Defining Ergonomics & Identifying Ergonomic Hazards at Work

Longpost® 3: Electric Squeedlee.
Reductio ad absurdum in classic and modern satirical prose.
The main relevance of this topic to experimentalism concerns the incorporation of internet-culture prose conventions into modern fiction
In honour of this commitment I submit the below Longpost® for consideration.
Foreseeably, if not avoidably, this full essay had to be halved to fit the Reddit-post character limit.
Here is the full essay as a Google Doc with more authors, extracts, more of my examples, and better formatting.
I chose this prose style as a topic because I notice that most people have an instinctive sensibility for it, to the point where it is often much more of a 'first language', literarily speaking, than more classic literary prose.
For perhaps this reason, it appears extensively in both low- and high-effort user-generated content. You will be most familiar with it from meme content such as copypasta and montage parodies, but its history is longer than that of the modern novel, and it appears abundantly in both classical and modern satirical prose.
Some of the below texts follow the technique somewhat loosely, seeking less to disprove an argument than to follow a line of thinking to an extreme in order to demonstrate that it leads somewhere insane. This is most obvious in texts owing stylistic debt to Jonathan Swift, and in 'Boléro-style' passages which accelerate to a catastrophic climax.
Another aim in choosing this topic is to introduce contemporary satirical writers to objects and styles of contemporary satire, having largely to do with the relationship between humans and technology. Identity politics is also a popular favourite, but produces some of the more dubious content, and to those who operate on the quite valid perception that party-political satire is impotent if not dead, I present the former avenue for consideration.
Introduction
Reductio ad absurdum is a feature of Aristotelian logic, most commonly used in satire, rhetoric and debate.
According to Wikipedia:

'In logic, reductio ad absurdum (Latin for '"reduction to absurdity"')...is the form of argument that attempts to establish a claim by showing that the opposite scenario would lead to absurdity or contradiction.'

Classic rhetorical examples include:

'There is no smallest positive rational number because, if there were, then it could be divided by two to get a smaller one.'

A modern example:

'Olive oil on your salad is not going to make you fat, otherwise people on the Mediterranean would all be morbidly obese.'

In literature, this rhetorical technique commonly manifests itself in a writer adopting an absurd article of rhetoric or worldview, and playing it out over the course of a passage or text to its absurd logical conclusion.
In this essay we will refer to the following authors:

• Cervantes
• Jonathan Swift
• Voltaire
• William S. Burroughs

We will also discuss the influence of this tradition on modern visual media and user-generated internet content, with regard to:

• Tim & Eric
• Copypasta

Finally, I include an example of my own attempts to incorporate the above influences into contemporary satirical fiction:

• The Merciless Current

We will then conclude with some brief comments on the applicability of all this bullshit.
I thank you in advance for your endurance.
Cervantes - Don Quixote (1605)
One of the most famous early examples of modern literary satire is Miguel de Cervantes' Don Quixote. The text is essentially an exercise in sustained sympathetic embarrassment over a 16th-Century gentleman LARPing as a knight. It is explicitly stated to be an attack on the then-enormous influence of chivalric romances on the popular conscience.
An introduction to the novel quotes the perhaps hyperbolic…

'...words of one of his own countrymen, Don Felix Pacheco, as reported by Captain George Carleton, in his "Military Memoirs from 1672 to 1713." ... "it was next to an impossibility for a man to walk the streets with any delight or without danger. There were seen so many cavaliers prancing and curvetting before the windows of their mistresses, that a stranger would have imagined the whole nation to have been nothing less than a race of knight-errants"'

An introductory note describes Don Quixote as:

'a tale setting forth the ludicrous results that might be expected to follow the attempt of a crazy gentleman to act the part of a knight-errant in modern life.'

An early example of such socially noxious conduct occurs when the then-aspiring knight, for the business of ceremonially 'watching' his armour - some part of the ritual of being knighted - chooses as a spot a trough which the inn's peasant guests require for the watering of their animals. When the peasants take exception to the obstruction of this essential utility, Don Quixote interprets this as a villainous attack on his armour, and behaves accordingly:

'Meanwhile one of the carriers who were in the inn thought fit to water his team, and it was necessary to remove Don Quixote's armour as it lay on the trough; but he seeing the other approach hailed him in a loud voice, "O thou, whoever thou art, rash knight that comest to lay hands on the armour of the most valorous errant that ever girt on sword, have a care what thou dost; touch it not unless thou wouldst lay down thy life as the penalty of thy rashness." The carrier gave no heed to these words (and he would have done better to heed them if he had been heedful of his health), but seizing it by the straps flung the armour some distance from him. Seeing this, Don Quixote raised his eyes to heaven, and fixing his thoughts, apparently, upon his lady Dulcinea, exclaimed, "Aid me, lady mine, in this the first encounter that presents itself to this breast which thou holdest in subjection; let not thy favour and protection fail me in this first jeopardy;" and, with these words and others to the same purpose, dropping his buckler he lifted his lance with both hands and with it smote such a blow on the carrier's head that he stretched him on the ground, so stunned that had he followed it up with a second there would have been no need of a surgeon to cure him. This done, he picked up his armour and returned to his beat with the same serenity as before.'

The whole novel is essentially a longform satirical experiment in playing the above ludicrousness out, ad absurdum, and is well worth the attention of any aspiring satirist.
Jonathan Swift - A Modest Proposal (1729)
A Modest Proposal For preventing the Children of Poor People From being a Burthen to Their Parents or Country, and For making them Beneficial to the Publick is one of the most illustrious stylistic ancestors of the modern technical shitpost.
It was released as a rhetorical pamphlet during the Irish Potato Famine, and parodied the style of similar such pamphlets, in whose production it was then the fashion for any lettered and leisured individual to participate.
This tradition of social engineering is perhaps the same which gave birth to Marx and socialism. However, from the primordial sulphur column of undifferentiated social theory, grotesque and unviable mutant candidates for alternative life were extruding themselves, thrashing in deformed agony, and expiring to decompose on its slopes.
A note on the Proposal's relation to this tradition from Wikipedia (Under 'Population Solutions' heading):

'George Wittkowsky argued that Swift's main target in A Modest Proposal was not the conditions in Ireland, but rather the can-do spirit of the times that led people to devise a number of illogical schemes that would purportedly solve social and economic ills.[2] Swift was especially attacking projects that tried to fix population and labour issues with a simple cure-all solution.[3] A memorable example of these sorts of schemes "involved the idea of running the poor through a joint-stock company".[3] In response, Swift's Modest Proposal was "a burlesque of projects concerning the poor"[4] that were in vogue during the early 18th century.'
'A Modest Proposal also targets the calculating way people perceived the poor in designing their projects. The pamphlet targets reformers who "regard people as commodities".[5] In the piece, Swift adopts the "technique of a political arithmetician"[6] to show the utter ridiculousness of trying to prove any proposal with dispassionate statistics.'

Some extracts which caricature the pompous, deadpan mathematical logic of contemporary rhetorical pamphleteering are as follows:

'I have reckoned upon a medium, that a child just born will weigh 12 pounds, and in a solar year, if tolerably nursed, encreaseth to 28 pounds.'
…
'I have already computed the charge of nursing a beggar's child (in which list I reckon all cottagers, labourers, and four-fifths of the farmers) to be about two shillings per annum, rags included; and I believe no gentleman would repine to give ten shillings for the carcass of a good fat child, which, as I have said, will make four dishes of excellent nutritive meat, when he hath only some particular friend, or his own family to dine with him. Thus the squire will learn to be a good landlord, and grow popular among his tenants, the mother will have eight shillings neat profit, and be fit for work till she produces another child.'

Voltaire - Candide (1759)
Candide, ou l'Optimisme was a satirical text written in the buildup to the French Revolution, attacking the then-popular philosophical doctrine of Leibnizian Optimism. This doctrine was in essence an attempt to reconcile Catholic dogma with the logical reasoning of the Enlightenment.
Its most salient feature is its attempt to reconcile the existence of evil with the belief in an omnipotent, benevolent deity. It does this by claiming that, for reasons little-understood, but understandable through logical reasoning, the present world is the best that God could possibly have chosen to create.
Candide performs a sustained reductio ad absurdum argument against Optimism by confronting a simple, unquestioning character with an onslaught of the world's atrocities and challenging him to accept the necessary conclusions that, among other things, natural disaster, mutilation and slavery are logically at home in the best of all possible worlds.
From Wikipedia:

'Voltaire actively rejected Leibnizian optimism after the natural disaster, convinced that if this were the best possible world, it should surely be better than it is. In both Candide and Poème sur le désastre de Lisbonne ("Poem on the Lisbon Disaster"), Voltaire attacks this optimist belief. He makes use of the Lisbon earthquake in both Candide and his Poème to argue this point, sarcastically describing the catastrophe as one of the most horrible disasters "in the best of all possible worlds"'

How Voltaire plays out the logic of Optimism ad absurdum is best illustrated by the various repetitions of the phrase 'all is for the best in the best of all possible worlds', confronting the reader with the insane prospect that such events be considered compatible with such a world:

'The entertainment began by a discharge of cannon, which, in the twinkling of an eye, laid flat about 6,000 men on each side. The musket bullets swept away, out of the best of all possible worlds, nine or ten thousand scoundrels that infested its surface. The bayonet was next the sufficient reason of the deaths of several thousands. The whole might amount to thirty thousand souls. Candide trembled like a philosopher, and concealed himself as well as he could during this heroic butchery.'
...
'Candide fainted away, and Pangloss fetched him some water from a neighboring spring. The next day, in searching among the ruins, they found some eatables with which they repaired their exhausted strength.After this they assisted the inhabitants in relieving the distressed and wounded. Some, whom they had humanely assisted, gave them as good a dinner as could be expected under such terrible circumstances. The repast, indeed, was mournful, and the company moistened their bread with their tears; but Pangloss endeavored to comfort them under this affliction by affirming that things could not be otherwise that they were.
'“For,” said he, “all this is for the very best end, for if there is a volcano at Lisbon it could be in no other spot; and it is impossible but things should be as they are, for everything is for the best.”'

William S. Burroughs - Naked Lunch (1959)
William Burroughs employs reductio and absurdum and similar satirical techniques so extensively in Naked Lunch, that reading it with this in mind goes a long way toward illuminating its more obscure passages.
One of its recurrent motifs - Lobotomy - was abundantly practiced at the time of Naked Lunch's writing.
Burroughs evidently finds the idea that the frontal cortex may be considered superfluous, and the apparent compulsion of many physicists to remedy this evolutionary extravagance, to be absurd and abhorrent.
He presents his physicians as motivated by an out-of-control fixation with efficiency, as well as a compulsive urge to practice their profession whether helpful to the patient or not; presents lobotomy as an extension of the removal of other arguably redundant organs, like the appendix.

'...and the German practitioner of Technological Medicine who removed his appendix with a rusty can opener and a pair of tin snips (he considered the germ theory "a nonsense"). Flushed with success he then began snipping and cutting out everything in sight: "The human body is filled up vit unnecessitated parts. You can get by vit vone kidney. Vy have two? Yes dot is a kidney … The inside parts should not be so close in together crowded. They need Lebensraum like the Vaterland."'
...
Meeting of International Conference of Technological Psychiatry
'Doctor "Fingers" Schafer, the Lobotomy Kid, rises and turns on the Conference the cold blue blast of his gaze:
'"Gentlemen, the human nervous system can be reduced to a compact and abbreviated spinal column. The brain, front, middle and rear must follow the adenoid, the wisdom tooth, the appendix … I give you my master work: The Complete All American Deanxietized Man …"
...
'Schafer is not listening. "You know," he says impulsively, "I think I'll go back to plain old-fashioned surgery. The human body is scandalously inefficient. Instead of a mouth and an abyss to get out of order why not have one all-purpose hole to eat and eliminate? We could seal up nose and mouth, fill in the stomach, make an air hole direct into the lungs where it should have been in the first place …"
'BENWAY: "Why not one all-purpose blob? Did I ever tell you about the man who taught his asshole to talk? ..."' Full routine for the interested.

We will shortly touch on another Burroughs example, but must make a brief aside to introduce the concept of the 'bolero structure'.
Boléro, by Maurice Ravel, is a piece of music which begins at a low volume and builds in a continuous crescendo to arrive at an explosive climax.
A modern example of a similar track is that of Jefferson Airplane's White Rabbit.
Along with volume, other elements may be steadily increased, including tempo.
The use of this structure abounds in satirical user-generated internet content, such as the following Steve Harvey copypasta:

'Steve Harvey: "We asked 100 people, what is the male reproductive organ?" Contestant: "The penis" SH: "A WUH... HUH??" audience erupts into laughter Steve Harvey grabs onto podium to support himself laughter gets even louder SH: O lordy... one man goes into cardiac arrest and many others begin vomiting profusely from laughing too hard SH: YOU PEOPLE NEED HELP the Earth shatters and Satan rises from the underworld to claim unworthy souls the universe begins rapidly closing in on itself SH: (putting on a weary voice) Survey says... the board shows 100 for "penis" Harvey is able to get off one more shocked look before existence as we know it comes to an end.'

It is also abundant in skit comedy, including much of Tim & Eric's work, as we will see below.
Burroughs, in Naked Lunch, employs a similar structure gratuitously, and in a somewhat Swiftian manner. One example occurs in the chapter Hospital, in which an impression is introduced in the opening lines of a paragraph, and riffed on in the course of a crescendo toward an insane climax:

'I am passing room 10 they moved me out of yesterday … Maternity case J assume … Bedpans full of blood and Kotex and nameless female substances, enough to pollute a continent … If someone comes to visit me in my old room he will think I gave birth to s monster and the State Department is trying to hush it up …
'Music from I Am an American … An elderly man in the striped pants and cutaway of a diplomat stands on a platform draped with an American flag. A decayed, corseted tenor--bursting out of a Daniel Boone costume--is singing "The Star-Spangled Banner," accompanied by a full orchestra. He sings with a slight lisp …
'THE DIPLOMAT (reading from a great scroll of ticker tape that keeps growing and tangling around his feet): "And we categorically deny that any male citizen of the United States of America …"
'TENOR: "Oh thay can you thee …" His voice breaks and shoots up to a high falsetto.
'In the control room the Technician mixes a bicarbonate of soda and belches into his hand: "God damned tenor's a brown artist!" he mutters sourly. "Mike! rumph," the shout ends in a belch. "Cut that swish fart off the air and give him his purple slip. He's through as of right now … Put in that sex-chanhed Liz athlete … She's a full-time tenor at least … Costume! How in the fuck should I know? I'm no dr de designer swish from the costume department! What's that? The entire costume department occluded as a security risk? What am I, an octopus? Let's see … How about an Indian routine? Pocahontas or Hiawatha? … No, that's not right. Some citizen cracks wise about giving it back to the Indians … A Civil War uniform, the coat North and the pants South like it show they got together again? She can come on like Buffalo Bill or Paul Revere or that citizen wouldn't give up the shit, I mean the ship, or a GI or a Doughboy or the Unknown Soldier … That's the best deal … Cover her with a monument, that way nobody has to look at her …"
'The Lesbian, concealed in a papier-mâché Arc de Triomphe, fills her great lungs and looses a tremendous bellow.
'Oh say do that Star-Spangled Banner yet wave …"
'A great rent rips the Arc de Triomphe from top to bottom. The Diplomat puts a hand to his forehead …
'THE DIPLOMAT: "That any make citizen of the United States has given birth in Interzone or at any other place …"
'"O'er the land of the FREEEEEEEEEE …"
'The Diplomat's mouth is moving but no one can hear him. The Technician clasps his hand over his ears: "Mother of God!" he screams. His plate begins to vibrate like a Jew's harp, suddenly flies out of his mouth … He snaps at it irritably, misses and covers his mouth with one hand.
'The Arc Dr Triomphe falls with a ripping, splintering crash, reveals the Lesbian standing on a pedestal clad only in a leopard-skin jockstrap with enormous falsie basket … She stands there smiling stupidly and flexing her huge muscles … The Technician is crawling around on the control room floor looking for his plate and shouting unintelligible orders: "Thess thupper thonic!! Thut ur oth thu thair!"
'THE DIPLOMAT (wiping sweat from his brow): "To any creature of any type or description …"
*'"And the home of the brave."
'The Diplomat's face is grey. He staggers, trips in the scroll, sags against the rail, blood pouring from eyes, nose and mouth, dying of cerebral hemorrhage.
'THE DIPLOMAT (barely audible): "The Department denies … un-American … It's been destroyed … I mean it never was … Categor …" Dies.
'In the Control Room instrument panels are blowing out … Great streamers of electricity crackle through the room … The Technician, naked, his body burned black, staggers about like a figure in Götterdämmerung, screaming: "Thubber thonic!! Oth thu thair!!!" A final blast reduces the Technician to a cinder.'

This format runs parallel to reductio ad absurdum, but is distinct from it in that it does not necessarily seek to disprove an argument, merely to demonstrate the ridiculousness of its subject matter via hyperbole. In this case, Burroughs uses the initial impression of the State Department trying to hush up the fact of a male citizen having given birth as synecdoche for his contemporary America's desperate attempts to downplay its own ugly realities, and incorporates these realities - colonial history, homosexuality, and as is implicit in the final explosion - and clearer with reference to other passages featuring The Technician - the atomic bomb.
This parallel ad absurdum, not wanting to embarrass myself by attempting to christen it in Latin, I will refer to in English throughout the rest of this essay as escalation to absurdity.
Many of the later examples we will touch on employ this structure.
Tim & Eric - Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job (2007-10)
A large number of Tim and Eric's skits, most notably those involving adverts for unwantable products, suggest the output of a market-research team operating on a bafflingly one-dimensional concept of what consumers want, at the expense of any commonsense notion of the unpleasant.
A number of their fictional commodities bear conspicuous resemblances to real products - B'Owl ressembles Furby - and the exaggerated design blunders built on in the skits reflect real design choices applied to those products.
iJammer
This skit overapplies a similar design philosophy to that satirised by the typical Montage Parody, or YouTube Poop, that more stimulation is unconditionally better.
It features a product whose sole application is the production of a dubiously-calibrated audio-haptic reward cue, which are traditionally auxiliary to the user-experience of a device. A parallel commodity is that of Jim&Derrick's Flavor Dust™. The escalation to absurdity structure is followed to the point of equating the device's stimulation effect and addictive potential to that of cocaine:

"I just need one more bump!"

The former skit anticipates the fixation with gambling-originated audio-visual reward cues in the development of tackier PC, console and mobile games, particularly those marketed to children.
Considering that the Montage Parody staple: airhorn.mpg has gone sufficiently mainstream to be featured at a record-scratch rhythm as a recurring transition on my local radio station, what might seem like implausibly excessive satire has in-fact proven fairly prescient.
Discount Prices
This skit involves the idea that the price is replacing the commodity as the object of promotion, played out according to the structure of an ordinary advert.
Like the i-Jammer skit, this segment follows a Boléro structure, increasing in the extremity and pacing of the accusations exchanged by the competing businessmen. Escalation structures around the driving force of one-upmanship are fairly common and intuitive to implement.
"Remove the Teeth"
A number of the advertisements feature highly intimate and crude integration of technology with the human body.
Products like the Cinco Food Tube, and Eye Tanning System, and the total-immersion Schlaaang Super Seat all represent grossly distasteful examples of body-technology interaction in the service of absurd manufactured needs.
These products are all extreme hypothetical outcomes of the uncritical assumption that human integration with technology will necessarily be life-enhancing and comfortable.
This is a parallel strain of satire to that expressed in Naked Lunch on the subject of the modern American tendency towards being swaddled in appliances as a product of Fordian manufactured demand:

'AMERICAN HOUSEWIFE: (opening a box of Lux): "Why don't it have an electric eye the box open when it see me and hand itself to the Automat Handy Man he should put it in a water already … The Handy Man is outa control since Thursday, he been getting physical with me and I didn't put it in his combination at all … And the Garbage Disposal Unit snapping at me, and the nasty old Mixmaster keep trying to get up under my dress … I got the most awful cold, and my intestines is all constipated … I'm gone*** put it in the Handy Man's combination he should administer me a high colonic awready.'*
...
'"It was K.E. put out the Octopus Kit for Massage Parlours, Barber Shops and Turkish Baths, with which you can administer a high colonic, an unethical massage, a shampoo, whilst cutting the client's toenails and removing his blackheads. And the M.D.'s Can Do Kit for busy practitioners will take out your appendix, tuck in a hernia, pull out a wisdom tooth, ectomize your piles and circumcise you. Well, K.E. is such an atomic salesman if he runs out of Octopus Kits he is subject, by sheer charge, to sell an M.D. Can Do to a barber shop and some citizen wakes up with his piles cut out …'

Of the three Cinco products, the Super Seat is perhaps the most recognisable as relating to a real product category, though it's worth noting that various highly dubious tanning 'solutions' do currently exist.
Another iteration on dubious ergonomics comes in the Cinco Privacy Helmet. This skit follows a similar line to the i-Jammer product and the Montage-Parody airhorn.mpg: the presentation of extreme auditory stimulation uncalibrated for tolerability.
Copypasta

"And I strongly suspect that when this revolution takes place, art will no longer be distinguished by its rarity, or its expense, or its inaccessibility, or the extraordinary way in which it is marketed, it will be the prerogative of all of us, and we will do it as those artists did whom Freud understood not at all, the artists who made the Cathedral of Chartres, or the mosaics of Byzantium, the artists who had no Ego, and no name." - Germaine Greer Town Bloody Hall.

I don't think that when Greer said this what she thought she meant was:

'Hey guys, did you know that in terms of male human and female Pokémon breeding, Vaporeon is the most compatible Pokémon for humans? Not only are they in the field egg group, which is mostly comprised of mammals, Vaporeon are an average of 3"03' tall and 63.9 pounds. this means they're large enough to be able to handle human dicks, and with their impressive Base Stats for HP and access to Acid Armor, you can be rough with one. Due to their mostly water based biology, there's no doubt in my mind that an aroused Vaporeon would be incredibly wet, so wet that you could easily have sex with one for hours without getting sore. They can also learn the moves Attract, Baby-Doll Eyes, Captivate, Charm, and Tail Whip, along with not having fur to hide nipples, so it'd be incredibly easy for one to get you in the mood. With their abilities Water Absorb and Hydration, they can easily recover from fatigue with enough water. No other Pokémon comes close to this level of compatibility. Also, fun fact, if you pull out enough, you can make your Vaporeon turn white'

However, she appears to have been thoroughly prescient as regards the democratisation of certain varieties of art. Whether this has necessitated in a transformation of what 'art' is, and whether or not such a transformation represents a quantitative degeneration, or qualitative perversion, is outside the scope of this already inexcusably long essay.
Considering that as early as the 1700s, when A Modest Proposal was written, there already existed a laughable tradition of pseudoacademic rhetorical contribution among non-academic sectors of high society, this democratisation may be seen as a simple expansion of a process that has been ongoing since the Enlightenment.
The above Vaporeon pasta forms part of a tradition which owes a sizeable indirect debt to Jonathan Swift. It addresses its subject - that of absurdly high-effort attempts to justify Rule-34 waifu culture with dubious linear and/or moral reasoning - in the same way Swift addressed flippant social engineering around the Irish Potato Famine: by adopting the voice of the person who 'did the math'.
Next we go back to some more traditional reductio ad absurdum arguments, which consist in playing out a dubious logical position and demonstrating that it is consistent with an absurd one.
A popular example is to caricature the precarious, tangentially linear argument style of Republican pundit Ben Shapiro, by demonstrating that it can be used to justify absolutely anything. The same 'let's say, hypothetically…' structure is used in many different examples:

'Let's say, you've been a bad girl. Let's say, hypothetically, you've been a naughty girl even. Ok, and if you were a naughty girl you would also be my dirty little slut right? Then hypothetically speaking you would be my little cumslut. Now; let's say that you're also daddy's girl. Now that we've established you're both a bad girl and daddy's girl, then I believe you'd agree with me when I say you deserve a spanking. Am I not correct? A bad girl deserves a spanking, and as I am daddy; you are my girl, so I am the one who must provide punishment.'
...
'Now, lets say, hypothetically, that somebody once told me that the world would proceed to roll me, and made the claim that I was not, the smartest tool in the shed. Which would lead us to look at the facts and see that she was looking kind of dumb, due to the fact that she had placed her finger and her thumb, in the shape of the letter L, located on her forehead. This would mean that the years would start coming, and logically wont stop coming, that I was, hypothetically, fed to the rules, which would proceed with me hitting the ground running. Which didn’t make sense, to live for fun, in a way that your brain gets smart, yet your head gets dumb, seeing as there’s so much to do, and so much to see, so now I must pose the question, what is wrong with taking the backseat? This is due to the fact that you’ll never know if you don’t go, nor you will shine if you don’t glow. For you see, you are, at this moment, an All-Star, so get your game on, and proceed to go play, indeed, you’re an All-Star, get the show on, which would entitled you to get paid. That would mean that all that glitters, is indeed gold, and that only shooting stars, can participate in the process of breaking the mold.'

Early examples of these pieces play around a demonstration that Shapiro's argument style is tenuous since it can be used to 'prove' absurd points with just as much soundness as believable ones - i.e. none. More recent examples, like the Smash Mouth All Star one, use these now-familiar format as the backbone of a meme, parodying its tokenistic intellectual jargon by applying it to what is obviously not a logical argument.
Another popular application of satirical pasta is to parse legitimate support for progressive policies from an intuitive sense that corporate support for the same policies is often disingenuous and condescending. The Steve Buscemi How do you do, fellow Kids meme, often applied to dubious corporate attempts to appear relatable to a young demographic, has been adapted into a longer format for the purpose:

'Hello, fellow homosexuals. It is us, [MULTI-BILLION DOLLAR CORPORATION]. Here to remind you that we support your lifestyle now that it has been federally legalised and it is completely socially safe, allowing for us to capitalise on your existence now it's mainstream. Look, we even changed the colours of [LOGO]! Why did we wait this long to come out and 'support' you? Haha, no more questions, homosexual. Buy our product. Buy our product. BUY OUR PRODUCT.'

This is the logical outcome of applying the ingenuous tone of corporate support for progressive issues with their conspicuous lack of support for the same issues when they were at a more vulnerable stage. The suggestion is that if one is to perceive corporate progressivism as sincere, one must accept that for unstated reasons, presumably cowardice, corporates choose not to adopt these practices until they become mainstream, this being of similar plausibility to the alternative hypothesis that progressivism simply now adds value to a brand.
My own example - The Merciless Current
This piece is an auxiliary media sequence forming part of a novel.

'A procession of TV chefs await judgement on their food. The first of them takes two polite steps up onto a raised plateau before a panel of minor celebrities at a three-place dining table decked with chequered red bistro cloth. The ranking panelist has delivered their preliminary summary of the contestant's menu, as well as a narrative of their endeavours, and is preparing to pass sentence. We are anticipating two and a half minutes of cuts to faces, food and furniture before the score swells from a blend of NASA-pre-launch-countdown and sneak themes into despair or reconciliation harmony as the revelation is made.
'All these shots are indeed presented, but compressed into a single second's runtime, after which the judge delivers a concise and helpful assessment of the food.
'"Thank you Chef." [Departs]
'The next contestant steps meekly up. As the judge begins to summarise, her monologue speeds up beyond comprehensibility, the cuts to faces, food and flashback are strobed through, the chef judged and dismissed in the course of a half-second - the audio slowing as she departs from the stand just enough to make audible her helium-pitched "Thank you Chef".
'White VHS fast-forward lines begin to tear across the shot as the queue of three remaining chefs are suctioned almost simultaneously up to the podium, their individual retrospectives coalescing into a single sequence of almost superimposed images, and drawn immediately off-set by the merciless current of accelerated time.
'The perspective cuts to that of a boom-mounted camera tracking backwards over the heads of the audience, whose babbling pitches up to a note of urgent complaint as they are magnetised out of the space like iron filings and replaced with an identical crowd and a cast of interchangeable chefs is processed in seconds, dismissed, and relieved by another. As the camera reaches the back corner of the seating area, the shot slips out the back of it through its workings and recedes up and away from the boom crane over the isometrically-oriented set.
'Chefs and audience are now arriving and departing in continuous flow, as the widening shot reveals a procession of 1940s German steam engines discharging batches of cast and crowd backstage-right. Backstage-left the retired cast are stripped and dismantled by multiarmed factory machines; incinerated in a conveyor-belt procession of coffins now resembling a time-lapse shot of a highway. Sound-effects of industrial chaos.
'Alternative sets are now visible in an animated polyptych of Inferno, booms windscreen-wiping over the sets, generations of cast and audience discharged by an elaborate network of heavy and light rail, busses, ferries, light aircraft, blimps and hot-air balloons; variations on cast disposal: full-body mincing like cattle, dissolution in cauldrons of acid - chorus of autotuned medieval agony; remains pumped, carted, airlifted back in the direction from which the vehicles come. Roar of engine-Doppler in all directions.
'A volcano booms over the spectacle, its flare illuminating the blackened steel rigging of a cavernous warehouse. A billion helium-pitched screams knit into a continuous, wavering ring.
'The warehouse spectacle fizzes grey-white and fades to a purple-and-white text banner:
'YOU ASKED FOR THIS
'DONATE NOW'

An elaboration on the meaning and construction of this peace had to be relegated to the Google Doc.
So how can I actually benefit from this shit?
The chill thing about this style is it seems to be very intuitive to assimilate.
It's also highly likely that you're familiar with examples of it already.
The most obvious barrier is that of considering a style often encountered as part of a 'trash medium' - i.e. meme culture, to be off-limits for the purpose of literary prose. This barrier is easily enough surmounted by exposure to established prose using similar styles.
Copypasta as a style has one specific application I'd like to highlight, which applies as much to non-satirical prose as to satirical. This has to do with an alternative, but convergent definition of the word 'copy'.
'Copy', as in 'copywriting', refers often to non-literary body text suiting the demands of various industries, and informed by their best-practice guidelines. Legal copy, advertising copy, user-manual and hazard-warning copy, newsreel and documentary copy, academic and scientific writing, journalistic writing, political and economic commentary and rhetoric, jargon, vernacular, and so-on.
Where this converges with 'copypasta' is that the latter has often to do with imitating and parodying 'typical' styles. Performing this as an exercise is an excellent way of gaining an intuitive familiarity with the style and standards of an alternative way of writing, which for someone somewhere is enough of a first language that they can produce it on-demand.
Almost all dialogue and a significant portion of prose-writing involve at least some degree of voice-borrowing. As with languages, learning to borrow a new voice is markedly easier after one becomes familiar with the acquisition process. Accordingly, flippant pastiches of advertising copy may form an accessible steppingstone for writers attempting to develop the versatility of their voice.
If you are anxious to eliminate borrowed voices from your prose in an effort to approach pure self-expression, I refer you to this quotation from Rudyard Kipling:

'What should they know of England who only England know?'

The significance of this is that in stepping away from and back to your instinctive style, you may gain a crisper, more critical appreciation of what your habits actually are, and may return to their exercise with an improved sense of their strengths and avenues for expansion.

Think You Have Put On Weight During Lockdown?

We all have that fear of putting on a few pounds here and there.
But, when fear becomes reality, you’re often left wondering what went wrong. And, if you put on pounds this lockdown, there is so much more to it than you might think.
According to a recent survey, 47% of British Nationals acknowledge that they have gained weight since the lockdown started back in March—a relatively high number but with multiple root causes. Many people stay at home or work from home and still manage to keep fit, so what went wrong during the lockdown period?
The lockdown had been physically and mentally exhausting on every one since people aren’t generally used to living in an isolated environment, let alone staying away from their loved ones.
To top that, the work from home concept became stressful for some, though it was inevitable.
Even at HumbleWorks HQ, we put on a few collective pounds ourselves.
Here’s what we believe caused this dilemma.

Here’s why you may have gained those pounds during a lockdown:

Stress
Many of us may not realize it but stress is a trigger for multiple things. During the lockdown, your stress levels may have risen due to working from home-related burnout, feelings of uncertainty, lack of socialisation, and financial concerns, among many other reasons. Stress not only impacts you mentally with anxiety, and in extreme cases depression, but it can also trigger binge-eating habits as well as increased cortisol levels that promote fat storage in your body - a contributor to weight gain.
Turning into a couch potato
We understand that working from home was necessary in the interest of your safety—and the safety of others—but, turning into a couch potato was not. Sitting for a prolonged period on your couch or chair may well have added to your weight gain. Also, entertaining yourself in isolation may have proved an equally hazardous contributing factor —like playing video games, binging on Netflix, connecting on social calls for hours on end to keep in touch, or staying in bed though sheer lack of motivation. There are many factors here, you name it, and all are equally responsible for sitting for prolonged periods But, remember: sitting is a slow killer associated with multiple health issues.
Comfort eating
Comfort eating became more like a ‘quarantine diet’ in lockdown. Due to food shortages and logistical roadblocks, many decided that cooking frozen food or ordering takeaways most days was so much easier than cooking healthy food —not to mention the increased alcohol intake.
Lack of a routine
Mass quarantine destroyed our regular routines for months on end.
This level of upset inevitably fostered new, unhealthy habits due to physical barriers and mental fatigue. In these cases, reaching for the remote control was often so much easier than creating new daily rituals. And, of course, less movement and exercise means more weight gain.
Now that you know what went wrong, why not find a way to make a change?
Check out these tips that helped us at HumbleWorks to gain back our ground while still working from home.

Here’s how you can still maintain yourself if you’re isolating or working from home or still in lockdown:

Settle into a new routine
Putting your life together with a routine is a lot of work but it isn’t impossible. Take time to sort through your priorities and jot down a list of activities to add to your routine, arranging your time as you would when you used to commute to work. Setting allocated time for meals, chores, exercise, and work will help you maintain a solid level of health while working towards your goals.
Make insightful choices
Stressing about weight gain creates a negative impact on the body and mind. So, the best way to tackle it is to make insightful choices.
Address diet changes by swapping unhealthy food for healthy calories—or go for a caloric deficit if you want to limit your food intake. If you don’t like the gym, choose an activity you can do outdoors locally or at home. Every mindful choice you make will get you one step closer to a happier and healthier life—so keep working towards those goals, step by step.
Find more excuses to move
It is quite obvious by now that a lack of movement leads to being unfit. So, find every opportunity you get to move around, be it strutting around the house or putting together a simple exercise regime. At the moment, many people are investing in the services of virtual personal trainers or trying out YouTube fitness videos—both are effective.
Try moving enough to achieve 10,000 steps a day; if you usually drive to the shop, walk instead (if it’s close enough). Take the steps instead of the escalatoelevator. Walk around the garden—the point is, do whatever works for you.
All that movement will gradually start making your muscles more flexible and start burning stored fats.
Give ergonomics a thought
When choosing tools or furniture, ergonomics are essential. Turn a blind eye to generic furniture and invest in the ergonomic kind—items specially designed to provide comfort while creating a healthy, efficient work environment in your place of choosing.
Utilizing a standing desk can help you work while standing and enable movement while improving your posture.
Standing at work will change your life for the better while helping you keep those pounds down—and that alone makes a standing desk excellent investment, indeed.
A piece of advice: check out the HumbleWorks range of ergonomic concepts and improve your health today.
Now that things are getting more streamlined and the situation is slowly reaching the ‘new normal’, we are still going to be in lockdown from time-to-time. So, why not poach on the above tips and get yourself a new routine till you find your footing, to get to a healthier YOU.
For more essential advice on wellbeing, check out our blog on ‘Mental Health in Isolation’.

Its been 2 months since I picked up my Stinger so I thought I'd give a little review now that I've had some time to live with the car and talk about my thoughts on it.
It is a 2020 Stinger GT Limited in Atomic Blue. For the non Canadians that means GT2, AWD.
Aesthetics
Its a good looking car, nothing crazy but has a nice stance. Good rear fenders with decently sized tires. People say they get comments about their Stingers but I've received none. I'd say its still pretty under the radar, something in between an actual sports sedan and an economy car as far as presence goes.
Technoloy
The car being a GT2 comes with a lot of stuff. HUD, 360 camera, heated rear seats, heated and ventilated front seats, blind spot monitoring, lane keep assist, smart lift gate, sunroof, auto stop/start, adaptive cruise control, wireless charging etc.
The cruise control in conjunction with the lane keep assist is literally a cheap mans auto pilot. It works very well that I personally would not feel a need to get auto pilot on a future car if the vehicle came with a just as good lane keep and cruise control system.
The 360 cameras let you view any of the cameras individually for greater parking precision.
The liftgate can be programmed to operate in manual, power or smart. Smart is a mode that makes the car automatically open the hatch if it detects the fob behind the vehicle so you do not have to use the fob or press the release switch. Very handy if you loading the car with groceries or a case of beer so you don't have to put anything on the ground.
All the safety features have hard buttons to disable them completely. They do not turn back on when you restart the car. The auto stop/start has to be turned off everytime you get back in car.
Interior
It has nice materials, Nappa leather, real aluminum and suede. The only plastics that you interact with are the center climate heated/ventilated seat controls, transmission park button and auto stop/start. Even the E-brake is trimmed in aluminum and the paddles and radio controls are aluminum.
The ergonomics are good. Everything is where you think it should be. I didn't have any issues figuring how to turn anything on or find switches for any features.
The infotainment is a bit out of reach compared to most cars. I use Android Auto and thanks to hard buttons or steering wheel controls I almost never actually touch the screen so its not a huge deal but its noticeable that you have to reach a little when you want to use it.
How it Drives
This car drives pretty well for a nearly 4100 pound sedan. Steering feel is average but the precision is good. You point and it goes there without issue. It has a little body roll in corners, you can feel the weight.
In normal mode its a nice comfy cruiser with decent power if you get on it. If you go to Sport mode the car wakes up, I haven't driven anything with this dramatic of a change. I'm pretty sure the turbos must be pre spooled in sport because from a stop it fires out so much better then in normal mode. The throttle response is increased to the point I would not leave this car in sport mode for just normal driving. It feels like its just always in attack mode which is great for fun drives but around town I throw it back in normal because its just to much.
The AWD works with a 40/60 split and goes to 20/80 in sport mode. It works well and I haven't had any traction issues in the crappy Canadian weather.
I'm not a fan of how the brakes feel. They grab to much on initial bite and for street driving its a bit annoying, I'd rather have linear brake progression.
Exhaust is mediocre. There is simulated sound you can turn on or off or set to match the drive modes. I turned it off completely. The car has a decent cold start idle from the exhaust, it sounds a little bassy but the sound in the cabin just isn't good when you get on it.
Practicality
Liftback and 40/60 folding rear seats means you can load a lot of stuff in here. Rear legroom is good for a midsize car but Id say anyone over 6+ feet will be a little cramped if sitting behind someone who is also 6+ feet. You also can't squeeze your shoes under the front seats to give your self an extra 2 inches.
Gripes
For some reason Kia is stuck in 2010 and cars do not come standard with remote start from the keyfob, you need to install a module you purchase as an accessory and are given a second little fob. You do get Kia's phone app to start the car remotely but its slow and takes a few minutes and when used this way the car flashes its hazards the entire time its warming up which is kind of annoying when you want to leave at 6:30am and now its lighting up the neighborhood like a christmas tree.
If the rear seat heating is set even a little bit to hot, the entire center tunnel warms up. If its set to max the tunnel gets very hot to the point you think Kia forgot to tell you your Stinger comes with heated cupholders as a feature. The wireless charging pad where you leave your phone also gets hot and can cause your phone to shutdown if the rear heat is set to max for a long time. My car had rear heat on max when I took delivery and I noticed my phone was quite hot after I got home. Took some googling to find out why.
The smart lift gate can only work if you lock the car with the keyfob. If you lock the car manually using the door controls when you get out it won't work even though all the doors are locked. I guarantee this is the reason Youtubers who have reviewed the car could not get the auto lift gate to work because the manual doesn't state this. It bugs me a bit that the controls on the door don't count as a full lock as far as the software is concerned. This same feature is the same if you want the mirrors to automatically fold in. You either have to manually fold the mirrors or use the lock button on the keyfob. Manually locking the doors does not automatically fold in the mirrors.
The fuel tank is small, only 60L. Coupled with not so great fuel economy and I have to fill up every 500km. For comparison my Z06 can go 700km due to its larger tank.
Android auto stops working every 45min to an hour. The infotainment states the USB is unreadable when this occurs You either have to switch to bluetooth or unplug and plug in the phone again for it to kick back in. I'm not sure if its an infotainment issue or a phone issue. I do have a new phone and have yet to try it on my Z06. My old phone worked flawlessly on my Z06 however, possibly a phone issue but I'll list this as an issue nonetheless.
Final Thoughts
Its a good car, practical, fun, fast enough for the street, good tech. I would not call it a sports sedan but something in between a sports sedan and a fully loaded mid size sedan, leaning more towards the sport sedan side then the economy car side. However if you were to ask me if I would buy it again I don't think I would.
The cars great but I've come to realize what I thought I wanted isn't what I actually wanted. I wanted a car to drive in the crappy Canadian months and decided something practical but also fun was the best way to go to compliment my Z06. However I do not need the practicality and while the cars fun it doesn't stir the soul like my Corvette does and I've come to realize these last 2 months that I want something that makes me happy like my Z06 does all year round.
So the Stingers a great car with a few Kia related gripes and I recommend anyone in the market for a similar vehicle to check it out. I've just come to realize what I thought I wanted isn't what I actually wanted. I guess thats what I get for trying to make a logical buying decision when I'm more of an emotional purchase kind of person.
https://imgur.com/a/MGuFdYt

Continuing
I’m sitting in the dark, fuming, wondering what the hell that was all about.
I still have my drink and cigar and I’m employing them in their proper offices. This is right before I light the newspaper on fire for a bit of light.
Sr. Majordomo appears out of the gloom with a lit 7-stick candelabra.
“Sorry, Suh”, He says in the hoity-toity British butler accent, “Bit of a bother. Seems the electrical substation down the road exploded again. No worries. Happens all the time. We’ll be fine once the emergency generator kicks in.”
And, as if by magic, all the lights come on again.
“Why, thank you, Jeeves”, I say as he nods and departs.
Now…where was I? Ah…fuck. UREE’s down 2⅝’s.
The next morning, down at breakfast…
“Weeeell. Good morning, bright eyes! How we feeling this fine day?” I ask Sanjay as he slopes into the Raj’s breakfast nook.
He looks at me through what appears to be two baseballs composed of very lean bacon.
“…fine…how are you?” he asks.
“Me? I’m in fine fettle. I’ve never felt fettler. I’m still breathing, I have all my appendages, such as it is, and still a spotless record.” I reply cheerily.
“How? How…can you? How…do you?” he asks, wearily.
“Years of intensive practice, m’lad.”, I smile, “Here’s something hot, wet, and black. Drink up, it’s going to be a busy day, Bucko.”
“erf.”
Sanjay is appreciative for the Greenland coffee. Somehow he’s developed a taste for the stuff.
I ask the attending butler for my specialty breakfast: a grilled bagelwich breakfast panini.
That’s a smashed, over-hard cooked egg, stinky French foot cheese, sliced ham, red onion, Siriaca mayo, sliced red capsicum, hot Giardiniera, and neon-green pickle relish on grilled, buttered garlic bagel.
Yum.
Sanjay looks at me through crimson-tinted eyes over his steaming soupçon.
“You’re not human.” He sighs, shaking his head.
“Nope. Never claimed to be. I’m an EtOH-fueled carbon-based lifeform. Take me to your larder!” I guffaw.
Sanjay groans into his morning mug.
Sanjay feels better after he slurps down some coffee and has his morning repast of gnarly looking gruel, Masala oats he tells me. A bit of tatte idli with coconut chutney. A couple of slices of bacon, akki rotti and chutney, some more coffee and he’s looking almost human again.
I grab the morning edition and head to the reading room.
“Call our driver, Sanj, if you would. Give me ten minutes and we’ll roll. First day of school and all that.”
Sanjay gives me the high sign and we rendezvous a bit later in the basement waiting for our ride. I go to fire up a breakfast cigar; a nice, light little Dutch dry-cured.
Sanjay looks at me like a flogged puppy; the whole big soulful eyes routine.
OK, fine. I’ll save that for later.
We arrive at the Barn, or Outbuilding #2, at 0705. The crew will arrive at 0800, and I’ve already got the day planned. I tell Sanjay I’ll be outside having a smoke. He wants to brush up on the day’s activities and bids me a hearty “don’t let the door hit you in the ass.”
Nice.
I’m sitting out in the bright, still morning sun when a tap-tap approaches.
“Dr. Rocknocker?” he asks.
“Sure am”. I reply.
“Please come with me.” he requests.
“Why? Where we going?” I reply.
“Headquarters. There is a request there for you.” He says.
This is odd. They could have called me directly. They could have called Sanjay.
“Oh, well”, I think aloud, “Whatever. When in Alang…”
I get in the tippy little machine and away we race at breakneck speed toward the main building complex.
I tip my driver and wander into the reception area.
The receptionist doesn’t even look up as I enter. She merely points to the boardroom.
“There.” was all she said.
“Thanks.” was my reply.
I trooped over to the boardroom. I look inside after I yank the door open, unannounced. It’s a full house. Standing room only.
I am immediately asked to take a newly vacated seat at the head of the table.
“Coffee, if you please, black”, I reply to the tea boy de jure’s inquiry.
I’m sipping my coffee and the room, previously abuzz with Hindi, goes deathly silent.
“Doctor”, one grizzled old Indian chap says, the Chairman I find out later, “We are pleased you were not injured in yesterday’s activities.”
“I’m rather pleased not to have been killed as well. Thanks, gents” I reply.
“We are also very pleased that none of our young people you recruited were maimed or harmed as well”, he said a shade more darkly.
“OK, I see where this is headed”, I thought to myself.
“Yeah. Ain’t that something?”, I said, gruffly. “Amazing that I could take a squadron of grass-green recruits and defuse a 9-ton company fuckup without so much as a bloody nose. I must really be good. Thank you for the compliment. Wait until you see my bill.”
“That’s just the thing, Doctor…” he continued.
“Yes?” I awaited the inevitable.
“Your methods are…so irregular. So…unorthodox. We are uncertain. That is to say, we are not convinced that you..” he tried to continue before I cut him off.
“Ah, hold the phone, Goodgulf,” I said as I pulled out Emergency Flask #2 and a new Oscuro cigar. “Have you indeed personally read my contract for this little soiree that you’ve invited me to attend?”
“Well, read…no. Skimmed…?”, he choked a bit.
“Ok, Scooter, here’s the deal.” I said to the Chairman, “You’ve got something sticking in your craw. So spill it. I’m not moving from this seat until we get a few issues vodka clear.”
I swore as I lit my new cigar.
There were a few gasps and coughs from the crowd. I blew a large blue smoke ring skyward toward the fluorescent lights.
“Well, Doctor.” One of the other board members continued, “Your contract was for training and teaching our young men in the use of explosives in shipbreaking. It’s been now three days and you haven’t broken a single ship…” he stammered.
“You fuckin’ with me, Bub?” I asked, incredulous, “Do you not know of yesterday’s little field activities?”
“Oh, yes”, he tried to continue, “But we believe you overstepped the strict bounds of your contract…”
“OK. Fine. You believe that all you want. Goodbye.” I snap a natty two-finger salute and proceed to stand to take my leave. “Fwwppp!”
They obviously hadn’t read my force majeure, iron-clad, triple take-or-pay contract.
“Oh. I’ll expect payment before I leave today. Business-class flight tickets or better and remember, payment in full before I go. Good day, gentlemen.”
I stood, readjusted my Stetson, and puffed a huge cloud of Oscuro cigar smoke skyward.
“Now, now, Doctor. Let us not be hasty.” The old fart said.
“Well, you sure as FUCK wanted me to be hasty yesterday when I identified that 9-ton catastrophe waiting to happen out in Sector 4. You didn’t even know it existed much less what to do about it. I hung my ass out over the line and dragged it back in to save your corporate asses. If that motherfucker would have blown, with all that counterfeit C-4, dynamite, ANFO, and fucking Nitronox; the place where you’re sitting right now would be one tall, mothering hole. It’d be littered with uncountable bodies and body parts.” I yelled back.
Each of the board members looked as if they’d just been slapped in the face with a large salt-water cod soaked in lemon juice.
“Doctor! Decorum!”, one of them bickered back.
“FUCK YOUR DECORUM!”, I roared back. “You candy-assed executives sit here and just watch the proles swing by and the money swirl in. Let me tell you something, me ol’ muckers. Get the fuck off your ivory pedestal and get into the trenches and see what it’s really like out there. You may have started in the trenches and clawed your way up here. I doubt it as most of you have never had a blister or broke a sweat. I’m a Goddamned Doctor of Petroleum Geology, I am! I have more degrees than any of you so-called ‘higher-ups’, and I look forward to cultivating blisters and getting all sweaty and nasty. It’s called ‘working for a living’ and being the best in your field. You sorry slack-jawed bastards might want to give it a try sometime. Don’t presume to lecture me on decorum, gentlemen. Let me lecture you on reality and how the fuck the real fucking world really fucking works.”
Utter silence from the whole boardroom. I sat back in my comfortable ergonomic seat, sipped my coffee, and smoked my cigar. I silently wondered who would be the first to break the stillness.
Finally Goodgulf Greyteeth, the original old fart, spoke up, “Ah. Yes, Doctor. Please do not misinterpret our reservations for ingratitude.”
“Not at all”, I replied, “I know you’re good at paying your bills. I do my homework.”
That stung them again. They knew they owed me and my recruits a fucking bundle.
“However, you are an American...” he tried to continue.
“What the flying fuck does that have to do with the price of Ganga in Calicut?” I railed, “You knew that from the onset. Don’t you even fucking dare try to make it a cultural thing. I’ve lived all around the world, Gentlemen; myriad ethnicities in the past 4 decades. I assimilate into a new culture smoother than the COVID-9 virus into a leaky mammal cell-membrane. What else you got?”
More silence. I checked my watch. 0745. I need to get back to the Barn.
“OK, gents. By your silence, I can see that I just terrify you”, I noted, “That’s cool. I have no problem with that. That’s really fine and dandy. However, you are correct: I am an American. I’m brash, I’m loud, and I’m quickly decisive. I smoke, I drink, I swear, I stink. And you know what? I’m damn proud of it. You value decorum? I value results. I don’t ask you to like, investigate, nor critique my methodologies. I ask you to like, investigate, and critique my results. Like yesterday. You’d have shit yourselves and gone blind before you’d screwed up enough courage to go up to that tent yesterday, much less go in and defuse the problem. That’s why I’m here. And until I decide to leave, you stay up here and play with your decorum; just don’t get caught. I’ll be down there and taking care of the fucking business of doing business. When I ask if ‘we’re green’, I mean ‘are we in agreement’. So, are we green, gentlemen?”
There’s an immediate buzz. Machine gun cadence Hindi and finally a unanimous:
“Yes, Doctor. We are green. I’m glad we had this opportunity to talk. Thank you very much for your time.”
“Marvelous”, I replied.
I slurped down the remainder of my coffee, donned my Stetson, and headed for the door.
“Ah, Doctor”, the old grizzled fart said, “No hard feelings, I hope.”
“None from this side”, I replied, “Sorry if you can’t say the same from yours. There is one thing before I go. You will be doing this without question…”
A few tense minutes elapse.
“Until we meet again, then. Ta-ta.” I said to the exasperated board.
One really surly conversation later, I’m out the door, down the steps.
I grab the first tap-tap to happen by and head to the Barn. Upon de-tap-tapping, I give the driver 500 rupees. I was just still so pissed I wanted to get shed of all things Indian at that point.
It was 0800 and I walked in the door.
Deep breath. Suck it up. It’s showtime.
“Morning, guys”, I said cheerily, “I do hope you all survived yesterday intact.”
There were a few groans. I knew that all those empty liquor bottles and half-barrels out by the rubbish tip had to come from somewhere. There were some headaches being nursed here, and they weren’t from nitro this time.
“OK”, I said, “Let’s see. Numbers 8, 14, and 22 are officially not here.” I said, looking at the tote board. “Shame, they will miss out on the juicy bonus information I have for them.”
Suddenly, numbers 8, 14, and 22 appeared as if by magic.
“Oh, lookee. The gang’s all here.” I said cheerfully, “Now we’re all present and accounted for, I have some de-briefing for you from yesterday’s escapades.”
The entire room was in rapt attention.
“First, my hearty and personal thanks to all of you. You performed above and beyond. My personal thanks and approbations.” I said.
There were actually smatters of applause from the assembled.
“OK, enough of that horseshit.” I wave off the applause. “Now the news you were all waiting for. It was rumored that you were to be given a one-time expeditionary bonus of 10,000 rupees for your work yesterday.” I informed them.
There was a buzz.
“What do you mean ‘were to be given’?” came a few gasps.
“Well, it’s like this”, I said, gravely clearing my throat, “I felt that was insufficient, unsatisfactory, and downright insulting. It’s only US$132 and I felt you guys deserved better. So I convinced your bosses to double that figure.”
There were gasps and huzzahs.
I held up a whole hand to silence them.
“However, just this morning they collectively managed to piss me off magnificently. So, now it’s double-double. How’s that?” I asked.
The room erupted. Phones came out to calculate their newfound wealth.
“Gents,” I said, “Put away your phones, you know my classroom rules. It’s US$523.28 Congratulations. You’ve earned every piasa.”
Now there was real applause. The room sort of erupted.
“OK?”, I asked, “Everyone delirious? Good. Because now we’re going to go through your locker boxes and have a locker box inspection!”
Never has the mood in the room done a 180-degree turn so swiftly.
“Sanjay”, I said, “If you would. I need some air.”
Outside I check my messages. Nothing that couldn’t wait. I had a small Dutch dry-cured cigar and a couple of tots from old number 3.
“Locker box go OK?” I asked.
“We’re green, Rock!”, came the reply.
Sanjay shook his head to agree.
“Outstanding”. I replied.
“OK, guys, here’s the deal. After yesterday’s total immersion, we’re going to hit the books for a day or so. Go over some fundamentals. It’s not going to be near as exciting, but it has to be done. So, get out your copy of the Blasters Protocols Handbook and read the first 5 chapters. That will take us to lunch. We will reconvene at 1300 hours and discuss what you just learned. We green?”
“Rock,”, one industrious student asked, “Do we need to stay here and read or can we go out?”
“No”, I replied, “I don’t really care where you do your reading. Because tonight there will be homework, so you may as well get used to it now. See you at 1300 hours. You can stay, as Sanjay and I will be here or go wherever. Go nuts.”
Three-quarters of the room left with their books, the rest remained.
I fielded a couple of calls and Sanjay brushed up on his Blasters Protocols Handbook, 15th edition. I fielded a few questions from the peanut gallery that remained, but by and large, the morning just evaporated.
At noon, we locked up. Sanjay went to lunch, I commandeered at tap-tap and driver. I gave him 500 rupees for the hour.
“Sector 4”, I said, “And don’t spare the electrons.”
He was driving one of those new, environmentally-friendly tap-taps.
Yippee.
Off we putt-putted. I fired up a cigar, offered one to the driver, which he snatched faster than a teen caught by his mother with a copy of Playboy, and had a few tots from old number 2.
We got to the location of the old ammo dump. The tarpaulin and poles had been removed, but not the warning flagpoles and yellow cautionary tape.
Salim was still standing here, looking somewhat confused.
I instructed my driver to tap-tap over to Salim.
“Show’s over, Salim. Thanks for your hard work.” I said.
“Salim tried to keep them out. They say they need tarp. They had to go around the back. Salim would not let them up the path. Doctor Rock say so. Salim make sure.” He smiles.
Hand him a bundle of rupees; got to be over 1,500. He gratefully accepts. He’s once again over the moon.
“Salim”, I asked, “Have you eaten today?”
“No, Doctor”, he replies, “I was at my post. Like you said.”
“OK. I officially relieve you of duty”, I say. I ask the tap-tap driver to get on his phone, radio, or carrier pigeon and get another car over here chop-chop.
A minute or two later, an ancient gas-powered tap-tap appears.
“Driver”, I say to the new cart pilot, “I want you to take Salim here to the commissary. OK?”
He nods agreement as I hand him 100 rupees.
“Salim”, I say, “This cart will take you to the commissary.”
I scribble a note in my tally book, rip it out, and hand it to Salim.
“Give them this. You go get some food and drink, now. Savvy?”
“Oh, yes!” he exclaims, “Salaam! Salim savvy. Thank you, Doctor”, as he tries to shake my arm off.
“No problem.” I said, “Enjoy. Bye now.”
Salim and his driver putt-putts off to the commissary.
I do hope he didn’t stay out here all night.
I walk over to where the tent once stood. The ground looks like a flock of large birds, or a perhaps a constipated dragon, finally had their laxatives kick in. The ground was ash-white, churned horribly, and no longer any form of threat. Hose this area down and within weeks, you’d probably get sneeze grass and wild wildebeest wort growing here again.
I’m such an ardent environmentalist. Yay me.
I get back in the tap-tap and tell the driver to head to the beach along the Road of Yesterday’s Potential Death.
He nods and off we putt.
We tap-tap along, down the sandy trail until the road just ends.
“That’s odd.”, I muse, “I could have sworn there was a road here yesterday.”
There was, however the Nitronox™, all 500 pounds of it, saw to its relocation.
Somewhere out beyond the orbit of Jupiter from the looks of it.
“Holy fuck”, I said internally. I had a slight case of retroactive jibblies as I kind of lost my balance, and shit, for a moment and sat back down, hard, in the vehicle.
“Dead is dead, Chuckles”, I thought to myself. “Be it a puddle of nitro, a stick of soggy dynamite, or this Nitronox shit. Any way you slice it, one errant kaboom and that’s the end. But still…”
I looked out to the hole left from yesterday’s final detonation.
It had to be 175 feet in diameter. Easy. And that’s after the surf’s been chewing on it all night and half the day.
2 tons of dynamite. A ton and a half of ANFO. One and a half tons of C-4. A couple of tons of general cheap-ass generic Chinese explosives.
Nothing compared to a simple 500 pounds of that goddamned thermal liquid binary shit.
I shuddered spontaneously. I asked the driver to take me away from this place. It gave me a feeling of impending doom as if there were some unexploded Nitronox lurking around out there. Stalking through the night, searching for the one who did their comrades in…
I’ve got to lay off those cheesy 1950s B-movies late at night.
We putted over to the commissary. My breakfast bagel cratered long ago and I was a bit peckish. I invited the driver in for lunch. He first adamantly refused, but I told him he’d be fine with me, and besides, it was my treat. He parked so fast, I thought he’d glaze his brakes.
I had a glass of that lovely mixed fruit juice and some sort of Indian grilled meat on a stick. I think it was tandoori chicken, buzzard, something or other avian, but it was actually very tasty. Especially with the crushed garlic dipping sauce, they provided. The garlic naan bread was particularly good. I could offend people for miles after a lunch like this.
I had my juiced juice and three skewers of grilled whatever and was quite satisfied. My driver, who was easily 1/3rd my size, had 5 skewers of grilled avian whatever, tabbouleh, a stack of naan, grass salad, hummus, a couple of meat pies, and glass after glass of what was either buttermilk or laban.
I had to look under the table to see if he was stashing some for later. He wasn’t. This guy could eat like a starving trencherman. Must have had a couple of hollow legs.
I told him I need to get back to the barn for school was about to begin for the afternoon. He starts shoveling it in faster and faster.
“No, no. Wait one!” I said, “You stay here and enjoy lunch. I need to walk back anyways, I need the exercise. It’s all paid for. Take all you want but eat all you take.”
He smiled back at me with sticky meat-glaze all over his face.
“Groovy.”, I said, “Later.”
I walked briskly out the door, down the stairs and back to the Barn.
We spent the rest of the afternoon going over the different classes of explosives: high, medium, and low. I gave examples of each and their particular uses. We then went over different fusing methods; from set-pull-forget to demo wire and a blasting machine. Blasting machines like the Old Reliable plunger-type; now sorry to say, obsolete. And the new Captain America electronic type.
I spent some time tripping down memory lane regaling them with tales of wind up detonators, Twist-Off detonators, cannon fuse you lit with a match, match lights you lit off with a lighter and myriad other ways to get explosives off their dead asses and go to work.
1700 hours hove into view quickly. I assigned chapters 6-12 for tomorrow and said “Adios” for the evening. It had been another long, but not quite as deadly, day. I need the phone, to update my field notebooks and dossiers, make come calls, and sprawl around in the Jacuzzi like a beached graying narwhal for a few hours.
Not necessarily in that order.
Back at the Raj, Sanjay disappeared to make his notes for the next day.
I stopped by the bar, surprise, surprise, and Butler 214 magically appeared. These guys were quick studies. He handed me a selection of cigars he chose personally. He would like to know what I thought of each the next day.
“Yes, sir!”, I said.
I think he actually cracked a small smile.
I sidled over to the bar and had the Bejesus scared out of me by the little attendant who was invisible down behind the bar, tending the taps on the draft beer.
“Yes, sir, Doctor”, he smiled widely, as he pops up like an Aarav-in-the-box. “What is your pleasure?”
“An all-expenses-paid year-long vacation at Milton Lake Lodge, Saskatchewan?”
He just looked at me quizzically.
“OK. I’d like a pint of cold draft Boris Brew Vikingathor if you please. Plus 100, no, 200 milliliters of Old Fornicator Vodka.”
As if by magic, they both appeared.
The Dark 8.2% beer went down without so much as a hint of a fight. The Old Fornicator scrapped a bit, at first.
I had him prepare me a to-go package that I could take to my room.
“Oh, no sir!”, he said.
“What?” I roared.
“No, sir. Just call 215 on your room phone. I will bring it to your room personally. Service available 24/7”, he smiled.
“See what you miss when you don’t pay attention?”, I smiled and slipped him 500 rupees.
“Mea culpa”, I said, “It’s been a couple of really long days.” I dragged off to my room.
“Calgon, take me away” could be heard filtering through the cracks in my room as the water splashed.
Afterward, feeling less marine mammal and slightly more human, I call Esme. I give her a Reader’s Digest version of what’s been going on the last couple of days.
She’s blasé about the whole situation. Remember, she’s had 39 years’ worth of me going to strange, foreign places, and getting into all sorts of odd situations. She was particularly pleased that neither my recruits nor I were killed, maimed, or otherwise inconvenienced.
Besides, she said she’d kill me if I came home dead.
Funny thing is, I truly think she means it.
I profess my love, tell her about my really healthy bonus package. I endure the shrill “Squeee!” of her telling her mother they’re going shopping again today.
She always has been the moral, ethical, and economic center of our family. I love her so for that.
Next on the roster was a collect call to Virginia and my agency buddies.
“Hey, guys”, I say, “How are things in the clean world? Still locked down?”
“Hello, Rock”, Rack and Ruin say in unison. They have me on speakerphone, even though they know how much I hate those things.
“Take me off that damn loudspeaker”, I demand.
“Nope, it’s breakfast time here and we need both hands free.” They riposte.
“You know that I know certain people, right…?” I said ominously.
They just chuckle.
That really hurt.
“Anyways. What’s up?” I re-interrogate.
“Well, we hear you’re really making waves over there. Literally and figuratively.” They say.
“Yeah. Business as more or less usual. Prosaic, boring, and spine-tinglingly dangerous. Another day in the life…” I yawn.
“That’s not what we heard”, Agent Rack replies.
“Oh? What have you heard?” I ask.
“We have heard of tales of recklessness and heroics regarding some 18,000 pounds of dodgy Chinese wholesale munitions.” He continued.
“Oh, that? Yeah. A spot of bother. No worries. We sorted it out.” I replied.
“About that. You took 24 green cadets with you to defuse a smoldering 9-ton ammo dump?” Ruin wondered.
“Yep. Good chaps. I think they’re going to work out just fine.” I said.
“Ah, Doctor. We want to let you know we’ve investigated your role in the last couple of days' activities over there. True, you are a private contractor, but Agent Ruin and I have put you in for an Agency citation. For valor and initiative above and beyond the call.” Agent Rack tells me.
“Whoa. Groovy! What’s that worth on eBay?” I ask, immediately running the solemn moment.
“You asshole!”, both agents laugh.
“Hey, it’s me. A leopard can’t change his spots or so goes the old story.” I snicker.
“And Doctor Rocknocker, we’d have no other way.” They agreed.
“Thanks. I appreciate the sentiment.”, I stated.
“OK, now all that fluff and circumstance is out of the way, what news have you for us?” Agent Rack enquires.
I give them the lowdown on some of the more promising students, especially Viswamitra Dattachaudhuri. I tell them that due to our vetting process, we’ve run the selected bunch through the wringer three times before they receive their numbered brass tags. I explain that it seems to be a good system. I’ll write it up in great and glorious detail in case anyone else wants to try and apply it themselves.
Scribbling can be heard down the line. I ask if they’re ready for more.
“There’s more?”, Agent Ruin asks, “You bucking for a promotion now to go along with your citation?”
“Hush, you.”, was all I said.
I told him of my run-in with the board of directors and Goodgulf Greyteeth, the headmaster of that special education class.
“Did you really tell the entire board to go ‘piss up a rope’?” Rack asks.
“That was the least of what I said to them.” I chuckled. “I swore, I stomped, I cursed, I fumed. I went full American on their flabby asses.”
“Not ‘full American’?” Rack recoiled verbally in horror.
“Yep. With itchweed clusters.” I chortled.
“Well, there goes that offer of Ambassadorship for our Dr. Rocknocker.” Ruin laughs.
“Bah! They couldn’t pay me enough”, I quipped.
“Oh, you’d be surprised.” Agent Ruin replied.
“Holy shit.”, I thought, “Were they being serious?”
“So, Doctor. We would appreciate full dossier profiles on those people you feel would be of interest to us here. You know the parameters we use to determine that. We trust your judgment.” Agent Ruin says.
“What’s this? A sudden brush-off? Or has your coffee gone cold?” I ask.
“Anyone ever tell you you’re very intuitive, Doctor? Bye now.” Agent Rack chuckles and rings off.
“Why do I let myself continue working with these guys?” I wonder to myself.
The next morning, after breakfast, Sanjay and I are back at the Barn at 0715. There is a knock on the door. It’s a courier and he has a message for me.
“Please accompany the courier to Warehouse 11.” was all the note said.
“Sanjay”, I said, “Hold down the fort. I’ve been summoned.”
“Got it, Rock. Chapters 6-12?” he asks.
Yep. Basic stuff. Really hammer it home. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” I said and followed the unsmiling transport driver cum courier.
I pull out a cigar and off him one. He refuses politely. I offer him 200 rupees for his troubles. He accepts politely. We’re off in a cloud of blood-red dust and headed for Warehouse 11.
I meet Mr. Bana Padhya, the foreman of this warehouse.
“Doctor”, he says as we shake hands.
“Good to meet you. ‘Bana’ is it?” I ask.
“Yes, sir”, he replies.
“OK, Bana. Call me ‘Rock’.” I say.
“Fine. Dr. Rock, your bunker is finished. In fact, it’s already being populated.” He beams.
I feel a chill in the still tropical air.
“Please explain,” I asked simply.
“We finished the bunker you requested and designed. After that, we retrieved the materials from your adventures with the munitions tent the other day. We have placed those materials you had buried into the bunker. Please, let me show you.” He insists.
I breathe a bit easier. I remembered the Primacord that we salvaged. My heart rate dropped back down from hummingbird mode.
We rode out about 5 minutes and there, built into the side of a sandhill was a very respectable set of locked blast doors. I look and see the cross-braced sub-structure supporting the roof as well as providing ventilation.
They actually did follow my designs.
Mr. Bana escorts me to the doors. He twirls a knob, twiddles with a lever, diddles a keypad, produces a huge key, and proceeds to open the bunker.
We walk right in. I have to admit, I was impressed.
10 meters by 10 meters square and 4 meters or so tall. All built out of doubly-rebar reinforced concrete and cinderblocks. There was a strong forced-air draft running through the place, circulating air in from the top to bottom and out again. A digital readout on one bulkhead noted the time, date, temperature, and humidity. All this data was being recorded and could be downloaded at the terminal under the readout.
There were shelves, lockers, and lockable cupboards. There were keypads that allow or prohibit access to the more lockable storage sub-facilities. Over along the west wall is spool after spool of Primacord. It looks like it might still be useable, but until I give it the once over, I ask it to be locked behind closed doors.
They have fire suppression built-in as well as some sort of Asian faux-Halon system they had laying around gathering dust. That wasn’t in the original plans, but, hey, it can’t hurt.
I walk around and give the place the once over.
“Not bad”, I say, “Not too bad at all.”
I walk outside. Looking at the roof, I see a potential problem.
“Bana”, I say, “Get some of your guys before another single stick of anything is stored here. Get them on the roof and clear away all that sand.”
“But, Doc…Rock”, he protested, “Sand is heavy and when wet, will be a most beneficial addition to containing any blast if something should happen.”
“That defeats the purpose of my design”, I reply, “See those X-shaped cross-braces up there just under the roof?”
“Yes.”
“They are there not just for ventilation, but as structural support for the blast roof.” I said.
He looks at me quizzically.
“The way it works is this:”, I say, “If there’s an accident, the solid double-reinforced and sand-braced walls and blast-doors will contain the blast energy. Now, that energy has to go someplace, right? So I planned for it to go straight up. The roof is split cross-wise, petal-shaped. 4 petals will open like the eggs in the original Alien. They will peel back, on hinges connected to the X-shaped cross-members, and allow all that blast energy to go straight up and dissipate, without hurting anyone or anything.”
“Amazing”, was Mr. Bana’s reply. He assured me the roof sand would be removed immediately.
“Outstanding “, I replied, shook his hand, and got into the tap-tap for the ride back to the Barn.
“DOCTOR!” Mr. Bana yelled before we took off.
“You might want these.” He says as he hands me the procedure, codes, and my own keys for the blockhouse.
“Of course. Many thanks, Mr. Bana” I reply as we take off in a flurry of dust and good feelings for once.
Back at the Barn, Sanjay is going over Chapter 9 and I walk in.
“Ok, gentlemen. Break time.” Sanjay announces. “Be back here in 30.”
The room empties almost immediately.
“Well, Rock”, Sanjay asks, “What was that all about?”
“Good news for a change”, I am and show him the procedures, codes, and keys for the blockhouse. “We now have a fully functional explosives bunker. Now, all we need is some explosives. Oh, we do have that Primacord you guys buried in the sand the other day.”
“That is good news.” Sanjay reports, “Oh, I got a note the air packs you ordered have arrived.”
“They actually found the 3M™ Scott™ Air-Pak™ X3™ SCBA gear I wanted?” I asked.
“They had to go through the military to find them. The military, by the way, was a bit annoyed that you wouldn’t use their air packs”, he added.
“If I’m going to teach these characters how to go into a dodgy atmosphere; potentially poisonous, or otherwise hazardous, and survive, I want gear with which I’m familiar. Scott? Oh, yeah. Indian military? Not so much.” I explained.
“What’s so good about Scott?” Sanjay asked.
“Well, it’s been around forever”, I say, “It’s the brand of choice in the Oil Patch. Plus, they come with CGA or Snap-Change cylinder connection, they’re available in 2.2, 4.5, or 5.5 cylinder pressures, have dual-redundant pressure reducers, a new back frame contour design with articulating shoulder harness, possess improved hose and wire management, have optimally positioned "buddy" lights, "External" HUD for easy air status updates of the team, Vibralert tactile alarm and best of all, they’re made in the U.S.A.”
“OK, you’ve sold me. I’ll take a dozen.” Sanjay laughs.
“Laugh all you want. When things get weird, the weird turn pro and wear Scott air packs.” I laugh back.
Sanjay smiles. He knows that I’m joking as well as being serious. ‘Eh, it’s a gift.
“Have them roll the entire list over to the bunker. Plenty of room there to store them. We’ll start tomorrow on their care and feeding with the guys.” I said.
The regular crowd shuffles in, move their brass markers to the proper spots on the tote board and I notice an unfamiliar customer hanging around the back of the room.
“Sanjay”, I say, “Handle this for me for a while. I think I’ve got another message waiting.”
“Sure, Rock”, Sanjay says, “We’re just going over black powder and its historical uses. Nothing too mission-critical.”
“Great”, I say, and pat him on the shoulder. “Make it interesting.”
I motion to the guy in the back to meet me outside.
I am outside firing up a heater and he walks up to me and asks, “Are you Doctor Rocknocker?”
“Ah! Let me check.”, I say. I pull out my wallet and look, “Yep. That’s me.”
Not as much as a smile.
“Please sign here.” He instructs.
I sign and ask “What is this?”
“It’s for Dr. Rocknocker.” He says, turn heel, and walks rapidly away.
“Well, that was weird.” I think. I pull out my Neutral European Country Military-issue Knife and Pocket Tool Set and zip the heavy envelope open.
It’s from Dynamo-Noble.
“Hurrah!” I think. A real munitions and explosives manufacturer and wholesaler.
It’s a ticked manifest of everything I had ordered previously!
• Du Pont Herculene 60% Extra Fast!
• Pure metallurgical-grade ammonium nitrate!
• Trojan® GEOPRIME® blasting caps and millisecond delay super-boosters!
• Blastex Composition C-4! Real C-4!
• Biterox safety blasting caps and fuse.
• Ensign-Bickford Brand Primacord – Primaline 85!
• Eurenco PETN!
• Eastman Chemical Company RDX!
• Professional Demolition International demolition wire!
• ‎EPC-UNIVERSAL EXPLOSIVES Detonation cord!
• Oil Well Explosives Gelatin Nitroglycerin Dynamite )some of which might go in my personal collection.)
• And NO! Nitronox™!
It’s like Christmas, Hanukkah, and Kwanzaa all in May. It’s the first real good thing to happen this beleaguered year.
“Me so happy!”
I look deeper. The C-4, dynamite, Primacord, Det cord, caps, boosters, and fuse are already here. I need to call and supervise their loading into the new bunker.
The rest is en route and should be here within 2-3 days.
That’s cutting it close but will have to do.
At least, I’ve got some old friends to play with now.
Those kids have no idea what’s just hit.
I rub my hands together in barely contained glee. I feel like a kid in a candy store with a brand new Mastercard.
Back in class, I tell my students that we will meet after lunch over at the new bunker. I have Sanjay get on the phone to Mr. Maya. We’re going to need the magic bus once again.
After lunch, I’m sitting in the shade outback of Outbuilding #2. I’m having a post-prandial smoke, a tot or two, and Sanjay is almost at the point where he got enough dander up to ask me for a cigar.
Suddenly we hear the raucous strains of Bollywood music.
It’s Mr. Maya and his Magic Bus!
The bus coughs to a stop, and Mr. Maya gets out.
“How are you today, Sir?” I ask, shaking his hand. “Added some paint to the old motor coach, have we?”
“Oh, yes, Dr. Rock”, he smiles, “With Sanjay’s payment and your bonus, I could buy many new colors. Like I say, I never know when to quit.” He chuckles.
The bus was covered with a pattern of startling hues, ranging from schizoid red to psychopathic azure, post-traumatic stress purple to exhibitionist green, bipolar brown to obsessive-compulsive cerulean. It added a bit of color to an otherwise drab environment.
“We’ll load up right after lunch”, I said.
We sit and swap some stories, and I decide it’s warm enough for another Tiger. Sanjay calls a number on his phone and suddenly, a courier arrives.
He has a small lunch-box sized cooler. Inside are 4 iced Tigers.
Sanjay refuses to give me that number.
I’m enjoining the light, pilsnery taste of the Tiger as is Mr. Maya. This stuff’s so light, you need to tie it down or it’ll float away.
My team is filtering back after lunch. I look and see it’s getting close to that time.
Precisely at 1300 hours, we all hear and feel a small boom, a tongue of unctuous black smoke licks the sky, and a siren is screaming its tonsils out.
“Post lunch back-to-work cannon and whistle?” I ask.
“No, Rock”, Sanjay replies anxiously, “There’s been an accident in the yard…
To be continued…

It is satisfying to have a house with all the features you want, a house you can feel happy walking into and sharing with your family and friends. If you plan on building a custom home, make sure you do it right by prioritizing your needs and preferences. Ensure that you consult an architect to help you come up with the best design and navigate through potential obstacles. Most importantly, seek the services of the best custom construction company you can find to guarantee a job well done. It’s worth it to take the time to examine various companies before hiring one. Here’s what to look for in a custom home builder.

PROFESSIONALISM

Before you begin laying the foundation of your home, make sure to hire a company that prides itself on conducting their duties professionally and is equipped with the necessary skills to build your home according to the designs. Such a company employs expert engineers who will work with you through every step. A professional company has an understanding of financial management and building regulations, ensuring that you stick to the budget and avoid any legal issues. An excellent builder will assist you with your documentation and ensure that you meet all the code and permit requirements.

DETAIL ORIENTED

A custom home has several critical details that need to be paid attention to for a high-quality and appealing house. The builder you choose can either make your work easier or harder, so make sure the company has a reputation for focusing on every little detail. A suitable construction firm will adhere to the design of your house and strive to understand why you chose certain features for your home. The right company anticipates issues, values efficiency, asks critical questions, and has staff with excellent time management skills. Such a company not only focuses on the results but is also ready to do the work to make sure that you get everything you require once they finish building your home.

AFFORDABILITY

Building a home from scratch is not a cheap undertaking, so have a clear financial plan since it will cost you a substantial sum of money. There is a lot of equipment you will need to buy or lease, materials to buy, and people to pay. It would be best if you did not dig into the money allocated for other expenses to pay your builder. Therefore, come up with a manageable budget, and cut your costs wherever possible without compromising the progress and result. Make sure you go through the quotes of several building companies and compare the services they provide to pick one that suits you best.

CLEAN AND ORGANIZED

Working in a construction site requires organization, keenness, and tidiness as the site contains many potential hazards, such as asbestos, electricity, moving objects, and collapsing trenches. Walking through your property during construction should not jeopardize your life, so pick an organized and clean company. The company should also devise ways of keeping the site neat. It would be best to clean after a day’s work, store materials, and follow all safety and security guidelines to prevent theft and accidents. Trash hoppers make a safer work environment during the building process.

COMMUNICATION

It is paramount to have a builder who will listen to you and give you honest feedback without feeling the need to hide their opinions to please you. Your project’s success will significantly rely on your ability to communicate your expectations and the awareness of what the builder can or cannot deliver. It should also be easy to contact your builders in person or over the phone during business hours for whatever reason you may have. The ideal builder will keep you informed of the progress of the construction, answer any questions, listen, and respond to your suggestions. Before you hire a company, examine their communication channels and customer care service. The best company has multiple channels of communication, such as visual, verbal, non-verbal, and written, to ensure that you get the best service.

EXPERIENCE

Although technology and novel ideas have made house construction simpler and more efficient, it is not wise to overly rely on the newest trends. You should always seek the services of an experienced builder; therefore, check their reputation, portfolio, and their number of years in business. Experienced builders have dealt with plenty of issues in the past, such as acquiring the correct permits and making changes to the plan. Therefore, they are in a better position to help you avoid missteps or correct any problems without wasting time or consuming a lot of resources. Experience comes with many connections, so your builder will know who to contact when you need reliable drywall installers, plumbers, and electricians. Getting the most skilled people building your house results in better outcomes. Your builder will also let you know which ideas have staying power so that you can avoid short-lived fads.

FLEXIBILITY

Like any other project, not everything will go as planned when building a custom home. Therefore, it is best to work with a company that can adapt to any changes that may arise along the way. Your builder should be able to make the necessary changes without compromising the quality of your home, changing the design, or taking up too much time and resources.

QUALITY

Building a house is one of the most substantial investments you will ever make, so you should ensure that you get a quality house that will last for many years, require minimal repairs, and be easy to maintain. A properly constructed home has excellent ventilation, ergonomic interiors, high ceilings, enough dining and living space, and quality fittings. Proper ventilation means that you get adequate air circulation and also receive enough sunlight. A poorly built house often has a bad foundation and cracks on the walls, garage floors, sidewalks, patio, and pipes. There may also be a leaking roof and gaps between windows, doors, ducts, concrete, electrical fixtures, and hose bibs.
Make sure you get value for your investment by ensuring that your builder delivers excellent work. Your home should not endanger your health. On the contrary, it needs to be a haven where you can relax and spend quality time with your loved ones. By picking an excellent construction company, you will not only receive the best custom house but also value for your money.

This is likely the longest dry spell I've ever had... Life just hasn't been letting up lately and I know you've all heard it before. But! Course there's a but. I am trying to change things! I will forge ahead! I can not be stopped! Can't break my stride! Expect more soon!
(Also I posted under the wrong title and deleted but now fixed it!)
My Stories
Material Differences Wiki
Chapter 1
Chapter 43
Jaeger wasn’t sure what to make of the dataslate exactly. It listed a number of ongoing operations that the treasonous Alvarez was undergoing at the moment, but it seemed too… easy? Sure he had spent a while trying to locate Clover’s thumb so he could unlock it, and it was obvious she hadn’t expected to die here so she hadn’t trapped it. But would they really have all this info in one place? Was it some trick he didn’t fully understand?
Then again he was familiar with the concept that arrogance and laziness often went hand in hand. With an open listing of projects Clover could keep in contact with all of them easily. She obviously put ease of access over operational security. And now she was strewn about the place having been torn apart by bots. He wasn’t sure if there was any correlation there. Or was it causation?
Regardless he tucked the slate into a pocket and focused on the terminal before him. The wreck of the Galileo was in pretty bad shape but all he needed was a single working terminal connected to the main comms node and the bots had ensured no one had scavenged the site since the war. Looking at the main login screen he typed in his old credentials, and held his breath for a moment as he watched the spinning little loading icon. Then he let out a sigh of relief as he heard it chime and the screen switched over to systems emails.
It took him back to start reading some of the headers as he looked over the screen. Welcome back party at Columbia coastal compound details. He still had the banner hanging up in the compound… the last truly carefree event he remembered from before the war. It hurt his heart a little as he slowly scrolled through. Live-R discredit campaign. Opulent Church riot details. Urgent: Company Policy regarding Senatorial Inquiry. Urgent: Disobeying orders is TREASON. Urgent: To obey company policies is actual treason! Ravex Incursion Campaign Details. Priority One: Eden evacuation. Urgent: Eden is lost. Urgent: Hive territorial gains. Urgent: Fallback and Rendezvous Coordinates. Urgent: Solavis Campaign Details. Urgent: Ravex Crusader Rebellion. Urgent: Davari Death’s Hand Church schism. Priority One: Defensive Pact Formation, new unit hierarchy. Priority Zero: Scarlet Nova Protocol following systems.
He let out a soft sigh as he shook his head. The war had not gone well in the slightest had it? There was the one he wanted though. Received shortly before the ship went down. Priority Zero: Project Phoenix objectives and code fragment. A personal email sent from Kasia Jordan directly. It was the same vid he’d seen from Bertha. He filed away the fragment and set the computer terminal to reformat. As he walked away the bots began to fall in after him, like he was some sort of robotic religious figure leading them to the promised land. Or maybe just that mythical piper leading the rats out to die.
“Jaeger, we get everything we needed?” Figs was waiting at the opening to the wreck. The vetall that Kuv had somehow commandeered was waiting beyond him with Brandy-Lynn waiting in the door.
“Got it.” He nodded.
“Is that fat bitch dead? Like really dead this time? No more fucking falling from high places or disappearing in an explosion or into a body of water?” Brandy-Lynn asked as he approached.
“She’s dead dead. Parts of her are strewn about the 3C hub. I’ve got her thumb.” He lifted the appendage to give it a wiggle to show Brandy-Lynn.
“Good. I was really getting sick of her surviving all that bullshit. You think the Slavs had a cloning program or something?” She asked as Figs fell in besides Jaeger as they got ready to board the vetall.
“They were always dealing with weird genetic shit so… maybe. But they didn’t have our memory tech.” Jaeger shrugged and then waved off the idea as they climbed up the back ramp. Then he turned to face Princess and the other bots that were gathering up at the back. “Ah, Princess keep your flock in the area, maintain area denial until further notice. Transport will be arriving to bring you back to the base. Understood?” The bot gave out a short chirp to acknowledge and then they began to disperse into the darkness to secure the area.
Jaeger turned back to look at the inside of the vetall. It felt odd to be looking at the inside of a military transport that he’d never seen before. Obviously people had to rebuild after the war but he was still used to having seen all the equipment. It seemed like they had simply upgraded a Bell UV-259 and gone all out on the sleek luxury package. Everything was white and spotless. Hell the dusty bootprints on the deck from Kuv were as dirty as it got. Walking up towards the front he found the three man flight crew sitting in their seats, giving Kuv nervous looks as he stood behind them.
“So how the hell did you capture this thing again?” Jaeger asked him over comms to keep the flight crew out of the loop still.
“Simple. I hit it with rock.” The Jipasi shrugged as if that was truly anywhere near as simple as it sounded.
“How? Exactly? You might have a decent arm but… a flying vetall?” Jaeger asked. The flight crew shifted about in their seats as he stood behind them now as well, in silence as far as they could tell.
“I taped rock to magnet charge and shot at vetall.” Kuv shrugged once more and gave his grenade launcher a pat.
“Why did you need the rock then? Why not just shoot the magnet?” Jaeger asked which made the demolitions expert freeze a moment, waiting perhaps a second too long to reply.
“Ballast. Airy...dynamics.” He tried to cover up.
“You totally didn’t think about that did you?” Jaeger checked.
“I am consummate professional! I do not ask how you shoot people!” Kuv defensively bristled, his tail unfurling a bit which made the crew squirm a little more in concern. Jaeger finally switched over to exterior speakers then.
“Fellas.” The three men jerked in their seats a moment as he spoke. “Where did you fly out of?”
“Rosewater.” Came the pilot’s reply immediately.
“The base in the valley?” Jaeger checked. It made sense. That was the largest base in the area, and was likely where those fast movers flying over Columbia had come from.
“Yes sir.” The pilot nodded quickly.
“Where are the Ravex located? The ones your boss Alvarez doesn’t like.” He checked next.
“Uh… Alvarez… our boss isn’t tech-” The pilot started.
“Yeah whatever. You guys are just good Titan personnel dropping kill teams off without ever asking questions when one of them offers to kill a bunch of civvies in a supposed rave. You’re all fucking saints. Wanna try me again?” Jaeger leaned a little against the back of the pilot’s seat as he spoke.
“They are also at Rosewater sir.” The pilot quickly replied as he began to sweat a little.
“Take us back then.” Jaeger announced which got the attention of both the pilot and Kuv.
“Uuuhh…” The pilot stammered at first.
“Are we going full suicide? Or is this case of Trojan latex goat?” Kuv asked.
“First off… no never mind. Trojan latex goat it is.” Jaeger was about to correct the Jipasi over comms and then just shook his head. Then he switched back over to speakers. “Take us back to Rosewater. I mean, I can fly this thing myself you know. If you like I can just drop you guys off somewhere on the way. I won’t slow down, or land, I’ll just chuck you out the back, but I can drop you off. Is that better?”
“Rosewater. Yes, sir.” The pilot gulped as he and the co-pilot quickly set to work getting the vetall in the air.
“Uhm… should I… announce our… flight plan sir?” The navigator in the corner nervous asked as Jaeger considered it.
“Yes. Everything nice and normal. I trust you’d like to live through this too. Correct?” He gave the navigator’s shoulder a firm pat, amplified by the armor which made the man gasp.
“Yes! Yes, sir.” The navigator nodded quickly.
“Spike, tap into the comms, I want to talk to… uh…” He paused and looked back in the hold at Brandy-Lynn and Figs. “What’s the nerds name we have back at the base?”
“Ham?” Brandy-Lynn asked.
“No… not fucking Ham! The Titan one!” Jaeger huffed.
“Tina.” Brandy-Lynn nodded.
“Tami.” Figs corrected.
“Spike get Tami on the line for me.” He asked the bot who gave a chirp as it hopped up besides the navigator, making the man gasp in surprise a moment. Jaeger watched the flight crew get them into the air and flying while Spike patched him in.
“This is Tami.” He heard the woman speak up after a minute.
“Tami this is Jaeger, I’m in a commandeered Titan vetall heading to Rosewater. Have you heard from Lexa?” He asked.
“Uh… she isn’t with you?” Shit… had he updated her on the situation?
“No. She left with some friendly Ravex… uh… do you have a way to get into contact with her at the base?” Jaeger went to scratch his head only to stop himself since he was in his armor.
“I have a few channels I can check. But… do I contact Titan? Or the Ravex? And… who do I talk to?” Jaeger had to think that one over a moment.
“Just… contact the base and try to get in touch with her normally. See if they act funny or if it seems above board. Then have Lexa contact me directly. Spike will bounce you the channel details. Also, can you patch me in to Ham?” He had forgotten how complicated it could be to keep the team in good comms when they were spread across half a continent.
“Sure… give me a moment. Ham! Jaeger wants to talk to you.” Jaeger frowned as she simply said that out loud. Had she not changed channels? But then he heard Ham’s voice.
“Jaeger, what’s up?”
“Wait… were you in the room with her?” Jaeger asked, surprised at the idea.
“Uh… yeah? We were talking.” Jaeger waved at Brandy-Lynn and Figs besides him.
“Ham was talking to Tami in her room.” He informed them.
“What like… Ham? Our Ham? Talking to a human woman? And not making imaginary conversation with one of his vetalls?” Figs asked.
“Or jerking it to a centerfold full display of a spaceship engine?” Brandy-Lynn added.
“You can all eat my ass.” Ham grumbled.
“No! It’s a good thing! I’m proud of you! Talking to a girl! Big step in every boys life!” Jaeger laid it on thick.
“Blllloooowwww meeeee.” Ham hissed.
“Anyway, we’re heading to Rosewater if you didn’t hear. We’ll need you to swing by and pick us up. We’ll work out clearances in a bit. Maybe wait half an hour before you get ready. We’re in the air so we’d beat you there but I need some time on the ground anyway.” He checked the time for a moment.
“Are you out of your mind?” Came Ham’s quick reply. “Rosewater? Why? And I don’t know who you’re friendly with in there but there’s no fucking way I could land the Vantahawk in there without getting utterly annihilated!”
“So… use the Gecko?” Jaeger frowned at Ham’s concern.
“Oh. Right…” Ham muttered.
“You forgot you have a civvie vetall didn’t you?” Jaeger chuckled softly.
“You just don’t know how liberating it is to fly a military vetall again!” Ham sighed.
“Still, take the Gecko. We’ll look like contractors or something. Don’t fret I don’t plan on getting us blown out of the sky. So yeah, half an hour, then warm up the Gecko and head toward Rosewater.” He paused as he saw Kuv wave at him. “Hold on.”
“I still have cooler of drinks at the compound. This suit is leading to serious chaffing, and I could use a drink. Or five.” The Jipasi tried to stretch a little and tug at the suit around his hips a moment as his tail flared.
“And bring Kuv’s cooler.” Jaeger added.
“Oh. Gotcha.” Ham replied which made Jaeger frown a moment. Why had he said it like that? “The cooler, Rosewater, I’ll get to it. Anything else?”
“Uh… No I guess not.” Jaeger shrugged. “Spike will send you clearance once I get it.”
“Got it. Rosewater in an hour and a half give or take.” Ham confirmed before the call ended. Jaeger then looked around the hold of the vetall a moment and leaned back into the front.
“Do you guys keep any duffel bags or the like in here somewhere?” He asked the flightcrew who nervously glanced back at him.
“Wh-what for?” The pilot asked, no doubt fearful of being chopped up and stuffed into said bag.
“Do you, or do you not have any?” Jaeger more forcefully asked.
“The… front overheads.” The pilot quickly pointed past Jaeger. When he turned he opened up one of the indicated compartments and found a number of black heavy duty duffel bags marked TITAN in white letters. Pulling a few down he took a seat in the back and finally pulled his helmet off, taking in a slow deep breath of unfiltered air.
“You going to give us a strip show?” Brandy-Lynn asked as she watched him.
“Not even in Figs’ dreams.” He shot back.
“I’ll have you know you’re not my type sarge.” Figs shook his head a little.
“Why are you stripping anyway?” Brandy-Lynn asked.
“Because dummy we’re landing in Rosewater. We can hardly waltz out of there as Revenant.” Jaeger shrugged as if it should be obvious.
“Yeah and… do you have a change of clothes for us?” Figs asked.
“No. Your civvies from earlier are fine.” Jaeger shrugged, but Figs and Brandy-Lynn just stared at him as he slowly rubbed his face with a hand. “You’re both nude in your armor, aren't you?”
“Maybe you don’t fully embrace the nature of being a commando.” Figs started. “But we truly are real commandos.”
“Real beauty doesn’t confine itself.” Brandy-Lynn added as she crossed her legs and leaned back only to then gasp and lean forward, clutching at a leg. “AH!”
“What?” Jaeger wasn’t sure if she was somehow playing at something or actually hurt.
“I’m fine! I’m fine!” She insisted after a moment and slowly sat back up. “The joint pinched a hair and pulled it out.”
“A hair? Down there? Oh mon freir…” Figs muttered.
“Screw you…” Brandy-Lynn hissed. “Just wait until you get old and your balls dangle dangerously close to the servos…”
“This is why I wear silkies at the very least.” Jaeger muttered and shook his head.
“This is just one of the many reasons why I’ve got no hair below the eyebrows.” Figs mentioned as he slowly ran his hands over his body in the armor. “You gotta wax eevvveerrryyywheerreee.”
“You’re a synth, why the fuck would you even wax in the first place?” Brandy-Lynn asked.
“Because I’m maintaining my cover. Plus I like getting the cute guy at the parlor to wax me.” Figs explained as Jaeger just shook his head slowly. He was about to continue peeling off his armor when he saw a light flashing in his helmet and pulled it back on.
“This is Jaeger.” He answered once he snapped his helmet back into place.
“Jaeger, this is Lexa. Tami said you’re coming to Rosewater. What’s going on?” He heard the agent speak up.
“I’ve got a gift for you and Whispertail I need to dtop off. Plus one of Alvarez’s flight crews you should feel free to interrogate once I’ve left. But we’re going to need a… discrete landing pad as far from the others. And… preferably with bad lighting.” He glanced at Figs and Brandy-Lynn in their amor. He knew the smart cloaks would fool most eyes but he wasn’t sure if the military base had any sensors he wasn’t prepared for.
“I can do that.” She sounded more confident then when he’d left her earlier. He hoped that was a good sign.
“What’s going on with the Ravex anyway? Alvarez is still operating?” He checked.
“My dad hired some contractors and right now Whispertail is trying to keep things from getting out of control. They want to act immediately, but Whispertail insists they get proper evidence and do things legally. So for now Alvarez is still in control of Titan assets officially. It’s a mess politically. I’m trying to get my dad to call off his contractors but he’s… a bit protective of his kids so he’s not exactly in the most rational mindsets at the moment.” Jaeger knew how he’d react if someone tried to kill one of his kids, and this guy was a billionaire. Not the best of enemies.
“Alright… well… don’t tell Whispertail I’m coming. He’s got enough on his plate. In fact once you secure us the landing pad, oh and uh get Ham landing clearance, then just stay back. You’re going to have to pretend not to know me. If we even meet. Which we shouldn’t. Is that okay?” He heard her sigh and was worried about how she was doing for a moment.
“Yeah, I get it. I’m not sure I can convince my new babysitters to let me leave the command center anyway. Don’t worry, I’m in a private room right now for the call. Just… be safe and all that okay Jaeger? And keep Tami safe.” He could hear the concern in her voice for both of them.
“Yeah. I will. I’ll be safe and Tami is in the compound. Safe as can be.” He promised.
“Thanks. I’ll uh… talk to you later.” He wasn’t sure if she was going to say more for a moment.
“Talk to you later... Bye.” He finally replied and then ended the call on that slightly awkward note with a shake of his head. “Alright, we’re good for Rosewater. You two chucklefucks stay in the vetall and I’ll… find you clothes or something. Or get Ham to land besides us so you can slip over quietly.”
“Can I tell him about Princess and her pack?” Brandy-Lynn asked immediately.
“Please… just… wait until we’re back at the compound so he doesn’t freak out midair. One of these days he might actually nosedive us into the ground.” Jaeger sighed and finally began to pull off his armor. The duffel bags weren’t the best fit for his armor but he managed to stuff it into three of the Titan bags. Once he was done he felt… weary. He’d slept a good long while earlier but the night had been long and he was getting old.
Time for a ten minute military nap. “Wake me up when we get there.” He announced and wiggled himself into the corner of a seat at the back of the vetall, setting his head back against the hull. The vibrations and engine noise were the perfect lullaby for him as he found himself drifting almost immediately. There were no dreams. He didn’t have time for it. It was like a very long blink.
“Jaeger.” His eyes fluttered open to see Figs poking him with the end of a long wrench.
“I’m up.” He announced and was about to stand only to find his muscles all decided that was the exact moment they all needed to stretch as he yawned so hard he thought his jaw might dislocate. But once the yawn was done and he’d stretched he did get up. “I’m up.” He repeated more confidently. He rose and walked up the vetall to peer through the front at the flight crew. Kuv was still in the corner watching them.
Out through the canopy he could see Rosewater ahead of them. It was a fairly large compound. He wasn’t sure if it had grown since he had last seen it… There were fewer lights than he remembered and the town around it was bigger so it was hard to see where the base ended and the town began. “You have a designated landing pad yet?” When he asked that the crew jerked in their seats, obviously surprised at his appearance.
“Yes sir.” The pilot nodded and pointed to a pad that was on the edge of the already fairly empty field.
“Good. Nice and casual is the name of the game. Right?” He checked.
“Yes, sir. And uh… my memory is fuzzy sir. For faces I mean.” The pilot added.
“You think I’d come up here without a helmet on if I was concerned about you guys seeing my face?” Jaeger asked. “C’mon son you must be new to this. I know you guys will say the right thing when asked.” He had no idea what they’d say, and they likely didn’t either. But they thought he knew. So now that would make them sweat as they tried to figure out what he wanted to hear. With that little bit of mind game out of the way he headed back to wait besides the ramp as the vetall came in to land.
He felt it settle down after a minute and the ramp slowly opened as Figs and Brandy-Lynn behind him activated their cloaks and more or less disappeared. When the ramp opened he found himself at the edge of a military vetall landing field that felt… a lot like the old days. As he stepped down he could see the lights in the area were mostly off, leaving him with just barely enough light to see a path heading towards the main buildings.
Though he also saw a lone figure in uniform approaching them. He had figured at this late… early? At this time of day where one had to wonder if it was extra late or extra early that he’d be safe from prying eyes, but it seemed someone was still doing their job. When he spotted the clipboard he couldn’t help but grin. He swore the only reason the military still used clipboards over dataslates was so that specialists and corporals could use them as a means to skate work.
“Hey, just a Titan vetall coming in with some extra sensitive hazardous waste. We’ll be gone in a minute and if we make this official it’s going to entail a whole lot of paperwork.” He started, figuing that would scare the guy off. But to his surprise the figure instead replied with.
“Jaeger?” Jaeger frowned and took a few steps closer as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting.
“Holy shit. Sergeant Scrounge?” He laughed and reached out to shake the hand of an old friend, but stopped up when he better saw the uniform. “I’m sorry, Major Scrounge!” He pulled up his hand to salute which made Scrounge pause and then do the same as they went back and forth a moment saluting and then trying to reach out before they finally both laughed and shook hands.
“Fuck, I can’t believe you’re still alive!” Scrounge shook his head slowly.
“I get that alot.” Jaeger nodded. “If anything I’m surprised you’re not in prison. Let alone a Major!”
“Ah… hah yeah…” The man paused a moment and looked around the empty field as if to ensure it truly was empty. “Uh… hey uh… wanna go to my office? Talk in private?”
“Sure… yeah. That sounds good.” Jaeger tensed up slightly at the request. Scrounge, Skronkowski, had been a Void Quartermaster that had been one of the Revenants go to men if they ever needed to resupply at a regular military base. One of those kind of guys who could always get their hands on things. For the right price. To see him not only not in jail but in the military still as an officer no less? Jaeger carefully brushed a hand over his sleeve to ensure he had a knife.
They didn’t head towards the main compound but instead towards the wall of the base where he saw a warehouse with a connected building. Likely the quartermaster’s office as the lights were on. “Ah, still keeping your office as far from HQ as possible?”
“You’d be surprised how effective that is alone at evading shit. It’s also much easier when unscheduled vetalls drop by the furthest possible landing pads with the worst lighting.” Scrounge added with a chuckle.
“Does that happen often these days?” Jaeger asked, now rather curious.
“Not… often. But uh… not never.” Jaeger couldn’t help but notice the man was being a little evasive. He kept his fingers carefully tucked into his sleeve as they entered the building. There wasn’t much different between the first floor of a quartermaster’s office now when compared to how he used to find it. Strong smell of stale recaff, the vague hints of smoke despite smoking being prohibited anywhere on base, boxes of every possible size strewn about back shelves without any seeming order, and the one light in the back that flickered. There was always one.
But they passed by the main floor and up a set of stairs to the second level, with just two doors. Records archive, and his office. They stepped into his office as Scrounge rounded his desk to sit in a chair that had likely started life as a high end luxury executive office chair, but had spent a decade or two being beat on and replaced until it had ended up in this military base with more duct tape than leather.
The office was also much like the depot downstairs. One of the two chairs before the desk was an old cloth armchair with a coffee stain, the other was an armless ergonomic chair. Filing cabinets on the walls seemed to support more random parts and odd collectibles than papers. Plus the pictures along the walls were a mixture of old military photos and pictures of Scrounge on vacation. A lot of fishing and beaches.
Jaeger picked the ergonomic chair just for the hell of it as he tucked his legs in and sat down across from Scrounge who looked back at him. The two sat in awkward silence for a moment before scrounge finally spoke up. “Hey… uh… look Jaeger. I just… I have kids now. A family and all that. So… uhm…” Jaeger’s fingers brushed over the hilt of his knife once more. Was he being sold out for money?
“Could you keep it open casket?” Scrounge finally asked. Jaeger blinked a moment and straightened up.
“You think I’m here to kill you?” He asked.
“I mean… I know you were surprised to see me so… I figured you’re here to do something else and… the ol… no witnesses thing... I heard the rumors around the base. Fighting between Titan and Revenants and all that… I swear I won’t tell a soul I know you! I’ve got… lots of tape… you can leave me in the archives room… They won’t realize I’m missing for hours.” Jaeger could see how worried his former friend was.
“It’s not like that Scrounge.” Jaeger shook his head as he relaxed a little. “I was worried you were working for them too.”
“Who?” Scrounge blinked at that. “Titan? Or… wait… Who?”
“Alvarez. Or even Marque.” Jaeger explained.
“Fuck me Marque’s alive too?” He was obviously surprised by the news. “And no I don’t work for Alvarez. I mean… I kinda… look the other way on some odd shipments and stuff but Titan can officially tell me to fuck off whenever they land so… I don’t have anything to offer him.”
“But you knew something was up?” Jaeger asked.
“I… kinda? I just… I tried not to look.” Scrounge brushed his head as he said that, looking a bit bashful.
“Why don’t we back up a bit. How are you a major? Didn’t your connection with us get exposed during the war?” Jaeger asked.
“Ah yeah. Got rounded up in… Operation Stapler? I forget. But I told them all I knew. Which wasn’t that much. You know I was just there for logistics. I never knew mission details and never asked but I was really good at organization and the like. So once I gave up all I knew they actually offered me a promotion because they were desperate for good personnel after the war. Everything was a fucking mess. So… One of those prison or the military type gigs.” He shrugged.
“So knowing your history when Titan starts acting funny you figure if you say anything…” Jaeger trailed off.
“They’d think I was involved. That I never stopped.” The man shrugged once more. “But uh… I can tell you what I know. Which… isn’t much.”
“No that’s fine. I’m not here for that.” Jaeger shook his head.
“So… you won’t kill me?” Scrounge asked looking nervous still.
“No. You surprised me on the landing pad is all. Not wanting to talk in the open.” Jaeger explained.
“Shit, that’s just… I figured you’d get nervous if I stayed in the open and wanted to set you at ease.” Scrounge laughed softly at that and shook his head.
“No, we’re good Scrounge. I’ve gotten some of the old crew back together. We’re not… Right you don’t need to know but-” He started but the man held up a hand.
“Don’t. Please don’t tell me anything. I really don’t want to know.” This was how Scrounge had lasted as long as he had after all so Jaeger shrugged.
“Well, I’m working with the good guys. Promise.” He looked around the office a moment when a logo on a package caught his eye. “Viking Express is still a thing? How the hell did that not get exposed as a shell company?”
“Ah… when Edenshard was lost so was the Department of Transportation central records. So… when someone who happened to hold the trademark and corporate filing paperwork for the company applied for a post war program to restart old companies…” He slowly shrugged as Jaeger laughed.
“So you turned a shell company into a real company? Do you use it to ship things to civvies and skim the profits?” He asked even as Scrounge held up his hands.
“Hey, I just started it as a side hustle and then it turned out it could be profitable and totally legit all at once. I don’t even need to skim or cheat. It’s small but focused. And the Pact military uses them for all civvie courier needs. I didn’t even have to fudge the contract or lean on them I just provided the best service at the best price.” As he explained that Jaeger couldn’t help but laugh once more.
“What was that old motto we had on it?” He asked as he thought back.
“Your package matters, our crew doesn’t.” They both laughed at that as Jaeger stood up to pick up the box and then looked back at his old friend.
“Do you have any spare uniforms around? And… You’ve got to have some spare boxes right?” This would work to his advantage.
“Uh… yeah sure. Do you need to ship something? How big?” Scrounge opened a drawer to pull out a padded envelope.
“I need uniforms for Figs, Brandy-Lynn, and myself. Plus something big enough for a dataslate and a thumb.” He pulled out the slate to show it off.
“Need extra padding for the thumb drive?” Scrounge asked even as Jaeger pulled out the thumb. “Is that… a human thumb? Wait!” He held up a hand immediately after and closed his eyes. “I don’t want to know.”
“I promise I’m a good guy now. Or… I work for them at least.” Jaeger insisted as he sealed up the envelope.
“Here’s a hat. Got a jacket hanging up in the corner.” Scrounge handed Jaeger a hat from his desk and then pointed to the jacket in question with the Viking Express logo on the back. “I’ll go say hey to Figs and BL. They still themselves?”
“Very much so.” Jaeger nodded as he got up to pull the jacket on. Between that and the hat he did look the part. “Oh, one of those slips to show off at the base. Made out to a Whispertail. Ravex guy. Oh and anything I should tell the door guards?”
“The humorless one? Wait… that’s all Ravex.” Scrounge muttered as he pulled out a slip and wrote on it for a little before handing it back to Jaeger. “Give him the pink one. And just tell the guards you’ve got a delivery and I cleared it. They won’t hassle you.”
“I know how it works Scrounge.” Jaeger snorted before reaching up to tip his new hat at the man. “Thanks for your cooperation. You should swing by the EASter Bunny sometime and catch up.”
“Shit is that place still around? Fuck. Maybe I will. My kids are eight, six, and four. Any chance a family dinner might work out?” He asked as he stood.
“We can make it work. Kuv is in Gullhaven. Well… he’s in the Vetall. He lives in Gullhaven. He’s got a whole nest of his own.” Jaeger revealed.
“Shit, Kuv is here too? And to think I only take this shift to avoid more work.” They both chuckled as they shook hands once more and Jaeger headed out the door. It was good to see old friends again, and while his plan would have worked without the disguise this would just make it more amusing for him.
As he headed towards the base he was especially thankful for the jacket as his thin shirt wouldn’t have done much for the morning wind. It was a decent trek from Scrounge’s post to the main HQ, but he didn’t pass another soul until he got to the main structures. As he approached the guards at the main door he held up the package as he got closer. “I’ve got a delivery for a big Ravex guy? Supposed to be meeting with some contractors? This is cleared by Major Skronkowski directly.”
“They’re in the auxiliary command center. Down the hall, follow the signs.” Just like Scrounge had said the guards opened the door and didn’t bother him for an ID as he walked by. Poor security but they likely figured he’d been cleared at the gate. The building inside had all the old Void insignias replaced with Pact but other than that it seemed like the exact same building at the heart of every Void military base.
He didn’t even need the signs as he navigated the halls around the prefab floorplan that they must have built a hundred times over across all their bases. When he came to the door to the auxiliary command center two Obsidian Guard were outside. These guys would for sure need ID. If he wasn’t already aware of how to confuse them. “Hey, how’s Rockdove doing? Did she get the flowers I sent?”
“Uh… What?” The guards glanced at each other a moment, obviously confused.
“Rockdove! First Claw Second Feather Assault Mother Rockdove. She’s here right? And that runt of hers Eyebright? We can catch up later. I have to deliver something to your boss Whispertail.” He waved the envelope in their faces as he slipped past while they tried to figure out how he could know them.
The thing about rigid hierarchies like the Ravex had was that often times if you acted like you belonged and they should know who you were they’d accept it rather than admit they were out of the loop. When he stepped inside the auxiliary command center Whispertail was standing at the front before the big screen. About two dozen humans, contractors from the look of their clothes and facial hair were sitting across from him watching the Ravex.
“I assure you this facility is secure. I have guards at the door, extra guards at all gates, and any of Alvarez’ transports are flagged so I can have a team waiting for them the moment they land. It is entirely impossible for any saboteur or spy to infiltrate this base, let alone this command center.” Jaeger cleared his throat the moment Whispertail was finished talking.
“I have a package here for a Mister Tail, Whisper? Mister Tail, Whisper I have a package for you.” The room shifted their attention to him then, and Whispertail specifically blinked and then stared at him. Intensely. It seemed like he was trying to focus his gaze in such a way as to make Jaeger spontaneously erupt in flames. But Jaeger did not burst into flames. Instead he stepped forward. “I’m guessing that’s you big fella?”
Whispertail kept staring at him. No doubt wishing he was just a figment of his imagination, or a nightmare maybe. But Jaeger just held out the package. “That’s you right?”
“Yes.” Whispertail finally uttered. Jaeger held out the padded envelope and had to wait a few seconds before Whispertail finally released the podium he had been holding to take the package. There were claw marks in the side from how hard he’d been gripping it.
“Just need a signature here…” He held out the other form. Whispertail stared straight into his eyes as he just scratched and X into the bottom of the page. “And… here’s your copy…” Jaeger ripped the pink part free and carefully stuck it onto one of Whispertail’s claws. Then he turned to leave.
“Wait!” Whispertail ordered. “What’s in this?”
“I don’t know sir, I'm just a courier.” Jaeger turned back and shrugged.
“Do not leave.” Whispertail commanded next. Then he carefully peeled the top off the envelope almost aiming it at Jaeger before he finally had it open and nothing happened. Then he glanced inside carefully. “A… dataslate? And a… thumb?”
“Dataslate and a thumbdrive. Right you are sir. Can I go?” Whispertail gave Jaeger one last long glare before finally nodding.
“Yes. Please leave.” Jaeger tipped his hat and walked out of the room then, grinning all the while.
“I’m not sure if you guys have NJP but if you do… have fun!” He announced as he walked past the guards at the door who didn’t respond but he was confident were now entirely confused and concerned by what had happened. The walk back out of the base was entirely uneventful but he couldn’t help but have a little extra spring in his step as he walked back along the landing field towards the vetall in the distance.
He could see Ham’s Gecko besides the much more advanced sleek military Titan vetall which was a good sign. When he got close he could hear laughter and saw Figs, Brandy-Lynn, Ham, Kuv, and Scrounge all standing around besides the Gecko. Brandy-Lynn, Figs, and Kuv had all changed into Viking Express uniforms. Jaeger was really going to have to keep in touch with Scrounge after this. Having their own express company would be very useful. “Just like old times huh?” He asked as he got close.
“Jaeger! Can you fucking believe Scrounge is here? And he outranks us all!” Ham waved at the quartermaster.
“Something tells me so long as our orders come in green he won’t be opposed to working with us again.” Jaeger grinned. “But, catching up aside I think we should go before we wear out our welcome.”
“Why? What did you do?” Ham frowned.
“I might have pissed off a big Ravex Obsidian Guard.” He shrugged.
“What the fuck Jaeger! How do you switch between being friends with our sworn enemies and then pissing them off?!” Ham groaned out.
“It’s a ground pounder thing. You pilots wouldn’t understand.” Jaeger waved it off.
“Christ, you’re fucking right I don’t. The lot of you! You see some big creatures covered in claws and horns and spikes and you think. Oh! Why don’t I stick my thumb up it’s ass to piss it off and see what happens!” Ham tossed his hands up.
“Hehe… you have no idea how accurate the thumb bit is right now.” Jaeger snickered as Ham frowned all over again.
“The fuck does that mean?” He asked.
“It means get on the Gecko and lets go.” Jaeger insisted.
“Turns out Scrounge and I have a mutual friend.” Brandy-Lynn said with a grin. “A lot of things he gets for the base comes through one of my guys.” Jaeger gave the quartermaster a hard stare as it was revealed he’d been buying from Goldenweb but Scrounge was already holding out his hands defensively.
“Listen! I don’t really ask where I’m getting things from or what organization provides them! I just get them! That’s my thing! I get things! And I don’t ask!” Jaeger just sighed and shook his head.
“We will be in touch Scrounge. Dinner. We’ll catch up.” He excused the revelation then mostly because he wasn’t really any better.
“Wait, why are we leaving already? What are we doing with the cooler?” Ham asked as he nodded at a rather large purple cooler in the back of the Gecko. It looked far more expensive than anything Kuv would normally keep drinks in.
“It’s a cooler. What do you mean?” Jaeger blinked and looked between Kuv and Ham in confusion.
“Wait… you said… You said to get the cooler. Not a cooler.” Ham stressed.
“What’s the difference?” Jaeger was entirely confused now. Then he saw a look on Kuv’s face and pointed at him. “What did you do?”
“This was years ago! I did not think to even mean it! This is his fault! I was dared and inebriated!” Kuv pointed at Ham.
“How the hell is this my fault? You made it! And I thought that’s how we were dealing with the base!” Ham growled back.
“Uhm… I don’t know what’s going on… but can I leave?” Scrounge asked.
“Yes. Thanks again, and we’ll trade emails at some point but feel free to leave.” Jaeger nodded.
“Good to see you all again, and don’t take offense but I’m getting out of here before this somehow ends poorly.” Scrounge waved at them before turning and didn’t exactly jog, but didn’t quite walk towards his office.
Now Jaeger turned his focus back to Kuv. “What is in the cooler?”
“It… is very possibly. Uh… a… small scale… cold shard bomb.” Kuv shrugged and Jaeger blinked a moment.
“Are you… telling me… That I had… an explosive… capable of unexisting a hundred square kilometers… siting somewhere in my home… and the home of my children for all these years?” Jaeger wouldn’t usually think of murdering his friends. But… maybe…
[Continued in Comments]