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  1. Creator Matthew Pope
  2. 25 votes
  3. Genre Drama
  4. Countries USA
  5. synopsis A woman's panicked decision to cover up an accidental killing spins out of control when her conscience demands she return the dead man's body to his family
  6. director Matthew Pope

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Free pdf Download; HIV Risk for Lesbians, Bisexuals & Other Women Who Have Sex With Women Photo; "Rare Cancer" 1981 In 1981, an unknown epidemic was spreading across America. In June of that year, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention's newsletter mentioned five cases of a strange pneumonia in Los Angeles. By July, 40 cases of a rare skin cancer were reported by doctors working in the gay communities of New York and San Francisco. By August, the Associated Press reported that two rare diseases, the skin cancer Kaposi's sarcoma and pneumocystis, a form of pneumonia caused by a parasitic organism, had infected over 100 gay men in America, killing over half of them. Video; NBC's Earliest Report on AIDS, 1982 At the end of 1981, 121 men had died from the strange disease; in 1982, the disease was given a name; by 1984, two different scientists had isolated the virus causing it; in 1986, that virus was named HIV. By the end of the decade, in 1989, 27, 408 people died from AIDS. Article; ACT UP Changed Everything The story of the HIV/AIDS epidemic in America is often, rightly so, the stories of gay and bisexual men, as they were the demographic most affected. However, women played a huge role in caring for the sick and dying, as well as standing on the front lines with groups like ACT UP, AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power, to demand the government take substantive action on the issue. All too often their tales have been overlooked. Video; "Radical" AIDS Activist Group ACT UP | Flashback | NBC Out Marion Banzhaf and Alexis Danzig are among the veterans of ACT UP. As fear and homophobia paralyzed not just the broader American public but much of government and the medical establishment, ACT UP agitated for patients' rights in an unprecedented way. Banzhaf and Danzig's contributions are among those which supported social and institutional change, from accelerated drug approval to the development of formal needle exchange programs, and saved millions of lives by hastening the advent of protease inhibitors in 1996. Photo; Britian Threatened Documentary; United in Anger: A History of ACT UP Women of the lesbian community quickly emerged at the forefront of the fight against the disease. They armed themselves with information and went out into the community to help. They founded organizations to provide services and support to people with HIV/AIDS. They developed education and prevention programs within established institutions like the Whitman-Walker Clinic. They raised awareness in any way they could. Watch Lesbian Activists Talk About Their Work During the AIDS Epidemic | Logo Colevia Carter first heard about a disease that was killing gay men around 1982. By 1984, she had organized the first D. C. conference on Women and HIV/AIDS and began a program in D. correctional facilities, where she worked, to educate inmates about the disease. Article; This Is about People Dying: The Tactics of Early ACT UP and Lesbian Avengers in New York City Valerie Papaya Mann, a performance artist, poet, and community organizer, drew upon her skills in creating community spaces to contribute to fighting HIV/AIDS. Mann led the way when she designed the first outreach media campaign materials targeted to the African-American community in the early ’80s. We Were Here; David Weissman's critically-acclaimed 2012 documentary about the arrival and impact of AIDS in San Francisco Patricia Nalls was diagnosed with HIV in 1986, shortly after losing her husband and daughter to AIDS. At that time, most services for people with HIV/AIDS were geared toward gay men. Seeing a need for services and support more appropriate for women with HIV/AIDS, Nalls founded The Women’s Collective, an organization that provides programs and services implemented by women for women whose lives have been dramatically changed by HIV/AIDS. Dr. Patricia Hawkins provided mental health and social services at the height of the AIDS epidemic through the Whitman-Walker Clinic, eventually joining the Clinic’s board with responsibility for its AIDS programs. Of her work at Whitman-Walker, she says, “The philosophy was very clearly, ‘If people need it, then we’ll figure out a way to deliver it. We’ll figure out a way to fund it. ’ And that’s what we did. ” Article; Female-to-female sexual transmission of HIV As gay men began voluntarily withdrawing from blood donation in the early 1980s, lesbians in community with gay men in several U. S. cities organized drives to replenish the blood supply. However, after the initial publicity, mention of lesbian blood drives in print was both scarce and brief. In 1983, the Women’s Caucus of the San Diego Democratic Club formed the San Diego Blood Sisters and organised regular drives to ensure there was enough blood available to meet demand. Barbara Vick and her partner, now wife, had been a regular blood donor in San Diego when the ban on MSM blood donation came in. "Suddenly, the hospitals were full of lesbians who were volunteering. Volunteering to go into those rooms and help my friends who were dying. I remember being so moved by them because gay men hadn’t been too kind to lesbians. We’d call them ‘fish’ and make fun of the butch dykes in the bars – and yet, there they were. " ~ Jon was a gay man living in San Francisco during the HIV outbreak in the 1980s. The drives offered much more than a ready blood supply. It was about reaching out and letting the sick know they were loved and part of a community. The stigma attached not only to HIV, but also to homosexuality, meant many young men were rejected by their families and left to die alone. Photo; The women of ACT UP There was also a strong sense the gay community had been abandoned by a government who couldn’t bring themselves to talk about gay men. President Regan did not speak publicly about Aids until 1987 - after 36, 058 Americans had been diagnosed with HIV and an estimated 20, 000 had already died. Photo; AIDS, People Are Dying To Know The support offered to the sick by ordinary people was vital in the fight against HIV, but also in challenging stigma and injustice. Groups like the Blood Sisters were about more than fighting Aids: they were about fighting prejudice, uniting a community and showing the authorities that blood really is thicker than water. Photo from the San Francisco Sentinal Free pdf Download; AIDS Timeline edit; The Rainbow History Project Presents "Women Leadership, Lesbian Activists & the DC AIDS Crisis: A Historical Discussion
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I almost forgot to like. Camt wait to watch looks dope. Marvel logo and all that. Opening Text: Cape Canaveral, 2005 The first shot is of some people holding up cell phones. in the screens several figures in blue rush past. The camera pans up to the Original 5 X-Men. Cyclops, Marvel Girl, Beast, Iceman, and Angel. They're fighting the original Acolytes, sans Magneto. So Fabian Cortez, Chrome, Delgado, Annamarie. and Winters. Its a quick fight, but we get to see each of the O5 at work. Cyclops comes up with a plan, Angel outmaneuvers Chrome and uses him to take down Delgado who had been wrestling with Beast, Marvel Girl mentally incapacitates Annamarie which causes Winters to surrender (a nod to her being brainwashed by Annmarie in the original run) and Iceman ties them us with his... well ice. After the fight Xavier arrives. Beast uses a device to fry all the security camera footage and cell phone recordings. Then Xavier starts to mindwipe people. Everyone's eyes glaze over except for one young (like 4-5 yrs old) girl. Fade to black and the X-Men logo. --- We pick back up 18 years later. A young brown haired woman is walking in the rain in New York. She enters a nondescript building and is greeted by her coworkers. One in particular, a lanky blonde haired man with glasses asks her how did her trip go. Something like this: "Hey, did you find the Wild Man of Alberta? " he asks derisively. "I emailed you my story on the flight back, didn't I? " she shoots back. "Look, Kate... you're a good reporter, but you need to stop chasing these tabloid stories.... "Tabloid? Cameron, half the world got turned to dust then came back, and what I'm looking for is... tabloid stories? " "People spontaneously getting superpowers? Yeah, its far out there, even for this day and age. I'm just saying.... do some real news for once... " Kate rolls her eyes. "I'll be in my office. " She goes to her office... which is basically a broom closet with a desk. On her desk is a photo of her parents and her, the child from the opening scene. She reaches as if to pick it up, but her hand goes right through it. Then she pulls it out and does pick it up, sighing. "I know its real... " Later that day she returns to her small apartment with an armful of Thai food. After she enters and checks her messages (maybe use it to throw some bones, maybe a call from a Dr. Reyes or something) she gets a knock at her door. She opens it and sees a Vietnamese woman she greets as Xian and Xian refers to her as Kitty. Xian invites her for dinner with a large amount of implication it'd be a romantic dinner, but Kitty says she's got a lot of work to do. She sits down and starts typing, but spots a red glow outside. She phases through the wall and cases it down, learning the glow came from the glasses of a man. He looks at her through the pouring rain. "Katherine Pryde. Graduated top of her class from MIT with a degree in Computer Science and Engineering. " "Yeah, I've watched enough movies to know where this is going. You don't exist, right? " "No... I very much do exist. But this chase of yours, looking for the X-Men? Its better that you drop it... " "Is that a threat? " "No... its a warning. " The man's eyes glow bright red. But another red flash occurs behind Kitty and a beam of red energy lands square in the first man's chest. Kitty turns to see someone run away, but when she turns to the first man he's already gone. She pursues the second man, phasing through buildings to close the gap. Just as she tackles the second man, the first seemingly falls from the sky, his eyes again glowing red. A short fight ensues with the two firing eye beams at each other until Kitty, having noticed sparks coming from the wound on his chest, pushes her hand through his head. The robot spasms and falls, his eyes going dark. "What the hell was that? " Kitty asks. The second man, wearing conspicuous red glasses, answers "the reason you might not want to get involved in all this... " --- As Kitty tends to the man's wounds he introduces himself as Scott Summers. He explains that the X-Men were a group of mutants who would locate other mutants, asses if their powers were dangerous, train them, and then recruit them or allow them back into the public as necessary. They would also engage other, hostile mutants and when they were done, Xavier would wipe the memories of any witnesses. He goes on to explain that he was in South America, on a small island west of Costa Rica when the Snap occurred and most of his squad vanished. After weeks of searching they returned to learn about the scope of what happened. Among the missing were their leader, Charles Xavier, his brother Alex, and his fiancée, Jean Grey. One by one the X-Men began to disband. Even after the snap was reversed, few came back. Even worse, Jean and Xavier were still missing, and without Xavier they had no way to track new mutants. Then a few months ago mutants began disappearing. He received a distress call from one of his old teammates, Petra, but arrived to find only blood and signs of a struggle. Kitty says she might be able to help. Kitty races back to her workplace, encountering her coworker Cameron again. He repeatedly tries to get her attention but she is focused on getting to her computer. She inserts a USB drive and starts downloading her own files to it. Cameron knocks on door, demanding to know what she's doing. Kitty deflects. Finally the door flies off its hinges, and Cameron stands there, eyes glowing. Kitty reacts trying to disable it as she did earlier, and it staggers him, but he seems to adapt and backhands her. Scott arrives and blasts Cameron, but he's adapted to his blasts as well. Kitty grabs the USB and runs through him, grabbing Scott and leading him out of the building. Cameron is in hot pursuit. In the city streets we get an action scene as Kitty and Scott try to evade Cameron, but more and more people start turning into whatever he is. We finally end up in Central Park, where Scott and Kitty find themselves surrounded. But before they can be blasted all of them turn and blast each other. From the shadows Xian steps forward, eyes glowing pink before they return to their normal hue. Scott recognizes Xian as an X-Men in training. Xian tells him that a few of the trainees (and one veteran) kept in touch, feeling there was something odd going on. She'd been keeping an eye on Kitty after realizing she was a mutant, and also hints at an attraction to her. She brings them to a nearby warehouse, where Cannonball, Blink, and X-23 are waiting. Also among them is Iceman, who hugs Scott and apologizes for leaving. Kitty goes through her files, finding a pattern of strange reports about an empowered individual coming up, then a disappearance in the area. They've dragged Cameron's body with them, and Kitty quips that she knew he was a tool, but not a robot. Xian clarifies he's not, otherwise she wouldn't have been able to possess him. Scott notes that he seems to be a mix of robotic parts and flesh, but the two seem fused together, as if the body was growing the robotic parts. Kitty manages to find a port and starts Hollywood hacking Cameron's machine half's files. While he is Scott is taking this hard. The X-Men should have been there to prevent this. Bobby tries to console him. He didn't know this was going on. Kitty's found something, but not a lot. A location Cameron was instructed to bring Kitty to, and a name, Sebastian Gilberti. The ragtag X-Men take off... by car. Because they don't have an X-Jet at the moment. Kitty on her laptop notes that Gilberti was a noted transhumanist and roboticist working for Hammer Industries. When Hammer went under he went off the grid. While stopping for gas the gas station attendant turns into one of the machines and attacks, being driven off. But he does manage to grab Xian. The X-Men follow in hot pursuit, with Xian possessing Blink to relay her path as well as use her teleportation powers to close the gap. They arrive at an abandoned Hammer Industries complex (because using Stark Industries is overdone) They follow Xian into a secret tunnel, catch up to the robot and disable it, freeing her. In the compound there are tubes filled with various mutants, cameo time! At its center, wrapped in wires and strapped into a massive machine is Charles Xavier. Scott rushes to him, and gets blasted. Not a direct hit, but enough to send him reeling. Gilberti emerges and monologues a bit, how he created this techno-organic beings to act as his own "shield against the superhumans. A Phalanx. " He sees the rise of groups like the Avengers as a threat to humanity, and mutants especially as a threat as they can be "virtually anyone. " He thus dubs himself "Bastion. " He managed to locate Xavier after the return Snap, and is using him to collect mutants to add their genetic heritage to his Phalanx. Fight time as Bastion summons swarms of Phalanx. The other X-Men start opening the tubes containing the other mutants, so plenty of opportunity for fanservice. Kitty fights Bastion... but its less of a knock down drag out fight and more her phasing through his attacks while trying to talk him down. She points out that he claims to love humanity, but has imprisoned so many of them and killed more. There's parallels there, Kitty was obsessed with finding the X-Men, with no goal of what she would do after. She uses this to ask Bastion, what's his goal once humanity is "safe"? During the struggle, Scott has freed Xavier and asked where Jean is. Xavier says that Jean never re-appeared, and he can't sense her. Scott goes ballistic, blasting the hesitating Bastion. Kitty uses the distraction to grab him and phase him underground. Bastion screams and struggles, but goes quiet as they sink underground. A few moments pass with so sign of Kitty. Everyone looks on, then... triumphant music swell, Kitty, covered in dirt, phases back up through the floor. Xian embraces her, shippers everywhere squee. Last scene is at the ruins of the X-Mansion. In the background we can see the X-Men rebuilding... Colossus carrying girders, Storm summon rain to mix cement, stuff like that. Xavier, Kitty, and Scott are talking. Scott notes that she finally found the X-Men, and got her story. Kitty shrugs. "Problem is, I killed my boss, " she says cheekily. "Pretty sure that's torpedoed my credibility... if I had any, " Scott offers her a place with the X-Men, and she accepts. Roll credits! ---- Mid credits scene: One of the kids is sitting in a mostly rebuilt living room, flipping through the channels. An advertisement of the Hellfire Gentleman's club comes on, along with hints of Emma Frost, Sebastian Shaw, and Selene. Another student enters and he quickly changes the channel with a blink (shout out! ) --- End credits: These tend to be a bit sillier. So... Xian is pacing outside a door, practicing asking Kitty on a date. She finally knocks on the door,,, which is answered by a blonde with a Russian accent. "Oh, sorry... I must have the wrong room, " she says and walks away embarrassed.... just as Kitty phases up through the floor and hands the blonde a mixing spoon.

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I hunt for jobs on Craigslist every day when I have a few minutes of down time. I eat like crap, I sleep like crap, and what few romantic prospects I've ever had in my life were few and far between a very long time ago. I worked at two or three jobs, I can't quite remember, in my field of choice for a grand total of two years. The longest job that I've ever held beyond that was as a pizza guy for three miserable years. I've seen some strange things in my time as a delivery boy. I've walked up to a door answered by a naked person, or sometimes, naked people. I've nearly been mugged a few times driving around Wilmington. Hell, there was this one time I talked a guy out of SUICIDE! He was a good tipper. But, all of those things pale in comparison to the last gig job I took. Well, it wasn't so much the job, but the last delivery that I ever made for it. I had been hired by a baggage courier service in Philadelphia. They put out a Craigslist ad and I managed to email a resume to them from my phone. They're located in Essington, PA, right outside of the town of Chester, Philadelphia International Airport, and the Delaware River. The pay seemed good, not great, but the hours were good. I worked second shift, two-to-ten p. m., which allowed me to get some sleep after my paper route. The job involved driving a crappy white Ford Econoline van to the airport and stop at each baggage office at each terminal. Once there, we went to each airline's lost baggage office to grab what hadn't made it off the flight for whatever reason. After all of the lost bags were collected we drove the van back to the shop and unloaded it all based on routes in Jersey, the Philadelphia suburbs, and Delaware. Even though I'm from Delaware (yes, it's a real state that exists), I never actually got to take the Delaware route. Often, I was relegated to Jersey. After the bags were sorted, we used a lost baggage app to cross reference each bag to our own delivery code so that the passengers of the airline would know that we had their bag, that we were bringing it to them, and what our personal vehicles looked like. What the app didn't tell them, something that they never seemed to understand anyway, is that we often took 10-to-15 bags at a time, thus their bag was part of a route and everyone had a window of four-to-six hours to receive their bag. When I started the job, I figured that people would be grateful enough just to have their stuff back, but that was never the case. They gave me dirty looks, I received nasty phone calls from them, and they gave me every sob story under the sun. But I never received a single thank you or a tip or any form of gratitude. I had half a mind to say to these people, I'm sorry sir, I'm sorry madam, this is my job and I do the best that I can at it. I'm sorry that your Samsonite is one of fifteen bags and I had to stop for gas as well. If that bag is worth less than your time, perhaps I could have chucked it into the Delaware River, thus ridding us both of this inherent pain-in-the-ass suitcase. I hate people almost as much as I hate July. But this little tale of mine isn't about any of those ungrateful people. This is a story about the last bag I ever "delivered". I had only been with the company for about three weeks. Doing any form of manual labor in Philadelphia in July is humid death and the sun stays out until about nine in the evening. But, this was the only job I could immediately find. One particular day I was getting ready to take the Jersey route, a total of eight bags that day, when I got called into the office by Heather, the owner of the company. She told me that Frontier has just received another bag and they begged us to take it. "Where's it going? " I asked her. "Tom's River, " she replied, cringing a little bit as she braced for my reaction. Tom's River was only about two hours from the courier office, that's all. Included with my other eight bags why would I be so angry about having to drive two hours out of my way? "Get the hell out of here! " I immediately yelled back. "It's a lot of money! " she snapped back at me. "You'll make $120 dollars off of this bag alone! " I rubbed my chin and sighed, pacing in the office and thinking hard about the delivery. I must have given myself away because when I looked back at her she had a slight quiver of a smile on her lips. "Well, I guess I don't have much of a choice, " I told her. "I'll head back to the terminal. Don't get any ideas about making something like this a regular thing, by the way. This is a one-time only favor that I'm doing for you. " She scoffed. "I've heard that before, Richard. Anyway, when you get back to the office I won't be here. I'll see you tomorrow. " I took my own Camry to the terminal this time. I hated that damn van anyway and it just made sense to drive my own car. I parked outside with the blinkers on in the pickup lane. I let the nearby parking authority and state police know who I was with and ran inside to the Frontier baggage claim. The woman behind the desk, Gina, was on the phone when I got there. I'd met Gina before, and she smiled as I made my way to the desk. She held up a finger to me and said goodbye into the phone and hung up the receiver. Then, she turned to me. "Hey, Ricky, " she said to me, cheerfully. "I'm glad you could make it, I just got off the phone with Heather. " I ran my hand through my hair. "Tom's River Gina, really? " She threw her hands up. "I'm sorry! They just send them to me and I call you guys! I told my supervisor how expensive this bag would be and he didn't care, so here we are. " "I know, " I replied. "I'm sorry. Are there any special instructions with the bag? " She sucked air through her teeth, it's a sound so vile that I'll never forget it. "Well... " she started, but then trailed off. "Gina, " I replied sternly. Without saying a word, her eyes darted to the corner of the office. I whipped around and stared for a moment, saw it in the corner, and then I threw my arms up in disgust. The bag was this old, blue pleather Jet Flite brand piece of crap. Well, most of it was blue. It yellowed in a few places and some of the pleather chipped off. It was from the 1950's, before rolling luggage was a thing, so this was just a handle suitcase. I turned back to look at Gina. "I don't know, " she said to me, apologetically. "We ran it through the x-ray machine and there's nothing but clothes in it. The name, address, and phone number are on the slip. That's the best I can do, Ricky. I'm sorry. " I looked down at the suitcase and pulled the tag off. I pulled out my phone and called the phone number on the suitcase tag. It rang twice, and I swear to God it did the strangest thing afterward. There was a click on the other end, like someone picked it up, but there wasn't any ambient noise in the background. No one said hello, no one breathed into the microphone, and I didn't hear any noises in the background. I didn't even hear the static of the landline itself. There was nothing. I hung up and tried calling back but this time I got a message that the number was out of service, which made even less sense. I looked down at my phone to make sure I had the number right and then I looked back at Gina again. She started to say something but her phone rang. She said her greeting and then shrugged at me and mouthed sorry, and then she turned back and walked into the office behind the desk. I took a breath and bent down to get the bag. I nearly blew out every muscle in my body when I tried to lift it by the handle. My back felt like it strained muscles in three different places! What in the hell is in this thing, cement? I asked myself as I worked to massage the pain out of my lower back. What did Gina say was in the bag, nothing but clothes? Not knowing what else to do I notified a security guard that I was leaving the bag in the office. I walked down to the Delta Airlines hub to grab their baggage cart. They were always jackasses as they used a different recovery service and they usually mocked my company in the few times I had to deal with them. They always made me leave my ID with them but I didn't really have a choice this time, all over the other baggage offices were closed by now. I entered Delta and eyeballed the smirking representative. With some coaxing, eventually the rep let me use the baggage cart. When I made it back to Frontier the lights in the office were still on, but there was no sign of Gina. I readied the cart next to the bag, I braced myself to pick it up (using my legs this time), and I put my hand on the handle. When I pulled, I flew backwards and landed on my back, carrying the bag with me as it landed on my stomach, nearly taking the wind out of my lungs. It weighed about as much as a feather this time. I rolled onto my feet and looked around to make sure that no one saw me make an ass out of myself. Then, I looked down at the suitcase. Did someone tamper with it when I went to get the baggage cart? I grabbed the handle and tried it again, this time with only a little force. Yep, it was just as light this time. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes in that moment. What happened with this bag? Am I fatigued? I asked myself trying to rationalize things. I rubbed my chin and grabbed the bag again, and then I tossed it on to the baggage cart. As dumb as that may seem, I went out of my way to get that damn cart so I was determined to use it. I wheeled the cart out to my Camry and I popped the trunk, which was already weighed down by the other bags. I was burning daylight now and I had to get out on my Jersey route, so I just tossed it in and ripped the tag off to keep with the other tags. I shifted them around so that the old Jet Flite bag was last, thus it would be the last delivery on the route. I closed my trunk and grabbed the baggage cart so I could take it back to Delta. I started the Camry and drove up 95 north and over the Walt Whitman Bridge. As I drove towards Camden County, New Jersey, I noticed a smell in the air. It was a faint but foul aroma. I chocked this up to me simply driving through New Jersey and programmed Google Maps towards the first destination on my route. The route was as scenic as it always was. With stops in Mount Laurel, Cherry Hill, Glassboro, and Vineland, the office made sure that I would beat my car to death in the July humidity with as much back tracking as I usually had to do. Yes, this is the way we did things; in order of distance from the office and time received as opposed to some straight line during delivery. One by one I dropped the bags off until I was left with only the Jet Flite bag. I programmed the street address to the destination in Tom's River into my phone's GPS and started up 295 North from where I was. It would take another hour and a half to get there as I expected. As I passed through Trenton, I noticed the smell again and began to think about it. It had fluctuated between pungent and faint but it never left the Camry. Not only did the smell linger, but now it was getting overbearing. I looked to each shoulder for cops and I accelerated faster. I raced toward Tom's River so that I could drop this damn bag off and call it a night. My stomach was killing me with hunger pains but I was closed to the exit for the town now and according to Maps I was about 30 minutes away altogether. I noticed that I was taking shallow, measured breaths at this point, and that I was starting to get dizzy. To wake myself up I slowed down to check the tag again. The name on the tag was, Richard Higgins, and other than a phone number that didn't seem to work correctly, the tag showed the Tom's River address, a bar code, and an IATA number. I wish Gina would have been able to give me more information, like if Frontier had ever even spoke with Gloria or if I could just leave the suitcase on the porch and waive the signature, but that was the nature of the beast with this job. Some pop-punk son from my high school days blared from the radio as it came back from a commercial break. I smiled and sang along a little bit until I had to look at my GPS again to make sure I was still within spitting distance. I turned the radio down to plan my route in my mind. Riiiccchhhaaarrrrdddd! *"*What in the God damn hell? " I screamed out, nearly swerving into a car in the lane to the right of me. The shock sent me into a panic while I tried desperately to move to the right-side shoulder. It had been the sound of an elderly woman. Well, kind of, I mean that's the best way to describe what I heard. There was about that voice, something that I couldn't figure out while I was parked on the shoulder and trying to calm myself down. I thought to myself, what was that, and how did it know my name? With the Camry in park I got out as fast as I could. Someone blared their horn at me as they nearly took my driver's side door off. I walked around to the front of the car to try and calm down. I stared into the back seat through the windshield, but there was nothing there except for my discarded Burger King wrappers. I opened my door again and popped the trunk, then made my way around to the back of the car. The Jet Flite bag was still in the trunk. I grabbed it's handle and pulled it out, half expecting to throw my back out again. But, it was as lightweight as an old bag filled with pajamas should have been. I put the bag back in, shut the trunk lid, and took a few deep breaths. Everything us fine, you're fine, you're just tired and working too hard, I told myself. If anyone needs a vacation, it's you, Rick. When I got back in my car I noticed, actually. The smell was gone. But it's absence, for some reason, only served to make me more paranoid than I was when I pulled over. I should have been able to locate that smell. It's sudden absence didn't mean that the problem was gone. That put me on edge. Behind the wheel of the Camry, I sat in the driver's seat for a moment, hesitant to pull out into traffic. I looked over at my phone and the GPS map on it. I was only about 15 minutes away from the location now, which gave me a little relief. I shifted into drive and merged back into traffic. I finally wound up at my last delivery. It was 9:30 by that time which made me curse myself in frustration. That always bothered me about people who complained I was taking too long to get to their houses with their bags. It was never my desire to drive around until 11 o'clock or midnight with their bags just so I could end up back at my shitty apartment at three in the morning. I shook my head at that thought and checked the bag tag again. 1260 Landing Way Tom's River, NJ Staring at the sign for Landing Way, I pulled my car down the street, checking the numbers on the houses as I drove so I could find 1260. I pulled close to 1256 and I noticed that there weren't any other houses on that side of the street, and about half a mile down the street there was a dead end sign. I pulled up beside 1256 and gauged the situation. My GPS notified me that I had arrived, but at the time I didn't think that was possible. I shifted to park and looked at what was supposed to be 1260 Landing Way. This is supposed to be the part of the story where I lock eyes with a cliche' of some kind. I figured I would pull up to the Bates' Mansion or Ed Gein's house or something to that effect. I wish I could write about things like boarded up windows, gothic additions, or someone looking at me through a curtain. If I would have seen ANY of those things, maybe that day would make a little more sense to me now. But, when I looked out of my driver's side window, there was nothing. There was no house at all. From the car, I even shined my phone's flashlight on the land to make sure I wasn't hallucinating. Don't get me wrong, it looked like there may have been a house on that land at some point. But, that point was a long time ago, certainly not that day in July. There was the remnants of what looked like a driveway, not counting the tall grass that grew out of the cracks. The sidewalk kept going from 1256 to the dead end, and there was nothing out front except and old, rusted fence with a gate that was maybe three feet high. Well, there was a part of that fence, anyway. The fence only covered about four feet of the land in either direction. The gate hung poorly off of the hinges, what was left of it, anyway. The grass was overgrown; it looked almost like a couple of odd, concrete structures growing in a field. This made me scratch my head for a minute or two. I turned the flashlight on my phone off and looked at the app. I turned the overhead light on in the Camry while I gauged the situation. The GPS and app both told me that I was at the correct address. I breathed a long and deep sigh and got out of the car, leaving my keys in the ignition. I turned my flashlight back on and slowly walked towards the... I don't know, the driveway I guess? I looked around using the light and made my way further onto the parcel of land. The hair on the back of my neck then stood up, which didn't help the fact that I already knew something wasn't right. When I made my way up to the top of the driveway, long cracked and worn and being reclaimed by the earth beneath it, I looked to my right, and I was glad I walked up the driveway slowly. There was a foundation to the right that resembled a basement. There were footers and columns, and a couple of old appliances that were rusted through and through sat down in the pit, surrounded by a few puddles of standing water. There was a washer, a dryer, and a water heater. The water heater was lying down on the ground horizontally. I then noticed a furnace nearby as well. I took a deep breath and carefully made my way back to my car. I broke into a sprint and opened the trunk. I tried the phone number on the tag again. This time, the line was not dead. It rang three times and someone picked up. I heard heavy breathing on the end of the line and alarm bells went off in my head. I managed to stammer out a weak, hello? "Hellllloooooooo, Riccchhhhhaaaarrrrrddddddd, " I heard again, and it cut through my ears and down my spine. I dropped the phone on the ground and popped the trunk open with my key. I grabbed the handle on the Jet Flite bag, and of course it again felt like there were cinder blocks in the damn thing. I felt dizzy and right away noticed that the foul odor had come back. But instead of being localized to my car, it was all around me as I tried desperately to get the bag out of the trunk. With what strength I had left in my legs, I pulled the bag out and threw it on the asphalt behind me. The latches popped open and the contents spilled out. Like Gina had told me, all that was in there was an old nightgown and slippers. I didn't spend long processing the contents of the bag I just grabbed my phone off the street and made a break for the driver's side door. I noticed that the call was still going on the phone and I shut it off. I got in the car and turned the key in the ignition. Thankfully, I was two for two against cliche's and the Camry started right up. I threw it in gear and blasted back down Landing Way. Within a few moments I was back on 295 heading south. I tried to avoid police when I noticed that the smell was overpowering now. Why was it so bad? I ditched the bag and everything. It clogged my nostrils and made me dizzy again. As I gasped for air, it came from the back seat. Riiiiiccccchhhhhaaaarrrrddddddd! Fury replaced fear as I pulled over to the shoulder and popped the trunk while my car idled. I stomped to the rear of the car and threw the trunk lid open. Sure enough, there it was, sitting in the space above the spare tire compartment. It was the Jet Flite bag, the damn Jet Flite bag. I have no idea how, but I was still in possession of it. Oh well, I guess I was one-for-three in horror cliches tonight. I yelled, I just looked to the New Jersey night sky and yelled as loud as I could. I yelled so loud that cars driving by slowed down and nearly rear-ended each other. I grabbed the handle on the Jet Flite bag, which of course felt like grabbing a boulder with a handle, and I pulled it to the mouth of the trunk. I was able to git it over and dump it on the side of the road. Again, the locking mechanism snapped open and the contents of the bag poured out. There were photographs now, old photographs, some in frames and some loose prints just lying on the road. Where in the hell did the nightgown and slippers go? This didn't explain the weight fluctuation of the bag at all. Why did the damn thing feel like a boulder sometimes? I looked down at the photos. They had burn marks on them, most of them did. Some were singed on the corners and some were burned beyond recognition. I picked up a few of the legible ones. Mostly, the photos were of a family. Thee was a husband, a wife, and two kids. I'd have to estimate that the kids were ages 10 and 12, a boy and a girl, with the boy being the older one. The man wore a business suit with a fedora and the wife, who kind of was a looker, wore a contemporary dress of the late 50's or early 60's, if I had to guess. Based on the color tone of the photo I guessed that the pictures were taken around that time frame as well, maybe later. A few things about the photos, though. There were a few words scrawled on them in green marker, from another language. Except it wasn't marker, come to think of it. It was wax, candle wax. I noticed something else in the photos, too. There was a house in every photo. It was a small, brick ranch house and the family was standing in front of it. The surrounding land looked exactly like Landing Way. I took a closer look at the photo. In his left arm, he held his wife. And in his right hand... It was a blue, Jet Flite suitcase. Right there on the highway I started looking feverishly through other photos. One of the photos showed the man and a woman, a completely different woman, in bed, taken through the window of a completely different house. There was another photo that showed candles on the wooden floor of a dark room, Green candles. There were five of these candles to be specific, and in the middle was a fedora and the suitcase. The next photo showed the ranch house on Landing Way on fire. There were figures in the widows of this photograph, all of them had their hands on the glass. Six pairs of hands, and four of them belonged to children. I dropped the photo I was looking at when I heard my name again. It was... different this time. This time, the voice was deep, even guttural. I slammed the trunk shut, leaving the Jet Flite bag and the pictures on the street and ran to the driver's seat. I slammed my door shut, found my key, and tore off the shoulder back into traffic. I was trying to outrun the smell and this damn bag and whatever memories were attached to it. I hoped that escape was possible. The smell only became stronger as I made it to Trenton. It was then that I made the mistake of looking in the rearview mirror. I saw her eyes first. They had no detail to them, they were just these damned, yellow orbs sunk into black sockets. She was old; at least she looked ancient, anyway. Her hair, what was left of it, was grey and stringy. She had a grin... I think it was a grin. Her teeth were a disgusting shade of brown. She was completely nude; I don't know why I'm thinking about this now, but maybe that's why the nightgown was in the suitcase? I'm not sure what bags get inspected upon traveling down to hell. Her skin was pale white, all wrinkles, but no veins. In retrospect maybe she didn't have any blood left in her. Hell, maybe that's what she wanted from me. This time I watched her mouth open, but she didn't say my name. Frankly, I don't know what in the hell she said. Whatever she said in that moment came out backwards and deep. Yeah, her words really came out backwards, just like a tape being rewound at regular speed. Sweat poured down my brow as I tried to stay on the road while keeping an eye on her in the rearview mirror. I had to swerve as a car hit the brakes in front of me suddenly, and this was a mistake. She had an opportunity and took it. All at once, I found bony, cold fingers wrapped around my neck. She dug her long, dead fingernails into my jugular and squeezed and squeezed. The smell was worse than ever now as I gasped for my last bits of oxygen. I started to see trails and my vision faded out. I had one chance. I checked out of the corner of my eyes to see if there was a car to my right. The lane was empty, so I jerked the wheel with all my might in that direction. I swung the Camry over two lanes of traffic with cars honking and drivers screaming at me as the car cut. I wasn't trying to pull over, though. I jammed my foot on the gas as I barreled towards the guard rail. I cursed myself for not wearing a seatbelt as my body jerked forward and then from side to side upon impact. Glass shattered everywhere. All of the console lights in the car came on at once as the radio abruptly cut off. I felt a fire run through my spine and my leg and my arm, jolting me back into consciousness. Warm blood caressed my face starting at my forehead and running down my cheek. But, most importantly, my neck was free of her hands. I seized the opportunity and jerked the driver side door open. I stumbled out of the car and to the ground. I crawled past the car over to the rail itself. With my last bit of consciousness, I looked at the front of my poor Camry. The front end was crumpled in on the right side and the headlight was completely smashed in. The windshield had shattered and glass from the windows was all over the place. There was fluid leaking from the undercarriage. I then cursed myself one last time for not having collision coverage as I slipped into blackness. I awoke some time later in a hospital bed in Camden, which would definitely not have been my first choice. I was in traction with casts on my left arm and leg. I used my right hand to feel my face, which had gauze all down the right side. I let out a sigh when I realized my predicament, but then I took in a hearty breath. I'll take the smell of a hospital over the smell of death and decay any day of the week. The coming days were a mess. A New Jersey state trooper came by and presented me with a ticket for reckless driving, despite my story. There were enough witnesses at the scene to describe the lane-jumping magic act I had to put on. I also got a bill for the impounding of my poor little Camry and for damages done to the guardrail on impact. I think Heather texted me about the bag once. I simply texted back, "I won't be delivering bags anymore", to which I never received a response, a visit, or anything else from her, for that matter. The few friends I once had never showed up or even called me to ask how I was doing. My family hates me and I'm not sure if they even know where I live. But it kind of hurt that Heather didn't show up, or any of the other guys from the courier service. It was only me, lying in traction, alone in my thoughts. I was diagnosed with a broken femur, a fractured forearm, lower back trauma, and head trauma. I had to go through about six weeks of medication and then rehabilitation. Well, I only was able to do four weeks of that thanks to my liability policy that came to about $15, 000, and then they cut my casts off and I was booted from the hospital with nothing but a pair of crutches. My leg never healed properly and I have a limp now. I used what money I had in the bank to take an Uber down to the airport. I picked up my last check from the bag service. When I came, Heather luckily wasn't there. No one else would talk to me, which is fine; I didn't have anything to say to them. If they weren't there for me when I went to the hospital, what was I going to tell them now? I wouldn't be able to drive again until I could get to New Jersey for my reckless driving hearing. I couldn't drive for a while anyway, I didn't have a car anymore. I doubt I'll be driving for a long time. I've been home for two months now. I saw a 90-day notice to evict slide under my door the other day. I let my phone shut off. I put everything I could into my internet and electric. I'd rather watch YouTube videos all night on my laptop, desperately trying to stay awake, than talk to anyone. And who would call, anyway? But at least that Jet Flite bag is gone. The smell is gone. Those damned yellow-orb eyes that occupied my rearview mirror are gone. She's gone, so at least I'll figure it out again some day soon, and rejoin society. At least, I hope she's gone. Sometimes at night, I think I hear that soft, ancient voice call out my name. Riiiiiccccchhhhhhaaaaaarrrrrrrddddddddd I tell myself it's just the wind outside.

Download Free Blood on Her name index. When all the women stood up first to clap. I felt that. Download Free Blood on Her names. I remember finding this band circa suicide season so much western influence in there sound job for a cowboy parkway drive BMTH. Download free blood on her names. ITS THE DAD CLEARLY.

Just a short silly thing on a slow work day while the holidays devour so much of my time. My Stories Aulins Majoris was a planet at the edge of nothing. Far beyond the borders of even the most far flung space faring nations it was as distant as a planet could possibly be while still actually being a part of the galaxy. It was also a harsh and desolate planet with near toxic atmosphere and an incredibly inhospitable surface that suffered constant violent storms. Any cursory surveys would send any ships on to the next planet in a hurry, and likely the next system altogether as the Aulins system itself was uninteresting and barren. Yet, this planet held a very closely kept secret. A facility buried underground, connected to hundreds of very carefully crafted craters along the surface that were camouflaged dishes. For a secret order of monks had slowly and carefully turned this planet into a repository for the knowledge and media of the galaxy. If not the universe. History had warned of eras across all civilized species where knowledge could become lost due to many factors and these monks had set themselves into tireless efforts to preserve and safeguard knowledge. They had taken a sacred oath to be guardians of what they considered to be not just enlightenment but culture. Of the best, and the worst all so that triumphs and mistakes would all be preserved for future generations to know. They had also forgone their names, and set aside notions of self and species for they wished to make no distinction between fellow preservers or those that they would one day uplift from ignorance. Their mission was seen as for the betterment of all sapients, and a task to be taken with utmost seriousness. Few were selected to join their ranks, and fewer still would actually make the trek and take the vows. But all were celebrated as beloved equal of their ranks in annual ceremonies. Thus a grand door was preserved for these to enter through when the storms on the planet were weakest, a solemn yet joyous day for the order. For the rest of the year the door was shut, and the grand entryway quiet, tended to by a single Gatekeeper. The Gatekeeper had joined the order a decade ago, and fully enveloped himself in his duties. This year he had become the Gatekeeper. His life before was cast aside, his identity changing as the order needed. Every task he had been given sacred and important in some way. For now he spent his days before the next opening in quiet contemplation. Sweeping, cleaning, or tending to the plants that lined the entryway to give beautiful color to contrast the dour and hostile environs outside the door. His days were full of peace, and meditation. Seeing others only during his morning and evening meals in the nearest dining hall. So it came as some great surprise to him while he carefully tended to a Gurtibin Plasma Lilly that there was a knock on the massive door behind him. The Gatekeeper paused in his work and turned to look at the massive metal doors. Had it been his imagination? Had the storm thrown something against it? This was one of the worst seasons on the surface after all. But then he heard it again. It was insistent now. Quick rapid knocks. The Gatekeeper rose up, setting aside his tools as he adjusted his robes. As far as he had known this had never happened before. What should he do? The knocking continued. He had a duty to protect and assist fellow sapients did he not? Maybe there had been a crash and someone was in need of help? His four legs carried him forward slowly, cautiously as he reached the door. The knocking kept going. There was some nervous rustling as he folded his four hands over and then pressed the control to open the door. Perfectly maintained hinges and gears gliding open quietly to open the door just a crack. There was a small figure just at the crack in the door, bundled up in a rather mismatched assortment of warm clothes, pressure suit, and unusual silvery gray adhesive wrapping around much of the fabric. The Gatekeeper did not judge other species but the small biped before him was one of the younger species he was fairly sure. He hoped his translator had the young species language programmed. “Greetings wayward sapient. I am the Gatekeeper, are you in immediate danger? ” “What? ” The figure adjusted some goggles on its face, pulling them away so they could better look up at the Gatekeeper through the narrow opening in the door. “No? I’m a bit cold but… I’m not in immediate danger. ” “Has your ship crashed on this planet and you are in need of assistance? ” The Gatekeeper asked next. “No? Well… the landing was rough but it’s in three pieces or less. Which really qualifies as a great landing right? ” The little figure laughed in a way that the Gatekeeper suspected was manic but he did not judge. “This facility is not open to outsiders I’m afraid. While I welcome you as a fellow sapient I can share with you some of my midday meal if you require sustenance but I can not allow you entrance. ” The Gatekeeper explained. “Wait, this is the right place in’it? ” The figure asked then. “You guys are the ones who collect all the media in the galaxy right? ” At this the Gatekeeper felt his unease settle. A wayward knowledge seeker then. It happened. Though he didn’t think they ever made it to the surface. “I am sorry my fellow sapient but our order must maintain strict rules. We cannot allow entry to any outside our order. Even if you seek the meaning of life, or the secrets of the universe our repository is merely here to preserve the collective transmissions of all sapient life. ” He tried to explain. “I’m not looking for any secrets or meanings or whatever. Listen my name is-” The figure started but the Gatekeeper held up two hands. “My fellow sapient here we have transcended beyond the need for self monikers as names and have all shed our past so as to focus on our tasks and to ensure our order does not become listed in the very knowledge we seek to collect. I am the Gatekeeper only and I ask you keep your name to yourself so as not to taint anything I might read of you in the future and add unwanted context to the transmission or media. “Er… well fine. ” The figure shifted seeming offput. The Gatekeeper expected this from those outside the order. “Well anyway my species-” He tried again yet the Gatekeeper held up his hands once more. “Here, we have also transcended the idea of individual species as well. We are all one shared collection of sapience and to label ourselves by our mortal physiology beyond needs of medical or dietary restraints is counterproductive to our quest of perfect understanding. I ask you to please refrain from identifying your species to me as well so I do not add unwanted context. ” The Gatekeeper wanted to be gentle yet firm. This entire interaction was already exceptionally unusual. “Fine. I’m only here for a single video anyway. I have traveled far across the galaxy and braved many perils to get here! I’ve risked life and limb to get here based on just rumors of your existence! You have no idea how much I need this! If I could just-” The figure tried next. “I am sorry fellow sapient but we can not help you. No matter how much the loss of a beloved may hurt and however much you think a lost video of their presence will help it’s not our place-” The gatekeeper started but this time he was interrupted. “What! It’s not a video of a dead person! Or… at least I hope they’re all still alive. It would be really awkward if they’re not. No no I need it because I’ve been looking-” The Gatekeeper frowned. “We can not provide you closure of a crime either. It is not our place to justice or evidence-” The two of them were now locked in a back and forth match of interruptions. “It’s not criminal either! I swear! I just need it so I can finally-” “Some historical video pertaining to your religion? Any such religious document would-” The Gatekeeper was starting to run out of ideas as to why the figure could be here. “I mean hey it might be close to a religious experience when I watch it but no! Not religion either! It’s just-” “Seeking us out for some video which you can sell is also strictly-” “It’s not about money! It’s just the best horn tugger of a flick I ever seen! ” When the figure finally blurted out what the video was for the Gatekeeper paused. He was taught not to judge other sapients for many various reasons, physiology especially. But as he examined the figure before him he blinked. “Fellow sapient… I am confused. You do not appear to possess a horn…” Was it hidden under their cranial fuzz? “What? Who told you that? It’s a dirty lie it is! I’m totally average! Average at worst! I know some people say that being average isn’t great but when it comes to measuring the third leg average is totally acceptable! ” Once more the Gatekeeper blinked in confusion. He saw two legs. Where was the third? “Ah… I am sorry but… I… don’t understand what you mean. ” He confessed. “Y’know… spanking the monkey. Given a crank? Making the bald man cry? Five finger shuffle? Riding the mayonnaise surf? Debugging the hard drive? ” The Gatekeeper just blinked again. “Auditioning your hand puppet? Tugging the slug? Battling the purple headed yogurt slinger? Shaking hands with Dr. Winky? ” “Perhaps there’s something wrong with my translator…” The Gatekeeper muttered. “Oozing your noodle? Squirt hockey? Celebrating palm sunday? Burping the worm? Wrestling the eel? Strangling the cyclops? Twenty Three Skidoo? Seriously guy? You must know what I mean! Jerkin’ the gherkin! Beef strokenoff! ” The two stared at each other for another second before the smaller figure finally shouted. “Wanking! I need a video from the spank bank! ” “Ah… a bank? I’m not sure we have security footage from banks… Our mission here requires that the media be broadcast-” “No! It’s not a literal bank! You have no idea how good it was! This was the gold standard of videos! I know I should have found a way to download it but I was young and foolish! Once I loaded it up it would just take me like five seconds to finish it was that good! And then one horrible night in answer to my query quoth the server four oh four! ” The Gatekeeper could hear the anguish in the figure’s voice. “Er… I’m still not sure-” He started. “Please! You have no idea what I’ve done to get here! I’ve crossed scorching deserts, braved perilous seas, and fought more than my fair share of bandits and pirates just to make it this far! And trust me there’s just no replacement for it! I’ve even been with like… actual real living sapients in the meantime and I still want the video! That’s how good it is! ” The Gatekeeper was at a loss. Clearly this figure would not relent. If he denied him entry he would likely just stay outside. But what did he do? He held up a hand. “One moment…” Backing away from the door he quickly shuffled over to the wall to tap in a call to the High Admin. There was a soft chirp as he was connected. “I am sorry to disturb you High Admin but this is the Gatekeeper. There is… someone at the door. They want-” “Peace and love to you brother Gatekeeper. I am surprised to hear from you but you should know that we cannot allow entry to an outsider. ” The Admin replied. “Yes, High Admin I am aware… however they are seeking a video-” “You know as well as I Gatekeeper that we simply cannot share that which we have acquired lest we alter the path of context across history and culture. No religious-” “No no, I tried all that. It’s nothing like that apparently. It’s a young species that keeps talking about such strange things like… choking a purple worm or something. I am very confused High Admin, I do not wish to pass judgement on younger species but-” “You must meditate Gatekeeper, I am saddened to hear you bring judgement or context to a fellow sapient of any species for-” Then the High Admin paused. “Wait. It’s a human isn’t it? ” His voice suddenly full of weariness and possibly contempt? “Ah…” The Gatekeeper leaned back to look at the figure in the tiny crack in the door. “Do you identify as human? ” “Yeah sure I’m a good ol’ Human Bean. I thought you didn’t want to know my species? Would it be better if I said I’m a meat popsicle? It’s freezing out here! ” The figure shivered a moment, rubbing their limbs. “Yes… I think High Admin that it is human. ” The Gatekeeper looked back at the screen. “Our order remains secret for centuries and then they go and discover FTL travel… I swear…” The High Admin sounded uncharacteristically annoyed. “Just have the lawyer deal with it. ” “Er… we have a lawyer? ” The Gatekeeper glanced around. “How do I contact them? I was unaware we had a former lawyer in our order. But do we not shed-” He started but the High Admin waved him off. “Not a former lawyer a current lawyer. It was a necessary evil once humans started showing up for this very reason. Just say that you need a lawyer. They’ll deal with the rest. ” The High Admin then turned off the call and the Gatekeeper looked around a moment. “Help, I need a lawyer? ” He said aloud. “Yes? ” A figure suddenly appeared behind him. “BWAH! ” The Gatekeeper jumped as a figure stepped out of the shadows besides him. Unlike the simple robes all other members of the order wore this figure had on a dark gray suit. “How did you-” “I could sense your legal need and appeared. ” The lawyer announced knowing his question. “Really? ” The Gatekeeper gasped, now confused about the nature of this species. “No, my office has an alarm for the door opening and I came down. Then I just waited in the shadows until it was most dramatic to make my presence known. ” The Lawyer explained and stepped back over to the door. “You’re looking for a single adult video correct? ” “Yes. ” The other human nodded. “Here sign this. Do you need a knife so you can cut yourself and sign in blood? ” The Lawyer asked as she pulled an expensive and ornate looking dagger from her suit pocket. “What is it? ” The human asked as he started to flip through the pages. “It’s a standard NDA. ” The Lawyer answered. “Ah, hence the blood. Right right. Standard NDA. Do I need a whole lot of initials? I don’t wanna pass out. ” The traveler asked. “Just three initials and one signature. Then you get the video in question. But if you ever reveal our presence to anyone the file will delete itself and all your other porn. So no talking. ” The lawyer pointed accusingly at the other human. “That’s a bit much isn’t it? ” The lawyer just stared down the other human. “Right… dagger please. ” The Gatekeeper watched as the figure outside took the dagger through the small opening and took off a glove so they could cut a finger tip to sign the papers. “Initial… initial… initial… signature. Done. Now what’s the video? ” The lawyer asked as she took back the dagger and papers. “You won’t judge me right? ” The human asked. “I assure you that our order is free of any prejudice of flesh. ” The Gatekeeper nodded. “Here’s the search terms. It should be the first result, but I expect to see it first! ” The human grumbled and handed over a slip of paper to the lawyer. “Disgusting…” She muttered. “Hey he promised no judgement! ” The traveler whined with a wave at the Gatekeeper. “He did, I didn’t. Freak. ” The lawyer replied and turned but he called out. “Hey how did you get the job here anyway? ” This made the lawyer pause and look back. “Like all lawyers I was made manifest by legal necessity. ” She said very seriously. “Really? ” He asked, obviously surprised. “No, you idiot. I was looking for my favorite bean flicking flick when it was taken down for copyright reasons. So like any normal person I traveled across the galaxy to find a secret order of video collecting nutjobs rather than pay for the video. Now I have access to the galaxy’s largest porn collection. It’s pretty great. ” She nodded slowly. “Do you think I-” The other started. “No. ” The lawyer hissed out and walked over to the console on the wall. After a few minutes she walked back to hand the other human a small datapad. “This is it? ” “ Yyesssssss. ” The Gatekeeper backed up a moment at the hiss let out by the traveler. It was almost as if something had possessed them in that moment. “Thanks! I’m off to my ship! I’ve got the perfect chair set up, and tons of energy drinks so I don’t get dehydrated! Bye! ” With that the figure waved and scurried off before the lawyer shut the door. “I’m not sure I understand. ” The Gatekeeper mentioned as the lawyer turned to leave. “Not all quests for perfection involve secrets to the universe Gatekeeper. Many who seek enlightenment need to make answers for themselves. But you have no idea what a human will go through to find the perfect video for a nut. For some it is a doomed quest that ends in disgust and disappointment. But the journey must still be undertaken just the same. For often we discover that it was not the object of our memory that we most desired, but a moment lost in time that we can never return to. And that particular vid is some lost droplet of sanctuary in the torrid affairs of our lives… Yet often it is the porn we find along the way that we come to cherish in the end. ” The lawyer nodded slowly and the Gatekeeper felt he had much to learn. “But sometimes…” The lawyer continued. “Sometimes it just really is that good and you feel like you just blew your brains out. But in a good way. Anyway, I'm off to my lawyer lair. Call me if you need any NDAs or injunctions. And don’t worry too much about what happened today. It’ll make sense when you get assigned to floor 34. ” The Gatekeeper was once more left alone with his thoughts as the human walked away, her suit seeming to vanish into the shadows like the natural camouflage of some predatory species. He slowly shuffled back to tend to his plants as he started to contemplate what had happened today. While he had come to expect much from the knowledge seekers of the galaxy he had to add a new sinking suspicion that this species would make it hard for him to not pass judgement. Something told him that in the quest for perfection… humans were going to make things weird.

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