog? Never change, KKB. (As an aside, what's the oveunder on Kelly having even the slightest idea what the word 'anathema' means?) If I'm being totally honest, this book is making me feel a little superfluous. What more can I add when the source material is so impenetrable to begin with? How does one parse the unparseable? Newly humbled, I suppose I'll have to be content with just gaping in confusion alongside the rest of you. And now that I think about it, what better book to build me up from these insecurities and encourage me to be my best? In the words of Kelly herself:
After all, why wouldn't you want to be HOT? What's the alternative? Being "not so hot"?
The book is organized into seven chapters, one for each day of the week, focusing on seven distinct facets of hotness. We start our journey on "Monday: Make a List -- Plan and Prepare!" and are immediately blessed with another one of Kelly's philosophical ramblings:
To me, living well is the only option. What, after all, is the only alternative? Living badly? Who aspires to live badly? I want you to live well, and that's going to take some planning.
Eager to improve myself, I read on:
What are your goals for yourself? If you're going to make changes in your life, you need to have a plan, you need to prepare, and you need to take the time to get it right -- so that you don't wind up wasting your time. This is my plan, and from now on it's going to be yours. Monday is going to be the day you make a HOT plan and prepare for the rest of your week. Let's get started together!
I can't help but feel like this is one of those answers that beauty pageant contestants give when they don't actually know how to respond to a question. Or like a motivational speech written by a rudimentary AI. I can't quite articulate exactly what it is that makes Kelly's writing seem so utterly devoid of logical coherence, but it truly falls into the literary equivalent of the Uncanny Valley. Reminding us that "this isn't just about budgeting your food; it's about budgeting your life," Kelly peppers us with even more helpful tips -- "You don't want to be that person who is snacking while you're shopping. That's not hot -- period." and shares a stream-of-consciousness-style list of "Staples I keep in my house." Which may possibly be some kind of freeform postmodern poetry. Judge for yourself. Kelly advises the reader to "get out your calendar or PDA" to get a sense of your schedule. "Then use your PDA to find the closest well-stocked market and go there. Making life easy for yourself is what it's all about." Now is as good a time as any to clarify that this book was published in 2012. I'd be lying if I said reading so many consecutive Housewives memoirs hasn't made my grasp on sanity a bit shaky, but I am fairly positive that 2012 was not a banner year for the Personal Digital Assistant. Kelly has taken the time to pluck out a few particularly incisive pearls of wisdom throughout the book to highlight as "Kelly's Cardinal Rules." I would love to help clarify exactly what this one means, but I'm afraid I'm utterly clueless. One thing I do know for certain, however, as the chapter comes to a close, is that "human contact is HOT; texting is not!" The week continues with "Tuesday: A Little Ohm and a Little Oh Yeah! -- It's All About Balance." It is imperative that you work out, says Kelly, adding, "I've never met a smokin' hot couch potato and I bet you haven't either." Her personal exercise routine, as she shares, combines aerobics and yoga "because life is all about balance." As she quips, "I'm sure even Gandhi cracked a smile from time to time." A panel titled "HOT Tip" admonishes the reader: "Don't call it working out because exercise shouldn't be work!" If you'd like to spend a morning in the style of Kelly Bensimon, it's as easy as eating "a couple of oranges" and drinking coffee -- "I love coffee; I would probably marry coffee if it proposed." She also lets us in on some of her secret, highly advanced workout routines designed to maximize your time in the gym and propel you towards your full potential. Such as the "Happy Twenty," in which you run for 18 minutes and then do 2 minutes of squats. We get further instruction on the hottest ways to run on the following page, where a two-page spread advertises "a few of my HOT tips for having a fun run." To ensure that you're able to start your journey to HOT as quickly as possible, I've taken the liberty of transcribing one of her most valuable nuggets below:
Run in the street instead of on the sidewalk. I took a lot of flack for this when they filmed me on Season 2 of the Real Housewives of New York City. The thing is, I think that people walking down the street while texting are a lot more dangerous than a car. Drivers will go out of their way to avoid you (accidents are too much paperwork, and they really mess up a day), but strolling texters will walk right into you without even seeing you. You could also get smacked by a shopping bag, a stroller, or even an oversized purse. Sidewalks are really obstacle courses. Beware!
Kelly shares some standout tracks from her workout playlist ("It's much more fun exercising to music!"), including the perennial pump-up-the-jam classic, "Skinny Love" by Bon Iver. With no regard for thematic continuity or overarching structure, the next page is dominated by the header "Get Leggier Legs."
An April 10, 2009, article about me in Harper's Bazaar captioned one of the photos "She's got legs." I was born blessed with long lean legs, but I work very hard to keep them looking the way they do. I'm tall, but I could just as easily have long, large legs. And long and large is not hot. Unfortunately I can't give you my legs. But I can help you to be the best you can be.
Truly inspirational. I think. We continue on with Kelly's advice for "how to avoid the 'freshman fifteen," accompanied by a list of what she refers to as "Kelly rules." These run the gamut from near-sinister
Get rid of any negative thoughts. Negative-town isn't Fun-town.
to nonsensical
For every cheeseburger and fries, you owe me 12 cartwheels on the quad with your friends.
to bizarrely specific and also racially insensitive.
If you starve yourself for a day because you want to lose weight for Homecoming, you owe me 5 minutes of sitting Indian style in a corner and meditating on why you thought that was a good option.
Upon further reflection, I think I would actually be extremely motivated to stick to a diet if the alternative was being reprimanded by Kelly and forced to think about my poor life choices. As a scientist myself, I was ecstatic to see that Kelly has drawn from a diverse array of scientific disciplines to develop her HOT tips and tricks. Physics, for example:
From Isaac Newton's First Law of Motion A body in motion stays in motion. The velocity of a body remains constant unless the body is acted upon by an external force. So if you want to step up your exercise routine, try running in sand instead of on the pavement, or bike through gravel. That way your body will have to work harder in order to stay in motion.
Even biology has something to teach us about how to be HOT:
You are a living organism; life is an organic process. You need to be up and active, ready to enjoy the process. Be open and available and ready to do fun stuff. Participating in what you love is HOT.
I'm truly impressed by Kelly Bensimon's unparalleled ability to reframe the most basic common sense as divinely inspired wisdom. We see this in lines like
If you're feeling a bit frazzled and you need to calm down, you might want to take a yoga class.
or, as we read in another "HOT Tip" panel
Don't be afraid to drink water while working out.
I refuse to believe that this is a problem any person has ever faced. Even Aviva Drescher is not afraid of drinking water while working out (although, for the record, she is afraid of aluminum foil). Kelly closes out this chapter by encouraging the reader to "do one thing every day that takes you out of your comfort zone." If you find yourself lacking inspiration, she provides helpful suggestions, such as "try a fruit you've never eaten" and "try tap dancing." As she asserts, "there's nothing more foolish than sitting on your butt when you could be moving your body and having fun." I turn the page, and the clock rolls over to Wednesday -- "Diet = 'DIE with a T.'" Cute. I bet Kelly would find that Tumblr post that's like "she believed" to be unbearably clever. She wastes no time in letting us know:
I don't believe in diets; diets are for people who want to get skinny. I want you to be happy. If you feel good about yourself, you'll make good choices. If you starve yourself to be skinny, you'll be undermining your sense of self-worth and you'll be unhappy every day. Eating well -- a variety of high-quality, fresh, unprocessed foods -- is for people who want to be happy -- and if you're not happy you won't be hot! Happy is always better than skinny.
This is starting to feel like some sort of word problem from Algebra II. If happy is better than skinny, but hot is equal to happy, diet = die + t??? Kelly tells us that all women fall into two categories: overachievers and underachievers. Being an overachiever is good, and being an underachiever is bad. Here are some things you can do to become an overachiever:
Make good choices.
When in doubt, have fun.
Keep smiling.
Kelly's motivational-phrasebook app apparently starts to glitch out right about here, but she continues on:
Stay positive and move forward. This is your last try at today. Yesterday may not have been great, but, today is better -- you just need to see it that way. The choice is up to you.
The idea of someone being in such a dark psychological place that they are able to find inspiration in those words is so deeply sad to me that I can hardly bear to consider it. Thankfully, Kelly has already taken a hard left turn into what I think is some sort of extended metaphor:
I've already said that you need to treat your body like a Ferrari, but maybe you prefer a Maserati, an Aston Martin, a Corvette, or even a Bentley. Whatever your luxury car of choice, if you treat it well, it will increase in value; if you treat it like a bargain rental car, it's just going to wear out -- and being worn out is not hot!
Ah, yes, I'd momentarily forgotten that cars almost always increase in value after they're purchased, and don't have a culturally ubiquitous reputation for losing most of their resale value immediately. Solid analogy. Apropos of nothing, we get a "HOT Tip" list of "model diet secrets that DON'T work." I'm extremely glad that Kelly encouraged us to take notes while reading -- I'd be devastated if any of these pointers had escaped my attention.
Eating Kleenex to make yourself feel full does not work.
The Graham cracker diet does not work.
Drugs do not work.
Well, I suppose this clears up some Scary Island confusion. Had Kelly indeed been doing meth (as the reported cat-pee smell might suggest), she would be fully aware that many drugs are, in fact, extremely effective ways to lose weight. But lest you start to lose faith in the expertise of our fearless leader, read on: "when it comes to food choices, I've probably made every mistake in the book." By which she means that she ate Chinese chicken soup before giving birth to her first daughter and it made her sick, so she ate a turkey sandwich before giving birth to her second daughter and she didn’t get sick. To be perfectly honest, I'm struggling to find a way to apply this wisdom to my own life, but I'm sure it will become clear in no time! Kelly is relatable for the first time so far in the following passage:
When I was accused of being a "bitch" on national television, I was really upset. My response was to find comfort in Mexican food and margaritas for lunch and dinner three days straight.
But we promptly return to form on the next page as she recounts her daily diet of "2 green juices," "a KKBfit lunch," and "a KKBfit dinner." I'd like to take a moment to appreciate how generous it is of Kelly to share her wisdom -- earned through a lifetime of catastrophic missteps -- so freely. It certainly didn’t come without a cost, as the following anecdote illustrates:
On the last day of my juice fast, I took my older daughter to a Yankees game where we gorged on sushi. (Yes, they have sushi at Yankee Stadium) As a result, I was stuffed and blinded by carbs when A-Rod came up to bat and hit a home run. Was I able to savor that A-Rod moment with my daughter? Absolutely not. I was in a food coma. Will I ever let myself be thrown into a food frenzy again? No! Lesson learned: I made another stupid food choice, and because of that choice I missed that home run moment with my daughter. From now on, when I go to a Yankees game I'll have a small hot dog instead….I want you to do the same.
Verily! Heed her words of wisdom, lest ye not also lose the precious chance for thine own A-Rod moment. But don’t think this caution means that you have to get caught up in the minutia of your day-to-day. On the contrary, appropriate planning means "you can stop obsessing about your carrot intake and concentrate on what it is that's going to make you a great person in life." To help illustrate this point, Kelly introduces us to the "Kelly pie."Otherwise known as a pie chart. This is a helpful way to really visualize how much time you'll have now that you can cut that pesky carrot-pondering out of your day! Kelly even offers some thoughtful "hints" to divide your pie:
Celebrate your own health. We take health for granted.
Get up in the morning and say, "I'm so grateful to be where I am and look the way I do," no matter what your size is.
Tell yourself you look HOT, because you do.
Believe in your ability to make good choices today and every day.
Be mindful of what you eat. If I have to be mindful of what I eat, so do you. We're in this together.
Ooh, sorry Brad, I won't be able to make it to this afternoon's meeting -- it actually conflicts with my daily session of believing in my ability to make good choices today and every day. No, I understand how that could seem like an abstract sentiment rather than something that actually takes up time within your daily schedule, but if Kelly has to do it, so do I! And to be honest, my day is packed enough as it is -- it takes at least a second or two for me to tell myself I look HOT (because I do!), and I'm just worried that if I try to squeeze anything else in, it will cut into my mid-morning health celebration. Wish I could help! In a strangely threatening aside, Kelly commands: "Write down what you ate for the last two days. Don't lie. We can start fresh tomorrow, one bite at a time." In a section titled, "What I Eat Every Day," Kelly enumerates her "three go-to breakfasts": "two oranges or a plate of mixed berries if I'm not going to be very active, all-bran cereal or some other high-fiber cereal with almond milk or unsweetened coconut milk if I'm going on a long run, riding, or doing something else that requires extra energy, and on weekends, I love making pancakes to eat with my girls." As should be apparent, this is far more than three breakfasts. I am irrationally angry, in the same way I was when a Bachelor contestant said their favorite food was a charcuterie platter. That's cheating. (And yes, I do strongly identify with my Virgo moon, thanks for asking.) Kelly inexplicably (apologies if I've used that word for the zillionth time already) tells us that "a plastic cup that says 'Forced Family Fun' from www.themonogramshops.com makes the smoothie go down with a giggle." Also, "sitting alone in front of the TV eating ice cream is not hot!" We are then introduced to one of Kelly's more advanced strategies, which she calls "Energy Economics." This means that you might need to eat more on days when you are busy and/or exercising, and less on days when you're relaxing. So many innovative ideas, this book has really packed a punch for its < $5 price tag! Another ingenious idea? "Stuff cabbage, sweet peppers, tomatoes, or even onions with ground meat, chicken or turkey seasoned with salt and pepper. Bake until the meat is cooked through and the vegetable is softened." Granted, I have been a pescatarian for almost a decade at this point. But disemboweling an onion, jamming it full of hamburger meat, and cooking it for some indeterminate amount of time at an unspecified temperature seems…wrong. Circling back to her theory of Energy Economics, Kelly explains,
If I don't eat [well], I'm violating my own laws of energy economics and my body goes either into inflation mode (too much energy when I don't need it) or recession mode (not enough energy in the bank for me to draw from). The key is to create economic equilibrium: eating well so that I feel good, which allows me to be happy.
I am begging someone to start a GoFundMe where we raise money to pay Kelly to explain how the economy works. The next page introduces us to "The KKB 3-Day Supermodel Diet," which is less of a diet and more a random assortment of miscellaneous health-related sentiments that reek of the 2009 pro-ana tumblrsphere:
Chew your food 8 times instead of 3 or 4.
Brush your teeth and chew mint gum as soon as you finished eating. When your mouth is fresh and minty, you'll be less tempted to eat again.
The final tip ("nurture yourself") includes a reminder to "blush your checks [sic]." Which may be a typo, but could also very well just be some strange Kelly saying that no one else has ever used in the history of the English language. On the next page, we're introduced to "Kelly's Food Plate."Which other, less sophisticated people typically refer to as the food pyramid. Kelly also takes a brief aside (in a feature box labeled "hot button issue") to expound upon her favorite delicacy, the humble jelly bean:
If you're a fan of the Real Housewives of New York City you probably remember that on Season 3 I took a lot of flack for eating jelly beans and talking about processed and unprocessed foods. I was actually making light of that food snob moment. Who stops at a gas station and asks for carrots? Did you bring your organic food cooler with you on this road trip? The important part is not to be a food snob; but when in doubt choose the best option. Sometimes it's better to be happy than it is to be right. Was I able to make my point? Clearly it wasn’t in the cards at that moment.
This is a truly stunning synthesis of her experience. Underestimate Kelly at your own peril -- this girl has been playing 4D chess for longer than we know. The chapter continues with some tips from Kelly on how to make the most of your meal planning and shopping experience. And no -- you have no excuses:
There's absolutely no reason why you, wherever you live, can't eat "colorful" foods. All over the country there are "gi-normous" supermarkets where fruit and vegetable aisles are bursting with every color of the rainbow.
I am starting to get a "gi-normous" headache trying to make sense of this chaos. Kelly's advice that we can "mix and match what's there to make a FrenAsian or an ItaloGreek meal" is not helping. We also get some tips for how to grocery shop responsibly:
Always go with a list and never buy more than two items you planned on taking home.
This is incoherent, right? I know I need to wrap up Part 1 of this write-up pretty soon, because I've read this sentence at least two dozen times trying to make some sense of it, and am still at an utter loss. I assume she's left out a negative somewhere, but at this point, I realize I've already thought about this tip for approximately ten times longer than Kelly ever has, so I'll move on. For the third or fourth time so far this book, Kelly segues into a literal grocery list. To be fair, this is a very effective strategy to take up several pages with minimal text. And what could be more compelling than
Shitake/oyster mushroom combination packs
Dog treats
Lavender pepper
Truly the voice of a generation! Decades from now, English teachers will be teaching their students about a fabled wordsmith who once uttered those eternal words, "shitake/oyster mushroom combination packs." Because this book has absolutely no respect for logical cohesion, we are hurled immediately into a diatribe about how expensive it can be to buy organic -- "I recently walked out of an organic market having paid $400 for just three bags of groceries." As I read on, however, it becomes quickly apparent that Kelly has no idea what the concept of 'organic' even means:
"Organic," in any case, seems like something of a misnomer to me. I know the Food and Drug Administration has regulations for certifying foods organic, but to me, for foods to be truly and totally organic, they would have to be grown in a test tube or a greenhouse with no exposure to the natural elements.
Well, sure Kelly. If that's what you would like to use the word "organic" to mean, be my guest. She tosses us another crumb of helpful guidance, but it only serves to make me feel exceptionally sorry for Kelly's daughters and everything they have to endure:
Plate your food as if it were being served to you in a fine restaurant. Use a fancy foreign accent as you invite everyone to come to the table. Or try saying it in French. My girls love it when I announce, "Le dîner est servi!"
We learn in yet another "HOT tip" that "fast food doesn't have to be fat food," and Kelly tells us for the eighth time that she eats two oranges every morning. In what has already become a recurring theme for me in this book, the following passage makes me desperately curious to know how Kelly thinks science works:
One question people frequently ask me is whether I believe in taking vitamins or supplements, and the answer is "yes, I do," because, even though I know my diet is healthy, I can't be sure that I'm getting all the nutrients I need. All the vitamins and minerals we need can be found naturally in foods, but how do we know, even if we're eating a healthy diet, that we're getting everything we need?
I flip back two pages to confirm that Kelly told us quite recently how important it is to read nutrition labels to know what is in the food we eat (to make sure we avoid foods "whose labels are full of words you can't pronounce"). Exactly how she is reading these nutrition labels yet still manages to have no inkling how anyone could possibly begin to assess their vitamin and mineral intake eludes me. She continues:
I don't want to take that chance. I think of the food I eat as fuel and vitamins as my oil -- my body's engine needs both. Vitamins and supplements are not food replacements, but we're exposed to so many environmental toxins on a daily basis that I believe we need to supplement our diets to counteract all the harm those substances can cause.
I can certainly think of something that is causing harm to my psychological stability at this particular moment, which I should probably take as a sign to wrap things up for today and go read some incredibly dense Victorian prose or something to remind myself what a properly constructed sentence looks like. Promise I won't leave you waiting for long!!
Oh Fuggof was not happy, much as that term could be applied to such a beautiful Lovecraftian beast as herself. The High Matriarch of the Benefactors knew how important it was to keep her subjects distracted, so she had the lesser beings’ training exercises televised. In this case, beings from the newly conquered planet were being hunted by all manner of warriors from across the universe. The city of Baltimore, barely the size of a small Gor’eck village, always seemed to give them trouble. “Guys,” Oh Fuggof sighed once again. “It’s a single male in a single city. How hard can it be?” One of her eyes watched the television broadcast as her lowly servitors all clambered to find an answer that would satisfy her. “And once again,” the announcer, Skroo Yoself said in its giddy voice, “the city of Baltimore has taken far more lives than it logically could! This city just doesn’t wanna- HOLY SHIT! HE CRASHED A GROUND TRANSPORT INTO A FLITTER! ARE YOU SEEING THIS? Ladies, Gentlemen, and everything else watching, this may be the greatest exercise to be televised yet! Never have Ithought that I would witness something like this! Human bulls are strong, but-” If she wasn’t before, Oh Fuggof was thoroughly annoyed now. Skroo Yoself was a major driving force for public opinions. If it was gushing over some primitive from a backwater world, people were going to follow it. In fact, Oh Fuggof already saw that the betting tables were beginning to skew in favor of this male. The camera zoomed in, watching a human male run through the streets. It quickly rounded a corner however, and the image was lost. After a while I managed to normalize my limp into a nice sort of step-flop sort of gait. As I ran through the city, I kept looking over my head for the other flitters. Soon, it occurred to me I needed something to keep the impact off my feet. Uh… um… I looked around feverishly. Perfect! I swung my arm, clotheslining a kid off his skateboard. “Hey!” he yelled from the ground. “Asshole!” “SorrykidmylifedependsonitI’lltrytogetthisbacktoyou,” I stammered as I got on the skateboard and zoomed off. Well, fast as I could get with a popped ankle on a skateboard. I wasn’t gonna be doing any tricks here. Next thing I needed was painkillers, and I had an idea to do that. It was a little hard to skate into a CVS while steering with one foot, but I managed to make it to the pharmacist in the back. Ok, I knew what I was gonna do next was super illegal, so I took a deep breath and fired the ten gauge into the air. Everybody stopped what they were doing and stared at me with a gibbering panic. The cashier reached under the shelf and pulled a pistol. Now that the police were replaced with the Civil Security, nobody wanted to deal with them, so they dealt with stuff on their own. Unlike the military, those folks didn’t care about collateral damage. That meant issues like me were dealt with in-house, in most places. I fired over the cashier’s head and he squatted under the counter. Reloading time, so I started yelling my demands while I did. That's me, the multitasker. “Ok, I don’t wanna hurt anybody, so just give me oxy! I need oxy!” I looked down at my mangled foot. “Quickly! I have to fix this! Now!” “We can’t just give-” I gestured with the shotgun, and the pharmacist stopped talking and started rifling through the drawers for the keys to the opiate storage. “Alright, give me a second!” This was gonna take a while. I feverishly looked outside as the pharmacist fumbled with the keys. “Oh come- motherfucker… There. Got it.” The pharmacist eventually got the drugs out and dropped a bottle on the counter. I ripped open the bottle and dropped a few oxies on the counter. “Is anybody a doctor in here?” I crushed up one of the pills and snorted it. It would work faster that way. One of the dudes on the floor got back up. “I am. I assume you want me to look at your foot?” I nodded. “Sorry about, you know, this. I can’t stay here long. People are hunting me for sport!” It was the sorry facts, unfortunately. I sat on a counter while the guy took a look. “You might still feel this.” He went and reset the ankle, and good lord was he right! With the dose of pretty much but not quite heroin in my system, it was dulled, but still hurt like shit. “Now I recommend you keep this elevated-” “If I survive the day, I’ll keep that in mind.” I shoved the rest of the oxy into my pockets and staggered back to my skateboard just as Civil Security showed up. See, the first thing the Benefactors did when they took over was dismantle all police departments and replace them with security forces loyal to them. Like I’d mentioned, people preferred to deal with their problems themselves than let CS intervene. And no doubt they’d been tipped off to… me, as well. That would explain why they were so heavily armed. The CS split into two groups, covering both exits. The cops at the front all had their force shields, so I wasn’t gonna shoot my way out. Speaking of, as the CS started shooting, I dropped to the floor, crawling towards the window. Grabbing my skateboard, I crawled over a dead cashier, then smashed out a window and dove through into the alley. There weren’t any CS here, so I just skated away. I almost thought I was in the clear until one of the CS trucks smashed into me. My skateboard was gone, but I held onto the hood for dear life, shooting back into the cab in panic. I could feel the heels getting shredded off my shoes. Whatever was going on, I must’ve made the driver hit the brakes or something when I shot him, because the truck jerked to a stop, and he flew through the windshield as I flopped to the street. The rest of the CS guys all piled out and started stomping and kicking, or whatever their alien parts allowed them to do. Now I was still pretty messed up on oxy at this point, so I barely felt it. Somehow I got to my feet and punched one of the security officers in the face. His friends beat the shit out of me. They scrammed, as all corrupt police do, when they heard gunshots. My eye must’ve been bashed pretty hard, because all I saw were blurry figures. Two picked me up, pulled a bag over my head, and shoved me into a trunk while the others stood guard. When the bag came off, I was chained to a chair in a basement somewhere, playing witness to a bizarre sight. Two Hasidic Jews stood there, black coats, felt hats and all. One held a baseball bat, and the other had a length of pipe. “Bit of a putz, isn’t he?” one mused. “Whatever, Yehuda,” the other one retorted. The height of witty banter. A real class act, these two. “Looks like the schlemiel’s awake, anyways.” Baseball Bat tapped the bat against his hand menacingly. “You’re the one causing chaos around here, are you not?” “Huh?” Baseball Bat swung his eponymous weapon into my chest. Even as oxyed up as I was, the blow made me double over far as I could, coughing. “I think you got the wrong guy!” “You were found, having robbed a CVS on a stolen skateboard, being beaten to death by Civil Security. I think we have the right guy, Avram.” Sooooo… Avram was Pipe, and Yehuda was Bat? Was I getting this right? I sighed. “Look, guys. It’s not even, what, Eight? I have been shot at, almost blown up, beaten up, all in less than thirty minutes.” “And?” Avram leaned on his pipe. “You still did what we said you did, did you not?” “Blame the Benefactors, not me. I’m just trying to survive.” At this point, the door opened and a third person walked down. From the silhouette, I guessed it was another one of these guys. Then he stepped into focus, and, well, my one eye was basically bruised shut, but I could have sworn it was my old rabbi. “Young Zimmerman?” It was my old rabbi. “Rabbi Eleazar?” He turned to Yehuda and Avram. “What are you doing!? You idiots! Brendan Zimmerman would never go around hurting people like this! Something must be very wrong!” He unchained me from the chair. I rubbed my wrists and rolled my shoulders. “You two-” Rabbi Eleazar waved the two idiots away. “Upstairs!” The two stooges traipsed upstairs as Rabbi Eleazar pulled up a chair. “Wow…” I didn’t know what to say. “Didn’t you lose your Rabbinical… license or something? Everyone at the synagogue said it was because you smoked a bowl before every Purim.” “Not correct.” “So what was-” “I smoked a bowl before and after.” “I see…” This took a surprisingly odd turn, I’ll be the first to admit. “Soooooo… What do you want with me?” The oxy was wearing off, and my ankle hurt like a motherfucker. “My dear boy,” Rabbi Eleazar laughed. “I’m sure you know of the fragile political meshuggas going on in Baltimore. Ah yes. After collapsing the police and declaring martial law in the city, the Benefactors thought they were gonna roll right over this place. Not so. The gangs all banded together and militarized. You had Jewish gangsters working with Armenian loansharks working with Irish mobsters, so on and so forth. It was kinda funny. All it took for everyone to get along was another bad guy. "So, what. You want me to rough up the Benefactors or something?” “Nothing so crude.” Rabbi Eleazar laughed. “No. They’re already hunting you. If you have to die, you are going to take so many of those putzes with you that they’ll never set foot in this city again.” Well, that was morbid. “I kind of want to figure out what’s happening first,” I admitted. “Then we can do your… thing after that. Promise.” “Hm…” Rabbi Eleazar thought a moment. “You’ll want to find Tommy Tiernan, then, boychik. He works out of Orpheus, but that’s on the other side of town. Around Charles Street-” “It’s on Pratt street.” “Pratt Street. Right. I knew that. Anyways, You’re not gonna make it on foot. That whole area’s crazy heavily guarded.” “Um… Let me think,” I thought. “The Benefactors don’t have any sort of navy. They avoid the water. We could go down to the Inner Harbor and then just cut onto Pratt Street from there.” “You’ll want to take the trains.” Rabbi Eleazar pulled out an ancient rotary telephone. “You aren’t going to make it on foot. Lemme make a few calls.” Avram and Yehuda came back in while Rabbi Eleazar called up Moishe, Gavriel, and Lev. Apparently they were bringing the boys. My old rabbi must’ve had a lot of clout or something, because these guys showed up quick. Anyways, once we had twenty or so guys, we set out. We must’ve made quite a sight, a bunch of heavily armed gangsters all walking down the street. I half expected Civil Security to meet us at the train station. No need to pay for a train ticket this time, of course. We all just jumped the gate and got on the southbound train. A few gangsters got in each train car, from what I could see. I stepped into the train car with Rabbi Eleazar and, quote, his boy, Moishe. “Alright, everybody,” Moishe called as he made his guns very, very visible. I pulled out my own ten gauge and pointed it in the air. People screamed as they ran for the exits. At long last, the train started moving. I had a few stops before Charles Street Station. "So how'd you go from my rabbi to..." I gestured around. "This?" Rabbi Eleazar laughed. "Some old friends of mine. We all grew up in a very orthodox part of town together. When the Benefactors came, we all worked to help each other out." That’s when my luck ran out. Through the window to the forward, still-populated cars, I could see Civil Security checking peoples’ IDs. “Rabbi.” I tugged on his sleeve. “Rabbi!” “Yes, boychik?” Rabbi Eleazar raised his… grenade launcher and looked in the direction I was pointing. “Ah, this is not good. Not good at all.” He got on his phone and soon all his guys streamed in. The door to our traincar slid Open. I knew for a fact we looked suspiciously empty in here. This wasn’t good. In the doorway stood one of the Civil Security officers. “You will give me your ID’s,” it said in its blank, monotone voice. “I think not,” Moishe said as more CS guys showed. “Oh, fuck this shit!” He drew his Desert Eagle and fired it an inch from the first guy’s head, splattering it against the window. “Run!” I tried to scram, only one of the CS guys to tackle me. “It’s him! The bull!” The alien yelled as something jabbed into my side. My boxcutter! This was nice. It was still clipped to my belt. I held the alien by the neck as the four jaws in its mouth slid open, revealing a barbed tongue. It hissed as I grabbed my cutter and started jabbing. Ok, I’ll admit, it wasn’t a pretty little throat slit or whatever. It was a panic stab. I started and just kept stabbing. Whatever, right? Once it flopped over, I stood up. “Oh, you motherfucker!” The next guy’s head, I slammed into the pole in the middle of the train just as Rabbi Eleazar loaded his grenade launcher. “Everybody get down!” It turns out those Vietnam grenade launchers really do go off with a bloop. One of the CS soldiers was slammed into the corner before exploding, blowing out the windows and splattering the traincar with gore. Bright green gore. Acid green gore. I didn’t care. Far worse things had happened today for me to care about icky green goo. My ears were ringing, but I think I was ok. With a yell, I grabbed a dazed soldier, throwing it through a window just as the train went underground. “Oh shit!” I ducked as another soldier opened fire. This just wouldn’t do, now would it? While Rabbi Eleazar and Moishe grappled with their own aliens, I kicked my own annoyance towards the window. Its helmet scraped the exposed tunnel wall, shattering. See, the Light Rail trains zoom along at 60 miles an hour. Concrete isn’t gonna be forgiving at that speed. The alien was thrown to the floor. My heart sank. He’d drawn his knife. The thing ran at me. As he swung, I grabbed its arm, throwing it against one of the poles as the train emerged from the tunnel. Once it got up, I grabbed it, throwing it against the shattered window. Oh geez… its throat was sliced open on the glass. With a shove, I sawed its throat further open. That was that, I suppose. We were out of bad guys at that point. Just as well… We went into another tunnel, finally arriving at Charles Center. Once we got off the train and bounded up over the turnstiles, without paying, oh the horror, it was a two block walk, a left turn, and another three block walk to the elevated walkways. It wasn’t that easy, of course. Soon as we left the subway station, CS was waiting for us. I took cover behind a bench as bolts of red shot over me. When I returned fire of my own, one of the Civil Security guys was blown away. Rabbi E, Moishe and I slowly advanced down the street, making our way to the inner harbor. See, the Inner Harbor was once a major tourist destination, but now it was a no-go zone for the Benefactors, and travel there was incredibly restricted. The place was more or less a self-governing state now. There was a shantytown erected on the harbor itself, with the Science Center and other museums converted into schools, hospitals, and all the other things a rogue state built into a small harbor needed. Once we made it to the walkways, Eleazar turned to me. “I can’t go any further, Boychik,” he said sadly. “They don’t really like me in here.” I didn’t know what to say, but my ankle was hurting like crazy, so I popped another oxy. “Thank you for the help,” I slurred. “Yeah, yeah, not a problem.” Moishe picked up a garbage pail and yeeted it into a CS officer’s face. I turned and ran up the stairs to the walkway as more officers gave chase, dropping from flitters. I dropped to the floor, grabbing one of them and throwing the motherfucker over the side into the water. Aside from water being toxic to Benefactors, the water of the bay in particular was poisonous to humans. That double dose of poison basically melted the guy’s skin off. Now, I just had to make it to the other side of the elevated walkways. The CS would chase me no further. Easier said than done. I jumped over the side of one walkway down to another, firing up through the railings. As the CS gave chase, I ran for it, rounding a corner. “Aw shit.” I was surrounded. There were CS coming up the stairs, and down the stairs. Not good. I fired my last shell into the downstairs ones, then ducked under a punch and swung the empty shotgun into an alien’s knee. As it went down, I smashed its helmeted head against the railing, shattering the helmet. I drew my box cutter and got to work, stabbing, cutting, sawing and generally just brutalizing the aliens. As a final coup de grace, I extended the blade all the way and swung, jabbing it through an alien’s cheek. The CS officer stood there dumbly, before swinging its head to the side, snapping off the blade. It picked me up, blade in cheek, and threw me over the side to the lower walkway. I got up as it jumped down after me and grabbed me and held me down by my face. “Human citizen Brendan Zimmerman,” it hissed. “You stand guilty of five counts of evading Benefactor personnel, fifteen counts of general mayhem and public unr- AAAAAAAARRRRRGH!” The aaarrgh wasn’t the charge or anything, I had bitten its finger off and spat it back in its face. While the alien was distracted, I unloaded on its face, beating the four eyed scaly beast to a pulp. I was so pissed off at that point I just yanked the blade out, tearing open my fingers, and cutting its eyes open. And it was like that, torn open fingertips, gimpy leg, splattered with eye goo, I walked to safety. Previous
Wow this post is late! The semester started back up, and the fun surrounding that delayed things a little.... I tried to address some of the comments I got about the Lappa, please let me know how I did! Y'all always have such cool perspectives and it gives me ideas for future nonsense.... First Previous Next This is the worst idea you’ve ever had. Well, technically it wasn’t my idea. Seaman O’Rourke came up with it, and then the diplomats got all excited about it, and then I approved it. Which was a terrible idea. At least no one had been killed or maimed yet? Murphy’s law, the moment I had that thought a pair of players went crashing into a bulkhead. The ball shot out of the winded Z’lask’s grip and into Kahuanui’s waiting arms, who in turn was flattened by a charging Z’lask, who fumbled and enabled O’Rourke to steal, turn, and shoot. Flyball. The noble sport. The zero-g, full-contact pastime of choice on all ships in the black. Some of the younger sailors, with all the judgement skills exercised by eighteen-year-olds in a bunch, had challenged the crew of the Courage of Z’raa to a friendly match. Once I had explained that flyball was not, as the highly-offended Z’lask originally thought, the human equivalent of a mock-war, and that therefore my guys’ invitation was not a challenge to their honor but a gesture of friendship, the Z’lask were only too eager to play. I’m not sure how many gestures of friendship this alliance can stand. I darted a glance at Commander First Rank Zeran H’laath, our new sister ship’s captain, who was watching the game in a state of high puzzlement. The idea of “offsides” was a very foreign concept to the Z’lask, as it turned out, a fact I was plotting to use to claim that the game ended in a tie, since I was fairly certain this alliance also could not stand one side losing. Yay diplomacy! The Z’lask keeper blocked O’Rourke’s shot with his tail and winged the ball back into play. It disappeared into a knot of viciously grappling humans and Z’lask, as a vindictive O’Rourke flew past to slam into the Z’lask keeper. Ramirez, who I had voluntold into refereeing, was studiously looking the other way. Definitely the worst idea you’ve ever had. Somehow, the game ended without any major injuries, and the two teams accepted the pronouncement of a tie with a reasonable imitation of sportsmanship. As far as I was concerned, this rendezvous was going fantastic. The diplomats, however, were fretting. They were convinced that unless the two crews became best of friends during the three days allotted for the purpose, we would spontaneously decide to slaughter one another on arrival at the Council. In an attempt to avoid such poor optics, we were supposed to be playing flyball, listening to music, and having nuanced discussions about one another’s history. Which actually was, to a certain extent, more or less happening. The sharing music point, as I predicted, was going the best. The green-eyed Z’lask had been correct when he said that the Z’lask got the same things out of our music as we did, and they were turning out to have as broad a range of individual tastes as humans. I supposed the cliché about music being the language that transcended languages was holding true. Funny how much of diplomacy seemed to be clichéd: keep your friends close and your enemies closer. If you want peace be prepared for war. You’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t. “Captain,” H’laath had snuck up on me, looking down on me in both senses of the word. He really seemed to be one of those Z’lask who was having a lot of trouble with the idea of “shamed” not being a human category. He was standing as far away from me as he could, and angling his body backward, as though he thought he was going to catch it. It was minorly hilarious. I smothered a smirk and looked politely interested. “Our crews seem to be getting along.” He didn’t look entirely convinced that that was a good thing. “Yes, they do,” I said, in my diplomatic voice. “This is going to be a significant adjustment, it’s good to see that they’re approaching it so eagerly.” And they actually are. Thousands of years of adherence to the Code had made the Z’lask starved for novelty, and their curiosity about even the most mundane aspects of human culture had…endeared them to the crew. It made it feel unique, interesting, exciting, just to be human. More people than not were engaging with our former enemies, and more people that not seemed to be willing to attempt a wary sort of friendliness. I was sure we were going to have problems with the “not” portion of the population eventually, but I was holding out hope that what good manners couldn’t accomplish, fear of a new cold war might. The Lappa had gotten a little pushier in the Council about reining in our acceptance to the wider galaxy, and the UN was starting to think they’d found their next external threat against which to unify the squabbling nations of humanity. “Mm.” The Z’lask, with their clacking language, could make a sound of doubting ambivalence more cutting than duratitanium. And H’laath managed to somehow put distaste into his as well. “I wonder if the Lappa shall feel that way.” So he’s thinking about them too. I didn’t know how the Z’lask felt about the Lappa’s attempts to ostracize us, it would be useful to find out. “I didn’t know they made judgments based on emotions,” I said. “I thought they did everything logically.” If you want the right answer, say the wrong one. H’laath flicked his tongue, a gesture that just fell on the right side of being impatient. “They are…inexperienced when it comes to the human idea of diplomacy. They are frightened—they are confronting the unknown and for the first time their instruments tell them nothing, their theories are unable to guide them. They do not know what to do.” H’laath flicked his tongue again, this time in their equivalent of an eye roll. “They act like hatchlings.” “Why would they be afraid of us?” I was genuinely confused, they’re supposed to be vastly our technological superiors. And if they’re so logical, shouldn’t they long since have learned to coexist with drastically different species? There was no shortage of odd inclinations in the galaxy, I would have thought that before now they’d have encountered a species so different as to be mystifying. H’laath’s eyes brightened to resemble amber warning lights. “It is my personal belief, and that of many others in the Fleet, that the Lappa have gone soft, become used to peace. They have no Code to keep them strong, to remind them that even if no enemies present themselves, honor demands constant readiness.” God these guys are weird. “Without a Code to demand they test themselves, several generations have gone by wherein no Lappa was forced to endure insecurity. When confronted with the specter of it now, they have lost their heads.” He curled his tail in a gesture I’d never seen before, but had read indicated disdain. “We never considered them worthy allies, their unconcern for honor disqualified them from that distinction. However, their disgraceful recent behavior has made High Command determined not to attempt to appease them.” And he swept his tail to the side as though brushing away something unpleasant and unsubstantial. Martinez and Adams were now attempting to teach a few Z’lask to dance. It was true that dancing could be a beautiful showcase of grace and athleticism, a wonderful expression of human art. That was not true of this particular group of dancers. “I have been meaning to ask you something,” H’laath snapped again. “Are you familiar with the Z’lask conception of the status of those who become prisoners of war?” You’re a direct son of a bitch. “I am.” I made eye contact and smiled with my teeth showing. It took five one-thousands before the jaundice-eyed moron looked away. And the record for staring contests with lizards stays perfect! That was not the way to think right now. I took a breath. “I recognize that this must very difficult for you, the Code rarely demands such quick, drastic changes. But I see that your crew is adapting admirably.” I nodded at a pair of young Z’lask who were attempting to imitate Martinez’s moves, to general hilarity. H’laath looked consummately unconvinced. “Look,” I said, resigning myself. “I’m not here to try to change your mind. I’m here to transport these diplomats to the Council, and to represent my species well while I do it. Like you said, the Lappa are thinking of making themselves a threat. Therefore, my first priority is the completion of my mission, followed closely by doing it in such a manner that the Lappa become convinced that the Human-Z’lask alliance would be an unsuitable adversary. Somewhere way down the list is worrying about—and I say this with great respect, Commander—what you think of me. Think whatever you damn well please, as long as you don’t let it interfere with our mission.” H’laath’s eyes got even brighter, and he drew himself up so I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. I smiled at him again. I had counted to seven-one-thousand when he suddenly flung his tail above his head, then brought it slicing down to ring against the deck plating so loudly people turned to look. “Very well, I think we shall get along nicely.” His eyes went back to a conversational shine. “Huh?” I said. Damn it, damn it, you said it again! H’laath looked…relaxed? “During the war, I escorted convoys. I had the opportunity to observe the tactics of human stealth ships, of a variety of nations, hunting both singly and in packs. They frequently employed tricks that the Code deemed dishonorable, but that nevertheless exacted a heavy toll. I thought of these devices as merely the cunning of beasts, before I observed the lengths to which humans would go to assist other vessels in distress, and before I heard reports of human warships taking aboard shipwrecked Z’lask. The revelation of your Geneva Conventions cemented for me and for many a new conception of your species: as our equals in honor, if not in technology or civility.” H’laath paused to pull a face. “And yet, you were still different from us in every possible way. So different, that I doubted those differences could truly exist. The Code said you were our brothers, so how could you be so dissimilar? Surely it must be an act, another human silliness of deception like you so loved to employ.” H’laath’s eyes were flickering, a sign of agitation. “I considered chief among these ‘deceptions’ to be your insistence that you did not recognize shame. I had no idea what purpose such a charade might serve, I was not interested in taxing myself to attempt to divine it. So I was quite surprised when I learned that it was no falsehood that you had been a prisoner. A shamed in command would be unthinkable even to a lunatic—no Z’lask could endure such a fate, and return still able to assume responsibility for the lives of others.” H’laath paused again to shudder theatrically, and I began fantasizing about smacking him. “But, evidently, for humans, it is possible.” He wiggled his tail, like he was trying to dislodge ants. “I believe that this phenomenon is due to your development. It was deprived of a Code, so you became capable of many actions which a Z’lask could never even contemplate. Often this results in criminal behavior. But, here we see a useful example of something uniquely human. Therefore, it shall not trouble me. It is simply another thing which makes you human, like your dull hide or, with great respect, your disgusting teeth.” “How in the galaxy are our teeth disgusting?” I was indignant. My parents paid for two rounds of braces, I wanted a damn good explanation of why my teeth were “disgusting.” H’laath flipped his tail. “They are far too large for your mouths. They overlap one another grotesquely. And the fact that as hatchlings you lose them and then grow a second set is—is gruesome.” “What in…you people shed your whole skins.” I said, outraged. “Under what rational system of judgement is losing teeth more disgusting that losing your entire damn skin.” “The time of shedding is a time of spiritual renewal, coinciding with the trees’ shedding of their leaves.” H’laath responded, with great dignity. “One strips away the trials and transgressions of the previous year, and emerges pure and strengthened for the coming year.” I flashed a big winning smile. H’laath flinched. “Disgusting teeth for the win,” I said happily. H’laath flexed his jaw, probably grinding his stubby little not-teeth. “What in Z’aa’s name are they doing,” he asked irritably to change the subject, pointing a claw at Martinez’s knot of admirers and imitators. “The individual in the center is dancing,” I explained. “Moving to music. Everyone else is attempting to copy his steps, or making up their own.” “Are…are they supposed to look as though they have been afflicted with disorders of the nervous system?” H’laath actually appeared faintly alarmed. I stifled a laugh with great difficulty. “Er…not really, but…dancing can be difficult for beginners, with a little practice they should look…much more coordinated.” I managed to deliver that with a straight face. H’laath nodded slowly, imitating the human gesture, while still looking extremely unconvinced, but at least he didn’t look unhappy anymore. For not the first and probably not the last time, I gave up trying to understand what the fuck was going on inside the Z’lask’s heads. A pair of very perky diplomats came up, inquired how we were getting along. A further area of common ground appeared to be our mutual low tolerance for overeager diplomats. Once the pair had departed H’laath turned back to me, his warning-light eyes beady again. “What have you been told of the Lappa’s grievances?” I decided to like H’laath—he didn’t fuck around. “I’ve been told they find humanity’s execution of scientific development unacceptable,” I said carefully. I’d already heard his rather strong opinions on their foreign policy, so I imagined that he felt even more strongly about whatever perceived wrongs motivated them. H’laath clicked shortly, soaking more derision into one sound than most people could muster in paragraphs. “That is true. But it is deeper than that. They believe that your ‘unacceptable’ actions stem from an unacceptable nature; that you are innately and inherently uncivilized. Therefore, whether you want to or not, whether you are taught to or not, you will always behave like animals.” H’laath’s yellow eyes glowed evilly. Is he actually angry on our behalf? “One of their representatives, a Shar Diplomat, has even issued a challenge, for someone to produce ‘just one example of human nature causing anything other than bloodshed.’ They are beginning to add structure and specifics to their generalized, philosophical arguments. They are alleging that many of humanity’s past crimes, or actions, or technological developments, were crimes not merely against other humans but against the order of the galaxy, and therefore against every member of the galactic community. As yet, their arguments have been met with the ridicule they deserve, but the High Command worries that, with their influence, the Lappa could win over a species or two, and begin to make life difficult for us.” “You said technological developments?” I was very confused, that was an illogical level of fear to have, and they shouldn’t fear our tech, theirs was so superior…. Oh. “They’re not scared, they’re jealous.” I realized. H’laath’s eyes flashed like radiation warnings. “I don’t know anything about their history, but I’m willing to bet anything both of us can do, we did faster. I think they’re jealous. They’re trying to cast everything about us, even what we claim to be ‘good,’ as wrong in execution or origin if not in outcome, and contaminate everything we do. This isn’t just about fearing a result, this is also about being jealous of an ability.” H’laath was flicking his tail, slowly from side to side, like a cat considering whether to pounce. “Perhaps you should answer Mr. Diplomat’s challenge,” he said slowly. “I certainly would be interested to know what you have to say for humanity on that point.” I opened my mouth, intending to object, to plead that I was much too busy, but before I could the proverbial stroke of inspiration struck me a nasty blow. “It looks like the diplomats are ready for this little gathering to end,” I noted, watching our crews start to separate. “I’ll think about it this evening. If I get something written up, I’ll send it over.” H’laath eyed me. “I await your response to Mr. Diplomat’s charges.” With that he rounded up his crew and returned to his ship. I found myself writing my reply in my head as I set Lt. Levy to supervising the cleanup of hangar B, which had endured a flyball game, and cargo bay #2, which had endured interspecies diplomacy. By the time I got back to my cabin, my fingers were itching. I sat down at my desk, snatched my datascanner, and started typing. To Shar Diplomat, I am writing in response to your challenge to present “just one example of human nature causing anything other than bloodshed.” I decided to take your proposal one step further, and attempt to find a facet of human nature, in this case the innate refusal to accept that “this is just the way things are,” improving human society. Here is my submission to you: “The Thirty-third World Health Assembly, on this the eighth day of May 1980; Having considered the development and results of the global programme on smallpox eradication initiated by WHO in 1958 and intensified since 1967;
DECLARES SOLEMNLY THAT THE WORLD AND ALL ITS PEOPLES HAVE WON FREEDOM FROM SMALLPOX, WHICH WAS A MOST DEVASTATING DISEASE SWEEPING IN EPIDEMIC FORM THROUGH MANY COUNTRIES SINCE EARLIEST TIMES, LEAVING DEATH, BLINDNESS, AND DISFIGURMENT IN ITS WAKE AND WHICH ONLY A DECADE AGO WAS RAMPANT IN AFRICA, ASIA AND SOUTH AMERICA;
EXPRESSES ITS DEEP GRATITUDE TO ALL NATIONS AND INDIVIDUALS WHO CONTRIBUTED TO THE SUCCESS OF THIS NOBLE AND HISTORIC ENDEAVOR;
CALLS THIS UNPRECEDENTED ACHIEVEMENT IN THE HISTORY OF PUBLIC HEALTH TO THE ATTENTION OF ALL NATIONS, WHICH BY THEIR COLLECTIVE ACTION HAVE FREED MANKIND OF THIS ANCIENT SCOURGE AND, IN SO DOING, HAVE DEMONSTRATED HOW NATIONS WORKING TOGETHER IN A COMMON CAUSE MAY FURTHER HUMAN PROGRESS.”
I felt it necessary to include all three statements, and to call your attention to the fact that when they were made, the First Cold War was still quite icy, with the potential to turn quite hot. It should be self-evident, Mr. Diplomat, that the impact of humanity is determined by the individuals exercising their humanity. You cannot hold up a person or a party or even a nation and declare “they were evil, so too is their race” any more than you could use such an example to claim us a species of saints. For all your logic and your lauded ability to follow where your data leads you, you seem utterly unable to grasp the principle of self-determination. At risk of giving offense, I shall presume to attempt to further explain it to you. It is true that individuals are shaped by their surroundings. It is true that psychology is based upon physiology, and that there are certain stimuli which are irresistible. It is true that some human beings, by reason of insanity, coercion, or other such exceptional circumstances, are deemed to not be in control of their actions. However, this is—as stated—exceptional, and not true of the vast bulk of humanity. From this fact proceeds human morality. Under our morality, it is more important to be right than to be logical. Herein lies the difference between our two species. We will have to somehow construct a bridge over this divide, somehow explain why it is that that which is logical may not always be right. Our foundational legal documents, upon which all other systems hang, recognize that while humans themselves are sacred, nothing made by them is. Therefore, a human being has value, has rights, has responsibilities above the mortal creations of logic or laws. It is for this reason that “human rights” are not declared to proceed from a government, but from, as it was once quaintly put, “nature and nature’s God.” Therefore, while it may be logical that the entire world shares guilt for one man’s crime, he nevertheless must answer for it. He took an action, and he must be responsible for his actions. This, then, is on display in the war crimes tribunal at The Hague: the sorting out of facts, the assignation of culpability, the rendering of judgment. It is holding human beings responsible for their actions. It therefore transcends, in certain respects, logic. It therefore will not appear wholly logical, because it is not. It therefore will irk the Lappa, who recognize no higher force than logic. We, however, wish to submit to you that this…deficiency of logic will not make us intolerable neighbors. You argued that our inability to apply logic meant that we were not in control of our actions—that we would behave irrationally, and that such irrationality would take the form of crimes, destruction, and violence which beggared your imaginations. As I have stated, the project of human civilization, and the very recognition of the concept of humanity, contradict this conclusion. To be sure, our institutions are not perfect, but this is no different from any other species in the galaxy. Therefore, you need have no fear of us. Human beings are responsible for their actions. If you still find interaction with us to be uncomfortable, we will accommodate you. We would not dream of causing undue distress to another species. If, however, you choose to disregard our human rights, we will not appease you. We have far too much experience with the consequences of appeasement to permit it to be our policy. You, too, may wish to familiarize yourself with those consequences, and the innovations, as you would term them, that were created to overcome them. I do not point to our history as a threat, as it is so often assumed, but as data, as information for you to study. Insanity is often defined by humans as doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. I imagine that the Lappa would concur with this assessment, and would agree that to view the outcome of an experiment, and then believe that running that same experiment would somehow yield different results, would be insane. Surely a race as enlightened and successful as yours can adapt itself to the accommodation of a species that bears no ill will toward you, even though it is alien to you. Yours very sincerely, Capt. Charlotte Sorensen, USN I sat back. That was probably a little strong. I should definitely edit it down a little before sending it to H’laath, but it was a good enough start. I wanted the Lappa to see that we, as a species, were not a threat, either to their existence or to their self-perception. Their project would always be research, and while many humans would share that conviction, passion, and devotion, the species as a whole would not. The Lappa would always be able to claim it as their distinction; humanity had a different pursuit. I hoped I could indicate it, communicate it, make it apparent enough to the Lappa so that they could do the mental gymnastics to see us not as competitors, but as participants in a different event, who might demonstrate some similarities in skill but who sought a different goal. I was suddenly furious. We’d already fought one war, already wasted hundreds of millions of lives and ruined hundreds of millions more. So fucking much had been destroyed, lost, sacrificed to repel the Z’lask. All because the High Command made a stupid decision. And now the Lappa, the supposed most intelligent race in the Council, were falling head over heels to do the exact same stupid, stupid thing. Was there any way we could induce the Lappa to see that? Was there any way that what I had to contribute to that discourse could be a meaningful contribution? I’d done it before, but I’d had help…. Oh, fuck. There was precisely one Z’lask I could think of who might be able to assist with changing the minds of an entire species. I’d just hoped never to have to talk to him again. What are you, afraid? I was always afraid. I just never let it stop me. Hee hee hee, guess who will be back! What did y'all think? And who REALLY won the flyball game? Y'all stay safe out there!
Sports betting terms can be confusing, and the more you bet the more terms you'll want to learn. VSiN, The Sports Betting Network, has you covered with this list of terms to improve your betting IQ. Action - A bet or wager. Against the spread - The result of a game including the point spread. A draw in either half will result in bets on the team selected resulting as a loss. This is distinct from the Half-Time/Full-Time market which is explained in these Rules further below. Half Time/Full Time. You need to select which team will win the first half (i.e. actually be in the lead at half time) and which team will win the match. Contrarian Betting Also known as betting against the public, contrarian betting finds value by betting on games with lopsided betting percentages. Correlated Parlay Correlation is the degree to which the results of two bets are related. An example of two bets that are correlated is the Giants to lead at the half and the Giants to win the game. When betting on sports, your goal is essentially to predict the outcome of a sports event and wager money according to what you think is going to happen. When you’re right, you win money. And when you’re wrong, you lose money. Even those who have no real interest in betting on sports have at least a basic understanding of what’s involved. When punters beat the market, that tends to translate into sports-betting success. As strange as it sounds, when you win a bet, but have negative CLV, it most probably wasn’t a good bet. Example: Team (X) opens at 1.9 on the 1×2 market, you only take the bet on the day of the game at 1.7.
What is Against the Spread and Spread Betting. - YouTube
Have a blessed day 🙏 ️♥️ Join the exclusive club for insider secrets, match predictions and reliable advice to make consistent money with sports betting: http://bit.ly/2RcO1hE #####... Blocked Matches. Blocked Odds. Sports betting glossary. Sports betting terminology. Sports betting explained. Blocked matches explained. Why are some match e... This week on Teach Me To Sports Bet, Dave and Kim discuss Week 5 NFL betting including over/under betting, underdog betting, and how to minimize the house ad... This is a Clip from The Pat McAfee Show presented by DAZN and Westwood One. Sign up for DAZN here: https://t.co/7eaN0zXIFx?amp=1
