League	Signed up with	Played with	Note
ELTP	Daffodil	daffodiI	Using capital i instead of L.
ELTP	imperious	grimp
ELTP	Syniikal	EU Syn
eLTP	an	anom
eLTP	bhayward3000	anime addict
eLTP	Taylor-Swift	Liaballity.
ENLTP	Ierse_Jezus	Ierze_Jezus	Using z instead of s.
ENLTP	Mydicksblack	Mystic Mac
ENLTP	pulpo	simple ret

ENGLISH SCANS

KOREAN SCANS

WSJ cover
Ace by Boichi (Dr. Stone).
Don Krieg by Horikoshi (My Hero Academia).
Boa by Tsutsui (We Never Learn).Gaimon by Shimabukuro (Build King
).Chopper by Gondaira (Mission: Yozakura Family)
.Bellamy by Komoto T (Mashle).
Tashigi by Tamura (Hard-Boiled Cop and Dolphin).
Moria by Nakamura (Agravity Boys).
Shinobu by Nakama (High School Family: Kokosei Kazoku).
From Redon-
Chapter has 17 Pages 2 Double spread no cover page (but a color spread)
Detailed summary-
- Title: "The waiting liquor I made for you" (君がため醸みし待酒)
Chapter starts with a flahback. Ace went to Onigashima to help children who are kidnapped there. However Kaidou and high-ranking executives from Beast Pirates have sailed from the island at that time. So Ace ends up beating all fodders until he meets Yamato.
Ace's crew urge him to go back but Ace is annoyed that someone this strong isn't even a captain, so he intends to fight Yamato. Though she has no obligation to protect the island, Yamato is bored so she will be Ace's opponent.
Ace notices Yamato's handcuff and says to her "children cannot choose their parents". Ace adds she can't let they bind her heart too. Yamato is angry and destroys the dragon statue. Ace starts to like her, so he punchs the statue with his fire fist and claims responsibility saying it's his warning for Kaidou.
That night, Yamato and Ace tied up Kaidou's men and then drank sake with each other. Yamato says she'll leave the island as soon as she can take the handcuff off. Then she asks Ace whether the new generation of strong people that are emerging all over the world. Ace says there's "Caven-something", "Kid" from South Blue, "Law" from North Blue, "Bege" from West Blue... But the strongest one will be his brother, who will set sail soon.
Back to the present, Yamato reveals to Momonosuke she is Kaidou's daughter. Momonosuke is terrified but they come to an understanding. Momonosuke asks why Yamato mentioned Ace.
Yamato: "Because he is..."
Cut to Tama, she talks to Nami about how she wants to become a kunoichi as she promised with Ace. Then she learns from Nami that Ace is Luffy's brother.
Cut to the Live Floor, Queen tells everyone to stop Marco at any cost. Marco tells Robin and Brook to run into the castle. He then carries Zoro and flies to the ceiling.
Marco thinks back to his days with Whitebeard Pirates in a new flashback. Ace asks WB to attack Kaidou since he has a promise to fulfilled. Izou and Marco explain that they only knew about Oden's death years after it happened. After that, they talked about attacking Wanokuni many times but stopped since they know what will happen if they attack Kaidou, there will be many sacrifices.
Ace asks WB to let him go alone. WB is angry saying Ace is ahead of himself thinking that he can defeat a man Oden couldn't win against. Then WB beats up Ace.
Teach laughs and says he understands Ace wants to get a "big-name's head". Marco replies that is not what Ace is after. Marco and Izou talk to Ace, they say that as soon as WB gives an OK sign, they will go with Ace to Wanokuni.
Back to present. King and Queen transform into dinosaurs and block Marco. Queen has guns in his mouth and shoots Marco, but bullets run through him. Queen and King say to Marco that it's no use now, the samurai will be dead soon and, after Momonosuke is killed, the war will be over. While Marco grabs Zoro with his legs, he replies.
Marco: "If you think it can end that easily then you're too naïve. What you're fighting against is the ,"new era" itself!!"
Cut again to Nami and Tama. Nami says it's OK, they will follow Tama's plan.
Cut again to Yamato and Momonosuke. Yamato tells Momonosuke that Ace is Gol D. Roger's son, and the "sworn brother" of Luffy.
Yamato: "Out of all the pirates in the world, the one who you found and brought to Wanokuni is Luffy. This must be the work of fate itself. After all, Luffy has a "D" in his name...!"
When Yamato finishes, she pulls out Oden's journal.
Cut to Onigashima's rooftop. Big Mom is waiting for Luffy with Kaidou. Zeus and Prometheus ate cloud and fire so now they are back to 100% strength. Big Mom says Kaidou he can kill whoever he wants but he must leave Nico Robin alive.
Kaidou: "Isn't there a three-eye race girl in your crew? Can she not read the ancient letters?"
Big Mom: "I don't know but I can't wait for her eyes to truly open anymore."
Big Mom asks where Kaidou intend to drop the island. Kaidou replies he'll drop it on top of the castle, the symbol of Kozuki.
Big Mom: "So is the Road Poneglyph there?"
Kaidou: "Isn't it a bit too fast to reveal your true intention?"
Big Mom: "Don't look down on me!Even right now, I still regard you as my younger brother. Remember, the day Rocks fell! I was the one who gave you ,"Uo Uo no Mi, mystical type" (Uo=fish) on God Valley!!That is the debt you will owe me forever."
Kaidou: "Say whatever you want. Let's just deal with it after..."
Big Mom and Kaidou: "We found the One Piece!!!"
JUMP BREAK NEXT WEEK
(But the scans and spoilers for Ch. 1000 will leak around a week before its official release which is slated for 4/1)

[Warhammer 40k] Gaming Company Makes Money, but Demoralizes Fanbase

I’m a semi-avid Warhammer 40k player and the game has been hit by a number of small, cumulating drama bits over the last few years, so I thought I’d write them out here in case anyone was interested in learning about them.
Disclaimer: I do have some strong opinions on the drama and I have done my best to keep things neutral in this post. Please do feel free to call me out if I let my thoughts about the Stupidface McSpaceymarines show too much.
Background information:
Warhammer 40k is a tabletop miniature game distributed by Games Workshop (GW). The poster children of 40k have long been Space Marines: the elite, genetically augmented human super-soldiers and it is around them that this story revolves. Warhammer 40k is currently in its 9th edition, with rules for each army distributed in its codex.
The factions in Warhammer can be broken down into 3 broad categories. Remember this for later. As listed on GW’s website, they are: the Imperium (all flavors of “good guy” humans, including the aforementioned Space Marines), Chaos (daemons and fallen humans), and Xenos (myriad alien races, including Egyptian robot zombies, ~~communist fish weebs~~ shogunate cow weebs , clown elves, and British soccer hooligan orks).
In 2017, GW’s general manager stepped down and new company leadership took over. This is where our story begins. For a while it was good: GW was making record profits, fans were fairly happy, and the hobby seemed in a good place. Then players started realizing that something didn’t smell quite right.
8th Edition and the coming of the Primaris:
8e was released in June 2017, with the new rulebook alongside a Space Marine codex and “Index” books with units for all other armies, so nobody had to wait to play their respective faction. The indices were bare-bones and contained few of the abilities, relics, and special rules that each faction would receive when their full codex was released.
8th edition was also heralded with an entirely new line of Space Marine models, the “Primaris.” These are the tacticool bigger brothers of the “oldmarines” and a massive refresh of the aging Space Marine model line. They are bigger, badder, and shootier. Primaris marines were a hit and sold extremely well and GW profits reach new heights.
Over the next year and a half, a new faction’s Codex would release every 3-6 weeks. In a game with 20+ factions, this meant - if you were lucky - you’d get full access to your army’s abilities/relics/units in 6 months. Most armies were covered by the time the edition had been out a year. Depending on whom you ask, this is either an unacceptably long time to wait or surprisingly quick compared to previous editions. At this point, fan morale was fairly high: we saw lots of quality new content, a more-responsive and friendly community face, and promises of hotly-demanded future releases (whooo Sisters!). GW released a steady stream of new Primaris models throughout this edition, flushing out the new line.
Capitalizing on the popularity of Primaris, GW took the previously-unheard-of step and released new, turned-up-to-11 Marine codices in 2019, as well as 6 extra Space Marine sub-faction supplements and a new Chaos Space Marine codex. The meta had been fairly healthy and consistently evolving, but these supplements resulted in massive imbalance, buffing a specific Space Marine chapter so much that it near-exclusively dominated tournaments until it was patched. In retrospect, this was a sign of things to come.
The long-awaited Sisters of Battle also came out in fall 2019 (whose preorder sold out within minutes) and an expansion called “Psychic Awakening” was released from Oct 2019-July 2020. It was neat lore-wise and contained a few new rules/units, but not otherwise noteworthy.
The Gathering Storm:
9th edition was released in July 2020, but was touted as an “8.5e” where your old books and rules would still be valid, with some modifications as to the game itself. This was met with general good will from the players, as the books they bought a month earlier wouldn’t be instantly outdated. As is tradition, it was released with a new, now third Space Marine codex and one for the Necrons (the aforementioned Egyptian zombie robots), as well as a box set containing new units for each army. Unfortunately, this is also where the crux of our drama kicks in.
The release box set contained incredibly powerful and divisive Primaris units, Eradicators, which could only be obtained from this $200 USD box. Eradicators are an anti-tank unit new to 9th edition whose mere existence single handedly pushed tanks/armoured units and the factions that relied on them out of the meta.
Additional criticism came because the design of the Eradicators came across as “stealing” a specialist xenos unit - Eldar Fire Dragons. For perspective, Fire Dragons and Eradicators cost about the same in-game and have the same role, but Eradicators output far more damage at a longer range and are significantly harder to kill. Fire Dragon models are also 30 years old and look it; the Eldar range is one of the oldest still sold and in desperate need of updating. Understandably, Eldar players were upset. The box also contained the extremely powerful Bladeguard, but they went largely ignored due to the fecal storm Eradicators kicked up.
GW then doubled down. Unlike in the previous editions, where the supplement books were saved until the vast majority of codices were released, GW chose to near-exclusively prioritize releasing the Marine supplements, resulting in months of only new Marine books. By now, the strategy was clear: the Primaris money printer was in full BRRR mode. At the time of this writing, seven months into 9th edition, the following rule books are available: 1 xenos faction, 1 chaos faction, 0 Imperium, and 5 Space Marine.
Oh...wait. Did I separate Space Marines from Imperium, despite saying above that they’re all one happy family? Apparently not so much. During all of this, GW’s website broke Space Marines out into their own, separate 4th listing that is categorized on top of all other Imperium, chaos, and xenos factions.
Players began to notice the trend in model releases more and more, as if the Eradicators were the watershed moment. Since 8e, Marines alone have received the vast plurality/majority of new model releases over the last 3+ years. Remember, they’re still just one faction of about 20 who are now receiving the support of the other 19 combined. While the new Primaris line was positively received initially, the constant drumbeat of new Space Marines with only token attention to other factions began to drive a wedge between players and blowing up grimdank with memes. Even factions that got large rework releases paled in comparison.
Other players questioned why so many new Marines were being released when armies were stuck with aged resin models that date back to the Clinton administration (and much older than the pre-Primaris Marines). For example, older armies were stuck with models like this. Worse, GW’s brand of resin (FineCast) is commonly referred to as “FailCast” in the community due to its poor quality and difficulty to work with. This feeling of neglect hit xenos players in particular, though some Imperial factions also had good reason to be upset at the quality of their old old models.
Rumbles in the Warp:
In retrospect, there were a number of warning signs from GW that issues were brewing. A Hobby Drama post could probably be written about any of these individual events, but here is a TL;DR of each:

The app - GW recently released a long-awaited mobile app that has been plagued with rules errors, intense attempted monetization, and was missing key features like army builders. In GW’s defense, they have been improving it regularly and providing many features for free in the meantime.
Hiding price hikes as “localization” - in response to Brexit and the weakening GBP, GW adopted a locally-based pricing model that came with hidden and significant price hikes in other countries. Fun story: it was cheaper for me to buy models off of their UK website, pay to have them shipped to a reshipping company, and pay for the reshipping and any import taxes to the US rather than to purchase them directly. A lot cheaper.
The Primaris Lieutenant - a meme that emerged after GW released model after model for the same in-game unit (one that most armies would never need more than a couple of), each with slightly different poses. Criticism centered around the idea that the resources to constantly remake this same unit could have been better-allocated.
Death of the Phoenix - a rare xenos vs xenos box set that starred 1 updated hero and 1 updated infantry unit each. Hurray! Except the box was also chock full of less-popular and very old models that there was little demand for. Many still sit unsold on store shelves.
Hobby fatigue and the Bore-us Heresy - with so many rapid-fire Marine releases, some players complained of difficulty keeping pace with both money to buy them and time devoted to modeling. Worse, Marines have been pushed so hard for so long, they have come to dominate the meta such that Marine vs. Marine games are commonplace, which can become repetitive or dull.
Forgotten weapon updates - Several Imperial/Chaos weapons were significantly buffed at the start of 9e, with GW promising to do the same for identical xenos gear...except, when the update came, they hadn’t. The changes appeared haphazard and were missing many weapons that players had reasonably expected to be included. (Sidenote: my personal theory is that they paid an intern to ctrl+f weapon names for updating, but said intern didn’t realize that the names can change based on the faction. For example, this is why the update to flamers was correctly mapped to the Eldar “Dragon’s breath flamer” but the “melta gun” update didn’t apply to the identical-in-all-but-name “fusion gun.” Oops.)

In Defense of Marines:
Players on the pro-Marine side frequently point out that a good cause for their preferential treatment exists: money. Undoubtedly, Marines are the most successful single product line, and can you blame GW for milking it? The equally-common counterargument is that it’s a chicken-and-egg issue: that Marines are only the top seller because they get the majority of the new kits, updates, and advertising.
Defenders of GW point to a number of other factors on their side: promises of future updates to other factions, that very real possibility Covid may be affecting production, and that older editions have been far more sluggish with content. They also point out that the Necron and Sisters of Battle factions each have received much-needed new model refreshes in the last few years, albeit nowhere near as expansive as their own. Marines were certainly in need of updating when the Primaris line was introduced and it went a long way in helping the supersoldiers fit their lore on the tabletop.
While some Marine players were initially concerned that the pre-Primaris armies that they dumped thousands of dollars and at least 3 hours into painting would be suddenly outdated or unusable, GW has continued to support them and point to this as a sign of goodwill.
Finale:
Unfortunately, there has been no real happy ending to this drama. For some players, the lack of resolution has caused them to hit a stage of burnout: a place of feeling that non-Marine factions deserve attention, but that the complaints are so commonplace that people are just whining now. On the other side of the spectrum, xenos players can feel a learned helplessness, as there’s not much they can but accept their fate and make snarky comments on WarhammerCompetitive. Some people try to hold optimism that the new and improved GW will pull through, burning themselves out on the Primaris line while others put their head down and play as they always have.
But the issue barrels forward as the Primaris money printer hums its “brrr” in the background.
TL;DR - Gaming company builds bridges of goodwill with fans, then torches them due to impressions of favoritism and greed.

How to Survive Camping - a funeral for the inhuman

I run a private campground. It’s mostly forest and open field, but here’s a handful of houses that belong to my family. There is also a graveyard. It is surrounded by a wooden fence and ‘no trespassing’ signs to keep the campers out. Only members of my family are buried there, but after one of the musicians was thrown through my window, I felt it only right to make an exception.
If you’re new here, you should really start at the beginning, and if you’re totally lost, this might help.
The family graveyard was started because the town whispered that our family was tainted by the evil we associated with. This was before even Mattias’s time, but those sentiments echoed through the generations. We stand apart from the good, decent (hah) folk of the town, aloof and rejected because of the company we keep. The touch of the inhuman rests upon us, they whisper. Stained with evil from our proximity to evil. Those rumors persist even now, though in less hostile ways. The tradition of using the family graveyard remains.
We’ve had our share of funerals on this land. My parents’ funeral was held here, such as it was. There was no ceremony. No viewing of the body. My mother had died gruesomely and there was hardly anything left of my father to look at. The extended family gathered and we put their casket in the ground - a single casket, for the both of them - and then we filled the grave up again. There weren't a lot of people talking. My aunt and uncle stayed close to me and kept most of the well-wishers away. I didn’t need to hear what a tragedy it was, that I’d lost my parents so young. I already knew. I knew all too well.
And then that was it. We buried the dead and then we moved on. Or tried to, at least.
I heard my mother’s side of the family held their own funeral. A small gathering at the church. I didn’t attend.
We buried my aunt and uncle much the same way. Sometimes I feel our grieving never ends. It just pauses for a few years or more, until the land claims another life. I wonder if it will be different, when this land is fully ancient and I’ve installed as benign a ruler as I can. Perhaps our long watch will end and we can finally feel our sorrow in full.
There was another funeral, the day after the musician was thrown through my window. I wanted to return its body to the dancers, but I could not find them. And worse, the body was decomposing. Rapidly. I’d wrapped the body tightly in a tarp and left it outside, as the cold would preserve it while I searched. When I returned for lunch, I found the tarp had flattened and a noxious bile was leaking out the edges. I pressed on the tarp, gently, and even the bones felt spongy. There wasn’t a lot of time before the body collapsed entirely.
It didn’t feel right, just letting that happen. We try to burn the creatures we kill. It’s not just a way to dispose of the corpse. My father believed it was the last dignity we could afford them. He tried to impress that upon me as a child, but it never really took. Standing there in the cold and the snow and staring at the musician that had saved my life and paid for it with its own, I think I understood better. I couldn’t let it simply rot away. But nor did I have the time to locate the dancers.
I would bury it myself. And perhaps to console my conscience, I would give it the most revered burial I could.
I called up the nearby farming supply store and rented a small backhoe. Tore out part of the graveyard fence to get it in and then ripped up enough frozen dirt to make a six foot deep grave in the middle of an especially cold winter.
While I was doing all of this, Bryan came around. He’s been doing as I asked and staying out of the deep woods. He asked what I was doing and then went away for a bit and came back with a coffin assembled out of scrap lumber. Then the old sheriff drove up, having been notified by a phone call from Bryan.
And the three of us had a funeral.
There wasn’t much said. Bryan and I struggled to drag the coffin all the way from the house to the grave once the musician was inside. We didn’t let the old sheriff help, on account of his leg. We were worn out and panting by the time we got it down into the grave and none of us wanted to talk. We just stood there, staring down into the hole, and the old sheriff passed a flask around. When we’d all had a drink, he poured the rest of it into the grave, letting it splatter on the uneven wood casket.
I felt I should say something. I cleared my throat uncomfortably.
“Thanks,” I said. “For saving my life.”
And that was it. I filled the hole back up, Bryan helped me stomp the dirt down, and we put the fence back. Then we all went our separate ways.
A few days later, the old sheriff returned. He brought with him a wooden grave marker, heavily sealed to survive the weather. No name, just a date of death and some floral patterns decorating the top. His wife made it, he said. She’d recently taken up wood burning. I could put it up in the spring when the ground softened.
Then he cleared his throat uncomfortably and said he was also here on official business. I suggested we move to my office. This was going to be an unpleasant conversation and I did not want to ruin the times he came over for coffee and we sat at the kitchen table and talked. He followed me, reluctantly, for I think merely moving us to the office was enough to indicate that I already knew what he was here for.
“The police found a body,” he said as he settled himself in front of the desk. “It was in an unusual state.”
“Completely drained of blood?”
He raised an eyebrow. I sighed.
“It’s Beau.”
I told him what happened. How he emptied his cup killing the thorns and how I’d taken him off the campground to refill it. Blood forcibly taken and all. I was concerned for my staff, I explained, and didn’t want him to attack one of them. I’d hoped he’d find someone aggravating, as he had in the past, and terrorize them a bit and leave with the blood he needed.
“But you knew this might end up with someone dead?” he asked.
“I knew.”
He sighed and looked away. His gaze settled on the blank spot on the wall, where my parents had hoped my diploma would someday hang.
“I don’t know what to say to you right now,” he said softly. “I’d hoped… you’d be better than your parents. I guess not.”
“What else do I do?” I asked wildly. “I need Beau’s help. I don’t know what those thorns were doing to my land - or to the fairy. They haven’t attacked the fomorian yet and that worries me. Think about what may happen if the fomorian wins!”
He was quiet for a long moment.
“The town is going to hold you responsible,” he finally said.
“Fine. I am responsible. I don’t deny that. But I have never seen any of them offering to help out here. The only time I’m dragged in front of that town hall is to accuse me.”
Not that I’ve ever asked for help. But there’s bad blood there and the old sheriff knows it. Sometimes I think that’s why he’s always been sympathetic to my family, because his position allowed him to be here to help us when no one else would.
“In centuries past the towns had to have a hangman,” he sighed. “No one liked the hangman, though he was considered essential.”
He pushed his chair back and stood.
“I guess your family is our hangman.”
“What will you tell them?”
“The truth. And I’ll make sure they understand how desperately you need any help you can get right now, or the town will face an evil beyond anything we’ve experienced before. But Kate, I need you to do one thing for me.”
He named it. I couldn’t answer him and he didn’t demand a response. He just took his coat and left.
He asked that when this was all done, that I consider Beau. That I consider what he was, what he did, and decide if he should be added to my list.
The list of creatures I intend to kill.
I didn’t want to tell him that it might be unnecessary. The fomorian’s threat hung heavy over my head.
The next day I went into the deep woods to look for Beau. I didn’t dare summon him. Perhaps the fomorian was watching the house, knowing that I might do so. It felt like a reasonable precaution, considering the circumstances. If I were in the deep woods, however, he could choose whether it was safe to approach me or not.
I didn’t find Beau. Instead, the dancers found me.
They came up from behind. I turned and waited for them, as initially they were grouped close together and I could not see what they carried. They were somber, dressed in black with veils over their heads and faces. Mourning the loss of their musician. I felt I should at least offer my condolences and explain where I’d buried the body.
I didn’t get a chance. The procession drew to a halt as it came close. The lead dancer held up a finger when I made to speak, indicating that I should be silent. She sidled up beside me and looped her arm through mine. Like we were friends. Bemused, I let her escort me to the group, assuming this was some kind of mourning ritual and I was being included.
Unfortunately, I was correct.
If I’d known what role they wanted me to take, I might not have waited for them on the road.
The group parted to reveal what they’d been carrying in the middle of all of them. A coffin. Constructed of wood and covered in rainbow glitter. It sat on the ground, presumably because the dancers carrying it wanted a short reprieve, and I crept closer to inspect it out of curiosity. One of them kicked the lid off so I could look inside.
Empty. The interior was covered in glitter as well and I had to admire their dedication.
Well, I admired it for a couple seconds, at least, until two of the dancers shoved me from behind. My shins caught against the side and I went down face-first - directly into the open coffin. The glitter dug into my palms as I tried to catch myself, but a lid slammed down on my back before I could push myself out again. I pounded on the bottom, the sides, and kicked my heels against the lid, but nothing gave. Then it lurched, swayed, and I braced myself on the sides, heart pounding at the sudden movement.
The swaying settled into a rhythm. They were carrying it. And all around me I heard noise - crying, wailing. Sobs. A raucous commotion, utterly unlike the silent and grim funerals my family held. The dancers seemed determined to let the entire campsite know of their loss.
The longer it went on, the more panicked I grew. This was not my first time being trapped in a grave, but it was certainly the more claustrophobic of the two occurrences. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine I was elsewhere, that it didn’t matter that there was only an inch or two of clearance around my entire body. I told myself that I was safe in my own bed, that the wailing I heard was that of the little girl. Whatever trick of the mind I could conjure to stave off the screaming panic that hovered at the edge of my thoughts.
I couldn’t focus entirely on staying calm, however. What if they intended to bury me alive? Or worse - and I began to break into a cold sweat at this thought - turn me into a replacement musician. The harvesters came to my mind, them and their cursed raincoats. Perhaps they weren’t the only creatures around here that could replenish their ranks. I ran my fingers along the seam, searching for a weak point. The glitter stung as it dug into the skin under my fingernails. I found nothing. I twisted, trying to find a better position so I could leverage an elbow or something to smash against the lid of the coffin. It dipped to one side, swaying like a boat in a storm as the dancers carrying it struggled to adjust to my shifting body weight. I seized on this idea. Maybe I could force them to drop it. I twisted again, slamming my shoulder against the opposite side.
“You’re making this hard to carry, Kate,” a familiar voice said from just outside the wooden box.
The former sheriff.
“Uh, do you know if they’re going to… kill me?” I asked.
He just laughed. It’s not a reassuring response, but I felt somewhat mollified by his presence nonetheless. The former sheriff was no longer fully human, but I hope that he’s retained enough of it to not let me die needlessly. He’s tried to save me from them before.
I stopped struggling. The only thing it was really accomplishing was bringing glitter raining down all over me, anyway. Eventually, the coffin was gently lowered to stable ground. I let out a slow breath, trying to loosen my muscles, waiting to see what would happen next.
The coffin lid was pried off. It landed heavily on the ground. I rolled over, struggling to lever myself up over the sides. The lead dancer stood at the foot of the coffin, holding out a hand to help me up. I stared at it suspiciously for a moment.
“Surely you want out before we bury it?” she asked.
That got me moving. I clasped my hand in hers and she hoisted me free. I glanced around while I vainly tried to brush glitter off my jacket. I was covered in it and if you’re wondering, yes, I’m finding it all over the house now.
We were in the dancer’s favorite clearing. The largest one, near the steepest hill that we’d used to take the wagon away from the children. They’d dug a grave close by where the bonfire usually goes, in which they were preparing to bury an empty coffin.
“I’m sorry about not returning the musician’s body,” I said unsteadily. “I didn’t know what else to do with it.”
“Oh that’s nothing to apologize for. You buried it according to your own customs and that it had a funeral is all that matters. This is just us having a bit of fun is all.”
Fun. Right.
I watched them lower the coffin into the pit. I still didn’t know what I was doing here, but at least I wasn’t going to be buried alive. The old sheriff helped, but he didn’t pay me any special attention. I was okay with that. We were never friends, anyway.
“Ah, good, our other guest is here,” the lead dancer said, turning to face the edge of the clearing. “We can conduct our business before the ceremony.”
Beau had just arrived. He stepped out from between the trees and crossed the clearing as the dancers arranged themselves opposite him. I felt uneasy, like I was watching a supernatural showdown forming up. It was clear from the expression on Beau’s face that he wasn’t pleased to be here, and considering how rarely he showed emotion, that was certainly saying something. His lips were thin with distaste and his eyes were narrowed, his brow furrowed.
“We’re all in agreement, then?” the lead dancer asked neatly. “Something has to be done about the fomorian?”
“But the fairy-” I began.
“Is taking too long.” She was curt with her interruption. “They are not able to kill the fomorian yet and so they’re biding their time, waiting for the right opportunity. It’s a stalemate and perhaps that is acceptable for them, but we are suffering for it. So are you, yes?”
I nodded. Yes. This was a problem all of us faced. I felt a thrill of excitement in my veins. This wasn’t just a funeral. The inhuman entities were convening a war council of their own and I had been invited.
“You’re trapped here just as Beau is,” I said on a hunch. “You have to stop the fomorian because you can’t leave.”
“Nor would we want to leave, even if we could. It’s nice here.”
No one had any solid plans on how to kill the fomorian. The lead dancer and Beau avoided that topic and I suspect they too are waiting on the fairy to make their move. But in the meantime, they would do what they could to mitigate the damage and keep the land from falling into the fomorian’s sway. Keeping the thorns at bay would be Beau’s responsibility. I requested that perhaps we think of a way to stop them from being sown at all, so that Beau didn’t need to refill his cup so often.
“That’s not possible,” the lead dancer replied sharply. “None of us are up to the task of standing against the fomorian. It is what it is and you must accept that.”
The curse of the inhuman, being subject to the rules of their world. And the only weapon of humanity, to be able to dream a world different than what it is. It wouldn’t occur to them to defy the natural order in which the fomorian was more powerful than they. Still, I didn’t pursue that any further. They’d already lost one of their musicians aiding me.
The dancers would help keep track of the fomorian’s movements. They weren’t being targeted by it like Beau was. The musician’s death was a singular retribution for a specific action.
And as for me… well, they didn’t actually know what to do with me yet. I felt a little offended.
“Just… go be... you at the fomorian,” she finally said in exasperation. “It seems to work well.”
This wasn’t the only outcome of the meeting, of course. I brought up some suggestions, inquiring about other uses of the stone in particular. Neither Beau nor the dancers seemed willing to give it up. The stone was their defense against the thorns and those were their primary concern. I also got the impression that Beau and the dancers don’t get along and the fact they were speaking to each other at all was a significant first step.
Also, the meeting was adjourned early.
A whistle came from the tree canopy. Beau and I pivoted to look, but I saw nothing. I wondered if it was one of the musicians, recalling how easily the one had scaled the tree when rescuing me.
“It’s coming,” the lead dancer said tersely. “Bad luck, I suppose. Or it’s hunting you.”
She nodded at Beau. He inclined his head softly in respect and stepped backwards.
“It is time to go, then. Thank you for the warning.”
He turned and walked swiftly away. No sooner had he stepped out of the clearing and back into the woods than the lead dancer rounded on me.
“You can’t be here either,” she said.
“Sure, I’m leaving too. Just point me in the opposite direction of the fomorian.”
“Oh no. That won’t work. You’re human. You’re slow and you’re far too noisy. Get in the coffin.”
“What?”
“Coffin! Hide!”
Her panicked tone got me moving. I dropped into the pit and hastily lay down inside the beglittered coffin. Two of the dancers dropped the lid down on top of it and the darkness swallowed me up. I held very still, breathing shallowly, as the ground shook with the fomorian’s approach.
The voices were muted at first. The lead dancer, speaking in a conciliatory and subservient tone. Then the fomorian’s rumbling voice, clearly audible through the wood of the coffin.
“You wouldn’t defy me, would you?”
“Of course not,” the lead dancer replied in a clear, smooth voice.
Could inhuman things lie to other inhuman things? Was it only humans that compelled them to speak something close to the truth? I felt a flicker of hope that maybe we’d get out of this alive.
A moment of silence. Then, the startled cry of the lead dancer, echoed swiftly by her followers. The clearing went still and quiet again, save for the sound of plaintive choking from the lead dancer. I balled my hands into fists, my nails biting into my palms, seething in helpless rage.
I guess they can lie to each other, but it’s not very effective.
There was the sound of a body hitting the ground.
“I’ll ask again. You wouldn’t defy me, would you?”
I strained to listen, trying to hear what was being said over the beating of my own heart.
“N-no.” She coughed. “I wouldn’t dare.”
“But you did dare.”
The ground shook. I held my breath. It was coming closer. For a moment, nothing - and then -
The coffin snapped all around me. I threw up my arms with a cry, shielding myself from the shrapnel as sunlight came streaming in. Then a shadow covered me as the fomorian’s hand pressed past the shattered wood and wrapped its fingers around my chest. It lifted me up, the debris of the coffin sliding away and falling back into the pit. It held me in midair, dangling like a doll, and ponderously turned to face the dancers. It held me aloft for them all to see.
Beneath me the dancers were all on their knees. The lead dancer had a hand to her throat where I could see bruises already forming from where the fomorian had choked her.
“This one is mine,” it growled.
It shook me, hard enough to send my head spinning and to rattle my teeth against each other. I clung desperately to the creature’s bony hand, feeling like I was about to be torn apart by the violent movement.
“I was going to kill her on sight, but then she angered me, and now that will no longer suffice. I will destroy everything she cares about first. Until then-”
It released me and I landed in a heap on the ground, wheezing in pain from the impact. I struggled to pull my legs underneath me, to at least drag myself to my knees.
“-she is not to be touched. Do you understand?”
“Of course.”
The lead dancer was careful to keep her gaze on the ground. She did not look at either me or the fomorian.
It turned and limped away. The trees creaked and cracked as it forced its way through them. No one in the clearing moved or even spoke until the trembling of the ground under its footsteps stilled entirely. Only then did the lead dancer give a sigh of relief.
“Lucky us that it thought we were trying to kill you instead of conspiring together,” she sighed.
“Lucky me that it wants me to suffer first,” I replied.
We both sat there for a moment, contemplating how close we’d each come to death. Finally, I tentatively asked if this meant the alliance was off. After all, it seemed the fomorian was willing to go after them for any suspected defiance. The dancer only laughed.
“What did we do when you tried to drive us out?” she demanded.
“Uh, you dragged me from my house and forced me to dance until I collapsed.”
“Exactly.”
I guess it’s all fun and games until someone threatens their party, and then the knives come out. Good to know.
“Still,” the dancer said thoughtfully. “We’ll have to be careful when we interact with Beau, since we’re also under watch by the fomorian.”
“Beau?”
“We have little to do with each other and no reason to help one another. A condition of this… alliance… was that we use his fledgling name.”
“He’s such a bastard,” I muttered.
The lead dancer nodded sagely in agreement.
“That he is.”
There was no other reason for me to stay, after that. The dancers had a funeral to hold, even if they were burying the shattered remains of an empty coffin. And I had to go stand in the shower for however many hours it took to get all the glitter out of my hair. Before I went, however, I decided to seize the opportunity to ask a question that’s been bothering me for many, many years now.
“Hey, since we’ve got a working relationship now, can I ask you something?” I said. “What… are you?”
She seemed perplexed by my question.
“We’re dancers,” she said. “We heal people.”
“And the people you kill?”
“We heal them too.”
I remembered the former sheriff, dousing a camper with gasoline. He'd said some people don't want to be cured.
In some cultures, dancing is used as a cure from affliction. But if the affliction is in the soul, a flaw of character, then I suppose death is a remedy of sorts.
“Would you kill me, if I were not marked for death by the beast?” I asked.
She looked me straight in the eyes.
“Do you really want to know the answer to that?”
Her tone was sharp. A warning. My voice faltered and she gave me a thin smile.
“No. You don’t.” And she walked away.
I’m a campground manager. At one point, Beau said that I have a weak will. I don’t think the dancer refused to answer because I wouldn’t like what I heard. She refused to answer because I was afraid that she would. I would rather be left wondering than bear the weight of knowing for certain what kind of person I am. Both answers are dangerous. One invites complacency. The other; self-hatred.
Maybe someday I’ll be strong enough to know. Maybe when this is all over. For now, I don’t have the luxury of self-doubt or introspection. There’s a war to be waged. [x]
Read the full list of rules.
Visit the campground's website.

How I do due diligence

First Contact - Fourth Wave - Chapter 416

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The M-318A2E5 General Purpose Heavy Machinegun.
A 20mm barrel. Frangible link belt fed. Each box of ammunition containing 200 rounds of variable munitions, from standard soft alloy ball rounds to armor piercing incendiary to self-correcting guided armor piercing discarding sabot fin stabilized warsteel jacketed density enhanced shell mass reactive antimatter core with tracer.
Maximum rate of fire 2,000 rounds a minute. Maximum effective rate of fire at 350 rounds a minute. Recommended rate of fire at 100 rounds per minute. If can be altered on the fly with an advanced firing system or manually fixed by the unit armorer or Weapon Engineer trained green mantid.
A crew served, warborg, or gunnery heavy combat frame (or parity system). Alternatively mounted in a fixed position or on a light armored combat vehicle. Often used as a light weapon on warmechs. It has also been used as a bludgeoning weapon against particularly aggressive and insistent enemy and proven to be more resilient then the body of the enemy.
Single barrel with heat shroud, magnetic rail accelleration with magnetic coil stabilization and variable munition effects, with thermal bloom heat sink option. The bare minimum moving pieces after thousands of years of being steadily shaved down. Stripped down there is not a single extraneous piece of hardware entirely on her body.
Capable of air defense, point defense, anti-armor, anti-infantry, anti-vehicle usage depending on deployment and selected munition type. If you can see it, if you can hit it, if you can maintain fire upon it, you will, inevitably, kill it. Rather, she will kill it, if you are skilled enough.
Able to be resupplied by a Class-II nano-forge with only built in heat sinks and radiator fins, it is capable of resupplying itself with nearly seven hundred rounds per minute and stay within heat tolerances for an unaltered Class-II nano-forge using only atmospheric mass intake. A Class-I nano-forge can produce four hundred rounds per minute within heat tolerances. A Class-III and higher can produce ten thousand rounds per minute with little to no heat or nanite stress and is only limited by the amount of mass it has access to.
A standard ball round without nano-forge fabrication costs the Confederate tax payer 125 credits. An advanced round like the Confederate military uses as its standard loadout would cost the Confederate tax-payer 14,200 credits per round. As the Confederate tax payer has graciously supplied you with a nano-forge, each round only costs the Confederate tax payer one credit worth the nanites and mass.
You will not waste the Confederate taxpayer's money.
Able to be attached to autonomous firing points or carried by a warborg, the M-318A2E5 does not have to rely on fancy virtual reality, virtual intelligence assistants, or even holographic targeting. At times the M-318A2E5 has been stripped down to the basic components with a hollowed out ration tin as a sight. With the weapon entirely made from Gen-Zero Warsteel without any fancy laminates, molecular circuitry, or even necessarily having to rely on electrical primers and firing systems, the M-318A2E5 is resistant to gravity, radiation, electromagnetic pulses, and can survive inside the fireball of a 10.25 megaton nuclear blast and still be servicable to kill the enemy.
Basically unchanged, with the exception of the nanoforge ammunition supply system (NASS), since prior to the Diaspora the M-318A2E5 General Purpose Heavy Machinegun System has killed more of the enemy than even planet cracker class weaponry. It has tasted the blood of dozens of species, some without even names, and sent them wailing to afterlife.
From the shores of Iron Fence to the blasted sands of Anthill to the deathlands of the Niven Rings, the "Three-Eighteen" has been the infantry's knockout punch since before Terra managed FTL travel. Like her mother, the Ma-Deuce, she proved that mass infantry charges are not militarily feasible if you wish to have any males left to rebuild your nation or species. Carried by Chromium Saint Peter on Anthill, this weapon has felt the touch of the Digital Omnimessiah and killed men during the Burger Wars of Prediaspora while mounted on armored fighting vehicles.
This weapon is one of the grand old dames of warfare, up there with the Gerber Ka-Bar Mark III and the M-9A2 Bayonet and her mother, the M2A6E2 Fifty Caliber General Purpose Heavy Machinegun, and you, recruit, will treat her, treat all of them, with respect, as she has earned it, unlike every one of you sorry sacks of shit.
Take your places next to your assigned weapon and we will begin familiarization with the bare bones stripped weapon.
I do not agree with the sentiment that you are worthy to touch her.
Time will tell.
--Advanced Individual Training, Infantry, Heavy Weapons Familiarization, Day One.
----------------
This is the M8271E5 Heavy Weapon Specialist standard basic gunner's frame.
Twenty-eight pounds of advanced hyperalloys, a foamed battlesteel core, and a warsteel laminate jacket, the M8271E5 will enable you to carry and effectively use, while mitigating endurance and fatigue, the heavy weapons of the Terran Confederate Army.
Designed initially to allow ammunition specialists to work with heavy munitions in a timely manner, the frame was adapted for heavy gunner work prior to the Great Glassing. It has gone through repeated redesigns until the version in front of you was settled upon during the Lancaster Nebula Wars.
This frame can be supplemented with smart-frame capable offensives and defensives, including battlescreens and eVI warboi assistance, as well as have modular armor layered onto it for additional protection from vacuum, radiation, battlefield hazards, or just because you are so ugly we would prefer not to look at you.
Costing the Terran Confederacy taxpayer twenty-two thousand credits in mass to create, the Gunner's Frame is worth more than any of you mouth breathing ballsweat huffing morons in front of me.
At my command you will step forward, place your big lump clumsy feet into the pedals, and reach forward with your dick skinners and cloacae rubbers and grasp the handles. You will not mistake my command and lodge any important parts of this device into your rectums or other waste orifices. You will not fall down. You will not embarrass me or your instructors or I will personally make your existence a living hell due to the fact that you are too stupid to walk and breathe at the same time.
MOUNT THE FRAME!
--Advanced Individual Training, Infantry, Heavy Weapons Systems Familiarization, Day Five
--------------
Your warboi is a custom grown enhanced virtual intelligence who's basic core seed was grown from one of the scans of your neural tissue base motor reflexes. This means the two of you think to some extent alike.
Currently your warboi is undergoing the final phase of personality gelling before they will hatch from their digital shell and, for their sins, be assigned to you for a training period of two years, after which they will move on to other soldiers just as you will be assigned to different units.
Warboi integration has proven to increase your combat effectiveness by handling the complexities of the modern battlefield and modern wargear. They will largely handle your electronic warfare systems, your battlescreens, heat and slush levels, graviton generator balancing, and many other systems that the modern soldier has to worry about.
Gentlebeings, integration with your warboi is a necessary section of your training. If you cannot integrate with your warboi you will have failed from this course and will be cast down into the masses of non-combat personnel. No, below them, down to where the un-wired work, counting how many tires are on the General's personal grav-lifter and vainly trying to remember if three comes after four.
A fate worse than death, gentlebeings, for honed killing machines such as yourselves.
Currently, your warboi is dreaming learning dreams. The 'cyber-egg' has been mounted on your Combat Frame so that you can move through simulations and get your warboi used to how you move. Move slow and steady, follow your training, and teach your warboi how you move.
MOUNT THE FRAME!
--Advanced Individual Training, Infantry, Warboi Familiarization, Day One
--------------
When forced with reacting at a subconscious level or taking your warboi's advice, you must remember that your warboi is a digital semi-sentience without the millions of years of predator evolution that turned you into the top tool using land dwelling predator of your worlds. You have dedicated neural systems within your brain, that you have head since the only sound that you knew was your mother's heart or the egg tender's singing, that enabled every single one of your forebearers to not only survive long enough to pass on their genetics to the female or xirmale of your species, but that gestator sex to survive long enough to give birth to those young.
Your three to six pounds of neural wiring enabled your forebearers to overcome everything from giant lizards to crystalline hunters to avain predators until your species was the dominate one of the entire planet.
The warboi has what he was been programmed with and what he has learned.
Your instincts will, 80% of the time, trump the warboi's protests or suggestions.
In the other 20%, you will either recognize that the warboi's suggestion is superior or everything will come apart on you.
You must remember, gentlebeings, that your warboi understands your electronic warfare systems and their operations in the same way that you understand how to run across a field. Training and practice.
Before you protest that your people are a peaceful, cooperative people, and that you are an outlier, that you were conquered by the Lanaktallan or had your faces smashed in by the Terrans, you must remember one thing: You were, or are, the dominant predator on your planet.
Trust your warboi, but trust your instincts also.
The course you are about to enter is designed to cause your warboi to make the wrong suggestions or attempt to countermand your orders. It is as much a training exercise for him as it is for you.
MOUNT THE FRAME!
---Advanced Individual Training, Infantry, Warboi Familiarization, Day Twelve
-------------
This is the pinnacle of modern infantry warfare. The M894 Powered Assault Armor. A man sized piece of equipment that will allow you to fight anywhere within this universe and most of the other known universes. It is, in effect, as self contained combat spaceship with modular systems, capable of allowing you to fight, without any support, for up to five years without needing resupply. With the onboard nano-forge even critical system replacement is possible.
The record for unsupported operation in power armor is twenty-three years, with a grand total of time in direct combat of nine years, three months, fourteen days, three hours, sixteen minutes, forty-two seconds.
That pilot survived.
That, gentlebeings, is not recommended.
--Advanced Individual Training, Infantry, Power Armor Familiarization, Day One
------------
The M9E7 Orbital Insertion Pod is used to insert Confederate Forces onto a hostile surface, often directly into battle, from far orbit. Capable of acting as an emergency life support pod, complete with manuevering thrusters, the M9 OIP carries a thirteen man infantry squad and all of their equipment from the troop ship or warship to the surface of the planet, asteroid, or Niven Ring. Capable of withstanding more than one orbital defense hit, the OIP is a safer environment for the infantry than the inside of those cobbled together rust buckets Space Force and the Navy wander around the universe in.
With a built in Class-V Nano-Force, the M9E7 OIP is returning to the previous Confederate Army doctrine of each squad is capable of operating from a fixed position with everything they need from the drop pod. Loaded with templates to create everything from rapid strike grav-lifters to standard side-arms, the Drop Pod is not only how you get to the ground, but how you hold it once you take it.
Unlike the Marine Corps pods, the M9E7 is designed to be disassembled and used as the core of a forward operating base that will enable you to withstand anything the enemy can throw at you, given enough time and mass.
This training unit will teach you how to use the OIP to the best effect to kill the enemy, break his possessions, and take his territory.
MOUNT THE FRAME!
--Advanced Individual Training, Infantry, Orbital Insertion Pod Familiarization, Day One
-------------
Undrat sat on his bunk, the dataslate in his hand, going over the standard combat maneuvers for the umpteenth time. They were ingrained in his memory now, but he still felt the need to examine them again for anything he might have missed.
His people weren't the brightest out there, but they were persistent and enduring.
Once he had read it, he took the self-quiz, answering questions and moving the icons around to show his work. After that he went over proper radio procedures, despite the fact that he had been warning repeatedly that proper radio procedure often ended when the munitions were being expended or after a sufficiently long period of time in a combat zone.
A new section had been added while he was in training, and Undrat wanted to make sure he had it memorized by going over it again and again. The Terran Confederate Army had begun training its soldiers in radio wave frequency communications, based on bands most races had long abandoned.
Several times sidebars warned Undrat that the supposed un-jammable quantum and strange matter linkage communications had recently been completely jammed and rendered unusable by an enemy through unknown means in a combat theater.
The communications procedures book now contained how to even use flashing lights or waved cloth to signal others, as well as flares, smoke, and fire.
He was in his room, which he shared with three other soldiers as part of Second Platoon, Bravo Company, Ninth Battalion, Second Brigade, Fifth Regiment, Twenty-Third Infantry Division, XII Corps, 14th Army.
Undrat liked the long label. It let him know exactly who was in charge of him, which made him more comfortable. He could recite the names of every commander of each unit, as well as the Executive Officer and Master Enlisted and knew them by sight from their pictures. He had even listened to recordings of their speech over and over until he was confident he could remember them by their voice if he ever heard it.
It was good to remember things.
He sat in his adaptive camouflage uniform, the rank of Private Grade Two on his sleeves. He had been promoted once he had finished his training, arrived at his new unit, and passed the basic tests to ensure he had retained the knowledge outside of training.
Of course he had. Once he had learned it, he would not forget it.
When he heard it, he raised his head from his book, frowning.
YOU BELONG TO US
Sighing, he turned off the dataslate and got up, setting it on the desk. He grabbed his hat and headed for the door.
He doubted that the scream was friendly.
As he trudged toward the armory he heard it again.
YOU BELONG TO US
This time he heard the scream back from every Terran around him.
EAT A DICK!
Terrans were running by, heading toward the armory. Like Undrat's people, the Terrans had evolved as pursuit hunters, persistence hunters, on a high gravity world.
Undrat wasn't worried. He knew he would get to the armory in time to sign in and make formation.
He looked forward to protecting his former Overseer.
After all, the Overseer had protected Undrat and his people.
It was only fair.
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Seriously wtf is up with housing in Canada?

The Cabal got played. How centuries of deception from within led to their ultimate downfall.

So I cannot stress enough how much of a big deal the Empress lore book is on future narratives. For those who have not read it or wish to read the lore as it's earned in game, spoilers follow.

"The war is all there is. All this- this is just logistical support."

— Umun'arath
Umun'arath was the Evocate-General of the Cabal Empire and Primus of All Legions. Calus was responsible for employing her service and to understand why we first have to understand the events preceding her ascension to power. Much of this backstory is in the Cabal Booklet released in the Destiny 2 Collector's Edition .
Originally the Cabal Empire was ruled alongside the emperor by a military aristocracy called the Praetorate. The Praetorate masters profited off of the Cabal's Legions, who lacked citizenship within the Empire.
Calus viewed the Praetorate as corrupt and parasitic, and led a purge of them early on in his reign as Cabal Emperor, seizing the Praetorate's vast accumulated wealth for redistribution and giving the Legions the rights of citizens.

"The Legions made an iron wall around them, and the people suffered so the Legions could grow. I cast down the Praetorate! I gave the Legions the right to speak as citizens!"

But as Calus later found out, he still needed an army to protect his people. So later we read in the booklet:

"But I still needed armies, and armies need a leader. So I chose a combat veteran to serve as Evocate-General."

An evocatus in Ancient Roman times was a veteran soldier that would return to service at the invitation of a consul or other commander. But Evocate, meaning to call forth, summon or conjure was a fitting name for her in more ways than one as we shall find out.

"I am sorry for Umun'arath, the worst mistake I ever made."

— Calus
Calus tried to reach out to her and to teach her that war is only a way of protecting happiness. But of course Umun's philosophy was quite different. She saw war as a constant and everything that Calus had built - the crowds, the triumphal architecture, the gardens in the sky - as inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.
She would later betray him alongside Ghaul, the consul and his own daughter.

"I watched her. I wasn't a fool. But when at last she betrayed me, she acted through a simple consul and his protégé - damnation upon the name of Ghaul! Umun'arath would consign my people to an eternity of fear and strife. She would pillage and tax my people in the name of their "protection", and yet it will be the soldiers that she protects."

Umun'arath helped return the empire to it's old ways and essentially extorted the people whilst perpetual wars were waged. She was essentially Ghaul's right hand woman. It's no wonder Calus said that she must die.

"Umun sees terror all around her: machines who can eat her worlds, barbarians who corrode her frontiers, wizards who thirst for her soul, and worse.
Umun is afraid of the outside. See that her doom comes from within."

And from within it did.

"With each swing of the sword, the universe grows smaller."

— Umun'arath to Caiatl
It's clear that Umun had begun to influence Calus' daughter Caiatl. Umun taught her the art of war and conquest but began to slowly twist her to her way of thinking. As Calus said, Caiatl would hide away with Umun, whispering about threats that gathered on our frontier. She eventually started to see Umun's way of thinking, becoming increasingly paranoid and came to see her father as weak. So much so that she would eventually conspire against him alongside Ghaul and Umun.
But Umun's philosophy went further than even Caiatl's. As we read in the CHAPTER 2: STAR PILOT lore book, after Caiatl failed in the battle simulation she said she would not fail again. But Umun told her "Wrong, you will die many more times if you wish to live." This was an early sign of her philosophy. A philosophy of Total War. With no regard for how many would die in the process. Retreat was not an option. Only total victory.
But this philosophy obviously caught the attention of a certain Hive god. And exploit this curiosity She did. In time Umun became more and more obsessed with learning about the Hive until it bordered on admiration. As we read in the lore book CHAPTER 4: SOLDIERS, Umun even had a book bound with mottled flesh that she had begun to study (eerily similar to the Dredgen Yor who also had a Hive book in his possession).

"I've been so engrossed. Come see the future of the Cabal army."
"They don't fear pain," Umun said. Perverse admiration crept into her voice. "They don't fear death."

It at this point Caiatl begins to question Umun's philosophy. But as we read, Umun has already been seduced by the philosophy of the Sword Logic.

"With each swing of the sword, the universe grows smaller, Caiatl. The competition fiercer. If we don't learn a new way, we'll be cut down with the rest." Her voice went quiet. "We must accept new gods, or we'll perish."

In the CHAPTER 5: NEW GODS lore tab we read the fate of the Evocate-General. It would as Calus predicted come from within and it would change everything.

[You are war, and I conjure you with war and blood.]

— Savathûn to Xivu Arath
Umun had begun a summoning ritual, evoking her new God.

"In the central square of Torobatl's weaponsmith district, a bright green flame licked the air. Umun'arath stood against the blaze, naked but for a waist wrap, in the custody of two guards. Her hide was carved with strange, crude symbols."

When quizzed on which God this was, Umun responded "The God of War". Here is where things get very interesting. We know that the Hive God of War she is referring to is Xivu Arath herself. Fitting considering her namesake 'arath.
But at that moment we hear a whisper, not from Xivu, but from Savathûn.

"Here comes the Princess-Imperial," she said. "To kneel before our new god."[I am Savathûn, whispering.]
Caiatl strode forward. "Let her go," she told the guards. Reluctant, they did as she asked. "What god, Umun? What heresies have you invented now?"
Umun grinned. "The god of war," she said, and the earth trembled beneath them.
[But the god of war has planted her armies elsewhere; it is her sister, smiling, that has taken the ear of the warchild Umun'arath.]

This right here is very important. It was Savathûn all along who had been deceiving and corrupting Umun. The deception may have even carried into her name "'arath". While it's never mentioned why or how Umun came to bear this moniker it's clear that this name may have deceived many (including us as the player). It certainly would not be the first time someone corrupted by the Hive changed their name either.
How many theories were spawned believing that Umun was merely a pawn of Xivu Arath. Not just with us through the fourth wall but within the universe of Destiny. Anyone familiar with Umun and Xivu would have made that connection. Umun even seems to have believed it herself. And yet this trickery and deception only caused to make Savathûn stronger.

"In your immortality, Sathona, you may never abandon cunning. If you do, your worm will consume you." Verse 1:9 — The Bargain

As Savathûn herself mentions

"I'm going to refinance my entire existence. I'm going to move from an existential economy based on the accumulation of violence to an existential economy based on the accumulation of secrets and the tribute of failing-to-understand-me. I shall name this tribute of failing-to-understand IMBARU"

Xivu as we would see would benefit from this too.

"The world is my court, wherever there is war."

— Xivu Arath
As Primus of All Legions, Umun'Arath had helped put the Cabal Empire into a state of total war since Calus' exile. Countless lives lost in a perpetual war waged by a practitioner of the Sword Logic, unwittingly or otherwise. Umun'arath had even taken on the Hive, radically adapting their military for close quarter combat with the Hive arsenal, including their war moons. For Umun'arath, and the Cabal at large - war became their religion.
Savathûn and Xivu must both obey their nature. Savathûn feeds her worm through trickery and deception. Xivu's court and sword space extends wherever there is war. And how they did both reap the rewards.
But the ultimate mistake is actually made by Caiatl, unbeknownst to her.
As Caiatl challenges Umun, Savathûn whispers to her sister.

[Xivu Arath, hear me.]
[You are war, and I conjure you with war and blood.]
[A gift for my favorite sister.]

Caiatl then slays Umun and pushes her back into the green soulfire blaze. At the moment she is consumed a gargantuan portal opens in the skies over Torobatl. Xivu Araths fleets pour directly into their homeworld as cryptoliths pop out of the ground.
But Savathûn was the true mastermind here. She had been all along. She had manipulated Umun into putting the entire Cabal space into a state of total war through the art of deception. A blood sacrifice was all that was needed to seal the deal and allow Xivu to open a portal into her new sword space which had become coterminous with Cabal territory.

"You can enter this plane using nothing but dead essences"

— Osiris
If you paid attention during the Coup de Grâce mission in which we hunt the High Celebrant. We follow a green soulfire trail as we track the Celebrant across planes. "That's residual energy. A blood trail. Destroy it, and the essences in your lure should reopen the portal". Osiris mentions "To think, you can enter this plane using nothing but dead essences".
And Caiatl had unwittingly became the implement used to make this sacrifice. The final piece in Savathûn's master play as Xivu Arath collected centuries worth of tribute.

She cursed Umun and the vermin Hive, but more than that, she cursed herself. She was responsible for the destruction of their home. A voice as loud as thunder spoke to her, deafening:
MY HOME IS WAR. MY VOICE IS A BATTLE SONG.
FOR AS LONG AS YOU HAVE WORSHIPPED WAR, YOU HAVE WORSHIPPED ME.
I AM HERE TO CLAIM MY TRIBUTE. IT IS OVERDUE.

Caiatl and Umun were just pawns in a Queen's gambit.
The Cabal got played.

"The demiurge of the Cabal is authority"

—Ulan-Tan
We cannot underestimate how devastating a blow this was to the Cabal. With Ghaul off on his crusade to the Sol system, Umun'arath may very well have been the highest ranking military officer left to watch over the Empire. The Hive really did hit the Cabal where they hurt the most - corrupt their authority and you corrupt them all.
But I can't help but feel we may be next. As Osiris said "the Celebrant seeks to bring more territory under Xivu Arath's control." The board is being set. The pieces, put in place. Sol is now a warzone. The Witch Queen continues to scheme.
Could we be playing right into Her hands?
The Fall of Torobatl is not just a tragedy. It's a warning.
TL;DR: The Fall of Torobatl was a masterplay of cunning and deception on Savathûn's part centuries in the making. Umun'arath had been deceived and corrupted into helping to put the Cabal Empire into a state of Total War. Caiatl's anger at Umun's betrayal led to the blood sacrifice that allowed Xivu and her armies to pour directly into their home world. This should serve as a lesson not to underestimate how powerful these Hive Goddesses really are.

Note: We know it was centuries because Calus had been in exile for centuries according to this lore. Umun'arath famously said to Calus "the war is all there is" before his exile.

My uncle left me a shifty little bar in his will. Here's why you should always appreciate good employees.

I like my bar. It's gross and dirty and everything here is always broken, but I loved it the second I came inside. The employees are a handful but you learn not to let that bother you. They just enjoy playing pranks and I'm one step ahead of those most of the time anyways.
Take Andrik for example. Andrik's thing used to be to pour stuff over me. I've had potato chips, confetti, sugar… he wanted to give flour a try too, but when I saw him weirdly perched on the counter with something hidden behind his back, I could see it coming from a mile away. I just walked right up to him and said, "If you do that, I'll have you clean it out. I'll lean over the sink and you're gonna wash it out." I was actually serious. Andrik lowered his head and slowly slid off the counter.
Considering that, a lot of things here aren't exactly as bad as they seem. There was still plenty Uncle Mack had seen fit to warn me about though. What I'm about to tell you happened very early on. I think it might have even been before I met Cole. I wasn't used to anything yet, rather I was still trying to wrap my head around all the strangeness that had so suddenly been thrust upon me. I was standing behind the counter on a slow day, reading one of my uncle's letters.
"Dear Giulia,
About the backroom people. You've probably noticed by now but they're not as bad as they seem at first glance. Their pranks included. I bet you've gotten a couple tripwires already? I've had to go through the exact same thing. But it's okay, they need you as much as you need them, but it's important you do not make them dislike you. You can anger them, sure; punish them for jokes that go too far but don't be cruel. You're probably not the type for that but I'm still saying it just to be safe. You don't want to know how they can get when you give them reason to hate you.
In case you do want to know though, you'll find the whole story in the letter after this one. Or maybe you can ask Andrik about it; perhaps he likes you enough to let you in on it more carefully, I don't know. Just consider it a fair warning.
Sincerely, Your Uncle Mack."
I looked up from the letter in confusion. I figured I really should ask Andrik first, but upon turning around, I found myself face to face with him. I let out a tiny gasp and he took a step back and apologized.
"Did you see the letter?" I asked. He nodded, so I asked what it was about. He took the piece of paper from my hand and scanned it hurriedly before giving it back to me.
"I don't want to talk about that. You're still adjusting and you'd just end up being afraid. You've got a job to do. Just try to get used to that first before digging into something you might not like finding out."
"Come on, this place has spooked me plenty of times already. I can handle it."
Andrik shook his head. "Please, just be patient. There's being able to handle something and there's being able to handle it well. Two different things, easy to confuse."
I gave in but of course, I read the letter that night when he and the others were asleep in the backroom. I know I might have been better off heeding his advice but there's just some things you can't push into the back of your mind and ignore. This was one of those. There was also the intrigue of Uncle Mack's secret life. Reading his letters always gave me this uncanny yet familiar feeling. I had known this man, but not really. While he was alive, I hadn't thought him to be interesting in the least, but now… it's a very strange thing to think about.
I sat down in one of the corner booths with the letter. The bar was silent and empty. The only light that was still on was the tiny tabletop lamp in front of me illuminating the pages in my hands. The image of Uncle Mack the way I'd known him–a tall, heavy yet visibly strong man with stubbles on his chin and unkempt brown hair–was still fresh in my mind when I began to read.
"Dear Giulia,
My father wasn't a good man. His name was Steve. Nobody who knew Steve liked him; he had a superficial kind of charm but once you spent more time around him, the true colors started to show. It was his job to run the bar and while he was popular with the regulars, that slimy asshole treated the employees like shit.
For your information, Lia, the backroom people don't need much. If they ever want anything, they'll be very direct about it and you should grant them what little they ask of you, but there's no need to pamper them. They're made for doing what they do, this place is their life. You're probably wondering what they are exactly. They've been called a lot of names throughout history and different cultures, but none of those descriptions really capture the essence of our four spirits.
My grandmother called them Domovoi, my grandfather insisted they were Brownies, but in essence, they're fairies of the hearth. Domestic spirits, creatures that at one point have been attached–or attached themselves–to a house or a family and seek to establish order there. They're helpful, mischievous at times and spiteful when angry, but most of the time, they're quite alright. As for Andrik and the others, they're a little different from the old tales. For one, a house spirit's presence is more often felt than seen, but these guys just strut around the bar like they own the place. They're not very shy. Also, instead of just sowing dissension or whatever when provoked, they've gotten violent before.
My Dad always used to take me to the bar with him, even when I was little. He said he wanted me to get used to everything but I think he just wanted me to be the extra hand. He was the kind of guy who cleaned glasses with his spit, you know. Back when I was little, the backroom people were very nice to me. They'd try to take on most chores that were given to me so I'd have more time to play. My father however wasn't as popular with them, and for good reason. He'd chase them around, scream at them, call them names and he even threw a glass at one of the girls one time after closing. I have to be honest, he frightened me when he'd get like that. Worse yet, I could see the backroom people growing increasingly discontent with him, but they appeared to be less afraid than furious.
I would often ask my father why he wasn't being nicer to them. I simply didn't get it, they were perfectly friendly. They never did anything wrong. Dad just laughed and said, "They're not human, boy! They're more like devils than people and someone has to put the fear of God into them!" That settled the matter for him. I saw it was getting worse though. These hateful glances the backroom people would shoot him, how they'd whisper to each other when he wasn't listening… I had a feeling something very bad was about to happen, and soon. You can only hit a dog with a stick for so long until it starts biting you.
It was Andrik that bit. I saw him go down to the backroom in broad daylight one day. Nobody had told him to go there. I was confused, obviously, so I followed him. I stayed at the top of the staircase and watched as he knelt down in the middle of the room, his back turned to me. He was sitting up straight, his head lowered almost abjectly. He was mumbling something, but I could only pick up on snippets of what he was saying. It was something along the lines of "have mercy on my soul" and "forgive my disrespect" but I wasn't quite certain. It was an unnerving sight. Andrik had always been this calm, lively guy but right then, he looked almost menacing.
I was nervous, so I shifted my weight on my feet, causing the floorboards below me to creak. I winced, and Andrik's head jerked around. I backed away, but he'd already seen me. He hurriedly stood up and quickly climbed the stairs. He grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me back inside, shutting the door behind us. I stared up at him with wide eyes, nervous and uncertain. I didn't know what I'd just overheard, but I had a feeling it wasn't good.
"Hey buddy," Andrik said, crouching down to get on eye level with me. The softness of his voice took me by surprise. I had expected him to be mad at me, but he didn't seem to be; not at all. "So, can you keep a secret?"
Don't get me wrong, I knew this wasn't right, but I didn't want to risk testing him, so I said yes.
"Then I'd really like for you not to tell anybody you saw me pray." He tilted his head. "I'll know if you tattle on me."
"I won't," I promised, my heart sinking. Curiosity overtook me though, and I stammered, "What were you praying for?"
"Forgiveness."
"Did you do something bad?"
He smiled bitterly and shook his head. "No, but there's something bad I'm gonna have to do soon. It's necessary." He paused and looked me over with a sad expression, like he felt sorry for me. "Can you do something else for me? When you're home tonight, please go to bed early and don't get up."
I would have done anything just to end that conversation so I quickly nodded and told him I would. Andrik patted my shoulder and walked past me. I tried hard to sleep that night, but despite my efforts, I laid awake. My talk with Andrik had really shaken me up. I wasn't sure what it was he was going to do, but I was afraid nevertheless. My mother and father had already gone off to bed a long time ago and were peacefully asleep, just like my baby brother and sister in the room next to mine. I kept glancing over at my alarm clock, which is how I knew that it was around three in the morning when I heard a strange noise coming from somewhere downstairs.
It was a kind of metallic clattering. I got up from bed and quietly opened the door that led out into the hallway. I tried to make as little noise as possible as I sneaked down the stairs and around the corner. It was coming from the kitchen, I was sure of it. To get into our kitchen you'd have to walk through the living room first, so that's what I did. I crouched down and crawled over to behind the couch where I decided to stay and hide. I figured who- or whatever was rummaging around back there wouldn't spot me, but since the kitchen was open and not separated from the living room, I could still look inside from where I was hiding if I just leaned over a little. I carefully peered out from behind the couch, just in time to see the oven door swing open.
What happened next shouldn't have been possible. Our oven was of a normal size, able to fit a turkey but not a person, and yet… from behind the door, two hands emerged, grabbing on to either side. They were followed by a head and then a neck and shoulders. A loud creaking noise accompanied the intruder as he slowly pulled himself out of the oven and onto the tiled floor. More and more of him came slithering out of that confined, dark space; not unlike an enormous snake emerging from its lair. It was grotesque. The way his limbs bent and stretched as he crawled outside; no human body could ever move that way. I clung to the edge of the couch cushion, trying to keep my hands from trembling and my heart from beating too fast for fear the man would somehow impossibly hear it.
Finally, he rose to his feet. I watched as he looked around in the kitchen in the darkness. There was a block of knives on the counter and he grabbed one by the handle and pulled it out. It was slim and sharp. He held it up as though he was considering it. My stomach turned. The man let out a soft sigh and, knife in hand, made his way out into the living room. He walked by me without even stopping and my heart leapt with relief. However when the moonlight coming in through one of the living room windows fell onto his face, I found it to be strikingly familiar. Don't get me wrong, I had known all along it was Andrik but there's a difference between knowing something and realizing it.
He made his way upstairs, his feet not making a single sound as he carried himself across the floor. I waited until I was sure he'd reached the hallway above before I crept out from my hiding spot and followed him with bated breath. When I arrived on the upper floor, I found that the door to my parents' bedroom stood open. I hid behind the doorframe and cautiously peered inside. My mind was racing with thoughts of what he was going to do. Would he kill my father? Stab him or slit his throat? I wanted to do something, stop him somehow, but I couldn't. I knew if I were to try and fight him, it'd be my death sentence, that I was sure of. In hindsight, maybe if I'd just screamed loudly to wake up my parents, Andrik would have fled, but as a little boy that simply didn't occur to me.
My breathing had become faster and more labored, and I covered my mouth and nose with my hand trying to quiet it. From where I was cowering, I could see my Mom and Dad sleeping in their bed. Andrik was sitting on the floor to my father's side. He had turned on the small lamp on his nightstand, the light of which was just dim enough not to wake up either of my parents.
I watched as he peeled away the blanket and pulled out my father's arm. He then brought the blade of the knife to his mouth and, to my surprise, slowly dragged his tongue across it. I could see his spit glistening on the tip. He was holding Dad's arm in place with his other hand and, mumbling something I couldn't quite understand, lowered the wet knife down to Steve's exposed palm. I knew he'd cut him because the knife came back slightly bloodied. Andrik carefully sat the weapon aside and pressed Dad's palm into a tight fist with both hands. He was still whispering to himself until he eventually withdrew, picked up the knife and got to his feet.
Realizing he was coming back, I quickly slid behind a nearby cabinet, hoping he wouldn't see me. He didn't. Andrik calmly walked back outside, shut the door behind himself and went back downstairs; only stopping on his way to straighten a framed photo hanging on the wall. I heard water running down in the kitchen and assumed he was cleaning the knife, followed by the sound of the oven door being opened and shut. When I was certain he was gone, I went back to bed. I spent the rest of the night lying awake, too terrified to sleep.
My father was changed that night. Everyone, in- and outside of our family noticed. He had completely lost his temper, he didn't yell or shout anymore, but neither did he smile or laugh. When he wasn't working at the bar, he just sat around at home, staring into the distance like a zombie. He ate and slept and all that, but it was as though the rest of him had vanished. He rarely talked, and when he did, it was mostly just nonsensical rambling in an eerily soft voice.
I was still very young at the time. Seeing my old man like that frightened me and I avoided him like the plague. I never told Mom about what really happened that night. She sought out the help of doctors for both the body and the mind, never giving up hope that her husband would return to her the way he used to be someday. I was the only one who knew that no earthly medicine could ever cure my father of what had befallen him; I was the only one who knew of Andrik's curse. Steve died early, when he was in his late fifties. I took over the bar and that was that. At first, I was wary of Andrik, but I wasn't about to make the same mistake as my Dad. I was always nice to him and the others and eventually, they started viewing me as a point of trust, even a friend.
That, Giulia, is the type of relationship you want to have with the backroom people. Be their friend, but a friend with authority. A good boss, basically. There's no need to be afraid of them, and when there is… well, you'll be the first to know. Now, I know you well enough, kid–you're mellow. Unlikely to lash out. But still, I didn't sit down and write out this childhood experience like it was a horror story for nothing, so please do take it to heart. I don't want to scare you, it's simply a warning.
Sincerely, Your Uncle Mack."
That was how I found out more about the backroom people. Of course, it was hardly all there was to know about them, but it was a start. Mack's letter had left me with a queasy feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach that day. As much as I hated to admit it, Andrik had probably been correct–I really should have waited a bit longer. Better yet, when I kept to myself the following day, he immediately knew what was up. He caught me on my way out of the bathroom.
"You found out about Steve, didn't you?" he began.
I nodded slowly.
"Okay, listen. I'm not planning on doing anything to hurt you. I mean, not right now I'm not. If you start acting out on us, I might change my mind. Steve simply had to go. I did not sign up for being kicked around."
I raised my brows. "Then what did you sign up for, exactly?"
"Nevermind."
"No, tell me! Uncle Mack said something about you being bound to a place. You mean you agreed to that? Is that what happened?"
Andrik threw his head back in exhaustion and let out an exasperated groan. "Just go back to work!"
I didn't prod. At least not that day. Even I knew it was too early.
X
Part 1: The employees sleep in the backroom
Part 2: The regular who had a doppelgänger
Part 3: The little girl who beat me up.
Part 4: The regular who never stops crying.

Why did the garbagemen start coming in the dead of night?

I've been losing an average of 30 minutes of sleep every night for the past 10 days.
Now I’m down to a paltry 4 hours and 30 minutes, my walls are beginning to shift and my vision is blurring.
I have to focus. I NEED to focus.
Someone out there has to know.
Does anyone know why the garbage collectors have switched to the night shift?
Even asking it sends shivers down my spine. It’s late and soon I will hear them turn up to collect. I can’t sleep upstairs anymore, not where they can see me.
Now I sleep in the living room with my gun propped up against my shoulder, the weight a stern reminder that I am present.
I am awake.
I am a threat to them.
They won’t try anything if I’m a threat to them, right?
Fuck, I’m sorry. Let me explain.
My name is Tyson. I’m a farmer with a thriving family, a loving wife and two bright young boys. We live in a very remote area that requires a significant amount of divergence for basic services. I won’t say where, I won’t risk my family or my business, especially knowing what kind of armchair detectives there are out there. I respect what you all do and fear you in equal measure. So I’d rather throw you a bone you can thoroughly chew on as opposed to delving into mine and my famili’s personal info.
What I can tell you is this patch of land has been in my family for six generations, was not acquired illegally, built on sacred land, and to the best of my knowledge has NEVER had a violent occurrence or bloodshed.
We’re normal, hardworking folks who have always tried to do right.
Which makes what is going on here all the more difficult to understand, to quantify and reason with when the basic logic gives way.
I hear you, you’re undoubtedly scratching your heads and asking “why are garbage collectors such an issue?” and I don’t blame you. I’ll get to that.
Something shifted by the gates. No sound, can’t be the garbagemen, you hear them a mile off.
They’re not subtle about making their presence known.
The first night they turned up was so startling that I honest to god thought we were being robbed by the most unprofessional thieves this part of the world had ever birthed. Rambunctious, loud and borderline jovial in their candour.
It was always the same. Each and every time.
The sounds of the huge mechanical vehicle roaring as it drove up my dirt road, crushing twigs and kicking up dirt as it ground to a stop by the gates some 50ft from my front door.
Two thuds, boots hitting the ground, stumbling over to the main gate where our trash was left for the garbagemen on a Tuesday. Usually a couple of surly men got out, grunted, and hauled ass out of the area as soon as possible.
These two? Couldn’t have been happier to be there from the sounds of things. Young men, the smiles almost visible in their tone;
“This the one, Bill? Looks ready to me!”
“I reckon it is, Jeff! Let’s get ‘er done!”
A laugh, a high five, the sounds of something being dragged and thrown into the truck before they’d back out of the driveway and go off into the night.
Unusual, right? My wife & kids certainly thought so, especially when the trash was still there the next morning.
“Maybe they were some weird kids pulling a prank?” My wife Lucy remarked, taking a sip from her coffee and glancing nervously at the window. I think she was saying it more for our boys benefit than our own. I nodded and ushered them away from the windows, told them to go play.
The next night, it happened again. No specific time so much as that dead of night period between 1am and 3am when the world falls totally silent around you. None of our animals made a peep during that time frame, nor did we dare to.
Because when we heard them roll up again, we were paralysed with fear.
It took a few minutes to realise it, but when I looked to my wife and she returned my fearful glance with a wide-eyed stare and a nod, we scooped up the boys and huddled in our bed.
The exact same sounds. The exact same timed footsteps. The exact same conversation.
We heard them drag something wet into the truck before leaving after maybe 15 minutes. My younger boy Jace was always anxious and hearing this uncanny valley shit at his age sent him into a panic attack. We spent the remaining time soothing him while my older son Travis took to peering through the window with me.
Our pig pen that lay some 40ft to the right of the house had the door ripped off the hinges and a blood trail leading from the entrance all the way to the farm gates where the garbagemen had been.
When we mustered up the courage to inspect further, the pigs were silent, unmoving and staring at the long dirt road that lead away from the home, the tall trees that littered our farm looming overhead as if to silence them from telling what they’d seen.
We tried calling the city council to complain, but they were as perplexed as we were, said trash pickup day was still Tuesday and that since it was only Sunday, we weren’t due. They advised we filed a complain with the police for trespassers, but that yielded absolutely nothing.
In the meantime, things escalated.
Night 3 brought us the same routine, same sounds. Even after we’d taken to putting a lock on the pig pen, they still took one. This time making sure to leave a small pile of viscera behind, perhaps as a warning.
We elected to putting the animals in the barn and dead bolting it, hoping the pranksters would get the message and perhaps get bored. I’d ordered a cctv camera but with my location being so out of the way, it was going to take time to arrive and I wasn’t about to stand in my window with a camera pointed out at some weirdos.
We didn’t consider the consequences of this defiance.
It was Night 5. The boys were sleeping in our room and like clockwork; they showed up and pulled me from what little sleep I was getting, my wife soon after. Silently, goosebumps raised on our skin and a chill in our bones, we strained our ears against the open window, hoping to hear their frustration and subsequent decision to leave.
The routine continued until “Jeff” spoke to “Bill”.
The moment they opened their mouths, I knew something was horribly wrong.
“This the one, Bill? Looks locked to me!”
“I reckon it is, Jeff… Let’s pay ’em a visit.”
They rattled our front door knob and politely knocked at the door. Five rhythmic knocks, five seconds of silence, five more aggressive knocks.
I bolted downstairs and grabbed my rifle, keeping the lights off but my aim focused on them. Adrenaline pushing fear aside, if only to defend my family.
“I don’t know who the fuck you are, but you’ve been coming onto my property unannounced and I ain’t standing for it no more.” I pulled back on the bolt and the sound filled the room.
“You got three seconds to turn on your heel, or I’m firing!”
My eyes adjusted to the front door and in the darkness, two shapes stood behind my door, shrouded by the shadow of the night. They were tall, thin legs and bizarre movements… like they were swaying in place.
Those three seconds felt like an eternity.
“ONE!”
The shadow to the front leaned forward, trying to press its face against the glass. Something was wrong.
“TWO!”
It moved away and tapped the letterbox, testing if it opened up. When it did, it held it open and spoke as the second shadow stepped closer.
Three never came. Instead I backed away out of terror and barricaded our room, unable to speak.
It repeated my last words back at me. Exact same pitch. Exact same tone. But something was… off about it. Like hearing your own voice played back through old speakers, you sense an eeriness to it.
As i’d instinctively taken steps back, however, the other one spoke. This was the first Time either said anything that didn’t repeat and I swear to god it makes my heart pound in my throat just typing it.
“We have come to collect. Come outside.”
My legs carried my body before I could register what was going on. Rushing to the bedroom and locking it, I pulled my family in close and held my head down to theirs, desperate to block out whatever ungodly sounds erupted from our front door.
It took a half hour before they gave up, assumed their usual routine and left, the sound of the tires speeding off up the road bringing some degree of relief.
Until the following morning when our nearest neighbours, The Gundersons, reported a break in at their farm some 5 miles up the road. The perpetrators had smashed through the gate, entered the barn and done such violent acts to their cattle that of the ten that had been attacked and mutilated, only two survived and were immediately put out of their misery by the patriarch, Ted.
“You’ve been havin’ problems with these sons of bitches too, Ty?” He bellowed down the phone once I began retelling our sleepless events. “Shit, you sound like hell and probably look worse than the cows at this point. I ain’t havin’ it. You got a young family to support and when they hurt one of us, they hurt all of us. Tonight we put an end to it, ya hear?”
I nodded, agreeing to stake out our property that night and do whatever needed to be done. Hands still shaking, I grabbed a stiff drink from the cabinet. Never been much of a drinker, most of this was my dads for the tougher times. But if times weren’t tough now, I don’t know when the fuck they would be.
Ted rolls up around 11pm, wife and kids are asleep and we shoot the shit in the living room for a while, mainly discussing how the harvest had gone and what we could do to protect our livelihoods in this day and age. The conversation petered off as they often do when a night draws on, but it was as we fell silent that the realisation swept over us;
We were going to confront these people tonight.
I gripped my gun a little tighter as Ted gave me an assuring nod, peeking out the window for any signs of the garbagemen.
“Son of a… my farm!” He bellowed, springing to his feet and bursting out the door before I could get a word in edgeways.
He was halfway down the road before I could ask him what the fuck he was doing. He turned, his eyes wild with fear and rage, pointing a shaking finger to the small shape that was his house far across the hill.
It was on fire. Large pillars of smoke billowing forth as the fire danced in the light, illuminating the surrounding fields.
“I can’t sit here while my farm… my livelihood burns away, Ty. If those bastards are behind this… well, you can’t bet your ass they won’t last the night when I’m through with ‘em! I’ll teach ‘em a fuckin’ lesson about the value of things… the things people throw away.” He turned on his heel and ran to his truck, speeding off before anything more could be said.
This would be the only night the garbagemen don’t pay us a visit. I get a bit of extra sleep, but my wife doesn’t. She just stares out the window at the Gunderson farm in the distance and shakes her head.
She knows how there will be no help on the horizon.
She knows how close we are to that fate.
And seeing that scares me to death.
-
The 8th night. They arrive with no vehicle sounds, no grand build up to the crescendo of their routine. They whistle softly as if calling an animal, patient in their call as they scrape something around in the dirt.
I’m crippled by fear and cannot dream facing them, I look around in the dark and see Lucy is still asleep, Travis is snoring in the corner… but Jace… Jace is wide awake and transfixed.
And staring at the window overlooking our driveway, reaching out to open it.
I leap out of bed and just about tackle him away, the shock of waking up to such a violent affair sending him into a panic attack as the entire family snaps awake in a frenzy, shouting over one another as he cries uncontrollably.
“This has got to stop, Tyson. We can’t do this anymore… We can’t live like this…” Lucy was exhausted, her eyes barely open and her teeth chattering. In the moment of silence between us, the whistling started again, almost mocking in its tone if it weren’t for the sinister giggling behind it.
“SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LEAVE US ALONE!” She screamed, walking towards that same window. It took everything I had to hold her back as she fell to pieces in my arms, the entire family crippled by nerves and a lack of sleep.
It was only when one voice cut the air that the final nights events were set in motion.
“The things people throw away…”
Oh, fuck… Ted…
One look into my wife’s eyes and I knew what she was thinking. There was no stopping her.
She darted around, packing the kids’ clothes and any essentials she could find, ignoring the whistling outside and instructing our boys to focus on getting whatever they needed.
“You do what you need to do, I don’t care if the nearest town is a three-hour drive or I undergo the seven-hour drive to my moms. I will not stay another night in this fucking house. Not until they’re gone.” She was almost delirious, fuelled by fear and anger as she darted around like a hurricane, turning over tables to get what she needed as if prepping for a weather event. Within the half hour she’d been rushing around, the noises had faded and the outside once again fell silent.
I couldn’t leave the house. It’d been in our family's lineage for generations. We’d been born here, lived here and died here no matter what. As the head of the family, it was my job to stay here and protect it. Even if I couldn’t protect those that I loved most under its roof.
She waited another hour before getting in the car and leaving, kissing me with all the passion she’d had when we first met. I told Jace he had to be strong and that he’d one day conquer his fears because I believed in him. I told Travis that as the eldest; he needed to protect them like his life depended on it.
Then, just like that, I waved them goodbye and promised I’d join them at their mother in laws when this was over.
Now all that was left was to sharpen my resolve and find out what this was. I took the chance to try and get some sleep during the day, but no matter how hard I tried, it wouldn’t come to me. So, liquid courage it was.
One way or another, this was going to end.
-
Night 9. The penultimate night.
Not a sound. I mean that in the most literal sense. The wind didn’t move; the trees didn’t speak, not a single blade of grass danced and no dirt was kicked up.
Everything was silent. So silent. My own thoughts were amplified in this void of sound, every inane thought of what could happen flitted through my mind and forced me to double check every window and door. Triple check the locks, ensure no oversight was left.
Couldn’t let them get an opportunity. Even if it’s just me. I know they’re watching even now. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have said a shadow moved just behind the porch window. Can’t be sure, not without checking.
I think they were biding their time, keeping me on edge and making sure I *knew* they could step in whenever they wanted and do as they pleased.
But I kept my nerve, I resisted the urge to bolt to the truck. I’ve got my whiskey and I’ve got my gun.
I’ll see this through, even if it kills me.
-
Night 10. Now we’re all caught up.
I checked on the animals this morning. What was left was a pile of bones, flesh and waste. They’d been taken the night before and I don’t know how I didn’t hear during the silence. There was but one horse's body left, teeth marks riddled the torso, and the legs had been torn off.
Our crops had grown fetid, decayed and worn, nothing in our farm would yield a damn thing anymore.
My livelihood was decimated in front of my eyes.
Gone.
It’s late now, I’m sat in my armchair with the rifle loaded and ready. My hands are shaking and my knee won’t stop bouncing. I feel the dread start in my gut and worm its way through my chest before lodging in my throat and forcing every breath to be a labour of pain.
They came early tonight, truck roaring and routine sounds in full swing.
Only there weren’t two sets of thuds this time.
There were six.
They walked up to the porch, a shadow covering every facet of the window and the door panes. Not a spec of light coming through.
The voices don’t change their pattern, they never do.
“This the one, Bill? Looks ready to me!” They pound their fists against the window, a dull moan emanating from the background. Pained, muffled and growing in strength.
“I reckon it is, Jeff! Let’s get ‘er done!” Nails drag down the glass. A horrific groaning accompanying the repeated intonations of their godforsaken phrases.
“The things people throw away...” Ted… poor Ted smashing his head against the wall, repeating it with every sick swing.
It was only when I heard the fourth voice that I finally looked out the window, perhaps on instinct.
“Not until they’re gone.”
My Lucy. My sweet Lucy calling to me.
I can’t begin to tell you what I saw when I pulled back the curtains for just a split second, but every forbidden aspect of it is burned into my brain and it will not leave me even as I shut my eyes from the surrounding chorus of madness.
My kids… my fucking kids are now saying they’ve come to collect. That I must come outside. That whistle has come back, it’s… it’s almost soothing.
I can’t bear to do this on my own, I can’t live with that image in my fucking skull anymore. I miss my wife. I miss my kids. I miss sleeping soundly at night.
What if it is them out there? What if they’re really just wanting me to get help and my own sick mind has put me in such a state that I’m here, asking you for help on something that is, at its core, truly simple?
I’m going to put down the laptop and open the door. I have to know.
I have to.
Why did the garbagemen start coming in the dead of night?
Does anyone know?

Lost in the Sauce: Holding Biden accountable

EDIT: IF YOU'RE NEW HERE, PLEASE BROWSE THE OTHER POSTS BEFORE COMMENTING ABOUT HOLDING TRUMP ACCOUNTABLE, TOO. THANKS.
Welcome to Lost in the Sauce, keeping you caught up on political and legal news that often gets buried in distractions and theater… or a global health crisis.
TESTING: This week, I'll be doing shorter but more frequent posts. See pinned comment for details.
Housekeeping:

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Ethics, ethics, ethics

Joe Biden’s brother is already putting the president’s ethics commitment to the test by using his relationship to promote business interests. Frank Biden is a senior advisor for the Florida-based Berman Law Group, serving in a non-legal capacity. On Inauguration Day, the firm took out an ad in the Daily Business Review featuring quotes that highlight Joe Biden’s role and his close relationship with Frank.

“My brother is a model for how to go about doing this work,” Frank Biden says in the ad… The ad suggests that the firm hired Frank Biden due to the “Biden reputation for and motivation to engage in philanthropic, social and environmental issues that presented themselves.”

Joe reportedly warned his brother during last year’s campaign that he wouldn’t accept his family threatening the integrity of his administration. “For Christ’s sake, watch yourself,” he cautioned. A friend of the family relayed their conversations to Politico: “What Frank told me is ‘my brother loves me dearly, but if I lobbied, he would cut my legs from underneath me.”
Similarly bringing up ethical questions, President Biden’s son Hunter has a memoir coming out in April. The book is about Hunter’s struggle to overcome drug addiction and was reportedly in the works before his father became a frontrunner in the Democratic primaries. Nevertheless, given the role Hunter’s business dealings played in Trump’s campaign strategy, the book’s release is likely to garner criticism.
Perhaps more reasonably, though, ethics officials are disturbed by Biden speaking about the book as president. In an interview with CBS News, Biden praised his son’s venture, saying: "The honesty with which he stepped forward and talked about the problem and the hope that -- it gave me hope reading it.”

Edit: It appears that Shaub has since deleted his thread on the matter.

Many of Biden’s appointees came from the opaque world of boutique consulting, raising concerns that their former corporate clients could hold sway over their decisions in government. Secretary of State Tony Blinken founded the secretive consulting firm WestExec; DNI Avril Haines was a principal at the company and Press Secretary Jen Psaki served as a senior advisor. Other officials from the consulting world include National Security Adviser Jake Sullivan - who worked for Macro Advisory Partners representing Uber in labor negotiations - and U.N. Ambassador nominee Linda Thomas-Greenfield, from the “commercial diplomacy firm” Albright Stonebridge Group.

Because its staffers aren’t lobbyists, they are not required to disclose who they work for. They also aren’t bound by the Biden transition’s restrictions on hiring people who have lobbied in the past year… "They're not necessarily making a lobbying contract or doing the direct work of what would be defined as lobbying under the [Lobbying Disclosure] Act, so they don't have to file lobbying disclosure reports," said Delaney Marsco, ethics legal counsel for the Washington-based nonprofit Campaign Legal Center. "So that's a problem. That's a loophole."

In a break with former Democratic presidents, Biden will not wait for the American Bar Association to vet judges before nomination. The tradition, which stretches back to the Eisenhower administration, has served as a way to ensure that judges are qualified for a lifetime position. Presidents George W. Bush and Donald Trump were previously the only administrations to submit nominees without input from the ABA.
Liberal advocacy groups have praised Biden’s decision, citing a perceived bias against women and people of color in the ABA’s rating system. Christopher Kang, a former Obama aide now with Demand Justice, told the New York Times that the ABA committee is “well-intentioned” but “must not be allowed to act as an obstacle to diversifying the bench.”
Despite signing three executive orders to begin rolling back Trump’s immigration policies, advocacy groups are urging the president to move faster. Asylum seekers are particularly vulnerable during the pandemic, trapped in slum-like camps south of the border. Perhaps their best chance at relief is the termination of Trump’s Migrant Protection Protocols, a program that sent over 60,000 asylum seekers to Mexico to wait for their U.S. court hearings. Biden signed an executive order mandating a program review, but it is unclear how long the process will take and what the resulting policy would look like.

Cleaning house

Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin fired all members on 31 of the Defense Department’s advisory boards and suspended the operation of 11 others pending review. The move is aimed at removing last-minute Trump appointees like Anthony Tata, who once called former President Obama a “terrorist leader”. It does not, however, apply to those appointed to the military boards of visitors. During the final days of his administration, Trump named Kellyanne Conway to the Air Force board and Sean Spicer and Russell Vought to the Naval Academy board, among a host of other loyalists.

“There is no question that the frenetic activity that occurred to the composition of so many boards in just the period of November to January deeply concerned the secretary and certainly helped drive him to this decision,” Pentagon spokesman John Kirby said.

Last week, Biden fired four people Trump appointed to the council of the Administrative Conference of the United States, an important independent agency that reviews federal regulations and functions. One of those ousted, Roger Severino, filed a lawsuit to challenge the president’s power to remove him from the position. Severino previously served at Trump’s DHS where he weakened protections for abortion and LGBTQ health care. Adding to his far-right pedigree, before serving in government Severino worked at the Becket Fund, a religious liberty legal group, and the DeVos Center for Religion and Civil Society for the Heritage Foundation.

Republicans have discovered that they can “launder conservative ideas through this government agency,” [an individual who works closely with ACUS told Slate], giving these ideas “a nonpartisan, government-approved sheen” that they don’t deserve.

Biden also forced out all ten Trump-appointed members of the Federal Service Impasses Panel (FSIP), receiving the resignations of eight and firing the remaining two. The FSIP, which is responsible for resolving disputes between executive agencies and federal unions, has been hobbled for years by Trump’s anti-labor members.

Tony Reardon, national president of the National Treasury Employees Union: “The FSIP is supposed to be comprised of members who are qualified, experienced, fair and neutral. The Trump-appointed panel was none of those things, and its record of nearly always siding with agency management, notwithstanding the record before it, proved its bias.”

Cabinet votes and delays

As of Sunday night, the Senate has confirmed just five of Biden’s 15 core cabinet members. By this time in Obama’s presidency, he had 11 confirmed members; W. Bush had all 15; Clinton had 14. The slow pace of confirmations is likely to get even worse as the second impeachment trial of Donald Trump begins on Tuesday.

Sen. Josh Hawley (R-MO) has voted against every Biden nominee so far - six including the five core cabinet members and one cabinet-level position (DNI). Sens. Ted Cruz (R-TX), Marsha Blackburn (R-TN), and Mike Lee (R-UT) have each voted against five nominees.

Merrick Garland, Biden’s nominee for Attorney General, still has yet to even receive a hearing amid delays instituted by former Senate Judiciary Committee Chairman Lindsey Graham (R-SC). Five of the six previous presidents had a confirmed Attorney General by this point in their administration; according to an analysis by the Washington Post, the median wait time for confirmation has been 12.5 days.
Last week, outgoing Judiciary chair Graham denied incoming chair Dick Durbin’s (D-IL) request to schedule Garland’s confirmation hearing today, Feb. 8, before the impeachment trial is slated to begin. Due to former Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell’s threat to filibuster the power-sharing agreement with Democratic leader Chuck Schumer, Republican chairs maintained control over the committees for more than a month into the new Congress. The two sides reached and approved a deal on Wednesday, transferring control of the Senate.

“A one-day hearing as you are proposing the day before the impeachment trial of a former president is insufficient,” Graham (R-S.C.) said in a letter to Durbin. “Democrats do not get to score political points in an unprecedented act of political theater on one hand while also trying to claim the mantle of good government on the other.”

Senate Foreign Relations Committee member Ted Cruz (R-TX) delayed a voted on U.N. Ambassador nominee Linda Thomas-Greenfield last week, hoping to push the full Senate vote back until after the impeachment trial. Cruz believes that Biden’s nominees have adopted a more conciliatory tone toward China compared to the Trump administration. Specifically, he cited “concerns” about a 2019 speech Thomas-Greenfield gave at a Chinese-funded institute in which she expressed hope that both China and America could be positive forces in Africa.
Senate Republicans have also been delaying a hearing for HHS nominee Xavier Becerra since Democrats first started the process in December 2020. Last month, McConnell expressed his opposition to Becerra, tying him to Obamacare’s contraception mandate and highlighting his opposition to the conservative idea of religious liberty. Congressional aides have also outlined a plan to blame Becerra for California’s handling of the pandemic.

A couple wearing matching rings are murdered in 1995. 26 years later, their identities are still unknown. Oklahoma's lesser known version of the highly publicized, widely discussed "Sumter County Does"

Jaylen Brown is a superstar

Jaylen’s Extraordinary Growth
Under The Radar:
The underappreciation of Jaylen Brown has gotten out of control. Despite his impressive playoff run and exceptional 2-way play last season, as well as his position at #8 on ppg scoring this year, he still lives in Jayson Tatum’s shadow in the eyes of many basketball talking heads and analysts. I’m here to tell you not only why this lack of recognition is unfair, but why he is the best player on the Celtics and will make an All NBA 1st or 2nd Team this year.
Unprecedented Improvement:
What Jaylen Brown has done on the basketball court and in the film room has been truly unbelievable. The way he has continued to go back to the drawing board in the offseason and figure out what he needs to get better at has been unique and special. When he came out of college, he was extremely raw. To be quite honest, he had a bad feel for the game and was pretty unskilled; all he really brought to the team was energy on the defensive end and a high flying finish here and there. He wasn’t reliable shooting the ball from anywhere on the court and he had a problem finishing at the rim. In only about 4 years, he has turned himself into a polished offensive player to add to his defensive prowess, and has become, I will argue, one of the top 10 players in the NBA.
Ball Handling and “Feel”:
Jaylen came into the league as a work in progress. On drives to the hoop he often lost the ball and got pushed off his line - he had a hard time controlling his body and the ball which made it tough for him to make decisive and efficient decisions. Ball handling seemed to be the first thing that Jaylen realized he needed to improve upon to be playable in this league. He greatly improved this area of his game during and after his first two seasons, which really allowed him to make a jump. When you’re able to handle the ball, the game slows down for you. You spend less time focusing on controlling the ball and handling pressure and more time with your eyes up making reads. He started to fumble the ball less and became more composed and poised with the ball in his hands. It’s really incredible to notice the differences in Jaylen’s game from his rookie season to the next couple years, specifically in the “feel for the game” category. If a player does make a significant jump in this category (which is incredibly tough), it rarely happens in a year; players do not just wake up one day and understand how to make reads at NBA level quickness with NBA athletes in your face. It normally takes years and years of film breakdown and experience to improve upon things like shot selection and pace (by pace I mean the pace at which the player plays; better players are often able to play “quick without hurrying” by changing speeds at the right moments, not taking aimless dribbles, and using their bodies effectively). For Jaylen Brown, it took an offseason. This season, Jaylen requires the fewest dribbles of any guard and the 4th fewest touches of any player averaging more than 20 points to get his numbers. This is a testament, I believe, to his improved ball handling and feel. His decision making is at an elite level and it shows in those touches and dribbles numbers. It might be counterintuitive, but the better ball handler you are, the fewer dribbles and moves you need to get an opening to the hoop.
Finishing Above, Below, and Around the Rim:
Jaylen began exclusively as a high flyer who could finish above the rim in transition but rarely in other situations. He had a poor left hand and, quite frankly, really poor touch around the rim. He shot 48% on layups his rookie season - that’s really, really bad. This is common for young, explosive athletes though. Oftentimes they don’t have to finish with too much contact or go to their weak hand earlier in their careers because they can simply jump over the defenders they play against - of course it’s a rude awakening for these players when they are finally playing with athletes who are as talented and athletic as them. But with his newfound ball handling ability and increased feel and awareness, Jaylen was able to improve his finishing drastically and adjust well to the heightened athleticism of the NBA. He quickly realized that he would have to rely on more than just his athletic ability and was going to have to develop some finesse in his game. And BOY did he develop some finesse. Jaylen increased his finishing percentage to 54%, 55%, and 62% (2020-2021 season) in the following seasons. This is especially impressive given the expanded pressure he faced nightly as he became more of a focal point of the Celtics offense. He truly looks like a different player around the rim than he used to. He’s able to make high, contested finishes off the glass with both hands, something he could rarely do in the beginning of his career with EITHER hand. He gets to two feet a lot more and seems a lot more in control of his body when he gets into the lane. It seems like his touch has improved significantly, too, which is a fairly unique skill to develop, especially this late in one’s career; it’s usually viewed as more of a natural ability. Jaylen didn’t stop his development there, though. Next, he set his mind on becoming an elite shooter.
Extending his touch beyond the key:
Once Jaylen was able to break people down and get to the hoop, the next logical step for him was to work on his shooting, specifically his 3 point shot. It’s where the league is trending and it’s an extremely sought after skill in today’s pace and space game. In 2018-2019, JB shot 34% from three. He followed that up by shooting 38% the next season and is currently shooting 44% this year. I noticed a difference in the bubble last season; he just seemed like he had an extra level of confidence in his 3 point shot. He was taking more threes in transition and above the break, and his success allowed him to continue to let it fly. This season, Brown is number 1 in the NBA in pull up jump shot percentage at 50% (Min 5 pull up FGA per game and at least 20 MPG). He’s been impossible to stop in the mid range, simply rising over defenders with his athletic ability and stroking it at the top of his jump. He’s even extended his pull up range to three this season. There’s not much more to be said than the fact that Jaylen got in the gym and worked tirelessly on his shot. His pull up mid range, his standstill three, pull up three, you name it. Jaylen worked on it and got better at it. The development is happening before our eyes at an unprecedented pace, and not nearly enough are talking about it.
The Intangibles:
Jaylen has what it takes to be a star in this league. It’s been well noted how intelligent he is, and I think that’s a big reason why we’ve seen this rapid development. He’s both smart enough to figure out what his deficiencies are and address them in a logical and effective way, and dedicated enough to put the hours in required to fix them. This is what separates good players from great players in this league. The good players might be content with scoring 18ppg and continuing their slow, gradual development; great players, on the other hand, completely transform their games in the offseason and add something totally new. Go watch the film of LeBron and how teams defended him in his early seasons. Teams would give him a step or two, essentially allowing him barely-contested pull up jump shots, both from inside the arc and from three. Now, LeBron is a consistent 3 point shooter who is able to hit step back, contested threes with some reliability. He’s a different player than he was earlier in his career; what he’s lost in athletic ability or burst he has made up for in his shooting, which has allowed him to prolong his career unlike anyone else. Joel Embiid has done something similar - he’s brought his game outside the perimeter and it has changed the way he operates in the post. He didn’t allow himself to be put into the box of “post player”, and he’s changing the way we view big men because of it. I see Jaylen Brown’s development fitting into this category. He will attack the offseason with vengeance and a need to improve at a faster rate than his fellow stars. Furthermore, he will strive to show the entire league that he’s not done evolving yet. There’s something else, though, that I find incredibly impressive about Brown. He has been playing in Jayson Tatum’s shadow for essentially his entire time in Boston, and it has seemingly not influenced him one bit. Tatum gets most of the credit for the C’s success and is by far the most talked about player on the team. Unlike many other star players in this league, JB hasn’t let this unfair treatment affect him, and I think that’s a sign of his humility and maturity. For such a young player, this is a level of professionalism we don’t often see, and it’s a testament to how special of a player and person Jaylen is.
Jaylen The Facilitator:
Jaylen’s development is far from over. Just as people have come to understand who Brown is as a player - an elite 2 way player who can break you down with the dribble and score at all three levels - is exactly when Jaylen will go back to the drawing board and add a completely new part to his game. He’s already shown flashes of brilliance as a playmaker; he’s made some beautiful lob passes and pocket passes to Theis and Rob Williams out of the pick and roll, and he’s gotten a lot more comfortable at making reads in delayed transition situations (something he struggled with early in his career). This is the definite logical next step for Jaylen in his development, and I expect him to approach it as such. In fact, I expect Jaylen to address it quite quickly. The C’s have clearly not gotten enough production from their role players and bench this season, and I think Brown will take it upon himself to get them more involved. Given how quickly the other developments in his game have been, I could imagine him becoming an improved facilitator this season. Watch out for it… this is your warning NBA.

You can read more, and see the full post, here: https://analyticcity.com/blogs/help-side-analytics/jaylen-s-extraordinary-growth

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SCJerk

A cat named after a fairy who fiddles with everything and is equipped with a warning sign.

NJ Quality of Life Index at Record Low. 45% of New Jerseyans named property taxes as the state’s most pressing issue. This is a huge warning sign for the state’s political leadership. If New Jerseyans aren’t confident that the situation will turn around, they will start voting with their feet

After falsely arresting man with sign warning of speed trap, Texas police Chief ask for and gets new ordinance to criminalize future warnings from that spot. In the name of safety.

Warning: You must play all games using the name that you signed up with

Ex-Navy man tells of being investigated for espionage after failing a lie detector test: He held in his hands a paper for me to sign. It was the Miranda warning, with my name right at the top just above "SUSPICION OF ESPIONAGE/TERRORISM."

One Piece chapter 999 spoilers