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dustofbrokenheart · 3 years

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The Lost Boys: Call 911

GIF by lostinsantacarla

Paul x Reader

Word Count: 2,550

Summary: Reader is out on patrol as part of the Santa Carla PD when they respond to a call out at the wharf.

Amid the riotous flare of fireworks and fire crackers, it was difficult to make out the quickly approaching cop car but Marko prided himself on being observative.

Paul, Paulie, P-Man, his forever partner on the other hand…

Grabbing Paul by the front of his tank, he pulled the other vampire down to hiss in his ear. “We got company. We bail on my signal, got it?”

The honey blonde nodded distractedly, mesmerized by the bright bursts of colors overhead. The reds and blues and whites and pinks mixed with the curtain of smoke, creating a kaleidoscope against the inky night sky.

He only heard part of what Marko was gripping about—something about a signal—but it wasn’t his fault he was having so much fun.

Another of their fireworks went off from behind Max’s Video, making him laugh even harder when some empty pallets became collateral. They splintered into pieces, the crunching sound of the wood masked by the other explosions.

Nothing said summer time fun like launching some Big Boys at the video store. It was a rockin’ light show and piss-off-Max scheme all wrapped in one. The crochety, old douche in question would no doubt have some choice words for them later but Paul wasn’t thinking about that; the only thing on his mind was blowing shit up.

In fact, he was so into it that he wasn’t prepared for the sharp punch to his ribs. He flew into the wall as Marko ran past, scampering to get airborne. “Go, go, go!”

The back door to the store opened with such force that it banged into the wall with a loud crack. Paul could sympathize. Two officers came through and before he could even think to pick himself up and run, they were on him.

The rounder of the two sat on his back, putting all his pounds into pinning Paul down. Normally, he would’ve thrown him off and maybe, probably, killed him, no sweat.

But.

There were too many people around that could catch him in the act. There’s no way Max would step in and not even Paul was stupid enough to slaughter that many people in plain sight.

Marko, he whined through the bond. A little help, bud? I’m kinda stuck.

All he got back was a manic cackle.

Paul squawked in outrage, knowing that the other would not be lending an assist. That traitor was all too content to sit back and laugh at him.

Whatever.

Screw him then.

It’s not like Paul had never been hauled in before anyhow.

“You know,” he grunted to the cop on his back, “It’s a good thing you’re not fat or anything, otherwise this would be more difficult.”

The knee dug into his back even harder and his head was pulled back by his hair. It didn’t hurt that much but still! He worked for hours to make his hair look good!

“Police brutality! I have rights, you know!” he yelled. The cop was starting to get on his nerves.

His face was shoved back into the ground and he ate gravel, sputtering to get the pebbles and grime out of his mouth with mixed success. The taste lingered and the only way to get rid of it would be to wash it down with something—

Hmm. He hadn’t planned on feeding that night but some pig blood would take care of it nicely.

He attempted to at least think of an isolated spot to rip out his throat without getting caught. Maybe in the cop car. Maybe he could drag him to the bushes outside of the station.

Oh! If the guy stopped for doughnuts, he could steal the car—doughnuts sounded good though. A nice chocolate glaze with sprinkles or something filled with strawberry jelly! The corner store on the boulevard had the best selection this time of night. He needed more hairspray, too, as long as he was at it, a magazine or three—he shook his head.

Come on, self, get it together!

“I’m going to find the one that ran. Officer Y/LN, you take this idiot back to the car and sit tight until I get back.”

Roughly, he was hauled to his feet and he had been so focused on the tub of lard that had him on the ground that he forgot two cops had burst through the door.

He planted his feet and refused to be moved as he glanced at the second one. It was like pushing at a stone wall, the other at his back unable to shove him into motion.

Immediately, Paul realized his mistake.

Why was he so occupied with that other asshole when he could’ve been looking at you, been pressed up against you the entire time?

The saying was that everyone loved a person in uniform and Paul was no exception. You made the normally dull standard navy uniform look good, the short sleeves showing off your arms and the pants managed to cup your ass in the tastiest way.

He’d cup your ass even better, if you gave him the chance.

Even the serious, disapproving scowl on your face was hot. What he wouldn’t do to get you to make that face with you on top of him, manhandling him any which way you wanted.

Screw his little feeding plan. He was willing to spare your partner in exchange for getting to know you better.

A big happy smile stretching across his face, he finally moved, dragging your partner rather than being forced forward.

“Hey, sexy,” he said with his signature wink, the one that always got him what he wanted with people. “Name’s Paul.”

To his disappointment, you didn’t respond and merely took control of his handcuffed hands as they were passed over.

As you lead him back through the video store, he pulled his arms to the left, acting like he was trying to resist. Just like he expected, you corrected him with a strong, tight grip that sent a rush down his spine.

“Ouch, babe, not so rough,” he purred. “I’m very sensitive.”

He glanced back quick to see your reaction and his bottom lip pushed out in a pout. You still wore a straight face that gave nothing away. No clenched jaw, no embarrassed tightening of your eyes. Definitely no hint of an amused smile.

Gods, babe. You were really testing him.

Guess he’d have to try harder.

***

You were new to the Santa Carla Police Department. Very new. New as in it was your first incident on your first night on patrol.

It was just your luck that you’d ended up with airhead who’d set off a whole fireworks display right outside of a crowded store, which could have serious injury, and was now trying to flirt his way out of it.

Hell—was he pouting?

For a city of its size, Santa Carla PD had a surprising number of job openings. You were new to the area, having moved because it seemed like a nice, sunny California beach town and you were in need of a change.

You didn’t have any prior experience but you’d passed all the screenings and tests and expected the job offer they made. It had benefits, the pay was good, and, importantly, it was legal which seemed to be in short supply around these parts.

That last part was a surprise, especially with the high number of missing people’s cases; you’d think that more places would be desperate to fill jobs, too.

Steering the suspect towards the check out counter, you flagged down the owner who had been the called in to the station.

He turned towards you with a smile on his face and greeted you politely. “Hello, officer.”

“We caught one suspect, sir. The other fled the scene and my partner went after him. I’ll get started on the report—are you planning to press charges?”

The smile was suddenly no where to be seen and he casted a glare at the handcuffed blonde.

“But of course. I’ve told this degenerate and the others in this gang to stay out of here a hundred times before. They’ve gone too far this time.”

The suspect merely shrugged his shoulders and winked at you which set the owner off further.

“That! That right there is what I’m talking about. No respect, no conduct. How is a father supposed to parent if he gets no respect? Maybe they’re missing a motherly influence,” he trailed off.

A motherly influence? Okaaay, then.

Clearing your throat, you tried to bring the conversation back to topic. “Yeah…Well let me put him in the car and then we can get started on the report. Have a good night, sir.”

That should’ve been the end of it but of course the blonde had to open his big mouth. “Bye daddy!”

Max’s hand came down heavy on the counter and you jostled the boy away before he managed to start a full-blown confrontation.

“You surely have a big mouth for someone who’s being arrested. Don’t make things worse for yourself.”

His head perked up and you had to really plant your weight to keep him from turning around and sending you flying into a display in the process. Definitely stronger than he looked.

You noted that piece of information just in case he tried anything else.

“Aww. Are you worried about me?” he cooed. “Don’t be. I trust you to protect me, officer.”

“Any one ever tell you that you’re ridiculous?”

“All the time,” he nodded happily.

The profile of the suspect was coming together in your mind. Clearly, he was simple.

Happy and excitable, and yes, even pretty, but simple.

There’s no way he had been the mastermind behind the firework plot; that honor was likely saved for the one who escaped. He probably hadn’t agreed to do it with malicious intent either. Unfortunately, his inability to think things through had landed him in trouble and he was your problem now.

When you got to the entryway he even tried to the door open. “After you, officer.”

With a resigned sigh, you prodded him forward. Again. Really, this guy was worse than a puppy. A puppy could eventually be trained to listen but seeing as how he was late teens/early twenties, it was doubtful he ever would.

“You said your name was Paul?”

The p in his ‘yep’ popped.

“Last name?”

“Just Paul. I wouldn’t mind getting your name though.”

There’s no way you were telling him that. He would be that much more insufferable if he knew. And try as he might to hide his full name, that would come out when you booked him at the station.

“Well, Paul. You’re being charged with public endangerment and vandalism. Under California law, those are both misdemeanor crimes so most likely—”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved away your words with a flick of his head. Annoyed, you yanked on the cuffs, causing him to moan. “I do appreciate a good pair of handcuffs.”

“You—!” You had to stop yourself from calling him a little shit out loud. No one would’ve stopped you, but you felt weird about it, almost like it would come off as being unprofessional.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to bring your voice back down. “Saying crazy things is only going to make things worse for you.”

“Promise to punish me if I don’t?” Another wink was flashed at you.

It was at that point you noticed he had long lashes for a male. They fluttered like butterfly wings whenever he blinked. Except you had a job to do and really shouldn’t care about how pretty he was.

You were so caught up in your thoughts that it took you by surprise when he leaned in close. Acting on tactical instinct, you threw him against the police vehicle, his torso pressed against the hood with legs spread wide.

The position was designed to be as uncomfortable as it looked so that there was little to no chance of him bucking you off. Good.

“Need I remind you,” you said gruffly, “That you are under arrest. Don’t test me.”

“You should most definitely frisk me,” he panted.

You sincerely hoped it was pain, and not from pleasure, but from your brief encounter with Paul, it honestly could be the latter. Your own heart was pounding in your chest as well but that was due to the adrenaline pumping through your system.

Or so you maintained.

Still, he had a point. Frisking was standard procedure to make sure the suspect was carrying anything potentially dangerous, or illegal. Hell. You were going to have to give into this particular demand, weren’t you?

Wanting to get it over with, you tried to be as fast as possible while still be thorough.

His muscles were surprisingly cold as you felt up his arms and then his back. It was summertime and when most people had problems overheating, it didn’t seem to be an issue for him.

You dreaded going anywhere near his ass but it had to be done. He even insisted on ‘helping’ by pushing his cheeks further into your hands by curving his lower back as you patted down his pants pockets.

“Check the front too. I could have anything down my pants, ya know.”

That didn’t sound suggestive at all. His flirtations were so over the top is was near comical at that point. You couldn’t let him know that though. You were the authority figure in this situation.

“Alright smart guy, the frisking is over with. And surprise, surprise there was exactly nothing in your pants.”

“You wound me, babe.” If he had use of his arms, his hand would’ve definitely been placed over his heart.

Standing him upright, you opened the door to seat him in the back. That had been the plan any way.

One second you held his metal clad wrists firmly in your grip and in the next, he twisted himself away effortlessly.

He spread his hands apart and although they each had a shiny steel band around them, the chain that had connected them broke off with a metallic clink.

Just like that he was completely mobile and he wasted no time.

In another imperceptible move, he covered your back with his front, his breath tickling you.

You couldn’t hold back a shiver.

“It’s been a pleasure, officer, but I really should get going. I’m just too cute for jail.” He rolled his head and his nose traced the shell of your ear with a deep inhale. “This was fun though. Let’s do it again, hmm?”

He shoved you into the back seat and luckily your reflexes were fast enough to catch yourself before you face planted into the leather seat. Thrashing like mad, you spun around as fast as you could but it was no use: Paul was already gone.

Stumbling out, you looked back and forth hoping to catch a glimpse of what direction he went but it was useless. Not only was that little shit stronger than he seemed, he was also faster.

Noted.

With a sinking realization, you knew you were going to have to explain this to your partner.

Oh, you were not looking forward to this…

Worst first night on a job ever.

_______________

Hope you enjoyed Paul! I feel like this is goofy and over the top but I guess that’s basically Paul’s vibes in a nutshell. Marko has definitely gotten Paul arrested before and Max has definitely called the cops on them before too haha. Thanks for reading <3

#the lost boys #the lost boys paul #paul the lost boys #the lost boys x reader #the lost boys imagines

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wjdexclusives · 4 years

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route22ny · 3 years

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Inside DC’s Secret Covid Morgue

Written by Luke Mullins

April 21, 2020—The clerics have been sworn to secrecy. On this warm morning, they’ve come to a vast and empty parking lot, instructed not to tell anyone of its location. The pitch of asphalt is unusually secure, hidden behind a 12-foot chain-link fence that’s been swathed in sheets of black tarp to prevent anyone from peering through. At the front gate, armed soldiers stand guard.

Inside, large trailers are arranged behind tented canopies and banks of lights. Metal ramps are affixed to each trailer so that stretchers can be wheeled in. The interior walls of the trailers are lined with seven rows of metallic shelving, sturdy enough to support thousands of pounds. The temperature is 24 degrees.

The clergymen gather with a handful of city officials in front of the canopies. They form a circle, each six feet apart from the next.

Reverend Andre Towner of Covenant Baptist United Church of Christ.

Imam Talib Shareef of Nation’s Mosque.

Rabbi Shmuel Herzfeld of Ohev Sholom–The National Synagogue.

Dr. Donell Harvin, a top official at DC’s homeland-security department.

Kimberly Lassiter, a supervisor at the medical examiner’s office.

And Dr. Roger Mitchell, the chief medical examiner himself.

Wearing masks and rubber gloves, they bow their heads. Tomorrow, the first body will be sent here. Today, a blessing.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

One by one, the clerics offer prayers, solemn exhortations for strength and humility, courage and dignity, resonating above the grinding hum of the trailers. Imam Shareef invokes the victims—“Their deaths,” he says, “are not to be in vain.” Reverend Towner prays for the workers, that their bodies will be protected from the virus, that their minds stay healthy during the difficult days ahead. Rabbi Herzfeld stresses the righteousness of the mission. “In Judaism,” he tells the group, “we believe that the greatest kindness is to care for the dead.”

***

It’s an ominous time in the nation’s capital. Several miles away, federal officials are dismissing warnings about the deadly airborne pathogen that has exploded out of Asia. Their unwillingness to act has impelled local governments across the country to launch their own scattered efforts to prevent Covid-19 from decimating their communities. In the District of Columbia, where African Americans make up 46 percent of the population, the task is especially urgent, given the virus’s disproportionately cruel impact on people of color.

Over the previous month, the city has been locked down as panicked residents watch their leaders navigate a 100-year crisis in real time. Mayor Muriel Bowser shuttered businesses. The DC Council pushed through legislation to extend unemployment benefits. Health-department officials opened testing sites and implored residents to wear masks and keep their distance. But away from public view, a weightier matter has come to preoccupy a little-known but essential corner of the bureaucracy: the caretakers of the dead.

“There’s not going to be a parade for you guys. You’re not going to get discounts or big thank-you signs. The work we do, we do in silence.”

It’s a problem of space. As Drs. Mitchell and Harvin prepared for the pandemic, they realized that the city’s morgue didn’t have the capacity to handle the surge of fatalities that the virus would leave behind. And so, over the previous few weeks, they hustled to secure the land, equipment, and manpower necessary to build an additional facility.

The clergy who led prayers on the day the field morgue opened were there to make sure the space didn’t violate the tenets of their three distinct faiths, and to consecrate the site as one. Then the work began. Over the next two and a half months, Harvin, who describes himself as the “general in charge of the death troops,” and his top deputy, Lassiter, who has recovered bodies throughout DC for more than two decades, will oversee the makeshift mortuary. By the time the spring surge is through, 404 Covid victims will have passed through the site.

Still, through it all, almost no one in the city will have any idea the Covid morgue exists. The work is carried out in strict secrecy; staffers are instructed not to disclose the site’s location or tell anyone what takes place there, not even their own family members. A mistake—such as a body being released to the wrong family—would be humiliating for the mayor and the city. News footage of workers moving the dead could upset victims’ families, opening new wounds, or lure gawkers to the site. As much as anything else, though, the silence reflects the professional ethos of those who perform this work for a living. While they’re dispatched to every hurricane and school shooting, their efforts take place entirely behind the scenes. They are the first responders you never see.

The District of Columbua invited an imam, a rabbi, and a minister to consecrate the morgue.

***

“There’s not going to be a parade for you guys,” Harvin tells each new set of workers to arrive at the Covid morgue. “You’re not going to get discounts or big [thank-you] signs. The work we do, we do in silence. Not even the family members of the victims will know what we do. There’s a pride in that. There’s a silent pride in that,” he says. “You’re taking care of someone’s grandmother, grandfather, husband, daughter, son, and that’s a higher calling.” When it’s all over, they’ll return to their previous jobs or assignments and no one will ever know what they’ve done here. “It’s a heavy burden,” Harvin says. “It’s a very heavy burden.

“[But] the world is watching,” he assures them, “whether they see us or not.”

***

Donell Harvin is 48 years old, with a sturdy build and flecks of gray in his goatee. He’s married to a physician and has four daughters. He lives in Howard County and spends most of the year looking forward to his annual scuba-diving trip.

Over the last 30 years, Harvin has been an eyewitness to some of America’s darkest moments. As an EMT, he responded to the World Trade Center when it was bombed in 1993; after joining the New York Fire Department, he was there when the towers were destroyed in 2001. As a deputy director in New York’s medical examiner’s office, he led the effort to identify victims of Hurricane Sandy. And in 2012, at the request of Connecticut officials, Harvin assisted with forensics after the massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary.

His path from first responder to frontline bureaucrat began in the Bronx, where he spent his teenage years. After dropping out of high school, he got a GED and then a college scholarship from the Children’s Aid Society, enlisting as a paramedic. Though he loved the work, as a young father he began to worry about his safety. He was caught in shootouts while tending to accident victims and lost colleagues in ambulance crashes. On 9/11, his wife and daughters saw him on TV, racing away from the rubble, and then didn’t hear from him for 24 hours. Upon seeing their faces when he finally got home, he knew it was time for a change.

Harvin went back to school and earned a master’s in emergency management. Landing a position with New York’s chief medical examiner, he became an expert in mass-fatality management—the grim business of identifying and processing victims of large-scale tragedies. He also came to know Mitchell, and the two worked together on Sandy Hook. Two years later, when Mitchell was hired as DC’s chief medical examiner, he recruited Harvin.

Donell Harvin, who was at Ground Zero on 9/11, helped devise DC’s Covid death-handling protocols.

***

Their immediate task in the District was to turn around an office plagued by mismanagement. But an equally important project loomed. The previous year, Washington had been shaken by tragedy when a mentally disturbed government contractor gunned down 12 people at the Navy Yard. Although the medical examiner’s office had properly managed those deaths, officials realized that a larger or more complex disaster would have overwhelmed its capabilities. The city needed a mass-fatality division robust enough to absorb the kind of tragedy that Harvin and Mitchell hoped Washington would never face. They went about building it—securing federal funds, adding staff, and running mass-casualty drills.

By early 2020, Harvin had been in Washington six years. He’d since left Mitchell’s office and finished a PhD in public health. He was teaching at Georgetown and had become chief of homeland security and intelligence at DC’s homeland-security agency. But the imminent arrival of Covid meant the District was facing the catastrophe he and Mitchell had trained for, the biggest mass-fatality event in the city’s history.

On March 2, Harvin went to DC’s Emergency Operations Center for the first day of formal briefings about how the city would navigate the pandemic. Halfway through the morning, he found a quiet spot in the hallway and placed a call to his mother. “This is going to be bad,” he said.

***

The city morgue is located at 401 E Street, Southwest. In any given year, only a fraction of the fatalities that occur in DC pass through the facility. When a person dies of natural causes at a hospital, nursing home, or hospice, a physician will typically sign the death certificate and release the body to a funeral home. It’s usually only those who die alone or in unnatural or suspicious circumstances whose bodies go to the morgue, where medical examiners determine the cause and manner of their death.

Initially, Harvin and Mitchell planned to use this same approach for the pandemic, relying on hospitals—where the bulk of virus-related deaths would take place—to serve as de facto Covid morgues. But they quickly revised their thinking. For one thing, little was known about how contagious the disease might be postmortem. Would storing victims at hospitals risk infecting staff? At the same time, Harvin learned from former colleagues in New York—which was being ravaged by the virus—that hospitals were too overwhelmed to manage the bodies properly. The result was an appalling spectacle: forklifts carrying pallet-loads of bodies outside hospitals, decedents stacked on top of one another in trailers. At one point, police discovered nearly 100 rotting corpses in unrefrigerated U-Hauls parked by a Brooklyn funeral home. As the funeral home’s owner told the New York Times, “I ran out of space.”

The city handles the body of every Covid fatality, a process meant to ensure victims don’t pile up at overwhelmed hospitals, as in New York. Above, an autopsy room and viewing area at the city morgue.

***

The truth is that all mass-fatality events carry the potential for this type of disgrace. Amid the chaos of a calamity, victims get misidentified. Morgues fill up. “We saw that with Hurricane Katrina—bodies just left out there,” Harvin says. “And that’s a stain on our society.”

So Harvin and Mitchell made a decision that would set them apart from most coroners and medical examiners in the country. Instead of depending on the hospital system, the chief medical examiner’s office would assume responsibility. Every single person who dies of Covid in DC would be sent to Harvin and Mitchell’s team—a protocol that remains in place today.

By studying the mortality rate and projecting infection levels for the city, the men estimated that as many as 3,500 residents could perish in the pandemic. Or one in every 200. Putting aside the magnitude of the suffering, the math presented a serious logistical problem: The city morgue had an official capacity of only 205. The solution was apparent—they would have to build the Covid morgue.

Harvin immediately began acquiring the materials he’d need. He ordered six refrigerated trailers. He borrowed mobile light towers for nighttime work and generators for power. He acquired PPE, Porta-Potties, drinking water, 500 gallons of hand sanitizer, and heavy-duty body bags specially designed for mass tragedies, 4,000 in all. For families who couldn’t afford funerals, the District agreed to pay for cremations. And to prevent a backlog of fatalities, the city shortened the time it would hold unclaimed bodies before they could be cremated, from 30 to 15 days.

The truth is that all mass-fatality events carry the potential for disgrace. Amid the chaos of a calamity, victims get misidentified. Morgues fill up.

Meanwhile, Harvin combed the local and federal bureaucracy in search of an additional 30 workers—to volunteer. The Army agreed to detail members of its mortuary-affairs unit, which had operated similar morgues in combat zones. A trade association found out-of-state funeral directors who wanted to pitch in. DC’s Medical Reserve Corps, a group of volunteers willing to assist in health-related emergencies, provided workers. The DC Guard and the Air National Guard sent personnel.

As he rushed to get things in place, the virus was already spreading through Washington. Harvin felt the same sense of foreboding he’d experienced six years earlier when he was waiting for Hurricane Sandy to make landfall. “It’s like a slow-moving train,” he says. “You know it’s coming and you can’t stop it.”

***

While Harvin was acquiring equipment and manpower, his top lieutenant, Kim Lassiter, spent two days driving around the District, scouting possible sites for the morgue. At her last stop, she got out of her car and peered through the fence. The property had everything. It was city-owned land—a parking lot for DC employees, empty because staffers were now working from home. It was large enough for the trailers, and it could be secured with tarps and guards. Most important, the site was inconspicuous: You could drive right past it and not realize it was there. “This is perfect,” Lassiter thought.

Lassiter, a 54-year-old grandmother with a soft smile, is the second-longest-tenured medical examiner’s employee, with nearly a quarter century on the job. In the 1990s, she lifted the victims of gang wars off street corners and washed the blood from their wounds at the morgue. In 2002, she used x-rays to identify the remains of Chandra Levy, the 24-year-old intern whose murder had become the subject of national fascination when it was alleged she’d been dating a married congressman around the time of her disappearance. And in 2008, Lassiter carried the remains of four children—ages 5, 6, 11, and 17—from the house where they’d been decomposing for seven months, after their mother, Banita Jacks, became convinced they’d been possessed by demons and killed them.

Lassiter came to the work by way of her own personal tragedy. She grew up in a housing project in Prince George’s County, with five brothers and sisters. Her father wasn’t around, and her mother, who worked in healthcare, struggled to do it all on her own. She eventually fell victim to drug use. It was up to Lassiter—the eldest of the children—to run the household. She cut class three days a week to watch her siblings. At 12, she got a summer job to support the family. Even after she graduated from high school and entered the workforce, there were periods when she would drop everything to nurse her mother through the various chemical fogs and illnesses that encumber the life of an addict.

In 1987, when Lassiter was 21, her mother passed away. Lassiter was called to the hospital. A nurse escorted her to the elevator, and they rode down to the basement. There, in a frigid room, Lassiter found her mother lying motionless on a stretcher. Her eyes were still open. “I felt like,” Lassiter remembers, “she was waiting for me to show up.”

Kim Lassiter, a 25-year veteran of the medical examiner’s office, ran the Covid morgue day to day.

***

The nurse explained that her mother was being taken away for an autopsy. Lassiter didn’t know anything about the process, and the news frightened her. “If I could have gone with her through that,” she says, “I would have.”

Following the funeral, Lassiter obtained custody of her siblings, whom she supported through her job as a clerk at the US Department of Health and Human Services. A few years later, her life took an unexpected turn when she spotted an alarming story in the newspaper: The DC chief medical examiner’s office had released the wrong body to a grieving family. The incident sounded both outrageous and intriguing; more than anything, it reminded Lassiter—by then a mother herself—of when her mom had been sent to the morgue. She called the office, talked her way to a supervisor, and asked if she could help. She joined the office as a volunteer.

This was the late 1990s, and the agency was considerably smaller than it is today. Lassiter was quickly hired and eventually promoted, becoming one of seven technicians responsible for a full sweep of duties: fielding intake calls from police, snapping photographs at death scenes, transporting decedents to the morgue, and assisting with medical examinations and autopsies. She viewed the work not as some macabre responsibility but as an expression of love. While she hadn’t been able to care for her own mother after her death, she now looked after the deceased loved ones of others.

When arriving at a place of death, Lassiter is vigilant about wearing a blank facial expression, to acknowledge the gravity of the circumstances. She offers condolences, then completes her tasks—attaching the toe tag, placing the deceased into the body bag—at a diligent pace so as not to prolong the trauma of those looking on. Once an autopsy is complete, she uses tight, neat sutures to close the incisions. She then washes the stains from the body and wraps it in a crisp white sheet.

Occasionally, when working alone, Lassiter has found herself speaking out loud to the bodies. If she hits a pothole while driving someone to the morgue, she’ll apologize. I’m sorry. Upon entering the morgue’s cold-storage facility, she sometimes greets the people being kept there. Good morning. When examining a crime victim’s body—particularly when it’s a child’s—she often pledges to help get justice. I’ll do everything in my power to find the evidence needed to make whoever did this to you pay.

The hardest days are the ones when she finds herself face to face with someone she knows. One morning, as Lassiter was preparing for autopsies, she checked the manifest and saw a familiar name. It was an older woman, a friend of her mother’s who’d looked out for Lassiter as a child. She walked into the cold-storage room, slid the body out of its cabinet, and said goodbye. It was the only time she ever broke down crying at the morgue.

***

April 22, 2020—The day after the religious leaders consecrate the site, the Covid morgue begins to stir with workers in face shields, gloves, and white protective suits. It’s been six weeks since DC recorded its first case of Covid, and the death toll has exceeded the city morgue’s capacity. Now the first wave of bodies is arriving.

The process begins with a phone call. A hospital official, or sometimes a police officer, contacts the medical examiner’s office. Lassiter, who is chief of the transport unit, dispatches her team to the scene. Two workers, in full PPE, arrive in a black, unmarked van. They present paperwork for the physician’s signature. In the hospital’s morgue, they take custody of the body. Opening the body bag, they attach identification. They zip the bag closed and spray the outside with disinfectant, then place it into a second, heavy-duty body bag. They disinfect it again. The workers lift the decedent onto a stretcher and paste an identification tag onto the bag. They slide the stretcher into the back of the unmarked van.

Every body arriving at the Covid morgue is first accounted for at the intake tent, then transferred to a refrigerated trailer.

***

At the Covid morgue, the workers move the decedent onto a table in the intake tent. Here, they weigh the body, to help confirm identification, and enter the victim’s name into a computer. They wheel the decedent across the blacktop and up into one of the refrigerated trailers. Next, the transfer. If the victim is heavy, the workers—at least two, sometimes four—lift the body onto one of the lower shelves. If the person is light, they place the body on a higher shelf. The staff use internal coding—6D, 2A—to record the exact location. They exit the trailer, remove their protective suits, and put on fresh ones.

A victim typically remains at the Covid morgue a few days, rarely longer than a week. During that time, a separate team calls family members to help them through the paperwork. Once burial arrangements are made, the funeral director schedules a pickup. The workers wheel the victim out of cold storage and into a second tented canopy—the release tent. They again wipe down the outside of the body bag. They again spray it with disinfectant. The funeral director pulls up. They load the dead into the hearse.

***

Though it was difficult to find volunteers, Harvin had assembled what he called “a coalition of the willing.” The active-duty Army morticians and military reservists, the citizen volunteers, the funeral directors, along with medical-examiner staffers and UDC students. While many had backgrounds in mortuary services, others did not. “We had people,” Harvin says, “who had never touched a dead body before—never seen a dead body.”

When each new group of volunteers arrived, Harvin—“the general in charge of the death troops”—brought them together to discuss the effort. The victims had come to the Covid morgue after suffering lonely and terrifying deaths—hooked up to breathing tubes, surrounded by masked doctors and nurses. “These people often were dropped off at the hospital, and they couldn’t see their loved ones for two or three or four weeks,” he continued. “They expired around complete strangers.” The staff’s goal, Harvin told the troops, was to provide each person with a dignity in death that they didn’t experience during their last days of life.

The operation has depended on volunteers—students, funeral directors, military reservists with no prior training.

***

Then he turned it over to Lassiter, who ran the day-to-day operations. She instructed new volunteers how to implement the values Harvin had espoused. When carrying the deceased, move deliberately and with caution. Keep the body as horizontal as possible. Do not, under any circumstances, stack one on top of another. Check, double-check, and triple-check the manifest to make sure each victim is in the correct rack. And pay respect through your words. Lassiter never refers to the deceased as “corpses” or “cadavers” or “cases.” Instead, she calls them “my people.”

“That’s the only way I can get [the workers] to treat them the way they would treat someone that they love,” Lassiter says. “Because it makes them see how special these people are to me.”

***

Gerald Slater, 86, was a television executive at PBS and WETA.

Richard Paul Thornell, 83, was a Howard law-school professor who helped establish the Peace Corps’s first-ever program, in Ghana.

Jose Mardoqueo Reyes, 54, was a refugee of El Salvador’s civil war and a beloved internet-radio broadcaster.

Luevella Jackson, 87, was among the first female bus drivers in DC’s public-school system.

Samuel Shumaker III, 90, was an Army colonel who also taught English and creative writing at UDC.

Florence Gilkes, 97, was a loving wife and aunt, as well as a dedicated fan of the Washington Football Team.

Iraj Askarinam, 76, owned a restaurant in Adams Morgan, where he regularly provided free meals to the homeless. They called him “Mr. Spaghetti.”

***

By May, the pandemic’s bleakest days had arrived at the morgue. The daily influx of new decedents fluctuated—eight one day, 19 the next. As the volume swelled, the workers came face to face with the breadth of the city’s suffering. They began recognizing the last names of victims they’d been dispatched to retrieve, and it dawned on them that these were additional members of already devastated families. Payton McFadden, a UDC premed grad, describes the crushing duty of traveling to a DC hospital to collect the body of a Covid-positive baby: “We had went and gotten one of the [baby’s] family members one week prior. [Covid] was slowly but surely matriculating through the whole house.” In a searing example of the District’s racial inequality, 74 percent of the fatalities were Black. “I will never forget this as long as I live, ever,” Lassiter says. “It just took so many people at one time, so suddenly.”

A Chicago-area funeral director who asked to be identified only by her first name, Stacey, came to Washington to volunteer. She served in the medical examiner’s main office, calling families and guiding them through the process of finalizing death certificates and retrieving loved ones. On one occasion, she spoke with a man whose father was in the Covid morgue, and he dissolved into tears. The man explained that they’d been estranged for years. It was only recently that they’d finally begun speaking again. “We do help carry that burden of grief,” she says. “And it’s hard.” On another day, she had a series of conversations with a police officer whose mother was at the disaster morgue. When the officer suddenly stopped returning her calls, Stacey got hold of his wife, who told her he’d been hospitalized with Covid himself. Nearly a year later, she still wonders about him. “It is always in the back of my head,” she says. “I don’t know [if] he made it through.”

Routine tasks touched off bouts of anguish. A worker might spot a detail about a victim that resonated personally: a birthday shared with the worker’s daughter, the same last name as a best friend.

As the morgue’s lead official, Harvin was spending up to 12 hours a day at the site. “Everyone’s talking about Covid and fatalities, and it’s just numbers to them. We’re actually dealing with them,” he says. “I have a PhD and I’m in there putting on gloves and a [protective] suit and I’m helping the crews move bodies in and out of trailers. It’s visceral for us.”

The staff feared for their own safety. “The scariest thing was [potentially being] exposed ourselves,” says Denise Lyles, supervisor of the investigation unit. Lassiter grew terrified that she’d infect her family. “I have a husband that goes out and he works. I was concerned about him,” she says. “Grandchildren that are asthmatic, concerned about them.”

Routine tasks touched off bouts of anguish. While checking the manifest, a worker might spot a detail about a victim that resonated personally: a birthday shared with the worker’s daughter, the same last name as a best friend. Harvin and Lassiter did what they could to look out for their staff’s mental health. At the end of each day, Lassiter pulled people aside to see if anyone was experiencing symptoms of anxiety or depression, connecting them with counselors or chaplains. Over time, even veterans of the medical examiner’s office began struggling with the weight of their mission.

After several weeks at the site, Harvin found that when he returned home from work, he would drift into a haze. He had no appetite. He stopped engaging his wife in conversation. He passed entire evenings staring blankly into the television. “I don’t even know what I’m watching,” he recalls. “I had no motivation.”

Harvin, of course, had worked mass tragedy before. After hijackers flew the first plane into the World Trade Center, he approached the South Tower on foot. From two blocks away, he saw bodies falling from the sky and his entire body froze. He couldn’t take another step forward. Minutes later, there was a deafening sound and the tower disappeared into a cloud of gray debris. Out of the rubble came a speeding ambulance. Harvin jumped into the back along with dozens of other firefighters and cops. As they neared the North Tower, Harvin turned to one of them. “Doesn’t it look like this one’s leaning?” he said.

He spent the next two days at Ground Zero searching for survivors and recovering the dead. The experience was so traumatizing that he vowed never to return to the site. But he found the work at the Covid morgue even more emotionally taxing. “I survived September 11,” he says. “I didn’t know if I was going to survive this.”

“There were so many women. So many mothers there.”

While he was able to walk away from Ground Zero after the attack,the pandemic was taking new victims each day. Every time Harvin arrived at the Covid morgue, he confronted a fresh supply of misery, and there was no end in sight. “Your mind and your soul get worn down far long before you body [does],” he says. Recognizing that he was experiencing depression, he turned to colleagues at the homeland-security department and found solace in chatting with them virtually.

For Lassiter, the pain manifested not as psychological trauma but as profound sadness. The heartache was always there, growing more intense over time. May 9—Mother’s Day—was the hardest. It had always been a tough one, the day her own mother’s death was most painful. But there was an additional heaviness now; she couldn’t stop thinking about everyone at the Covid morgue. “There were so many women,” she says. “So many mothers there.”

Though she was scheduled to be off, Lassiter didn’t feel right staying home on that particular day. She left her house in Prince George’s County and made the 25-minute drive to the site. Arriving at the morgue, she put on a protective suit and greeted the workers. “What are you doing here?” they asked. “It’s Mother’s Day,”

“I know,” she replied, “but I came down because I wanted to really thank you for what you’re doing.” She understood that some of them were mothers themselves, and she appreciated them for spending the day at the site.

Lassiter walked over to the cold-storage trailers and turned to face her people. “Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms,” she said. As she returned to the car, she noticed a lightness of spirit.

“It felt kind of like a sign of relief,” she says. “Just to speak out. To let them know that someone cares.”

***

June 2020—As summer approaches, the pace at the Covid morgue begins to slow. Fewer victims are arriving; the number of bodies in the trailers is declining. By the end of the month, the volume is thin enough that it can be handled at the city morgue. Washington’s first wave of Covid has reached its conclusion.

It’s time for Harvin to shut down the disaster morgue, at least for now. But before doing so, he organizes a final ritual. On July 7, 2020, Rabbi Herzfeld, Reverend Towner, and Imam Shareef return to the site. They were present at the beginning, and Harvin wants them here today, too.

The faith leaders gather by the intake tent as a group of three dozen workers form concentric circles around them. They offer prayers of thanksgiving that the work is coming to an end. “It is at death that the earth receives its treasures,” says Imam Shareef. “And we want to honor the facility that now has allowed for individuals to be returned back to the earth.”

After the ceremony, Lassiter assembles the men and women on her team to thank them for their two and a half months of service. When she finishes, a soldier who was assigned to the site pulls a patch off his flak jacket and approaches her. “This patch has been around the world,” he tells Lassiter, “and I want you to have it.”

Though the pandemic rages on, Harvin and Lassiter can’t help but feel a certain triumph. They haven’t misidentified any bodies. None of their team has contracted Covid. They know they may be back. But in a dark and painful year, this is a good day.

Months later, Lassiter will remember it, the special pride she felt that despite dozens of workers toiling and thousands of pounds of equipment rumbling, despite 404 fatalities passing through, word of the Covid morgue never reached the public. Her colleagues hadn’t enlisted for accolades. They’d pressed through the fear and the grief in order to care for the innocent victims of a historic pandemic.

“It felt good,” Lassiter says. “Even if no one would ever know about it.”

It’s been nearly a year since the pandemic struck Washington. In the first four months of lockdown, the city lost three times as many jobs as it did during the 2008 recession. By July, small business revenue had been cut in half. Metrorail ridership has plunged by as much as 90 percent. Over the coming four years, the District is anticipating a budget gap of roughly $800 million. All told, more than 933,514 people in DC, Maryland, and Virginia have contracted the virus, and 15,148 have died.

Today, Covid fatalities are being processed at the city morgue in Southwest DC; although the number of deaths is once again elevated, it’s well below the peaks of last spring. At the disaster morgue, the light towers have been hauled away and the generators have gone silent. The trailers are resting on a deserted blacktop. Each day, thousands of cars pass right by the site, oblivious to what happened there. If they knew where to look, though, the drivers could see something that Harvin made sure to leave in place. The DC and US flags, rising above the fence.

***

This article appears in the March 2021 issue of Washingtonian.

#death #long reads #washington DC #covid-19 pandemic #luke mullins

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theflowercrowngirl · 3 years

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Writers Month 2021 #14 - Resistance

Writers Month (August) 2021 Day #14 Word: Duck / Setting: Utopia/Dystopia Fandom: Hakuouki Characters: Chizuru, Hijikata, Kondou, Okita... Pairings: None Warnings: None? Rating: T, just to be safe.

The night was falling, and the atmosphere was gray and heavy, both outside and inside the building.

Chizuru moved away from the window, her hand carefully sliding back the curtains.

It was the moment for them to risk it all.

And, if everything turns out alright... we’ll continue to do so, she thought, everyday.

“Ready, all of you?” Hijikata asked, with a somber, stony expression, his eyes scanning the room. “There’s no going back now. If someone wants to step back, now’s the moment.”

There was a tense pause, before a laugh resounded in the room.

Everyone turned to look at Okita, who seemed very much unfazed at the attention.

“Do you seriously think someone would have the guts to come forward...? Nay, they know it as well as us” His eyes glinted coldly, even though the smile never left his face. “If someone steps forward, we’ll have to kill him… or her.”

Chizuru tried not to shiver.

“Enough, Souji” Kondou’s face was another story entirely, and Souji quieted down. Kondou sent an apologetic glance towards Chizuru, before facing the entire group again, side by side with Hijikata. “We know this is not what many of us would have liked… But it’s what we have come to. All of us need to put our trust in each other, for this to work. I hope you know… That all of the leaders, myself included, will give all of us for this cause. And it is our hope that you will do it too. We are counting on you… all of you.”

Some lowered their gazes, while some lifted their faces, feeling encouraged; but Chizuru could only look again towards the window, wondering how long would it take for the toxic fumes to start polluting the air again. Every night fall, the government turned off the purifying machines, that kept the city alive and busy. People had to remain in their houses at night, while the small, meek pipes system surrounding the house, secretated a repelling airborne substance, that kept the fumes at bay.

Their group was called the Shinsengumi, and once they had been one of the most respected forces of the Military.

Now, they were fighting a losing fight, for the ones that once supported them had deserted them…

And now, the forces of the King, and the King himself, were all hell-bent in destroying them; perhaps to send a message, that the past was long gone; perhaps to make them a symbol that resistance was futile. But they, the Shinsengumi, were used to surviving; and they were willing to defend what they believed in, at the cost of their own life.

They tore off their trackers long ago, the barely visible chips that were implanted beneath their skin; and their Secret Forces kept constant watch against spying devices, or any form of interference; and Chizuru had accidentally become involved with the revolution, after witnessing the effects of a dangerous experiment.

But that dangerous experiment was now their advantage.

Hijikata’s eyes glinted once again, as his dark hair mutated to white in the blink of an eye, like a rush of flowing waters. He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them once more, the iris was of a crimson red color, his stare acute and deadly.

"Any man who starts a fight he isn't willing to die for doesn't know what it means to be a warrior. Tonight, death will be waiting And either we will succeed, or we will find it!"

The men cheered, oxygen masks being passed in the back, carefully counting each one, for they had no more to spare.

Chizuru looked at the closed window, with ragged curtains, and no light filtered from the outside anymore.

That was the kind of world they lived in. Of a pitch black darkness, their lives in the hands of the traitorous government that was supposed to protect them.

Chizuru joined her hands in a silent prayer, closing her eyes too, vowing to help the Shinsengumi, until her last breath.

#WritersMonth2021 #writersmonth #day 14 #writersmonth2021 day 14 #Hakuouki fanfiction #hakuouki AU #Dystopian AU #hakuoki fanfic #hakuouki

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talesofsonicasura · 4 years

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Diamonds and Voodoo

You Do Voodoo

A mysterious visitor comes to Morioh. Paths diverge and intertwine with the various townfolks of this crazy, noisy bizarre town. And it all started with a good deed touched by a bit of magic.

Good deeds tend to create ripples throughout what we know as life. Sometimes an act of kindness can lead to great rewards. At rare times the road to hell is often paid with good intentions. Nevertheless, this type of charity has a habit of changing the future of one or many individuals. For sometimes, a grand adventure begins with that very act of kindness.

"Look out!" Morioh, a small town amongst the middle of nowhere quite unlike many cities found in Japan. A type of place that tends to be quiet but also hosts some oddities within its dwellings. Unlike many small towns, Morioh would become ground zero for a strand of very bizarre events and each with their own level of danger.

A car was parked awkwardly sideways between the road and crosswalk. Upon closer inspection, this was a crash as the front end was inward from the telephone pole currently wedged inside the bright red metal. To the side was an abandoned bicycle alongside a police officer and what many from this town could call a foreigner. The officer holded the visitor close to his chest almost awkwardly, the telltale of being grabbed.

The officer was an older and surprisingly buff male, darkened grey hair hidden under his cap, eyes that had a natural glint of kindness despite the concern now shining for the person in their arms. A would-be victim of the car accident was a young woman around her late teens, between 16 or 17 from the bits of remaining baby fat still left on her face.

Her skin was slightly tanned in a more climate related basis, such as sun exposure than natural skin tone, hair a short messy lime green hidden under the top jaw of a dinosaur-esque skull, a 5'8 body that was slim, lean and had moderate bust along with curves, but it was her eyes and her arms that drew the most attention.

The young woman's arms were decorated in wavy almost vine patterned tribal markings with a four toes pad on each shoulder and her eyes had a unique case of heterochromia with the right being a normal orange but the entire left eye was blue except for a single white pupil. Her outfit consisted of dark blue fingerless gloves, red sneakers, light brown cargo shorts, a black bra and opened orange vest outlined in red.

"You okay there missy? That car almost hit you if I didn't pull you away in time." The officer questioned, his voice soft and kind in a sort of grandfatherly way. She merely looked up at him with a large impish smile. Not even scared or off-put that a speeding car almost made the teen paste on the street.

"I'm good mister! Just glad no one else got hurt either. Car accidents aren't something normal folks can handle and I rather get hurt than somebody else! I'm more than capable of taking some nasty hits!" The woman's peppy, slightly loud and light chuckle paired with the slightly morbid words had thrown the officer for a loop before he strangely found himself chuckling too.

"Hahaha. Well aren't you an odd but thoughtful young lady? I wish some of my friends on the force had that kind of energy. Everyone's been down as of late and honestly needs a pep talk or two." The greenette looked at his badge for a moment as if scanning for his name. Something that was quick to find apparently as it read 'Ryohei Higashitaka'.

With that in hand, she then reached into the pocket of her cargo while silently whispering his name. The officer or Ryohei honestly looked a bit surprised when the youth produced a peculiar item. It was a small brown wooden charm carved into a smiling mask. The mask was painted with red lips, yellow with green outlined eyes, large reddish eyebrows and four small feathers ranging from yellow, orange, purple and red.

"Please take this mister as a sign of gratitude. It's a good luck charm carved into the likeness of Aku-Aku, a spirit of protection. This charm shall ward off a great disaster in your future." The older man took the odd charm with a soft smile and looked it over. He softly chuckles before patting her head.

"Why thank you! It's pretty adorable and well crafted! I'll make sure to keep it close. Good luck is something a lot of people nowadays…" His eyes widened a bit upon realization. "Whoops! Careless me! I forgot to ask for a name. I am Ryohei Higashitaka, an officer of the Morioh Police Department. What's your name missy? I need it to file a report for ya and if you want to press charges." She merely gave an impish smile with a bit of her tongue sticking out.

"It's Taki-Taki, Taki-Taki Bandicoot."

Budo-ga Oka Middle and High School, one of the few schools within Morioh. A joint school where grades between 6 and 11th are together instead of being separate. It was also a place that had a quite an amount of delinquents which make up some of the school's student body.

Walking towards this destination from the local town square was a mountain of a man in very odd clothing. Hair was jet black and well groomed, eyes a bright ocean blue, body sculpted like a Greek God from every single inch out of 6'5 and a natural scowlish look on his face. Nearly all his clothes, from his coat, pants, shoes and torn back hat with golden pins stylized to spell Jo were white except for the man's shirt which was pitch black.

The man was currently looking over a paper, a report or letter from highly detailed it was in both text and a few select photos. His brows wrinkled in aggravation before muttering a soft 'Yare Yare Daze' under his breath. "Godamnit old man. You're too old to be causing this type of bullshit." He hissed, rough, husky and slightly aggravated tone to his voice making a few people steer clear of his vicinity.

Well… not just that. Unknown to the raven in question, there was something odd looking over his shoulder. This peculiarity was a mask of sorts. It looked vaguely human but the light blue material used to craft it was spectral from how it softly glow like wisps in the night sky.

An Aztec type crown at the top with four flat points as if it was a piece from a gear, large carved ears with faint spiral at the center, pure white eyes and mouth outlined in mauve, and the same mauve color to imitate flat eyebrows. Bystanders seeing the mask either quickened their step or blamed this bizarre sight as 'too much coffee' or 'no more liquor in the morning.'

"Huh. Guess an old man in his late 60s can get laid. Oh, so that's where the gardens are!" The young man nearly bit his tongue in shock from both the raspy, light and almost nerdy sounding male voice but also the fact it came from a floating tiki mask that took a closer look at his document.

He couldn't get a word out of his mouth as the mask flew off with surprising speed. "A Stand?! That means there's a Stand User nearby! You ain't getting away from me!" A bright golden aura began to burn around the adult upon giving chase to the airborne oddity. On the sidewalk, the man's shadow grew with the addition of a more peculiar one.

A few minutes passed when the chase was called off upon the mask being too far in the air to pursue, the extra shadow vanished as the adult male let a growl in annoyance. He lowers his hat with a curse. "Damn it. If that thing's responsible for the recent incidents going on in this town…" The man then went to a payphone before dialing in a number.

"This is Jotaro Kujo. Tell the heads of the Speedwagon Foundation that there is confirmed Stand activity in Morioh. Look into the database about a Stand in shape of a glowing blue mask and the possibility if it's connected to Dio." The phone was slammed down as the white coat of the man fluttered while he left.

"Poke!" A finger poking the little snout of a box turtle that had swam up from the water of the makeshift pond seated by a small bus stop. Sitting on the curb of the pond beside was the odd Taki-Taki, currently petting the small reptilian much to its pleasure. "You're a handsome turtle, aren't you? Much nicer than the big ones back home." She cooed while the turtle rubbed itself against her hand clearly in love with the kind contact.

A little whimper had the young woman look around in utter confusion. Soft heterochromia eyes soon met bright baby blue ones tinged with a bit of fear. That fear directed to the little reptile nipping at the greenette's fingers.

A 5'11 muscular young man with blue violet hair tended neatly into a large pompadour, a dark violet gakuran pinned with a yellow heart and gold peace on each side of his chest, sunshine yellow shirt that peeked through the gap of his uniform coat, and dark boots were the owner of these baby blue orbs.

"You okay? Look like you're about to pee yourself." Taki-Taki questioned upon the fidgeting male still looking at the turtle as if it tried to eat him. He immediately calmed down a bit now noticing he wasn't exactly alone, cheeks dusting a bright red. "I'm so sorry! Reptiles just give me the willies that's all, mostly turtles." His soft and slightly rough almost if still adjusting practically rattled with nervousness.

She merely chuckled whilst waving off any concern. "It's alright! Everyone is afraid of something so no harm done. Plus this little handsome fellow is much more kinder than the ones I've seen in Turtle Woods. Those turtles were mean and one tried to steal my hat!" Her spare hand pointed at the dinosaur skull on her head since the other was still petting the shelled reptile.

The pompadour wearing young man shivered upon the two words 'Turtle Woods' but was honestly thankful that she wasn't making fun of him for his phobia. Taki-Taki then stood up whilst petting the turtle's head one more time. "I better go! Promised to get some stuff with my friend Lani-Loli and we're supposed to meet up at the gardens! Chou!" And she was gone with a pep to her step.

"My name is Josuke Higashitaka… And she's gone. Maybe I'll see her again." The sound of male cursing grew as the purple pomp prince noticed a bunch of male students coming over to him. Delinquents from their rude, downlooking and glaring faces, something that only made him sigh. Days like these tend to suck.

The Higashitaka household, home to the Higashitaka family which consisted of the older police officer Ryohei, his daughter but also single mother Tomoko and Tomoko's son Josuke. A lively place from the unique personalities of the three living inside. Well, it wasn't like this right now.

Peculiar water slipping away from the house window almost like a cobra finished with their prey. A fact so true upon the still body of the family matriarch lying lifeless on the floor. Face carved in blood coated horror slowly changes to a pristine clean outlook through a soft golden aura. Almost if the man died in his slumber and not of gruesome supernatural murder.

The golden aura belonging to a bubblegum arm coated in crystalline diamond armor soon vanishes inside the body of Josuke. Behind Josuke was Jotaro, the man clad in white being a relative, his nephew shockingly taken into consideration that his grandfather was the pomp prince's father. Who knew?

And the older man could only look at the teen that was his uncle trying to coax his dead grandfather back to life with sympathetic pity. Aquamarine eyes that always seemed stuck in a perpetual glare now softened at the scene. The look of someone who had seen a death like this before. Or to be more precise, had experienced such a grizzly sight.

Jotaro knew that this wasn't the time for grief fueled hysterics. There were more pressing matters and dangers ready to drown them from the inside. "Josuke…" Any further words from the older man, alongside any actions from the teen immediately stopped upon one thing. Subtle movement originating from the chest of the officer's corpse before them.

A sickly sweet scent reminiscent of cherries filled the air along with the soft sizzle of something burning. Thin wisps of smoke coming from the body's chest pocket spurred Josuke to go into the clothing's pouch. Baby blue eyes widened seeing a small brown tiki charm in his hands but specifically the feathers that were turning to dust.

"A voodoo charm?" The purplette's attention immediately went back to the corpse of his grandfather. His still chest slowly began to rise and fall almost as if… "He's breathing." It was the only conclusion Jotaro came to upon the subtle movements. The charm in the teenager's hands fully became ash once his previously deceased grandfather sat up looking purely confused.

"Ooh my head… I don't remember my favorite booze having that strong of a kick. Josuke? What are you doing here since I thought you were going out? Who's this guy? And why are you crying?" Ryohei didn't expect to wake up to such a scene or his own grandson to hug him so hard thinking he was about to kick the bucket.

He was quick however to notice the scent of cherry in the air alongside a missing weight in his breast pocket. "Did someone light a scented candle and where did my good luck charm go? Was I mugged or something Josuke?" The elderly man's inquiry had the two younger men share the same look. They needed answers.

/"You want to know who gave me that charm? Well, it was a young girl around my grandson's age. She had green hair, heterochromia with her eyes being orange and blue, and had what looked like a dinosaur skull on her head. Said her name Taki-Taki Bandicoot and came into town looking for ingredients. The charm was based off of a guardian of protection... Aku-Aku I believe she said."/

Information that had both Jotaro and his younger uncle running through the streets of Morioh in a hurry. Ryohei had been put into protective custody with a short call from whoever the raven had pretty high connections to. Something that man would have refused if it wasn't for the fact his son was crying. Josuke only cried when things were at the absolute worst. This made it easier to search without the man being in danger once more.

"I never thought my life would have gotten this insane. First an escaped death row inmate capable of killing his victims from the inside with water and now a Stand User capable of bringing back the dead! Things weren't like this until you came to town!" The highschooler quipped as if to ignore the harsh ache going through his legs.

"Your life was bound to become bizarre the moment you awakened your Stand, no, the moment you were born with Joestar blood. A curse everyone in this damned bloodline has. So don't blame me for the shitshow." Jotaro fired back in absolute annoyance. Their destination was the place mentioned by the woman when Josuke encountered her, Morioh's Springroll Garden.

"Maybe she can remove it? She does know voodoo and it does involve a lot of curse thingies? Do you think Taki-Taki can get rid of my fear of turtles?" The teenager's question was merely met with an eye roll from Jotaro. He was going to shout back an insult until something caught his eyes.

A lone figure standing amongst a large collection of various flora and vegetation belonging to one of Morioh's famous landmarks. More accurately a lonehuman figure and a soft blue floating oddity by them that was very damn familiar to the male clad in white. "There she is and that's the Stand I saw earlier!"

Taki-Taki was currently plucking a few mushrooms from underneath the bushes that provided their moist dark home and placed them into a small straw basket. Springroll Garden was a place where people could pick their vast garden by purchasing a special ticket and take home an entire basket full of items.

"It's kind of cool that the town has such a garden like this. Especially when it guarantees a free basket of fresh goods for first time visitors too!" The luminescent mask said with a big smile while looking at a bush full of white roses. His green haired friend merely let out a chuckle in agreement before speaking. "Same here pal. Makes it a lot easier to find the things needed to work my magic."

A loud shout had the two look up to see some familiar faces running their way. "Wouldn't you know? Hey Pompadour Prince, fancy seeing you here!" Taki-Taki's nickname immediately had the boy stop in his tracks. Face burning in anger until the words finally hitting turned that anger into pure confusion. The sudden confusion didn't stop the mask from cowering behind the greenette.

"Pompadour Prince?" He questioned while pointing to himself, clearly confused. "You kidding? That's the best pompadour I've ever seen. Also, calling you king is going a bit too far since we've barely known each other and aren't in a relationship." Her words caused the male teen to blush a bit paired with a smitten look and cheesy smile.

Jotaro merely elbowed Josuke's shoulder as the highschooler remembered what they were supposed to be doing. "Taki-Taki Bandicoot, we need you to come with us. We already know about you being a Stand User since your Stand is hiding right behind you but also that charm you gave Ryohei Higashitaka before he was attacked."

The greenette merely had a confused look before it immediately narrowed into glare after the words Ryohei Higashitaka and attacked. Her emotions were clearly being felt through the odd mask as it came out of hiding to glare at them. "I knew something bad was bound to happen upon seeing that dark aura. Tell me what you've done to that kind officer before I rip ya putzes a new one!"

Josuke was thrown off guard by the sudden aggression consuming Taki-Taki's features. It was as if a cloak of pure madness just overshadowed that sunny aura of the greenette. The change didn't deter Jotaro who refused to back down at her threat. As if proving his point, a gold aura started to radiate from his body.

"You need to calm down now. We aren't your enemies but I won't hesitate to knock you out even if you're a girl." The man spoke as something appeared from his body like an apparition. It was a humanoid spirit of sorts that appeared to be an Aztec Warrior or barbarian with similar origins.

Just as big and buff as his summoner but a bit more, soft blue skin that outlined a coral inner pink, black hair that flowed like smoke but sparkle as if it was stardust, soft ocean blue eyes and a body armed with white pauldrons painted in gold spirals, black fingerless gold studded gloves, a white scarf around their neck, black knee high boots and a long white loincloth alongside a dark tasset.

Yet, the strange being seemed to only piss off Taki-Taki even further as she went into her pant's pocket to pull out a small crystal orb. "You're going to threaten me with a giant in his skivvies? Alright jackass, hope your ready to party. For this Ooda-Booga Boogie of mine is going to send ya to the hospital!" And she crushed the crystal orb in her hand.

Both men only had seconds until a large blackish pink fist had punched Jotaro's spirit in the face, the ghost and summoner were sent flying out of the garden before kissing the street concrete. Josuke could only blink before seeing the thing responsible for sending his nephew airborne. "Holy shit!" For what stood snarling in front of Taki-Taki was an absolute monster.

A heavily built 9'6 tall slightly deformed anthropomorphic porcupine with vibrant magenta skin overshadowed by a darkish gray hide. A long singular black horn tipped with hot pink, burning crimson eyes that glared down at the man in white, a magenta muzzle overlapped with an giant overbite of fangs, multiple pink tipped black spikes across their back, their right arm covered in black armor in the form of a riot shield, and crimson hakama trousers with a black paw print on the side.

The beast snarled angrily at Jotaro while a trail of drool came down from their razor sharp maw. It then let out a loud and deep inhuman roar almost if challenging anyone foolish enough to face the beast's wrath. Jotaro had gotten back onto his feet, spitting a bit of blood on the road before wiping the remainder from his mouth. Some of it stained bits of his hat a dark crimson. His spirit staring at the beast with an analysistic glare.

"That's one hell of a sucker punch you got there. Quite an ugly bastard of a friend you have, makes me question which one it is though. Is the beast your actual stand or a byproduct of its power?" The question only seemed to aggravate the greenette and the large creature she called upon.

"That 'ugly bastard' is my friend Quill and what is with this Stand garbage anyway?! What I want to know is did you attack Mr. Ryohei?! My charm doesn't just vanish without fulfilling its purpose even if stolen. Now answer me or I'll beat the truth out of you!" Taki-Taki declared with a snarl that held inhumanely sharp teeth.

Josuke didn't have to be a genius to know if he didn't stop these two right now then things were going to get a lot worse. His nephew's Stand went in for a punch while the greenette's large beast followed suit. Neither attack landing their blow as two diamond covered pink hands caught both fists.

The culprit was a giant pink skinned warrior whose body was covered in Corinthian style diamond armor. He was huge with the same type of muscle like Jotaro's spirit, eyes were a bright baby blue that shone through the darkness of the heart top helmet with concern, wires connecting the back of his neck to his back, heart shaped diamond pauldrons with spikes, armor that over lined the side of his arms, legs and back, and diamond plating rings around the fingers.

Unlike Jotaro's Stand or Taki-Taki's giant beast, this one exuded a gentle and kind aura akin to that of a guardian or protector. Something that made sense from the soft magenta aura radiating from Josuke. "Please stop fighting! I don't want to see my nephew or the person who saved my grandpa hurt each other for something stupid!" The pomp prince's words carried strong as they were sincere.

Something the greenette easily felt upon Quill taking a step back as if backing down from the fight since there was no longer any hostility. Jotaro's Stand disappeared soon after while he muttered a soft 'Yare Yare Daze' under his breath. "Holy shit… I thought things were going to get ugly there. I don't think this garden deserves to be wrecked by a Spike." The mask's quip not being lost on anyone.

Later at the Higashitaka House, cups of tea were placed on the table. Sitting at the table on mats were Josuke, Jotaro and the odd woman known as Taki-Taki Bandicoot. To their left side strangely enough was the greenette's mask and both men's spirits that were conversing with each other or goofing off upon the playing cards between them.

"I still don't believe that Stands are basically the spiritual energy of someone given form. You sure they aren't warrior ancestors? Jotaro's Star Platinum looks like an Aztec barbarian and Josuke, your Crazy Diamond reminds of those old Greek soldiers from his armor." She said while looking at the three oddities playing Go Fish.

A Scrabble holder was being used for the mask or Lani-Loli's cards since he didn't have any hands. He would ask either Star Platinum or Crazy Diamond to put any of his matching cards down and when he needed to 'fish' a card. "Pretty sure. Couldn't I ask the same thing about Lani-Loli over there? Floating masks that can talk aren't normal either." Josuke quipped while pointing to the mask in question.

"Hey! I'm right here you know and I'm way older than all of you combined! And I would have you know that I was human before becoming a Quantum Mask! If I still had hands I would smack all three of you on the head!" The mask fired back in aggravation, some of the cards disappearing in blue wisps of smoke... alongside Josuke's clothes.

"Eeek!" He panicked immediately covering his crotch, Jotaro hiding his embarrassment under his hat while Taki-Taki turned her head away with face hot red in embarrassment. "Great Tikimon! Lani-Loli! Phase his clothes back now!" The mask quickly undoing his magic in sheer embarrassment. Josuke's clothes and the cards popping back into reality with similar blue wispy smoke.

Poor teen let out a sigh of relief knowing he wasn't nude in front of a girl anymore. "Sorry! Sometimes I accidentally poof things out of existence when I'm stressed! And nothing says stress like an escaped convict who kills people with living water!" Jotaro rolled his eyes at the smartass remark. For an all mighty ancient mask, Lani-Loli was an anxious nerd that was a scare away from passing out.

The reason why they were holed up in Josuke's house was that all of them were targets of the Stand User Angelo and his Stand Aqua Necklace.

Angelo was a psychopath with a taste of madness and penchant for violence. The man was arrested repeatedly for brutal acts like murder and even sexual assault before he was landed on Death row. Sadly his execution didn't work properly, allowing the maniac to escape the morgue and reach Morioh. He attacked Ryohei as the cop was the reason Angelo got arrested.

Due to the nature of his Stand, none of them could use water that came from anywhere but a bottle in fear of accidentally swallowing the dangerous entity. "And when do you think it's safe for us to go home? Unlike you guys, my dad will go nuts if I ain't back soon. None of us want to deal with an angry father much less my pops, Crash Bandicoot." Taki-Taki wasn't blind to the nervous look on the pompadour prince's face while he took a sip of his tea.

"Until that Stand User is caught." Jotaro didn't foresee the spray of tea hitting his face from the greenette's spit-take. The grown man was growling in his seat while the young woman tried to settle down her coughs. "You nuts?! That is the stupidest thing I ever heard and this is stemming from the fact my partner does insanely stupid stuff on a daily basis!"

Lani-Loli had flown over to the table so fast that the card pile dispersed from the sudden gust, much to both Stand's displeasure. "You said this guy's Stand is pure water right? What do we do when we run out of water? Wait, here's a better one! What happens if it rained? Shelter becomes a deathtrap in two seconds!" Both men's eyes widened upon the mask's words.

After settling down her coughing fit, Taki-Taki let out a soft whisper. "I think this is what that putz wants. Turn ourselves into sitting ducks and swoops in for the kill until it's too late. And it's going to rain in three days." Silence filled the room upon that very knowledge. The convict was planning to turn their stakeout into a trap.

Josuke could only sigh at the difficult hand. Sure, they now know the guy's plan but if they ignore it then finding Angelo would be even harder. It also meant that the psycho will find out Ryohei is still alive and won't hesitate to attack him again. "Then let's turn the tables back. Turn the hunter into the hunted." All eyes were on Taki-Taki in seconds.

She had a goofy smile on her face with her tongue sticking out in an impish manner. There was also the fact that another crystal orb was in her hands. An item that produced the monstrous Quill but unlike that one, this jewel was a shade of toxic green. Lani-Loli, upon seeing what his friend held, grew a mischievous grin of his own. The odd duo clearly had a plan that almost made Jotaro and Josuke feel an ounce of pity. Almost being the keyword.

Rain had finally fallen upon the house once three days had passed by. Taki-Taki had called her father about being home a few days late since some issues had cropped up. Neither Josuke or Jotaro heard the man's voice but what they gathered upon how the greenette talked, 'Crash' was kindly lenient. Although, both males would have to see him once she got back home.

They spent most of their time keeping themselves from getting bored. Board games, reading, or Taki-Taki crafting some… mysterious concoctions and trinkets with whatever she found in the Higashitaka household. Josuke could honestly admit that he didn't know there was a den of possums hiding in his walls but the witch doctor managed to get some possum fur and nail clippings after one landed on Jotaro.

The greenette at the moment was alone in the bathroom, various ingredients that surrounded a lone bucket. Each item was odd in their own right, rat tails, frog eyes, shiitake mushrooms, yew branches, spoiled milk and a bottle of water. Taki-Taki began pouring the ingredients into the vat starting with the rotten dairy.

She was chanting in an unknown language that eerily sounded like a mix of Arabic and Pig Latin. Bucket began to bubble from her words as the color shifted upon every ingredient dropped into the vat. Taki-Taki's water bottle was currently halfway empty through the process and the cap left abandoned to the side.

Unbeknownst to the woman, rain began to patter outside and something opaque began to build up by the window. It looked like water but it held a more bluish hue and moved too much like a living creature to be normal. Then a pair of sinister pink eyes and a grin full of sharp teeth slithered through.

"You sure this isn't a mango?" Josuke currently sat in the front room alongside Lani-Loli who floated over the teenager's shoulder. Standing on the table was a large orange fruit with a yellow bottom similar to a mango but two leaves that hung from a stem. The teenager currently poking at the fruit that had come from Taki-Taki's home.

"Nope! It's a Wumpa Fruit, a pretty common thing to find on the Wumpa Islands. They're much sweeter than mango and the juice is pretty tasty too. Especially when used for a Wumpa Smoothie, those are really good." Being curious upon the mask's words, the pompadour prince took a nicely sized bite of the fruit.

Tangy sweetness was the first thing that hit the highschooler's taste buds then a rich zesty flavor kicked in a matter of seconds. "Holy shit! This is actually pretty good. Yo Jotaro, you have to try this!" The raven poked his head out of the kitchen upon hearing his name. He let out an annoyed sigh before snatching the fruit out of the teen's hand.

"Did someone put salt in your oatmeal today?" Lani-Loli couldn't help but point out at the man's awfully sour mood added by the harsh bite he took out of the poor fruit or the vicious vice grip. "No. None of you are taking this situation seriously and last I checked didn't get an angry rodent trying to claw up your face." He hissed before taking another aggressive bite.

The sound of footsteps had gotten the two humans and mask turning their heads. Approaching them with an eerily quiet and dead stare was Taki-Taki. Her feet moving sluggishly to the point it was close to that of a sleepwalker… or if heavy weights were tied to the woman's legs.

"Taki?" Lani-Loli's voice thick with concern while he spoke his friend's nickname. Her response was to open her mouth slowly with evil pink eyes glaring back at them in the darkness. "Sorry but your little friend's life is now mine!" A vile, raspy and deep male voice coming out of the greenette's mouth, all to the horror of her friends.

"Aqua Necklace?! You bastard, get out of Taki-Taki now Angelo!" Josuke could only burn brighter in rage from the deranged laugh of the psychopathic water Stand. "And get rid of my only hostage?! Hell no! This bitch is the reason why Ryohei Higashitaka is still alive! She has the power to bring back the dead, a ticket to immortality!" The mask could only roll his eyes as if sensing a monologue.

"I've been watching you this whole time. I saw the giant beast she summoned and that mask phasing things through existence. With her as my slave, I'll be invincible! The world will be my toy box and every single person my toys that I can break for eternity! Once you're all dead, I'll break her until she's a mindless bitch who will follow my every…" The monologue was caught short upon her mouth snapping shut.

Yet, it wasn't the lips that closed the space but an eerie green substance reminiscent to goo. "The hell?!" Aqua Necklace tried to dive down the woman's throat only to run into another gooey green wall. Then he heard laughter. Pink eyes turned to see it was Lani-Loli who was responsible. He was cackling mischievously that tears looked ready to fly from how hard his laughter, much to the confusion of his friends.

"Haha! Hehehehe! You really thought it would be so easy! Taki and I faced way worse than your miserable hide. Oh, and that's not Taki-Taki you putz! Drop the charade Toxic!" Jotaro and Josuke immediately jumped back upon who they thought was Taki-Taki began to melt. All color draining away into a puddle of green slightly clear goo.

Crazy Diamond and Star Platinum were quickly summoned when that sludge started to rise up in the process of a transformation. The slime forming three toed misshapen legs, dripping fat arms with chubby fingers, a large yellow green belly that from its almost clear texture and Aqua Necklace being held inside looked more like a prison, and a roundish hippo like head paired with short pig ears, large deformed inhuman teeth and two alien yellow orbs looking back at it's observers.

The beast or Toxic's appearance could be compared to a 8 ft tall ogre or even an Oni, supernatural beings that tend to punish wicked humans. "Meet the Sludge, a creature made of magic infused ooze with a love for eating utter garbage, like your ugly face! I told Toxic here about your little plan involving my best friend."

Almost on cue, the large oozing beast let a loud snarl before smoke began filling in its tummy. "Aaaaaaah! What the hell is that smell?! It's getting hot in here! Don't tell me this is acid?!" The mask only had a vicious smile on his face that solidified the fact. "People like you make me sick. I've read your entire file and I bet it would even make Uka-Uka himself furious to see your deeds!" Aqua Necklace could only shiver in horror at the mask.

It was like Lani-Loli's nervous self had been overshadowed by pure animalistic rage that his eyes were narrowed slits and teeth were now large fangs held in a snarl. A deity ready to smite a sinner with divine punishment. Even Jotaro and Josuke were taken aback by the sudden shift.

"I may be a scaredy cat but I am still a protector. My name is Lani-Loli, the Quantum Mask of Phase! For ruining the lives of many, threatening my friends and having an unsavory plan for my contractor, I mark you Angelo and his Stand Aqua Necklace, guilty of your sins! And boy do I have a nice punishment for your wicked soul."

The mask then faced the two Joestar blooded men. "Josuke. Jotaro. Taki-Taki left earlier to find this cretin's owner hence my friend Toxic here taking her place. I know where she is and I'm going to need your help with something."

On a street a few blocks from Josuke's house sat a large boulder. This rock had laid on this spot for centuries after a stray storm left it stranded on the land that would become Morioh. Tied to this very stone was an unsavory dark haired man in a milkman uniform bound by chains and gagged with a black cloth. Bruises decorating his body no doubt from the slightly bloody fists of the witch doctor.

Taki-Taki turned her head and smiled upon the sight of her friends coming into view. Aqua Necklace was still trapped within the prison that was Toxic's stomach, who seemed mighty pleased at the abomination's struggle. "Damn, you did a number on the asshole." Josuke said much to the greenette's pleasure.

"I aim to please. Now then, Angelo, since you made a living of ruining people's lives I believe your punishment should be providing good luck." Taki-Taki then pulled from behind the rock was the bucket filled with her concoction. It was a bright bubbling pink and had a smell akin to rotten lavender. She didn't resist dumping the nasty vat all over the convict much to his displeasure.

The man was struggling in disgust before his movements slowed to a crawl as if his whole body was paralyzed except for his mouth and eyes. Taki then yanked the gag from Angelo's lips allowing the man to speak. "You...crazy bitch…! What have you done?" His raspy dry voice almost sounded like a dying cat from how quiet it was.

"A simple potion made to turn you into an eternal good luck charm for all the folks in Morioh! Bet you now wished that your original execution didn't fail. Josuke, this last part is all up to you. Today you will have to make a choice on how this man goes out." Taki-Taki's eyes narrowed as they glowed inhumanly under the dark cloudy sky.

"Ryohei Higashitaka was the one who put this man in jail and stopped his rampage. In vengeance, this scum tried to rob a righteous soul of his life. As Ryohei's grandson, will you fulfill his task and put an end to the man that escaped the grim reaper's blade? If not, then I will perform the deed with Lani-Loli. What do you say?"

The pompadour prince was a bit off guard by the witch doctor's words. Why would she ask him if he wanted to be the one that dealt Angelo's punishment? "Josuke?! Are you seriously going to let her kill me? Sure I tried to kill your grandfather but if you go along with this bitch's plan then you'll be a killer just like me!"

None of them were blind to the man's false pleas knowing it was a trick to let him go. A rat that will only wreak havoc if given a shred of mercy. Angelo's rants were caught off by a fist breaking both his hand and a chunk of the rock. The shocking thing was that the stone merged and encased itself around the appendage much to the psycho's horror.

"Aaah! My hand!! What are you doing?" Josuke merely ignored the man's painful cries. "You really think that we're going to let you go after all you've done. This town used to be a peaceful place before you came and played with people's lives! So for the rest of your days, you're going to pay back every family that you destroyed! Taki-Taki." The greenette smiled knowing what the young man wanted.

"Let's do this Lani-Loli! Armor up!" The cyan mask flew around Taki-Taki with trails of aqua wispy trails that followed from behind. The mask situated himself onto her back while the ghostly ribbons wrapped themselves around her body. Each wispy streak solidified to form a black jumpsuit of sorts which was highlighted by glowing aqua blue chunks of armor reminiscent of Lani-Loli's crown.

Taki-Taki's eyes were now completely glowing blue while velvet sky blue energy followed through the tattoos on her skin and turned her hair into luminous bluish mist. The sudden change to the witch doctor had the restrained Angelo sweating in terror and nearly pissing himself when Josuke's Crazy Diamond materialized.

"Dorarararararara!!!!" The armored spirit let out a battle cry as both him and the armored greenette let loose a barrage of vicious punches. Each strike was as destructive and fast as machine gun rounds, blowing off huge chunks of the stone and merging to the man trapped in the dead center. Neither of them stopping their assault until every piece of stone had been reassembled.

With one last brutal punch, the stone fragments had fully merged Angelo turning the once human male into a deformed boulder. This new shape of the large stone was a malformed face with wide eyes held in different angles, a large flat nose at the bottom similar to a maui and stress lines just like the person it used to be.

Aqua Necklace, who was still trapped in Toxic's belly, quickly melted away in seconds. No doubt the Stand could no longer survive without the life force of its user, thus following its master into hell. Jotaro could only grimace behind the guard of his cap.

[Morioh Landmark 1: Angelo's Rock. No one knows where this mysterious stone appeared from or why. Despite its unnerving appearance, this landmark is a hotspot for couples both old and new.]

'These three are bat shit crazy and have the strength to back it up. Luckily Josuke has a good head on shoulders but…' The raven's eyes drifted to Taki-Taki, her sludge summon and most importantly Lani-Loli still hanging onto her back. She was conversing with Josuke who took the time to look at her changed form and the living sludge Toxic in rapt curiosity.

'Taki-Taki isn't a Stand User but she's just as dangerous as one. Those beasts, Quill and Toxic, whatever they are no doubt has a connection to her origins. And then there's Lani-Loli. I don't exactly know what a Quantum Mask is but I have a feeling he isn't the only one. Just who are you?'

And that is it! This ended being super long since the story revolves around two whole episodes instead of one. It does take place in the beginning of Part 4 and I wanted to stick as close to canon involving them.

Yes, Taki-Taki can call upon Titans, the enemies normally found in the Crash of the Titan series. Unlike a large chunk of people, I actually like the Titan games. They were the first Crash games I played and 100%. I did play Crash The Huge Adventure for the gameboy advance but it got destroyed in the wash sadly before I got the last crystal.

Any version of Crash of the Titans is good but I suggest playing the DS version of Mind Over Mutant considering the console version is more of an annoying chore with tons of backtracking.

My favorite Titans are Spike and Rhinoroller. I especially love the boss version of Spike from the DS Mind Over Mutant but I haven't found the concept art of it yet.

Just like a witch doctor, Taki-Taki does craft all sorts of potions and charms. The Aku-Aku charm acts like a second chance. If someone who has the charm experiences death, the charm will revive them. Deaths done through murder are a bit different.

The charm will hold onto their soul until its safe to revive the holder. Any extensive damage is done and the soul is returned back to the body once repairs are complete. After use, the charm will disintegrate or dull out depending on how much damage was caused.

The Phase Armor given by Lani-Loli is much different for Taki-Taki when she uses it. Reason for it is that she's contracted to him thus the power and magic he provides is much stronger than someone who doesn't have a contract.

Even if Lani-Loli is quite a skittish character,that doesn't mean he won't get serious when needed. Angelo did a lot of horrible stuff that I bet even Uka-Uka wouldn't do. Uka-Uka may be evil but he has standards.

I wanted to try a different writing style for this considering Part 4 is more of a murder mystery. So I wanted to introduce particular areas, new landmarks and important information in a traversing to the next scene.

Until next time folks! Tell the world that your unbreakable!

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cannabiscomrade · 4 years

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hey, youre probably not the person to ask but i dont know who is so bear with me- im autistic and have nerve damage, and wearing a mask is physically very painful to my skin. I also have breathing/circulation issues of some sort and wearing a mask makes me feel dizzy and hyperventilate. I'm avoiding scenarios that would require a mask and staying away from gatherings to the best of my ability (1/2)

(2/2) but I feel bad for not wearing one, or having to take it off to breathe every couple minutes, if i have to go out for groceries or something. Do you have any ideas on how to make more accommodating masks or something? or some other solution to not being able to wear a mask outside?

I have a few solutions for you, actually. I also have sensory issues and I work with children with sensory issues so I hope that some of these can work for you.

For instances that you have to wear a mask, I would look into clasps or string, or tied hair ties to get the mask off your ears and around the back of your head, like this:

My husband is looping 3 hair ties together to achieve the same effect. This should help with the nerve damage and sensory pain, but it isn’t perfect. It basically is spreading out the pressure points of the mask itself. The goal is to prevent ear degradation but it should work for your instance as well.

DeBrief Me is where I get my masks for asthma. They’re breathable and high quality. They may help with your breathing and circulation issues. They have N95 masks and filters that are PM2.5. They’re rated for droplet transmission but not airborne virus particles. As of 2 days ago (today is 4/13/20), they still had masks in stock.

The ideas below are not as good as a face mask and I want this to be clear. But, wearing a face-covering of any sort will reduce any asymptomatic/pre-symptomatic spread you may have. Face masks are designed to protect you, face coverings and non-medical grade masks are designed to protect others from you. Unfortunately, all face coverings and masks have to be somewhat tight on the face to prevent particles from getting in the sides.

This side note is also important; if you are a person of color looking to wear an alternative mask like the ones given below, you may be targeted for your appearance. Police presence is UP right now and I want to be explicit. I don’t want this to discourage you completely, but I wanted to give you all the information that I know. I want you to be safe in all instances.

Another thing you can do is make your own tie-up face covering. These may be more breathable and will put less pressure on your face. You would want a cloth with a higher thread count, like 180+. You could tie it like a bandana around your face, making sure it dangles or tucks under your chin.

Here is a guide for making a t-shirt mask:

And the biggest point of all is that masks are just one step in your protective measures.

Dress for success. Wear short-sleeved shirts and tighter pants. These will reduce the contaminants that come in contact with your clothes. Remove your clothes when you get home and put them in a separate area from your active living space or hamper/trash bag. When you wash them, disinfect your hamper or the area you used. Wear gloves if you are able to.

Make sure you wash your hands and arms properly. Turn on the sink, wet your hands, then apply soap. Lather for 20 seconds, then rinse and turn the faucet off with a paper towel.

Disinfect your groceries when you come inside. Split your counter up into a contaminated and clean side. If you can, leave all non-perishables outside your home for 24 hours. If not, just disinfect them right away. Leave your store shoes outside the house.

I hope this all helps. Shit is tough right now.

#Anonymous

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solaneceae · 5 years

Text

EGOTOBER DAY 2 - Trap

Jump, fall, grab, swing, let go, turn, fall again.

The cold night air whistling in his ears, catching on the edges of his suit. The smell of asphalt and smoke, of cosy coffeeshops and dirty alleyways.

The cacophony of people walking far, far below him, of cars honking and tires shrieking, of thousands of lives happening all around him, each one the protagonist of their own story.

To those citizens, he is but a bright red blur in the corner of their eye. A cameo. An extra. He’s okay with that.

Grab a windowstill, push himself up onto a rooftop, run, jump, fall head first into the void, eyes closed. An ecstatic grin pushes his mask up his nose, the street’s neon lights reflecting in his bright blue eyes.

In this moment, when time seems to stretch and stop, when his heartbeat synchronizes with the busting and thrumming of the city, his city... Jackie knows freedom. Pure, unconditional freedom.

Then, as fast as it started, the moment is over; a shrill scream from somewhere below reminds him of his mission, and his elated gaze turns steely and focused. He twists his hips to reposition himself, grabbing a street lamp in his fall. He lands before two struggling silhouettes in the dim, sickly lights of your generic shady back alley.

A quick glance tell him everything he needs to know: male figure manhandling a smaller, slimmer one. His body has moved before he knew it, ramming his fist into the larger form’s stomach with a vengeful grunt. The figure is shoved backwards, crashing down on a pile of dry cement, sending greyish dust flying everywhere.

Jackie huffs, and straightens up a smirk growing on his tanned, fleckled face. “Didn’t yer mom tell you not ta lay hands on a lady?”

Only a dazed grunt rewards his taunt. Seemed like the guy wouldn’t get back up anytime soon. That was easy, he thought, brushing dust off his arms before turning to the woman. “Are you al-”

He barely had time to register the metal pipe coming his way before pain exploded across his skull. He let out a startled gasp, the impact sending him flying; his vision swam, tiny fireflies dancing all over the alleyway. It hurt.

His back slammed against a wall as gravity took its hold on him, and everything went dark for what seemed like a second. He blinked back into awareness, a pained grunt clawing its way up his throat; his mouth filled with a metalling tang; he must’ve bit his tongue at some point.

“Shit, the bastard’s got a mean right hook.”

The hero looked up, his features twisting in pain and growing confusion; the male had gotten up and stood tall above him, scowling down at him. His arm clutched at his stomach. “Hear that, asshole? I’m gonna feel that punch for a week!” the man snarled before kicking the red-clad ego in the ribs.

Jackie’s eyes widened, curling up in an attempt to protect himself. God, it hurt like a bitch. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see straight, his thoughts were all over the place and his reflexes shot to death… what the fuck was happening?!

“Frank, enough.”

He froze. The new voice was quieter. Softer. Colder. Through his blurry vision, he caught sight of a smaller figure standing next to the man. Indubitably feminine. And holding a metal pipe.

It finally clicked, and he cursed himself for his recklessness. A trap. This whole “aggression” had been a setup to catch him off-guard. He groaned, straining his muscles in an attempt to get up, despite the growing nausea threatening to make him lose his lunch here and then. Fuck, he probably had a concussion.

The woman tutted, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The vigilante bit his lower lip, not gracing her with a response, and rose up a few inches. His action was rewarded by a heavy foot slamming into his chest, slamming him back on the asphalt with a sickening crack.

Jackie’s nerves went alight with overwhelming, white-hot pain. Someone was screaming, though that was probably him. The shock sent him into a coughing fit as his brain switched back and forth between duty and basic survival instincts.

get out get out run get out FIGHT STOP THEM run run run run get away GET UP get away-

“You see,” the woman started, her voice muffled by the cotton surrounding his head, “we’re trying to run a business here. We can’t have you swinging around where you don’t belong, beating up our men and ruining everything we worked so hard to achieve, now, can we?”

Jackie didn’t see what or who exactly she was referring to, but he decided that, in this moment, it didn’t matter. Those guys obviously planned on getting rid of him, and given how fast the alleyway spun and how bad his skull pounded… He spit out a mouthful of blood onto the grey asphalt. As much as he loathed to admit it, he was in no shape to fight them off. So the next best thing would be…

“Heh.” the man smirked, crouching down in front of the fallen hero. “That looks like it hurts.” he taunted, reaching out to roughly poke at his ribcage -the green-haired ego managed to stay silent this time, only a hissing intake of air betraying how he really felt. The criminal’s eyes shone with malice. “Guess you won’t be running around messing with out plans no more, huh?”

Jackie coughed again, more blood dribbling down his chin. He hoped he hadn’t punctured his lungs again, the doc would never let him hear the end of it. He braced himself for what was to come next, clutching something on his utility belt. Please work, please work, please work for the love of god.

He looked up at his foes, his cut up lips stretching in a crooked smile. “Maybe not.” He fixed his gaze somewhere above the man’s head. “But they will.”

When the two turned to look behind them, their faces twisting in surprise and rage, he pointed his grappling hook at the sky and pressed the button. The metal grip shot up, further and further from the ground. C’mon, c’mon-

The telltale clank of the hook catching on metal filled him with relief, and before he knew it he was airborne, angry screams echoing in the alley below him. He ignored his burning arm, the possibility of a dislocated shoulder, the pain radiating from his chest. He ignored his darkening vision, his growing nausea, the sticky warm liquid running down his temple and soaking his hair and beard.

He ignored it all, letting his body fall into the flow of familiar motions, rehearsed a thousand times and more. Swing, let go, catch, fall, land, run, jump. Again, again, and again. Tripping on a loose wire, falling, getting up. Running.

Get away. Get back. Get home.

His thoughts scattered, his world becoming foggy and distant. Time, space it no longer mattered. Just the colorful lights flying past him -or was he flying past them?- and gravity grabbing and letting him go over and over in a soothing rhythm, like a heartbeat.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

Up…

***

Henrik run a hand down his face, reclining in his seat with a weary sigh. Finally, his shift was over. Like every thursday night the ER had been packed with drunken teenagers carrying in their comatose friends. He should really stop covering Edward’s shifts whenever the other ego decided to disappear god-knows-where every now and then.

He got up and left his office, gruffly saluting his colleagues on the way out. He couldn’t wait to go home and pass out on the couch, granted the thing wasn’t already claimed by either a drunk Chase or a territorial Anti.

He shook his head, stepping out of the clinic and into the cold night air. His own family were a handful by themselves, between them and his dumbass patients it was a miracle he hadn’t gone insane yet.

The walk back to the house was uneventful enough, the distant rumble of an oncoming storm soothing his nerves. But as he climbed up the stairs to the front door and shoved the key into the lock, he froze.

As a legitimate, respectable, 100% real doctor, he was familiar with the sterile, chemical scent of hospitals; hell, he’d been inhaling it for so long he barely noticed it anymore. But one smell he could never really get used to was the distinct, heavy tang of blood. A smell he’d just caught a whiff of.

He frantically turned the key and pushed the door open, the emotional man overtaking the calm and calculating doctor. This was his home, his kin, this was different-

He rushed inside, flicking the lights on. There was someone laying on the couch alright. Cladded in bright fabric and leather, wild green strands escaping his hoodie, framing a light blue mask.

Covered in a lot more red than what was considered normal, even for him.

“Scheiße, Jackie!” Henrik called out, rushing to his most reckless brother’s side. Said brother stirred and looked up at him, a cocky smirk displaying his blood-covered teeth. Fuck, this looked bad. The hero raised a hand in greeting. “Hey doc-” he croaked out, before a wet cough cut him off.

“Verdammt Jackie, shut up and don’t move an inch!” Schneep ordered, kneeling in front of the couch. He gently -well, gentler than with his usual patients at least- grabbed the hem of the vigilante’s hood to get a clear look at him; the left side of his face was coated in blood -dry, good, so he wasn’t bleeding out from here at least- and his gaze were clouded and unfocused. Henrik frowned, taking his phone out of his lab coat to shine the light in the hero’s blue eyes, making him wince.

“Pupils aren’t behaving normally. Concussion.” the doctor mumbled. Jackie chuckled. “Ah- yeah, that’s a thing. Shoulder might be fucked up a bit. Also pretty sure I broke a few ribs. ”

“WAS?!” the older ego shrieked in disbelief “What the hell? What were you doing out there? Taking down a drug ring?!”

“Shhhh,” Jackie hissed, lifting his hand in a placating gesture, “Tone it down doc, you’ll wake up the others.”

“Tone it- are you joking? You’re hurt!”

“Please, just…”

The hero grimaced, averting his gaze. “I… don’t want the others to see me like this. Especially Robbie.”

Henrik stopped, considering his little brother’s words. They seemed to mostly come from a place of pride, but there was something else here. Worry. Last time the youngest member of their household had seen one of them injured, he’d been inconsolable. Jackie was right; bringing the others into this would only cause more chaos and distress.

He sighed, surrendering before the other’s pleading expression. “Alright. We’re going to your room, I’ll patch you up and take care of those stains on the couch. But I swear, if you move around while I’m gone, I will pump you so full of sedatives you’ll be out for a week!”

Jackie let out a painful wheeze and smiled. “Sounds fair.”

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