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#anyways! good morning to you too Rooty!!
archive-of-note · 3 years
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Who wants to read about a delusional killer obsessed with Marcus Pike?
*crickets*
Yeah, I thought that’d be the answer, but I’ve had The Tailor of Enbizaka on repeat for the past few hours (that’s a little concerning) so now you’ve got this.
@absurdthirst is getting tagged because she wrote a fic with a delusional and obsessed Marcus and this feels like a good counter to that. But that could just be what little pride I have bubbling up.
Rated Mature references to sex, gore, infidelity (not really), stalking. One instance of a character getting kicked in the face. Drastic mood swing, one instance of it, because Marcus isn’t stupid and knows how to play the part.
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Marcus Pike was a handsome man. Kind, charming to a fault, sweeter than the Rooty Tooty Fresh N Fruity tropical stack at that little diner he goes to on the weekend. 
So other women vying for his attention was something you expected. 
What you didn’t expect was him returning the flirtations. 
What you didn’t expect was him leaving at late hours and returning even later, smelling of perfume and wine. 
He doesn’t say anything so neither do you. 
Instead, you bury yourself in work. 
As a multimedia artist, you often got messy, and near-violent if the piece was large enough. That helped a bit. 
But then he had the gal to talk to her on the phone in front of you and you couldn’t take it anymore. 
So you began to follow him. 
A DSLR around your neck you trailed him on his lunch breaks and days off. Waited until you heard the elevator closed to run downstairs and trail his car. 
The photos were damning. You had hoped, somehow, that you were seeing things. That maybe if you took photos you’d see them on the small screen and it would be a different man across from the woman in the restaurant. 
Unfortunately no. 
You watched them leave, her leading him in her car and that’s when you made the decision. 
———
“Morning.”
Marcus looks tense, worried. 
He barely mumbles out a hello before he’s off to work. 
Maybe he’s sad that woman didn’t call him back. Good, let him suffer. 
You have a new piece to work on anyway. 
———
Six months since he snuck off with that other woman he starts it up again.
You can hear him laughing at her jokes, calling her pet names. 
It’s disgusting how brazen he is. 
So like last time you follow him, you take photos, you cry at the truth on the small digital display. 
But you don’t wait for him to go home with her, you need to nip this in the bud, make sure he knows you know. 
———
He seems down again, but not nearly as bad as last time. 
He even gives a proper hello before heading to work. 
That, along with the inspiration that hit you last night, puts more then a little pep in your step. 
———
You weren’t following him this time, you just needed a breather. Sometimes the materials can really stink up the place. 
So a little jaunt to the National Mall seemed like the perfect idea. 
Then you saw him there, on a bench, with a girl. 
In her early twenties at most, and it made your stomach turn. 
What do all of these women have that you don’t? Why can’t he be happy with you?
You decide to follow her now, you have no idea how long this has been happening but it needs to stop. 
———
You stay in your studio for three days straight, rage fueling your nonstop marathon of creation and destruction. 
It’s chaotic. It’s elegant. 
The limbs raised high, cresting like wings. The main body twisting up from three different bases. Their colors contrasting until the deep red paint overtakes the differences, creating the illusion of a single object. 
You tilt your head and sigh. 
Marcus will love it. 
———
Marcus Pike knows he’s unlucky in love.
His first marriage, Lisbon. He thought moving might help with his terrible luck, and it seemed too, for a while. 
Mary was lovely. A librarian at an elementary school, she loved children and was looking for the right man to possibly have her own with. 
He thought it was going great, he really did. 
But after he stayed the night at her place, she dropped off the map. 
Literally. 
At first, he thought that maybe she found him, lacking. But then he was approached by a set of detectives and that’s how he found out she was missing. 
He was a suspect for months, it put his job on the line. Until one of her neighbor’s kids who stayed home sick mentioned that another car came up and parked in her yard the next day. 
The kid didn’t get a good look at the person, and he didn’t know much about cars. So nothing was really gained, but Marcus was no longer a suspect. His silver sedan definitely not the big black van the kid described. 
He kept to himself for a while, romance not feeling right after what happened with his last attempt. 
But then he ran into Hannah at his favorite 24-hour diner and that spark was back. 
She was funny, and she hunched her shoulders and giggled whenever he called her sweetheart or darling.
She worked at a florist and seeing her surrounded by flowers, laughing at his terrible guesses at whatever the name of the flower he was holding was, he could easily see the two of them settling with a proper garden and a white picket fence. 
But then she disappeared too. 
Right from the storefront, security camera footage showing a dark van pull up, and a dark figure snatching her in a sleeper hold. 
Part of him thought it had to be related to Mary. But he quickly threw that aside, his continued guilt obviously clouding his judgment.
But he needed some comfort, some familiarity, so he called his younger sister. 
She took the time off from classes and drove up to meet him, staying with him for a week. 
“Your neighbor’s a little… weird.”
He hadn’t known who she was talking about. 
“The one down the hall? I don’t know, something just seems-“ she finished with a shrug and a  then quick joke that his paranoia was contagious. 
He’d shrugged it off then. 
He shouldn’t have. 
You’re at his door, obviously giddy about something. Nearly bouncing on your toes in delight. 
“Hi?” It’s late, his sister left a few days ago, but she hasn’t called him since and he’s starting to get worried. 
“I want to show you something.”
Marcus doesn’t get a chance to say anything as you roughly grab his arm and begin dragging him down the hall. 
He’s so confused he just follows dumbly, looking around the halls as if they have an explanation for what’s going on. 
When the elevator dings is when he gets some of his thoughts together. 
“Uhh, what are- who-?”
You pull him roughly into the car. Putting a key into a slot and pressing the button for the second basement. 
“I’ve been working on this for months, you know how creating can go.” You look at him with a cheerfully smile, “You shouldn’t let inspiration be your only motivation, but sometimes you can’t work without it.”
He just nods, realizing that you’re probably the neighbor that worried his sister. 
And he realizes he left his phone in his apartment. 
Humming a tune, you sway on your feet, hand rhythmically squeezing his wrist as the numbers count down to the sub-basement. 
The ding feels like a death sentence, and as the door opens he’s punched with the overpowering smell of rot. 
“Sorry, I’ve been down here so long I’ve gone nose blind.”
You walk him out of the car but let him go to head to a rope, one he notices is holding a large sheet. 
“I just finished it, and I wanted you to be the first person to see it!”
Marcus just nods dumbly, covering his face with his sleeve. 
“I really hope you like it.” With that and a tug, the sheet falls. 
Marcus is going to be sick. 
It’s a mess. A mess of blood and body parts. Crookedly and grotesquely held together with thick wire. 
You’re rocking on your feet, curled up almost demurely as you look at him, “Well?”
Marcus needs to stay calm, he needs to call the police, but first he needs to get out. 
Swallowing, Marcus nods, “It’s- it’s something.”
That seems to satisfy you, for now. 
“I know! It took me almost a year to get everything,” you run to him and grab his free hand, “c’mon, get a closer look!”
He does his best to keep his balance, both mentally and physically, as the details of the gore come into greater focus. 
“The small intestine is roughly 25 feet long, it’s referred to as the small intestine because of its diameter, not length.”
Marcus nods, eyes refusing to leave the “art” you’re showing him. 
“Fat isn’t as malleable as you’d think, there’s connective tissue that holds it together, there was a good chunk of trial and error but I finally got it to act how I wanted.”
His eyes flick to your face, and it’s unsettling how excited you are. In fact, if he didn’t know you were rambling about the difficulty of dislocating an arm, he’d actually think it was kind of cute. 
“So how long did this take you?”
They turn to him wide-eyed, mistaking the uptick and crack in his voice as curiosity and not fear. 
“Nine months give or take, again materials were the hardest thing to find.”
Materials were hard to find, which means you had some kind of criteria for who you killed. 
“Really? Why?”
Your face goes dark, and you glare at him from the corner of your eye. 
“Because you insisted on cheating on me.”
Confusion washes over him before dread makes him drop. 
“You- they’re-?”
He looks at the sculpture again, finding Hannah’s sleeve tattoo on one of the arms, the old scar from a dog bite on Mary’s thigh. 
But then, who’s the third person?
“It was only supposed to be the two, I was almost done really, but you had to go and bring that whore into the apartment.”
“Who-!” You kick him in the face, hard. 
“Don’t lie to me you piece of shit! That bitch you’ve had in the apartment all week!” Your panting is drowned out by the blood rushing through his ears. 
He turns to look at you, eyes wide in horror. 
The anger vanishes even faster than it arrived and you gasp. “Oh god, I’m so sorry Marcus!”
You look around for something and he finally feels the blood dripping down his lip. 
Swallowing again, Marcus focuses on holding himself together. 
“It’s okay, I’m okay.” 
“No you’re not,” you cover your mouth muffling a whine, “I can go get some ice. I’ll go get some ice.”
“Wait, please.”
You run back to him and begin to help him up, it takes everything he has not to shove you off. 
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”
He hushes you, disturbed by how calm he sounds. He’s compartmentalizing. 
“How about we go back to my apartment? I’ve got ice packs, and we can get cleaned up. How’s that sound?”
You begin nodding, “Yeah, yeah, and I can order breakfast from that diner you like, and then we can watch that documentary about salvaged art from World War II.”
Something cold fills his stomach, you’ve been watching him. It’s obvious, but it hasn’t really hit until this moment. 
“Yeah, we’ll do that.”
You keep nodding, obviously worried and he begins to wonder how deep this delusion of yours goes. 
The ride back up is tense, but you’re so blinded by worry that you don’t register it. 
“I’ll get a washcloth,” you turn to look at him, “and maybe some rubbing alcohol. Do you have cotton balls?”
Marcus nods, keeping his stride even so you don’t get suspicious. 
He needs to get to his phone. 
“Okay,” you push his door fully open, having not had a chance to close it before you dragged him away, “you just sit here and tilt your head back, I’ll be right back.”
You scurry off. 
Marcus leaps for his phone. 
:SOS DO NOT RESPOND:
:there isn a murderi n my apaprtbdmb, am safe for now, send quiet carz:
He tosses the device onto the couch, “I told you to stay put!” You worry over him like a mother hen, pushing him back into his kitchen. 
“Just wanted to get the movie going.”
You look downright besotted, “That’s sweet Marcus,” you run the washcloth under the tap, “but it’s been a long day, just let me take care of you.”
Gently you pat at the drying blood under his nose, being wary of any possible cuts. 
With that done you gently prod at his nose, flinching when he winces. 
“I’m sorry honey,” his stomach rolls at the endearment, “hopefully it’s not broken, your nose is lovely.”
If this were any other time he’d be flattered, he’s heard jokes about his nose for years, even cracked a few of his own. Having the first person that wasn’t his mother complement his nose be a likely delusional serial killer, well his life’s gone to shit. 
You finish patching him up and call the diner, getting his order right, all the way down to the extra pineapple.
“How’d you know my order?”
You look at him confused, “Why wouldn’t I know your favorite order?”
He shakes his head, not having an answer that lines up with your apparent delusion, “Sorry, that was a silly question.”
“Are you dizzy? Double vision?” You cup his cheeks, “It was a pretty hard hit.”
“No, no,” he grabs your wrists, stomach turning at the concern in his own voice as he notices the tears building in your eyes, “I’ve been concussed before, this isn’t it.”
You swallow but trust his judgment, stepping back so he can slip from the stool. 
“Now let’s get that movie started, hmm?”
Nodding you rush deeper into his apartment, coming back with arms stuffed with pillows and a comforter. Walking over and dropping the collection onto his couch. 
Marcus lets you poke and prod him into place, covering him with the blanket and even tucking him in. 
There’s a knock on the door. 
“That was fast, but it is late, probably had nothing better to do.”
Marcus doesn’t move as you leave to open the door, too scared to possibly mess something up. 
“Hell-“
There’s a scream and thud, the sound of wrestling at his door. 
“Pike?”
Swallowing he answers and nods. 
“Fuck man, you look like shit.”
Marcus just keeps nodding, looking over the back of his couch to see you being held down by two officers fighting to get you cuffed. 
You’re screaming, asking why they’re trying to arrest you, yelling for Marcus to help, yelling for anyone to help. 
Marcus stares numbly as you’re dragged away from his door. 
———
“Pike, you, uhh, you might want to see this.”
That usually means he doesn’t want to see it, but he knows the curiosity would eat him alive. 
He trudges to your apartment, now filled with officers and CSI, and stares. 
Hundreds and hundreds of photos of him. 
Him leaving work, in his car, having lunch at the National Mall. Other photos are so cropped that he can’t tell where or when they’re from, the only real hint being the state of his facial hair. 
“Christ.”
The detectives nod. 
“Is it like this everywhere?”
“Basically, the bathroom’s empty, and ugh…” the CSI looks at everyone but Marcus. 
Another one responds for her, “The bedroom’s really fucking weird, and gross. No offense.”
Marcus closes his eyes. 
“They’re really flattering photos, which doesn’t mean anything in the grand scheme, but they’d’ve been a solid photographer.”
Now the dark curiosity is demanding to be fed. 
He walks deeper into the apartment, the photos of himself lining the walls putting him on edge. 
The tech meant gross as in creepy, which is saying something considering. 
Photos of him at the gym, the pool, him jogging, the other tech wasn’t kidding about the flattering though, some of the shots unsettlingly tasteful. 
He needs to leave. 
He heads out. Out of the apartment. Out of the building. He needs to rent a hotel and start looking for a new place to live, maybe even request a transfer.
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sevenmothz · 3 years
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i feel like talking about priita shepard, so i’m gonna do that
first things first, priita is an earthborn and sole survivor shepard.
she is also an engineer (you know, the superior class). her combat drone’s name is gumball, and her turret is rooty-tooty-throw-and-shooty (rooty for short). due to my total incompetence playing me3 the first time all those years ago, i did not use the turret very effectively, and now i’m stuck with the headcanon that priita’s turret is defective, but she refuses to get rid of it because she insists that she can fix it…and even if she can’t, gumball makes up for the shitty turret anyway. i use the turret much better now-a-days, but this headcanon isn’t going anywhere.
rather than a space hamster, priita actually has a space rabbit, which joker buys for her when they’re on one of their more proper official dates during the ME2 timeline. she drains out the fish tank and modifies it to be a sleeping/bathroom area for the rabbit. yes, she totally spends cerberus funds on this. no fish for priita! the rabbit’s name is oreo and he is all black and was essentially spacer-life-trained prior to being brought into priita’s life. he’s got a little outer space safe ball and everything! chakwas takes the bun for safekeeping when priita eventually turns herself in to the alliance for what all happened in the arrival dlc, so oreo doesn’t get reunited with his people until a while after earth is hit in ME3.
priita has a past history of addiction. living the gang life growing up doesn’t exactly prepare you to ~*just say no*~, though she wasn’t too far gone back then since you don’t generally want to be getting hooked on what you’re selling, but after akuze she ended up abusing stims to avoid sleeping as long as she could to avoid the nightmares, and then abusing sleeping aids when she couldn’t stay up any longer (and to again, avoid nightmares). she managed to clean up her act prior to being recruited to N-School, but the more brutal training courses caused her to slip back into bad habits in order to get through them.
after graduating, she was actually pretty unpopular among a number of higher-ups due to her more and more obvious addiction issues plus having screwed up a handful of missions (didn’t necessarily fail them…but they did end up being more of a mess than they needed to be that she had to fix on the fly). her sole survivor of akuze status and her previously spotless record was just about all standing between her and being kicked out of the military (nobody was in any rush to cause a PR spectacle by kicking out the oh-so-brave akuze survivor they’d spent a lot of time parading around previously).
speaking of akuze, priita’s right leg was severely injured during the attack; she got very lucky and ended up tossed into a rocky area the thresher maws wouldn’t be able to get to and she had just enough medigel to keep herself from bleeding to death before help arrived. a large chunk of flesh was just gone from her leg and the doctor’s in charge of her were originally planning to amputate before what was essentially alliance PR stepped in to pressure them into rebuilding her leg with what was, at the time, cutting edge medical tech. ‘cause…you know…having the only known survivor of this mission gone horribly wrong having all their limbs attached would be better Optics than if she had a leg missing. priita agreed to go through all the surgeries and treatments since she sure as hell didn’t want to lose her leg. she ended up having to go through several months worth of surgeries and treatment sessions to build up synthetic muscle tissue and grafting on new skin. in the end, not all of it took and she ended up with a leg that functioned well enough (as long as she did her exercises every morning to keep it from getting stiff), but had a very large, ugly scar along the side of it from near her ankle to a bit over her knee. she gets in the habit of wearing a fabric sleeve/wrapping (that matches her skin tone) on her leg to cover the scar up; part of it is due to being self-conscious about how it looks, and part of it is that it’s a pretty clear reminder of one of the worst days of her life where she felt absolutely helpless and couldn’t do anything to save anyone from her team.
anyway, after screwing up her reputation, she cleans up for the umpteenth (and final) time and takes on whatever work she can get to repair her rep. priita sees the alliance for what they are and knows that they generally don’t give much of a shit about her if she doesn’t meet their standards, but even with all the bullshit, military life is the best she’s had it in pretty much her entire existence. she bounced around in foster homes when she was real young and eventually ran away when she was barely a preteen and got involved in the city gangs. hell, when she first met her alliance recruiter, she was covered in day old bruises from the beating she took on in order to essentially get permission to leave the gang for good.
thanks to her hard work and consistency with picking herself back up after falling, she did eventually catch the eye of the right people that would later lead into her becoming a spectre candidate. david anderson in particular was pretty impressed with her insistence to keep marching forward, even with all the stumbles she took, so she pretty easily made it onto his top list of potential executive officers after he was given the normandy.
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conshirtoe · 3 years
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A quick shout out to my cat who jumped on my bed this morning to wake me up for food and then bitch slapped me for thinking my arm was a snake
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kevinjarrett · 2 years
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Rode @hartshornewoods today. Was fun. Decided to take home a souvenir. So, which do you think hurts the most? 1) knee gash 2) shin bruise 3) ego 4) the fact I left my #raceface pads in the car Answer: yes tl;dr - stupid low speed clipless-induced topple slightly marred an otherwise awesome afternoon ride. So, yeah. Had fun spending the morning doing trail maintenance with some cool folks. Finished at noon, headed out for some exploring of the park. Previously planned to hit the BLUE trails (thx @trailforks) on Cuesta, Laurel Ridge(s). NO BLACK ANYTHING, THANK YOU VERY MUCH. TM had us walking a lot of Cuesta, which was easy-peasy terrain wise. Assumed (there it is) Laurel would be similar. So, I thought to myself, do I need my knee/shin pads? It was kinda warm anyway and they're a tad sweaty. Nah, it'll be fine... Laurel quickly got a lot more technical than Cuesta but wasn't too bad. No shame in walking! Even managed to clean/power up some rooty, rocky sections I never thought I could. Yay me! Then came upon a loose rocky descent, nothing ridiculous. Lowered my dropper post, rolled in slow. Somehow unclipped on my left (I have GOT to tighten that damn SPD tensioner) and put my foot down in a weird spot, slipped, went down on that side with a thud. Of course, my kneecap aimed with laser precision at a large rock, left a nice skin sample there. Shin scrape was NBD but I knew the knee was gonna be an issue. Fortunately it was close to the end of the ride. Made it back to the car with no problems. Things I learned today: 1) my relatively ancient '06 Gary Fisher hardtail with its 100mm of Manitou front travel, TransX dropper and 1x10 Deore drivetrain is well suited to this park. I'll be back. 2). Wear the shin pads, wear the shin pads, WEAR THE GODDAMN SHIN PADS YOU STUPID FUCKING IDIOT. 3) If Laurel Ridge is a BLUE trail the BLACK trails (Grand Tour, Rocky Point) would not be any fun for me at all. 4) Next time I ride here, it'll be with locals who know the trails well. Still, a good day - GORGEOUS day - for a ride!👌 (at Hartshorne Woods Park) https://www.instagram.com/p/CVBppRRF-Z8/?utm_medium=tumblr
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wretchedor30 · 6 years
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Nanowrimo Unedited Day 3
I woke the next morning to a crash. The boy with backwards legs had jumped onto the counter, but lost his balance and fell on the desk. One of the school nurses ran over and began checking him. "I half hoped I'd wake up and realize this was all a dream."
"Nope. You're still in Kansas, Dorothy. Or... should I call you Scarecrow?" The boy next to me asked. He looked completely normal, and looked at me like I wasn't a living wooden statue. "It's Hazel, actually. And you are?" "Oh, I think we had math together! I'm Thea." I tilted my head and squinted, not even meaning to. "You're thinking 'He means Theo' or something, right? That's what just about everyone said, and why I'm under observation. They were able to get some clothes from lost and found but... other than being afraid to go to the bathroom, it seems like I'm one of the lucky ones. And maybe this really is only temporary, right?!" "Oh, man, Thea! I didn't even think about that! But... I don't think I need to go... but you wanna maybe get out of here? Lineman's is probably open and slow. You could have some privacy, at least." "I... don't have money for that." "It can be my treat. Girls need to stick together, right?" "You mean...I mean..." Thea began, "You're right!" She finished, as the tears began to form. - Lineman's was different from most arcades, and we would sometimes get tourists and people wanting to see it for themselves. They give you a special thumb drive and track your "stats" as you play games (they're all free, by the way), sort of like an RPG. As you level up, you get to customize your avatar, which starts as just a stick figure. Sometimes when my dad lets me play, he'll go and play skeeball, so his avatar looks like Conan, just covered in muscles. I play mostly action and adventure games, but I have enough levels that my character typically gets in-game bonuses. I don't have high dexterity, but the main way to increase that is by playing rhythm or reaction games. Rooty-Tooty Shake-Your-Booty dancing games aren't my forte, so sometimes I would play shooting games where you aim the gun. Anyway, the coolest part is that every week or so they have a "raid" where everyone works together to defeat a boss. You get special prizes for most damage or killing blow. So it's pretty cool and has more of a community than most arcades. Long story short, it's basically the only place I feel special. So when I was feeling a bit lost, it was a good place to go. I briefed Thea on all of this as we walked there until the familiar stick-figure mascot marked our arrival at Lineman's arcade. I got out my money to pay the entry fee, but the cashier and owner, Jacob, waved it off. "Just write down your name. People have enough on their minds today. But if your parents come looking, we can tell them if you're here." "Thanks, Jacob. You're good people. Oh, Thea, do you have a thumb drive for your character? I keep mine on me so I can edit from the website at home." "Website is down," Jacob mumbled while he checked the sheet we signed in on. "Wait, Hazel? I've been just letting people in, but seriously, can you tell me what's going on?" "Uhh... lemme buy a pizza and I'll be back?" "Fine, just make sure they throw one in for me, too. I have a feeling it's gonna be a long day." Thea was finishing signing in and looked around. Though her face was that of a boy, her eyes still lit up with wonder just like they did when we dealt with fractals in math class. "Why is this called Lineman's?" "I was an athlete. Retired due to injury, bought this place. I'm Jacob by the way." "I'm Thea. And, I don't mean to be rude, but why would a jock buy an arcade for nerds?" Jacob chuckled, "That's exactly the thoughts I want to fix. I was a nerd, and my mother made me join the football team when I started hanging out with a bad crowd. She wanted football to teach me life skills like discipline. It worked. But not everyone is built like me. Not everyone can play football. So I made an arcade where people can still build teamwork. We're open all day so kids have a place to go." "But, you have an entry fee," Thea asked. "It's mostly a donation. Helps cover maintenance and new games. The commissary covers most the rent." "That's awesome! I can't believe I've never been here before!" - Thea and I shuffled in. I showed her to the restroom while I waited outside, then I showed her my favorite hack and slash game. I was able to save her a few times from near death, and we almost go to the second boss before the announcement came. "Everyone please head outside. There is a mandatory town meeting at the football field. Soldiers will be coming in Jeeps to give rides." - The mayor used a microphone, and it was still hard to hear. Apparently there was an accident where someone tried to give first aid, and they died. Mayor Rhoa didn't say who it was, to give time for the family to grieve privately, but stated that more reports were coming in of people showing 'symptoms'. In an effort to make sure we still had medical care available, the military brought up the idea of a database of any abnormalities of protocol. Murmurs got loud quickly with shouts of "My kid isn't a lab rat" and others that I would get soap in my mouth if my mother heard me repeat. Of course, she shot me the day before, so I guess that doesn't really provide a clear understanding of her punishment. My point, though, is that people weren't happy. But a boy stood up, and though he wasn't loud, a silence spread so he could speak. ~~ “Now, there's a reason for the right to bear arms So when you talk about licenses, it throws up some alarms. We can wear bracelets, like for medical alerts, And even before you prick us or as where it hurts. Ask to see my bracelet, know my symptoms bright and early. I'd rather you know up front than wait til things get squirrelly. We're people first, despite some unique biology. So the second amendment is a perfect analogy. The right to bear arms shall not be infringed, But license and registration has a history that singed. Some of us are exceptional, and may need special care. So, while I hate to admit, maybe the files should be there. But we've gotta be smart, let's not get copied or tracked Limit to one database, no network, can't be hacked. If you want someone's file, request it directly. I want to stay secure, even if a virus may infect me. Basically let's make sure it stays out of wrong hands. Can you imagine this info being held be foreign lands? “
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