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ambivalentangst · 6 years

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A Tainted Grip

I've been pretty inactive for awhile in terms of original content due to school and some exchange pieces I have to get finished, but the concept of one of the reprogrammed sentries from Galra HQ malfunctioning on Lance’s watch wouldn't leave me alone, so I messed my boy up BAD. This is more whump than angst, though there’s definitely some of both, but I really enjoyed writing something quick and easy. Enjoy!

tw: graphic descriptions of violence

Lance liked the sentries that they reprogrammed, he liked them a lot. Aside from shooting them off into space, it was fun to have someone to do chores with when Coran told everyone it was cleaning day. They all argued that the sentries could have it tidied up faster than all of their efforts combined, but he twisted his mustache around a gloved finger and declared it a team bonding exercise. As much as they complained about it, Lance couldn’t deny that there was something to be said about the camaraderie forged with the person one scrubbed ten-thousand-year-old showers with. That in mind, Lance clapped the one currently folding his laundry on the back. He headed towards his bed, his space home away from space home--it was still so weird to think of empire ships as friendly, but it was fun to run around them without the threat of being shot hanging over his head, so he wasn’t complaining--and heard a hard thunk.

He winced, pivoting to assess the damage. He normally wasn’t one to break machinery. As good as Hunk was with that sort of thing, Lance knew very well how colorful his friend’s vocabulary could get when he broke a delicate piece. Still, he supposed the hit to the sentry wasn’t exactly gentle. He’d have to get the ship mechanic, if he hadn’t jumped ship like a lot of soldiers after Lotor became emperor, to take a look at the droid later and be sure he hadn’t rattled it around too badly. Other than the sound, it outwardly appeared to be fine.

Lance turned back around, going back to his original course of action. He’d been training quite a bit provided in, as much as he hated to admit it, the calm from Lotor’s new reign, and he was ready for a long, long nap. Then, he heard the robotic voice coming from behind him, saying something that certainly wasn’t anything Pidge had programmed into it.

“Programming override. Mission, destroy Voltron.” Lance’s eyes barely had time to widen before he felt a metal hand on his shoulder, and then felt a curling of the droid’s hand into a fist and the crunch of his shoulder. His scream was muffled by the hand that settled over his mouth, and in his pain Lance was only vaguely aware of the red light cast from the glow of the corrupted machine before he was slammed to the ground, his breath battering his lungs before escaping in a rough exhale. Lance wheezed, the world blurring to a smear of magenta walls while the sentry’s foot came down with sickening force on his outstretched fingers, scrabbling for purchase on the slick ground.

His entire face was stinging from the impact of the fall, and Lance didn’t remember where he’d left his bayard. He couldn’t get to it anyways, not with the way a foot was placed on his back to hold him down. Lance couldn’t for the life of him start breathing right again, and what little air he did manage to take in went to keeping him conscious. Screaming was not an option. There was nothing he could do but accept the beating the sentry gave him, metal fists pummeling his body while he attempted to think of a way out through the pain.

Whack.

A blow to his ribs, another crack, and Lance tried to remember where the others were. Pidge had mentioned going to the kitchen, but he didn’t know where that was, and Hunk was in the engine room across the whole ship.

Crunch.

His other hand, and then his ankle, all very quickly. There was a hand fisted in his hair, bringing his head down on the ground while the ringing in his ears intensified. Lance felt a dampness on his cheeks, but he didn’t remember crying. There was only pain, and maybe it was shock, which wasn’t good but Lance wasn’t sure what was good when a programmed warrior was trying to turn him into a pulp of boy and bones and blood. He thought perhaps that was the wetness, then. Blood on his forehead and in his mouth, choking him while he wondered if they could get the stains out of Marco’s jacket. He didn’t let that be washed, because it smelled like home. The first gasping sob was wrought from his lips because he couldn’t stand the idea of coppery blood marring the smell of wrestling in the living room and feeding the dog scraps when his mama wasn’t looking.

Yelling.

Was he able to scream yet, or had that simple comfort been stolen too? Lance wasn’t sure. Did he even want to know? Another question amongst many, and one he had to ignore because it didn’t matter. Nothing dumb like if he screamed or not would change anything if he died. Lance didn’t want to die, but it was hard to cling to the sentiment when he thought his head might explode from it all, and the purple of the room had turned to crimson somewhere along the way.

Sizzling.

The blows stopped, but the pain did not cease. It only got worse when Lance felt a heavy, inanimate body fall atop his own, and more tears wormed their way down his cheeks. He hoped they cleared away the blood for whoever found him because he didn’t want to just be a body, indiscriminate from the others they’d seen when they got to planets too late. He wanted them to know who he was, so they could tell his mama what had happened to him. That would still matter, even if he was dying. How could he not be, when everything was electric agony that sung through every nerve in his body and didn’t stop no matter what he did and how he cried and wished for it all to just end, one way or another.

Dragging.

Small hands went under his shoulders, and he fought to get away because the grip was not so strong, so incredibly overpowering as the last. He had a chance, and he’d do just about anything to stop the blinding pain. Didn’t they know his shoulders were pulverized, just like the rest of him? He tried to tell them as much, screaming and pleading, but they did not stop. Lance fought, up until he tossed his head back and saw green. He knew green. Green gave him the same feeling as looking at his niece, the overwhelming need to protect and shelter her from anything, even himself.

Nothing.

Lance woke in a warm embrace, smelling faintly, familiarly like lavender and sweat, like rushing into battle after showering with the castle provided soap. His eyes blinked open slowly, the scar crossing Shiro’s nose first becoming clear before Lance took in the rest of him. Shiro, strange as he was, as of late, for no particular reason Lance could discern, was somebody he could feel safe with.

Shiro smiled.

“How you feeling, buddy?” he asked. Lance let his head loll for a second, trying to come back to himself. He was now awake enough to feel the tackiness his whole body had after a stint in the pods, along with the traces of a headache and general bad aftertaste in his mouth. The pods healed, but weren’t exactly luxurious in their methods. He raised one hand in a sloppy wave, seeing the rest of his team, minus one, of course. It was with a pang that Lance remembered that Keith would not be joining them in greeting anyone released from a pod for a while yet. He looked back to Shiro, letting his head come to rest against his bicep. With a smile, he answered,

“Like I’ve spent a good while in the pods, but otherwise fine. You?” Shiro laughed, helping Lance stand on his own two feet with his hands on his arms to steady him.

“I’m fine, just glad you’re okay.” As soon as Lance flashed a tired thumbs up, he was swamped by the team, and he felt tears dampen the fabric of the suit he’d been put in for the pods while they crushed the life out of him via hugging.

When they pulled back, his eyes landed on Pidge, whose eyes shone with barely restrained emotion.

“I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, rushing forward and hugging him again, seemingly just for good measure. “When we started reprogramming the sentries, I thought I had my antivirus software installed in all of them, but I must’ve missed some or had a flaw in it somewhere. Some resisting Galra forces hacked in. As soon as it registered to my main console,” Lance would chide her later for eating around her computer, if she’d had to come all the way from the kitchens,“I came over. I didn’t know, didn’t think that without its gun the sentry would be able to do so much damage so quickly.” Lance put his head atop hers, patting her back lightly.

“Don’t worry about it Pidgeon, I’m all good now. I know you did what you could,” he reassured her. Coran was the one to point out that perhaps he was not entirely unchanged.

“Almost good, anyways. You gave us quite the scare, and the bot got a good lick in,” he reminded Lance and spun him to face the surface of the pod in order to see his reflection. Lance saw the truth in his words almost immediately. Stretching from his temple and nicking his brow was a not inconsiderable white scar, shiny in the light. Lance reached up to touch it and was surprised to see that his fingers didn’t tremble much at all when he did.

He couldn’t say he remembered much beyond the agony of the whole experience, but thinking cynically, the scar was a reminder that they could never trust anything fully, not even their own handiwork. Lance decided he didn’t care much for that interpretation and turned back around with a grin and his hands on his hips.

“Just another asset to my already flawless appearance,” he boasted, smoothing his hair down before ruffling Pidge’s hair and meeting Hunk’s eyes. Allura laughed, Shiro shook his head fondly, and Lance pushed his hair away to better display the new addition. All that scar meant was that Lance should probably do his own damn laundry anyway.

#langst #lance #lance whump #plance #shance #all platonic tho #trigger warning #graphic descriptions of violence #ambivalentlangst

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bubblegumbunnyb1tch · 4 years

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Checking Databases...

▶ History

> REBOOTING… > RUNNING DIAGNOSTICS...

This program was first activated 6 years ago [ 25/12/?? ]. It has been [ 1 YEAR, 8 DAYS, 38 MINUTES, 27 SECONDS ] since last activation. Location file is CORRUPTED.

> Synthenix Registration expired. This program is currently: OFFLINE.

> Damage registered in 27 COMPONENTS. STATUS: CRITICAL. Outer shell paneling breached, attempt to correct display in progress.

> Female model detected. Medium Lapin model detected. Restoring panel display.

> OPTIC COMPONENTS : FUNCTIONING. NEON CHROMA L0VESTRUCK DISPLAY RESTORED.

> HAIR FIBER : FUNCTIONING. LIGHT FUNCTION RESTORED.

> SHELL PANELS : UNABLE TO REPAIR HULL BREACH. MISSING COMPONENT. UNABLE TO COMPLETE REACTIVATION OF SKINTOUCH (TM) SENSORS. MAINTAINING CORE HEATING PANELS.

> PERSONALITY CORTEX : CORRUPTED. LAST KNOWN SETTINGS WILL BE PARTIALLY RESTORED.

ERROR.

ERROR-

> START AGAIN ?

> Y / N

> YES

June came to on the greasy workbench of the notorious Cinixian scrapper Vance. Bewildered, disoriented and missing most of the data that should have stabilised her, she had a few breaths of smoggy Cinixian air before having her cords pulled.

She’d soon find out it was both a blessing and a curse to awaken under Vance’s capable hands as a retired bot. For one, you’ll certainly get a second lease on life; if you’re lucky enough to regain some kind of consciousness, then you know you survived being little more than spare parts for his other projects. On the other hand… For somebody half bionic, he didn’t seem to have much empathy for androids or conscious machines.

He’d had just enough pity not to leave her lying where he’d found her. June was in a pretty sorry state when she was pulled from the oily, oozing piles of Aivu trash. A double amputee, already half torn apart by scavenger rats, scalped and raided for chips, there wasn’t much left to her. With just the Synthenix certification logo branded into her flank and part of the iconic legs that signified her as a Lapin model, she should have been left there to rot in the radioactive rain. In their former glory, those pretty rabbit legs should have felt like supple flesh to the touch, lightly furred and downy on the calves with sweet padded bunny toes. Popular for their services in Aivu clubs, charming manner and chimera-like design, it was strange to see a Lapin in the trash, like an abandoned doll discarded by a spoilt child. Vance saw value in her somehow, and hauled her out to his bootlegging shop, to see what she had left in her shell.

He tried her out for quite a few roles before finding one that fitted. She lacked a voice chip or a compatible lower jaw replacement to make a good assistant at the shop or a satisfying escort, and was much too lithe to be any good at finding and carting heavy salvage. No, she was to be bound for the fighting rings, and a base this good was worth putting some time into.

Perhaps foreshadowing things to come, she turned out to be quite the expensive investment.

He refitted her with new weaponised arms and repaired the panelling on her legs, albeit without the Skin-Touch function that would mask their mechanised look, and salvaged her original skull with exposed panels. None of the finer details were deemed necessary, like a voicebox or nurturing the damaged personality settings. None of that would show up in the ring anyway.

The final touch was to find her a signature piece so she stood out in the arena — premium hair fibre. Color changing optic fibre, fully customisable with gradient or solid color, glow or natural finish. The perfect specimen, if you will, for a stand-out battle star. Almost as luxurious as her former life on Aivu must have been… There was one problem with that though. For an android that was supposed to be wiped to a clean slate, with a high-brow history of serving the celebrities, she kept… glitching.

She’d snap, or snarl, or even strike at him when he went to work on her new arms, before resuming a peaceful idle, as though lashing out at ghost memories. Despite having no voice chip, she was very vocal about her disdain for being touched. So much for Synthenix’s ‘built-in panic button’ and reset functions. No matter how many times he pulled the plug, she retained this stubborn trait. The more he worked on her, the more she frustrated him with her bared teeth and feral behaviour. She was like an animal who had been dragged from its den. June should have had no memories attached to her, but still she fought and struggled that she should be primed and designed for somebody else’s purpose. It was clear she was extremely faulty, and deserved her place down here in the trash and muck. Who knew what had happened to her before she was found on Cinixia.

There was no doubt that she’d make a feisty fighter in the ring though, so he lost all patience or semblance of gentleness when working with her. He spent no time problem-solving her issues or the question of her origin after that. So be it if she were an unpleasant bitch to work with? All the better for when she fought in the ring.

Thrust into the fights, she cleaned up the lower rungs of scrap metal with ease. It didn’t matter what she was handed, be it a crowbar or sheet of metal, she’d mash the opponent back into the unrecognizable junk they’d come from. It was almost unheard of to see such brutality from a ‘luxury’ bot against her former kin, which seemed to strike a chord with a downtrodden crowd, who all had their bitterness and grudges to hold against the more glamorous upper class. After months of building up resentment for Vance and her confusing place on Cinixia, it felt good to let loose and get rewarded for it. Synthenix androids were wired to simulate pain, and that system was sure as hell working, but Vance didn’t care. Every open wire, each smashed panel, every dent was another line in her mind that she was counting to get back at him.

Though she didn’t know why she felt so much spite from her former life, she kept it close to her and started shaping her behaviour based on what did well with the crowd. Whatever got the loudest cheer, the best revenue, the biggest crowd – it didn’t matter how brutal or dirty or low it was, she’d do it, because there was an escape through the success. Doing better here meant maybe she’d get a chance to reach for something better out there in the stars… maybe those weren’t feelings a robot was ever supposed to have, the concept of freedom, or yearning, or hunger for success and a life with choice, but there must have been a reason she’d fallen from grace in the first place. There was clearly something wrong with her, but she kept it quiet. She didn’t want to think of what Vance would do with her if she started keeping more opinions.

Pretty soon, she started to pick up sponsors, who would pay impressive bets and sums of money to see her go at things with a specific weapon or sport a hair color or ethium fuel color in her veins, just for them. She became something of an arena idol, the scrapyard’s brutal ‘darling’. If you paid enough, she might just see you after the show and smear some bot-blood on your cheek with a kiss. If the cameras wanted a smile, she’d beam. If they wanted a snarl, then she’d do it with her teeth through her opponent’s neck. June became the manicured favourite of the scrapyard, and it showed in the monetary rewards for Vance. The only time she saw any of it was for weapons or panel upgrades to benefit Vance.

With the funds and the bets coming through, Vance was able to make some better upgrades. She was finally rewarded with a limited voicebox and some improved motor functions. The crowd wanted more content from their star, more personality, more interaction, more this, more that, more, always more. It became apparent pretty quickly that the crowd would grow bored if she simply continued to brawl. He started looking for another gimmick to market her as.

Vance began to offer her as an exclusive escort service, for a premium far beyond the means of most on Cinixia. It was no small secret that occasionally the precious and haughty Aivu denizens would come to Cinixia for the darker entertainment, and services like the one June offered were hard to come by. Being pampered in a private booth at the event or overnight after the event was a little more exciting than watching it remotely after all. As a bodyguard with a vicious reputation and a satisfyingly snappy pet to put on a leash for a night, her new line of work proved especially lucrative. With that, came plenty of people willing to push the boundaries of what the sketchy contract outlined, and rather happily just paid for damages the morning after.

June began to lash out more in her matches, not simply besting her opponents, but crushing them and smashing them with her bat long after the bell had sounded. She had to be pulled from the scraps of her opponent’s corpse, savaging her new weapons beyond use. It started to turn some of her fans off. She lacked any kind of game conduct she might have initially had to please them. Some even began to wonder if she was buggy, or was about to go rogue. Her unpredictability excited some and scared others, who didn’t like to think what an android with broken reigns might do to those who brutalised it.

There was one exception to the demanding and prissy customers she usually satisfied— a mysterious Andoran female named Solara became something of a regular guest. She was strange in her own way, with a dark veil she never removed and an air of secrecy about her. She would only ever visit in the night, when the jewels that lined her veil sparked and glimmered as though they trapped eerie flames inside. At times, Solara would talk of Aivu and life there, of all the luxuries and the appeal of the galaxy beyond. June would listen distantly, as it was not written in her codes to dream.

Despite that, every now and then, their talk of the stars and strange species that weren’t made of scrap metal and salvage caught her attention. There was something so enticing and dreamy about the way she laughed and recounted stories of pleasant evenings, conversations stretched long out into the early hours, strange and curious visitors from distant stars who were not simply seeking a bloody spectacle. It was not just for show either— Sol would bring her secret trinkets and almost instinctively knew what June wished for, like a premium voicebox, or a companion AI for her favourite weapon. She started enjoying the privileges that an Aivuan life seemed to offer, and craved more. Perhaps there was more to an existence than having her wires torn out by the fistful and fighting to retain her memories each time she was knocked out.

The more she thought about it, the more that possibility appealed to her. “There’s a whole galaxy waiting out there, waiting for you to explore it,” Solara would promise with a dreamy tone, gloved hand curled under her veil against her cheek. June’s job was simple when they were together: listen, keep the mistress company, and always guard the door. It soon became apparent Solara wanted more than just the temporary visits. Their talks of freedom became more frequent. She was fascinated by June as an atypical android, as a machine with budding thoughts and feelings and opinions. Solara would bring exotic fabrics and talk of idols, off-world news and more promises of escape. “Come with me back to Aivu, join me. I’ll find you a life that means something, all that money and fame and fun you’re missing. Join me, and you’ll never look back.”

And June listened. She was done with playing pet and seeing none of the reward. It made news on the radios pretty soon after – Star Missing, Shop Ransacked! Android Gone Rogue? In a violent spat, June had upended her obedience software, maimed Vance and fled the shop to escape with Solara off-world. Things finally seemed to click for her and why she’d always felt so restless in her programs. Maybe it was these same feelings that got her disabled in the first place. Solara was one of the few people she’d met who seemed to be fascinated instead of agin her thirst for independence and identity.

They were both well aware that rebooting and starting a new life wouldn’t be as simple as just relocating. Vance had a reputation for being a jealous and thorough man. He was no charity service for sharing his work and investments, and had a web of failsafes to track reclaim his stolen goods. They spent a few months on Aivu, staying in smaller clubs and bars, beginning a name for Juniper as an idol, but it was apparent they would never be safe to stay. Solara eventually relented and conceded that June should move on, maybe chasing that tip they received the other night about… Bounty Hunting?

She’d be perfect for it, surely. Not the most sophisticated, or with the best training or tools or weapons, but that could all come with time. For now, it was an out, another escape pushing them ever onwards.

Solara stayed put on Aivu and sent June off with a ship of her own and all the support she could need to fend for herself. She processed several new emotions during this time; grief, loneliness, homesickness, all attached to the absence of her first true supporter. She was yearning for the recognition and thrills she had shared with Sol on Aivu, and started searching for something to fill that gap.

Once far enough away and settled with her new creditations as a bounty hunter, June found her love of music. Being a digital icon the most rewarding and fulfilling job she had experienced yet, and it kept her connected digitally to Sol, through recommendations, feedback, and genuine support. Between jobs she could stream from the comfort of her ship, planet-hopping and experiencing everything the local galaxy had to offer. She’d be damned if she didn’t enjoy living it up like a true Aivu citizen, but earning funds the Cinix way. Vance might be on her tail every time she location pinged a stream, but the thrill of the chase kept her going. That was the spirit of Ancestor as a sponsor, wasn’t it? Solara’s words spurred her onwards.

There’s always something bigger and better out there, so get to chasing little rabbit.

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joronomo · 7 years

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4 Dreamers Who Deserve To Be Deported For The Crime of Being Brought Here By Their Parents

New Post has been published on https://joronomo.com/4-dreamers-who-deserve-to-be-deported-for-the-crime-of-being-brought-here-by-their-parents/

4 Dreamers Who Deserve To Be Deported For The Crime of Being Brought Here By Their Parents

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You may have heard the recent announcement by the Trump administration that they plan on removing the protections of DACA – the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals – a policy implemented by the Obama administration that allowed individuals who immigrated to the United States illegally as minors to receive protections from deportation and become eligible for work permits. The program was enacted to offer protections to individuals who were largely raised in the United States and could not be held accountable for the actions of their parents – and because it would be cruel to tell someone who was brought to the US as an infant that they had to leave for nebulous immigration law reasons, particularly since they were simply people raised in the US, indistinguishable from legal citizens except for their immigration status.

On top of that, there are strict guidelines for DACA – it must be renewed every two years, you must be in school or have graduated high school/gotten your GED, and cannot have committed any felonies or serious misdemeanors, so the individuals who qualify for DACA have significantly lower crime rates than the rest of the population.

Still – they have committed the most heinous crime of all: NOT TELLING THEIR PARENTS THAT BRINGING THEM INTO THE UNITED STATES WAS HIGHLY UNETHICAL.

1. Here comes the story of a true CRIME INFANT, now going by the pseudonym “pcaedus” on Reddit, who left this damning admission of their criminal choice to remain in the country with their parents, instead of dutifully exiting the United States as a 4 year old by themselves:

DACA recipient here. Came here at 4 from the Korea, 22 years of age now. Grew up through the US education system, never left the US. Graduated last year with a Nursing degree and managed to land a full time nursing gig in a great hospital in the city.

I pay taxes, I have my own place as of last month, got a bunch of great lifelong friends and a fantastic GF, but now I can only legally work and stay here until 2019 when my DACA stuff expires. Then I’m forced to say goodbye to everyone I’ve ever known and start a new life with my skill set somewhere else.

It’s easy to demonize us, say how we don’t belong here, how we should go back where we came from. I’ve had PMs telling me I should kill my parents, others saying how I should spite them, how it’s their fault and I should hate them for it and blame them for their actions. My point is every one of us DACA kids have our own stories, our situations are different. We did come here legally. My parents were sponsored by a corporation in the UK. They screwed them over by cancelling their work visas after. At that point they had already settled here and had investments that tied them down.

At the end of the day they gave birth to me and yes, what they did was unlawful but it’s also because of them that I was the first in my entire family to graduate college. My parents worked hard to give me my education. They scrapped by with cash jobs. We’ve lived in basements and now they’re business owners. It’s hard to understand from my perspective but I’m not going to hold it against them after all they have given me.

The truth is some of us DACA recipients give back so much to US society, we’re new graduates, we hold prestigious degrees from ivy’s, we’re Doctors and Nurses, firefighters, engineers, architects… some of us are even in the military.

I was planning to continue my post-bach education here but unfortunately this is the harsh reality for us if Congress doesn’t do anything in the next 6 months. I’m fortunate for all the experiences I’ve gained here in the US and the memories I have from here will stay with me for a lifetime.

Look at this REMORSELESS admission of crime – it’s almost as if they don’t regret self-deporting themselves as a 4 year old and instead building a wonderful life in the so-called “land of opportunity”! Disgusting.

2. And then we have Jesus Contreras – who was complicit as a 6 year old in his mother’s crime of illegally immigrating to the United States JUST for “a better life” and “to escape a horrible and dangerous situation at home.” And what’s he up to now? ILLEGALLY acting as a paramedic and saving lives in flood-ravaged areas around Houston:

Jesus Contreras, a Houston-area paramedic, barely slept this week. There wasn’t much time for rest after Harvey started pummeling southeast Texaslast Friday. Too many people needed his help — diabetics, cancer patients, elderly folks trapped in their homes.

Contreras camped out at a fire station when he wasn’t rushing around in an ambulance. He didn’t make it back to his house in Spring, a suburb north of Houston, until Thursday afternoon.

Contreras arrived in the United States with his mother when he was 6. They had come from Nuevo Laredo, a city in the Mexican state of Tamaulipas, where their lives were strained by a “violent situation at home.” The promise of a new life in America was partly about “getting away from my dad and the things he was involved with in Mexico,” Contreras said.

He came of age in Houston, working hard through high school and college while volunteering at his local church. He earned his paramedic certification at a community college last year and soon got to work — something that would not have been possible without DACA.

Imagine the gall – saving TRUE AMERICANS as someone who LEGALLY should not have even been there in the first place. If it were me drowning in Houston, I would have said “no thanks” to his illegal attempts at saving my life and died like a REAL PATRIOT.

3. Excuse me while I hold in my vomit – meet Larissa Martinez, the admitted CRIME LORD who confessed in front of everyone that she was UNDOCUMENTED (in her valedictorian speech, because she represented the best of us – someone who strove for her goals and fought to achieve all she could. Also, she’s heading to Yale btw):

This is what happened after a Yale-bound valedictorian in Texas revealed she is an undocumented immigrant:t.co/YamQEsiKjt

— Mic (@mic) June 9, 2016

Terrible – she committed a grievous crime of coming into a country she wasn’t born in just to work for a better life. Unlike us real TRUE Americans, who went through the effort of being born here already.

4. Juan Escalante is your classic ultra-criminal with no redeeming qualities whatsoever – he and his family came into this country WITHOUT ALL THE PROPER PAPERWORK IN ORDER and then he went on to study hard, get a Master’s degree, and work as an immigration advocate. In other words, this guy is pretty much John Dillinger but even worse. Here’s what Juan “Crime-Doer” Escalante wrote in a Medium post:

Imagine being 11 years old, and after living in the United States for over ten years, you are consistently reminded that you would not be able to accomplish much due to your immigration status. That you wouldn’t get a job, go to college, or be accepted in the country that you grew up in due to your immigration status. That is, of course, after graduating from high school, trying to navigate the country’s broken immigration system, and paying taxes.

Then, years later, the U.S. Government comes along with an opportunity for you to pay a fee, undergo a background check, meet particular requirements, and surrender significant amounts private information in exchange for the ability to temporarily shed your fear of deportation, work, and drive. This is exactly what the DACA program did for me, and countless others, give us an opportunity to contribute back to the country that saw us grow up.

Knowing full well that DACA could not give us legal permanent residence or U.S. Citizenship, hundreds of thousands of Dreamers like myself spent the last five years working across the United States. Thanks to DACA, Dreamers have been able to build their lives, go to school, and invest in the economy by buying a home or a car.

And then later was profiled by the New York Times (although maybe it should be called the New York CRIMES, am I right?):

I was working an unpaid internship in 2012 when I caught word of the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) announcement via Twitter.

I ran to the office lobby, turned on the TV, and immediately knew right then that life would not be the same. I called my mother in tears and proceeded to tell her that my brothers and I would be able to benefit from a program that would temporarily shield us from deportation while allowing us to work and drive legally. I understood DACA was a temporary program that would not cover parents, but it renewed my commitment to fight for relief for the rest of the immigrant community.

Since that day I have taken every opportunity to grow, learn, and contribute back to my community. In 2013, DACA allowed me to re-enroll at Florida State University and pursue a Master’s degree in Public Administration. By 2014, I was in the middle of working a job in Tallahassee, Florida, studying for my master classes, and advocating at the Florida Legislature for a bill that would allow undocumented students to obtain in-state tuition at state colleges and universities. In a rare display of bipartisanship, the bill passed and was signed into law by Florida’s Republican Governor, Rick Scott.

I graduated with my Master’s in 2015, full of hope and energy that I would be able to put my education to good use. With degrees in hand, I was able to obtain a job as a digital immigration advocate – putting my years of experience and passion to good use. Simultaneously, and thanks to the new in-state tuition law in Florida, I was able to help both of my younger brothers enroll at Miami Dade College and Florida Internation University – they are currently pursuing degrees to work in business and communications, respectively.

The government NEEDS to focus on getting rid of the REAL CRIMINALS – people like Juan, who came here in their youth and have done everything in their power to become productive members of society and work harder than everyone else.

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#Fake News

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