Tom

Just saw from BBC that Putin has placed Russia's nuclear deterrent on "special alert".
 
Seriously?
 
https://www.bbc.com/news/live/world-europe-60542877?ns_mchannel=social&ns_source=twitter&ns_campaign=bbc_live&ns_linkname=621b82160ce87e491a0ed58b%26Russian move does not signal intent to use nuclear weapons%262022-02-27T13%3A56%3A05.258Z&ns_fee=0&pinned_post_locator=urn:asset:a0123d9e-83d8-4199-be2f-92361aab4ea7&pinned_post_asset_id=621b82160ce87e491a0ed58b&pinned_post_type=share

There's really nothing quite like being a part of a team of superheroes breaking through someone's ceiling in a cascade of shards and bits to gain the element of surprise on a bad guy and his henchmen at the heart of his lair. If you can do it, and survive it, I highly recommend the experience. Admittedly, the fact a lot of credit went to kudzu (empowered kudzu but still kudzu) might have taken some of the shine off of it, but still; it's a hell of a thing.
 
No one was more surprised than Ophiotaurus. He had arranged a protective maze of death (or perhaps he would have termed it a labyrinth of doom? I don't know, villains are kind of extra) full of more soldiers and traps to harry or even kill us, and we'd simply bypassed it. Of course, I suppose I could be guessing at the nature of his shock, the goggles and gas mask combo, each a bit retro in style, hid his expression very well indeed. But his body language conveyed startlement, as did his words.
 
"How did you know where to... this is intolerable!" He slammed his fist on a console before him.
 
That part, I hadn't wanted. The last place you want the enemy mastermind to be when you manage to close in on him is near a bunch buttons, switches, and levers. And, while we had bypassed a lot of threats, he hadn't been alone in here! Roughly twenty members of 'the talent' were by his side, and they looked better armed and equipped than their peers. I had to wonder if that was because they were the elite of all those working for him, the fact they were his last line of defense, or both.
 
Both, I decided, definitely both.
 
Ophiotaurus had been surprised, slamming a fist when he should have been pressing a button. His staff, however, while also caught off guard, responded much more quickly. As soon as they saw me, they reached for what I first took as grenades and lobbed them at me. 
"Remember the plan!" One yelled as they threw.
 
"Scatter" I ordered! Then I realized, the only one who needed to scatter was ME. Everyone of of them had targeted me, a move that reminded me of older than sliced bread jokes about everyone one on one side of the army choosing the same target by accident.
Fire at Will! Yeah, that Will guy has it coming! Wills a Jerk!

That kind of humor.
 
Only, I realized it wasn't a punchline. They were all on me and meant to be!
Valerosa had another order "Sky shield Eel!"
 
The order wasn't to me, the order was about me, to blast incoming attacks on one member before they could hit. The orders shouldn't have conflicted too much. Newer orders were supposed to supersede older ones to allow for fast shifting battle conditions, but while the rookies had trained well, it was understandable that some scattered, and others defended. Of course, only so many of us have ranged attacks in the first place.
 
So Trailblazer raced to the side, heard the other order, and fired a burst catching only one of the odd projectiles. Viewpoint? A wide spread of energy from his gaze took out out several more! Burned and smashed open, a kind of green powder swirled in the air about me. But others hit me square on despite my own back peddling attempts.
 
It wasn't what I expected. I was expecting fire, a kind of napalm or something else with intense heat.  Both Arctic Fox and I had long lamented that if you had ice powers or were seen as a creature of the sea, there were always those who figured burning you out was the best way to go. Worst thing? It actually was. Of course, all is relative, just because I'm less resistant to flame doesn't mean I fold over like an square jawed alien facing radioactive green rocks. In fact, I've been burned several times, and weather it better than your average nonpowered person. 
Being able to regenerate burned flesh with a nice bath helps.
 
But this wasn't fire, and in fact I didn't know what it was. The ones that hit me directly were still powdery bursts, but there was a dampness to each particle and they stuck to me. No, not stuck, they were sinking in.
This, I thought, this couldn't be good. But whatever it was, it had hit me It was done.
 
And my team was already adjusting. The Talent had decided to attack just me? Fine. That meant they'd committed their first volley on one. And, well, we were going to take advantage of that.
Aspirant seemed furious, the telepath closed on one agent and went hand to hand with him. Honestly the mercenary had the edge in muscle and experience, so odds should have favored, but the telepath had been training hard with Valerosa and myself, and he could read every thought in his foe's brain. This didn't always help him as much as it should, muscle memory and practice took a lot less thought than battle strategy, but in this case? It worked like a charm. 
 
Aspirant weaved to avoid the Talent's blows like he'd being told how this fight would go down by a hollywood director, then countered with a legsweep that took the guy off his feet. If he had time to get up, the talent would have done so, his body armor taking the worst of Aspirant's impact. 
But Aspirant wasn't alone. Pogo had already slammed into the ground, shot into the air to careen off another goon's head only to arc up high again then come down with a lot of force from a twenty foot drop down onto Apirant's enemy, taking that one completely out of the fight even as she moved on.
"We're such a good team," She told Aspirant delightedly, "Don't forget after this you're totally taking me to the movies. Is a rom com okay? My life is an action movie so those can be a little redundant. Though if it's a good one all's forgiven and I was hoping maybe for a dinner but I'll go dutch..."
"Pogo," Valerosa fussed as she smashed the chest piece of another of Ophiotaurus' agents with a single blow, "use other means of communication before plotting your private live around the bad guys, please?"  Another of the talent drew a blaster and shot her.
Valerosa didn't even blink from the surge. She was at her most resilient now. On her own without the enhancer, she could get as strong as concrete. With it, she was more durable than steel. She  grabbed the foe she had just broken the arm of, swung him around and smashed him into the shooter all in one smooth motion.
Then there was Hussar, who had stolen one of my moves with a twist, slamming onto the ground from above adding the force of his super strength to send out a veritable shockwave! Five of the goons fell over as if they'd been caught flat footed in an Earthquake. 
Frankly I was stunned. Not that he pulled it off, but that he'd clearly been paying more attention in class than I thought he had. It's an odd feeling of pride when one of your problem children shows you actually do have his attention. Though seriously, what red blooded action movie loving guy wouldn't want to do that move if he could?
Speaking of movie preferences, as Trailblazer and Viewpoint were ready to take on new targets, Aspirant thought 'I like Rom Coms fine, but we'll have to talk dinner later. Eel, you've been depowered! Their thoughts were positively screaming it! Get out of the way before ...'
A bullet, not a blast, a bullet from a gun, shot right through my once nigh invulnerable flesh. If I hadn't have been warned, it would have gotten me in the heart. Instead, It caught me in the shoulder. Maybe my defenses hadn't completely faded yet because I don't think it broke through the bone. Still, blood had sprayed out, and more was now leaking down my left arm. It was the most extraordinary thing. 
 
This wasn't some magic bullet, no space age metal, just.. your average 9 mm round. 
"Holy crap!" Hussar cursed!
"Boss?!" Trailblazer exclaimed, and it surprised me because she was using the term I equated with Lady Obsidian. She had hit another guy sending him smoking and skittering along the floor.
"Eel, are you okay?" Valerosa called out, her eyes wide as she forgot the use the telepath rule in her worry, though a true pro, she used my codename.
 
Well, no I wasn't okay. I had a bullet lodged in my shoulder, but I wasn't going to answer that way, "Fine," I lied through gritted teeth, "Remind me to recycle this later. Take them out before he tries a stage two."
"Stage two?" Viewpoint said as he blasted another talent, only four were upright now.
 
"There is always a stage two," Ophiotaurus  agreed from the console. Damn it, we should have gone for him first, "I do a lot with a genetic sample of a bleeding hero, and if you recall, a certain hero bled a lot during the fumian event two years ago. Your powers are temporarily neutralized, Eel! Welcome to being a mere mortal, now watch as your own powers are used against your team, sadly, it's temporary too. Brace yourselves, my friends!" 
 
There was a switch, and for a moment, all the Talent made soft gasps or sharp intakes of breath, as if they'd just had a syringe plunged into their ass. For all I knew, somewhere they had!

But it passed quickly, and one of them  almost experimentally backhanded Viewpoint and sent him rolling across the floor as if he had been hit by a wrecking ball.
"It worked! We're as strong as Eel!" He said "You're a genius!" 
 
"About 3/4ths as strong I fear, RNA infusion has it's limits, both time and potency, take them down quickly" Ophiotaurus ordered, "You have roughly five minutes!" genius or no, Ophiotaurus forgot about communication secrecy on his side too.
Unfortunately, with the Talent now empowered, and some we thought down reviving with their newly enhanced recovery time; five minutes might be more than enough. I leaped at Ophiotaurus  over the console, or I tried to. I had been used to leaping like an Olympic long jumper on steroids, now ? Now i wouldn't even qualify for the event. I landed on top of it instead, my blood drops splattering across the keys, and Ophiotaurus  amused and triumphant, out of reach. He pointed a glove at me, "How the mighty have fallen!" His glove flared, and a blast of energy came out.
If a bullet had nearly killed me, I was certain that this wasn't going to be pretty.
 

Joe Biden one year on: Has the United States become ungovernable? https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-us-canada-60036911

Joe Biden one year on: Has the United States become ungovernable? https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-us-canada-60036911

Covid: Quebec to impose health tax on unvaccinated Canadians https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-us-canada-59960689

Pretty much.  I've already been having to listen to the ads for the ReTrumplican candidates for the open Senate seat in Ohio, each one trying to out-Trump the other...
 

First day out of self-isolation.  Never got much worse than a middling head cold...and I apparently isolated well enough that my wife never caught it (she's been testing throughout -- all negative).
 
Thank you vaccines and booster for what seems to have been a very mild case.  Apart from 10 days of enforced boredom (where I never left the bedroom), not too bad....and the enforced boredom was likely something that I kind of needed...

Forgive the flippancy of my response, but as I'm celebrating my first Christmas without my only sibling....my tolerance for anti vaxx rhetoric is nonexistent.

And...just tested positive (home test, so no info on variant).

Mild symptoms -- mostly a minor head cold so far (low grade headache, congested sinuses, and fatigue).  Maybe shortness of breath, but not really noticeable.  Hoping it stays this way.

It's not a random musing, so it doesn't go there.  Despite the timing, it's not holiday anything, so it doesn't go there.  It _is_ from my life, but it's not particularly quotable and far, far too long (though the reminiscing did bring up and old quote, and if I can remember it again, I will post it as well).
 
This is the story of lost productivity.  This is the story of bizarre inter-human relations.  This is the story of high emotions, high pressure, and low empathy.  Or, if you must have a clean and concise reference, it is the story of the worst funeral I have ever attended.
 
I don't feel particularly light and fluffy tonight, so you're in for a treat: I am going to leave out _so much_ excess verbiage, you luck you, you!  I am not going to go into a lot of detail about the deceased; suffice it to say that he was a very important part of that best part of family: that family that you select for yourself when you first step out into the world on your own.  As these are all real people (who I hope to God will be horrifically ashamed of themselves once they get home), I am going to be using pseudonyms.  I trust that you will eventually see why I fell this is for the best.
 
Early Monday, I got a call from my brother J (I have two of these, and since I _did_ say "my brother," there's no point in trying real hard here).  "We lost Patrick late last night."  Patrick has been fighting cancer-- badly.  He also had quadruple bypass last month.  He has lived the last nine months with one of my sisters (the single one) who has helped to care for him.  "Funeral is Thursday, ten-o'clock, at The Usual Place."   I say "The Usual Place" because this particular funeral home has seen a depressing amount of our family go on to their reward, starting with my brother Mike (he's dead; we are not going to hurt his feelings, okay?), then Pop, then a few others.  I tell J that I _will_ be there.
 
I told my boss that I needed to travel to Coastal Town for a funeral, etc, and he is genuinely sorry to tell me "we have a number of deadlines to hit by Thursday night."  Well, boss, it's Thursday until midnight.  I will be back after the funeral; the deadlines will be met.  "Are you comfortable with that?"  Well, I'm _going_, so it doesn't really matter.
 
I get down there about an hour early, just in time to see Mama (pseudonym, selected for her importance to all of us) and Sister M (the one that 'Patrick' was staying with) arrive, and I help Mama out of the car.  Immediately she falls to hugs and crying and kissing.  She's a wreck.  Patrick was her last tie to Pop, and she knows her own health.  I help her get seated in a good spot to greet other people as they enter.  J and wife show up (my own wife was not able to get time off, and truth be told, in spite of knowing how much I love these people, has never been particularly comfortable with them.  You...  you'd have to know them.  The best way I know to sum them up is ex-LEOs and biker trash, thrown together in the most unusual way possible.  I don't really know how we all ended up like we are, but we are all good with each other.
 
I also notice that my brother Thumper isn't there, and I ask about it.  See, Thumper's father (Pop) and Patrick were so close that Thumper was actually named after Patrick.  Now I wrote Thumper off years ago (if you've never had to cut a close family member out of your life, let me tell you it's a lot harder than you think) as a con man and grifter (and he still is a piece of crap, but that's not this story).  J tells me "I told him about it and he just got mad.  Said "Isn't that just like Patrick?  He probably planned this crap on purpose!"  Today, you see, is Thumper's birthday.  So to "get even," he decided not to show up.
 
The viewing is way, _way_ longer than it was supposed to be.  One of Patrick's families hasn't arrived yet.  Patrick had three families outside of ours.  He wasn't a bigamist; he was what I refer to as a "serial monogamist."  Got married, started a family, ten to twelve years later, rinse and repeat.  There is no way to say this except to say that Patrick was a warm, kind, loving, spontaneous person.  None of that, however, makes him a _good_ person.  I hope that point comes across, because I have no better way to express it.  I visit with several friends, family members, and adopted family members, some of whom I haven't seen in some time-- Pretty, for example.  We used to go everywhere together, but he took a job up in Carolina twenty years ago and now we only see each other for the _worst_ of reasons.  Ahh-- to explain how complicated the family relationships are in this group: J is my brother.  Pretty is J's brother.  Pretty is not my brother.  He might as well be, but on paper.....
 
Now Patrick....  Patrick seemed to take a new wife every time he went through a new Phase.  This is reinforced by the fact that I swear to you: he has _theme families_.  You'd have to see them lined up by group to appreciate it, but let's say that his _first_ wife and set of kids are all the ambitious go-getter prep-school type of kids that everyone thinks they want.  His next wife and set of kids are all bikers.  All of them.  his daughter (who is six-two and was strikingly attractive before all the face tats) has been arrested twice (with a group of other bikers) for absolute brawls.   His next set of kids are shifty, "we could sell used cars and use them to traffic the coke" type people.  His last set of kids (he never married the last woman) are two very normal, well-rounded people who would get lost in a crowd of three.
 
Patrick also had a few extra-marital relationships.  Like, _always_ had a few extra-marital relationships.   To the point that while there is a slide show running of his life with pictures of him from childhood up, and with all of us, and all of his various wives and all of his kids, there were over thirty pictures that everyone was trying to figure out just who this or that woman was.  J helped with some; I helped with others.  The one with which most people were enamored-- a tall and energetic-looking blond woman, grinning into the camera while hugging his neck-- J and I looked at each other for a minute.  Finally I spoke.  "Pop's gone.  Pat's gone.  You gonna wait for me to go, too, or do we tell them?"  (There is a tradition in our family that anyone who agrees to take a secret "to the grave," well, it's either / or.  Your grave, or the other guys.  (this comes up again later in another context).  We are okay with keeping secrets for decades, but forever isn't allowed.    J thinks about it a minute, and finally says "Who, but not when."  
 
"Okay," I agreed.  I turned to Mama and said "That's a stripper Patrick picked up on one of our trips to Bike Week.  Took three days to get rid of her."  To give you an idea of the sort of person Patrick was, absolutely no one was surprised.  Some were disappointed, but none were surprised.
 
Finally, the missing family show up: we can hear their bikes pulling up.  They had been delayed by mechanical issues.  They come walking in and Pat's daughter (we'll call her Sylvie, because it amuses me) struts in dragging her boyfriend-of-the-moment by the hand.  She stops and looks at J, sizing him up and down. "You got fat." she sneered.  He looked back at her. "Still wanna [] me?"  boyfriend bows up and starts to say something-- now let's keep in mind that I'm not a little guy, and I have no doubt that I could handle this guy.  J is twice my size, and unhampered by spine issues.  Boyfriend starts to get in J's face and Sister M steps up from out of nowhere, grabs him by the back of his tacky little leather vest and _drags_ him to her (I've told all of you that even my sisters are bigger than me, right?), throws her knee behind his while dragging, all of which neatly drops him on his back-- or, would have, if she had let go of his vest, which is now cradling his head and bunching in his armpits, effectively making his arms useless.  "Now you listen to me, you little []!  This isn't about Sylvie and it isn't about J and it sure as Hell isn't about whoever the Hell _you_ are.  If Sylvie wants J's [] kicked, she'll do it herself; do you understand me?  This is about Patrick-- her daddy-- and mostly it's about Mama, because with Patrick gone, there's only her and S (Pop's last living cousin) from their entire generation.  J and Sylvie have a history that is none of your business, none of my business, and if you can't handle that like a man, I'll get Pretty to take you out back and explain it."  
 
As if on cue, Pretty walks up.  Now let me say this:  I have told you that I am the smallest of my siblings.  Pretty, technically not my sibling, is almost a head shorter than my six-foot-and-a-touch self.  However, he is easily twice as wide.  He's not fat; he's just huge.  He was always short and got picked on a lot as a kid.  He got into body building at about the age of ten.  Today, he walks through doors one shoulder at a time.  He's an extremely warm, outgoing man, and quite forgiving, but you'd have to know that; nothing about the way he looks suggests he isn't possibly a serial killer-- a very _happy_ serial killer (he smiles all the time, even when absolutely furious.  It's unsettling if you don't know him, I have been told).  Boyfriend gets the message, Sister M stands him back up, J winks at him and blows a kiss to him.  Sylvie starts in on Boyfriend:  "What the Hell is wrong with you?  You either hit someone or you don't; that stupid posing [] will get your [] kicked by every person in this room!"  Boyfriend starts sputtering about J's comment and Sylvie shuts him down with "Sometimes a woman wants a guy she can't beat the [] out of.  I swear to God, if I had known you were going to be this damned annoying, I would have invited Husband...."
 
(Oh, for anyone who is curious, Sylvie and J's only "history" is a lifetime of joke flirting.  Neither is interested in dating a cousin.     )
 
At any rate, this exchange gives the tone for the entire funeral.
 
I promised I'd leave out a lot of verbosity, so let's skip straight to the first fist fight--
 
No; let's not.  Let's first skip to the first speaker.
 
Patrick was _not_ a religious man.  I can't go so far as to say he was an atheist, because I don't know that he ever made his mind up-- to be completely fair to him, I think he quite deliberately avoiding thinking about it his entire life.  It worked out better for him, I suppose: he was able to shout out how evil gay marriage was without having to worry about the sanctity of his three marriages, his long-term live-together, or any of who knows how many extramarital dalliances, strippers, and prostitutes.  (Remember: I said a _warm_ and _personable_ man; I specifically said "not a good man."  There are a lot of reasons for that.)  Now the first person to speak (Patrick knew the end was coming about a month ago and started making arrangements.  He had asked two friends from long ago to say "a few nice things" at the funeral) was an old friend of his from his LEO days.  This speaker was also a lay preacher.  Those may exist outside the south, but I've never encountered them anywhere else.  At any rate, he mentioned Patrick a couple of times, and kept hounding on Salvation and Repentance and how Patrick had repented to him and accepted Jesus-- 
 
In the south, preachers are _terrible_ about this.  Every funeral I have been to with a preacher ends up being an hour-long membership drive for the church.  Almost no thought seems to be given to the deceased or comforting the grieving.  I hate it.  I _am_ religious, and I _hate_ it.  That's how absolutely abhorrent I find this practice to be.  Now he had been going on for about forty-five minutes (bringing this funeral deeply into its third hour, what with Sylvie and her two brothers and boyfriend-dujour being late.  I have ridden bikes all my life.  I have ridden with friends and I have ridden alongside outlaw clubs (never joined, but hanger-on'ed a couple out of friendship for one or more members), and hate me if you must, but the best advice I can give to anyone thinking about buying a motorcycle is "don't by a Harley."  You aren't buying a motorcycle; you are buying a lifestyle and an over-priced underpowered irrigation pump that someone has wedged into a small motorcycle frame and marketed entirely on nostalgia for a time that never was.  There is a reason most of them are ridden only to the bars, then to the dealership and back).
 
Now, I didn't ride to the funeral.  I was trying to be respectful, and in the event anyone else needed a ride or some such, I had taken the Leviathan.  It's not pretty, but it's sedate.
 
Anyway, most of us from the family were getting very, very ill with this speaker-- not for the run-on, but for the words he was putting into Patrick's mouth that we all knew were absolutely not true: Hell, Sister M helped Patrick make the phone call to this guy.  At about the forty-five minute mark, he reiterates "Patrick confessed to me that he believed Jesus Christ died on the cross for his sins--"  someone a few rows behind me (I had chose to sit with Mama so I could help her up and down as needed.  While I love J and all the others, I am really [] about the way they have distanced themselves from her over the Thumper situation.  You know what?  Thumper is her son, and she loves him.  I never expected her to write him off the way the rest of us did, and it bugs me that they did.  But hey-- I am the oldest.  I'm the extra parent, and didn't get the luxury of being childish growing up, which makes it harder to fall into now, I guess)-- anyway, "Patrick told me he accepted Salvation, and confessed it by mouth-"
 
"You are a _LYING_ sum' [], and I think we've all had about enough of it!"  Cue the agreement, then the dissent, then the arguing, and suddenly BOOM!  A freakin' brawl at a funeral.  I don't mean a fist fight.  I mean a _brawl_.  One second there's yelling and arguing and the next second there's fists and coats and folding chairs flying everywhere.
 
So how did this happen?
 
I don't know.  Really; I don't.  Mama and I sat in the third pew, leaving the first two for Patrick's surviving exes and his dozen kids and their kids (damn, I'm old).  I turned to see who was doing all the yelling, stood to ask them to shut up, and then it all just blew up.
 
 
Okay, I don't share much about my family-- biological, adopted, or otherwise-- not because I don't want people to know, but because I don't like putting their business out to strangers without their permission.  It doesn't feel right to me (hence all the pseudonyms on the rare occasion I do it, and excepting Thumper, who is a complete []-biter anyway.  But I hope at this point that you have an idea of just what an odd and eclectic bunch we are-- Pat's "theme families" are right typical for us; we just don't usually striate quite so cleanly.    ) I have a theory, and J approached me with a similar theory (from the opposite POV, unsurprisingly enough, but hey--.  Without getting political here, let me sum up the things J, D, and I agreed on:  This group splits quite evenly between retired and active LEOs and people who moved away, leaving the LEOs and their lifestyle behind to explore the rest of the world.  In that time, they formed opinions that maybe what LEOs are doing or how they are doing it isn't really the best way to be doing such things.  I am not here to say that one group is right and one isn't, but it's a hotbed issue in the country right now, and in our family (for obvious reasons), and this is a funeral for a guy that, even knowing who and how he was, we all genuinely loved, and there is a _lot_ of emotional tension, a lot of sadness, a feeling of loss, pain, anger, and loss of control.  Someone said something that someone didn't like-- or maybe someone took something the wrong way-- at any rate, the only sickening thing I can say for certain was that it was LEOs that started swinging first, clearly an attempt to deescalate the situation. 
 
Thankfully, it wasn't the entire family.  It was about eight-on-eight, and it was _ugly_.  There was a lot of repression that had slipped loose, I think, on everyone's part.  J, D, Sister M, myself, and a handful of others moved in to break it up, and from the initial outburst to getting everything quite (including a lot of seat-switching that folks undertook of their own volition).  We were now twenty minutes deeper into things.  The speaker waited a bit and continued on, starting right back on Patrick's deathbed Salvation and Pretty jumped up, walked briskly around the casket and around the podium, took him by the hand and said "thank you for coming; and thank you for speaking about Uncle Patrick, but I think we need to let Nickel speak now" and led him carefully down the aisle and out through the lobby.
 
There is a rhythm to the services at The Usual Place.  I absolutely hate that I have been there enough to notice that.    When the viewing is about to turn into the service, they start playing music-- very, _very_ softly, and across ten minutes or so, they creep the volume up until everyone notices and settles in for the service.  There are always at least two speakers-- at most services, one would be the deceased preacher, but in this case--  anyway, after the first speaker, they play a song-- again, softly, presumably to allow the speaker to make his way through the bereaved or for the bereaved to ruminate on his words.  After that song, a second speaker steps up, and when he is done, they play another song.  After that, any additional speakers, and then anyone amongst the assembled who wish to speak do so, in turn.  When all this has concluded, a third song plays.  When that song ends, the ushers move to the front and begin leading people out to the foyer.  That's important to know-- again, for later. 
 
The second speaker-- Nickel-- is a lifelong friend from Patrick's earliest days of his LEO career.  He shares a few amusing anecdotes, details some of the things he remembers about Patrick, shares some things that, were he alive, Patrick may not have wanted shared.  Oh well: family tradition: no one is allowed to keep a secret forever.     After about twenty minutes of that (_long_ minutes, because the pew-- and Mama's constant need for physical contact as a reassurance-- are taking their toll on my back), he segues directly into the current political climate, how Patrick would have seen things, how things _ought_ to be, yadda-yadda-yadda- "surprise, I'm a Nazi!" and the next round of []-kickings begin, this time when a lot of Patrick's own kids cry "bull" and others of us with more 'questionable' lifestyles begin to pontificate that not only did Patrick not think like that, but the very fact that these were his kids and his family and his closest friends absolutely belies everything that _this_ butt muppet is trying to put into his mouth.  Sure, when you knew him in '84, he may have thought like that, but look at his family-- look at his life.  He grew; he changed; you are putting words in his mouth--   this one quickly heated up, and as absolutely stunned as I was by the idea of a brawl at a funeral, I was absolutely gobsmacked when it happened _again_.
 
Seriously.  Another all-out brawl at a funeral.  This one I saw up close and personal: close family was involved.  And while I DO NOT WANT ANYONE to think this is a political statement (I am trying _super hard_ to not do that, particularly after all this), it bears noting that yet again, it was LEOs that started swinging first.  I was starting to think that this was the only way they knew to deal with someone who disagreed with them.  😢  Now remember: we _ARE_ a tight-knit group; I would unabashedly accept the descriptor "clannish."  We have genuine love for each other, and here we are (well, not all of us, of course) beating the crap out of each other again.  The first one was roughly eight-on-eight; this one was roughly twelve-on-twelve, but unfortunately even Pretty got triggered (he's still an active LEO), but at least he didn't start beating on people.  He _did_ grab and hold a couple of them much more aggressively than I really think was necessary, but honestly, I probably was, too-- not for political reasons, but for "what the Hell is wrong with you?!" reasons.  I got my shirt ripped off me for my troubles (trying to break it up; not actively participating), and at the end of this one-- well, this one was bad: people can summon absolute hate even for people they love over the particular hot button topic that Nickel the Douche Biscuit decided to pontificate about.  J caught a shiner from someone for his troubles, and Sister M was pulling the fingers on a guy I didn't recognize in what looked like an attempt to pull them back into joint.  Sylvie was laughing.  Apparently during the fracas (she participated in this one, I am ashamed to say), this guy had grabbed her backside, and she had dislocated at least one of his fingers for his trouble.  Mama scolded  her about it, and her only reply was "I stabbed the last guy."  "Yeah;" D replied.  "We know.  I bailed you, if you recall."
 
So everything is settled down again.  J has someone's blood on his shirt; my shirt is torn at the shoulder and doesn't have enough buttons left to close, and I gave up trying.  D looks pretty clean still, and Pretty is taking off his tie "because if this [] happens again, I'm going to start choking them."  Pretty sure he didn't mean that, and the look of the tie at that point suggests someone had grabbed it in an attempt to choke him.
 
 
This whole thing is beyond surreal; even Mama seems to have just checked out.  Out of respect, I had left my phone in the truck, and looked at my watch to realize that I had lost it at some point trying to help break up the last skirmish.  It feels like we are four or more hours into this thing at this point.  J notices me looking at my wrist, glances at his wife's watch, and tells me "one-thirty."   Wonderful.  For a funeral that started at 10, and me with a day's work still to do, two hours from where I am now.  Nickel the Pundit gets back up to the podium, and _several_ of Patrick's kids tell him in no uncertain terms "No; you're done."  He cajoles with something along the lines of "well I just wanted to say--" J, Pretty, and half of Patrick's sons step forward-- they don't do anything more than that; they just step forward.  One of Patrick's exes repeats "No; you're done."  The ushers start playing a soft song, giving a hint.
 
At this point, -- I don't know what you call them.  Kenny had done a stint in the Army before becoming a cop.  There were three young people there to do the fold-a-flag-and-give-it-to-the-bereaved thing (no disrespect intended; I have no idea what that's called or what those people are called.  I know one of them plays Taps, and when you're barely holding it together, that does _not_ help.  Dear God, does that not help.  We all lost it at that point, and even then I thought "maybe this is what they need-- just a better way to let it out."   
 
The flag gets folded, the young man walks toward the first pew and presents it to Patrick's oldest son.
 
 
Which immediately results in a fight.  Thankfully, not another brawl.  Patrick had four families, remember?  He has two surviving exes and a dozen kids.  There was screaming and yelling and name calling and a bit of slapping (remember when I said his first kids were prep-school kind of kids?  There have been two full-on rows at this point, and these kids-- including the oldest boy-- are slapping at each other.  Still, it's _so much better_ than everything thus far).  Eventually, it's decided to open the casket and give it to Patrick.
 
At this point, _everyone_ is aghast.  Not because Patrick is, for some reason, purple, but because whoever had prepped the body had shaved his mustache!  You obviously don't know Patrick, but Patrick was _extremely_ proud of his "cop 'stache."  Like Mama, Patrick had three Seminole grandparents.  Without exaggeration, it took him nearly ten years to grow his beloved 'stache.  He would have been mortified.  Now during the viewing, the family had agreed to a closed casket because-- well, because he was PURPLE!, and as a result latecomers (to include Sylvie, Boyfriend, and Sylvie's brother) had been unaware that the 'stache was gone, as were most of the friends who had waited to let the family have a private viewing.  This started an uproar about who was responsible for this or that or who did this horrible thing and on and on, finger-pointing and blaming, etc.  At least they weren't fighting physically; _that crap_ was getting _old_.
 
If anyone is wondering, it was the decision of his first wife and his first daughter.  They had never gotten used to seeing him with it.  Me?  I honest-to-God DID NOT CARE!  Why?  Because I was one-hundred-precent _convinced_ that Patrick didn't care, either!  If he _did_ care, he was hiding it extremely well.
 
There was a third speaker; someone who worked with both Patrick and Pop, and he spoke quite fondly of both of them, shared a few stories, offered condolences to the family.  Unlike the previous speakers, he seemed to have a genuine desire to speak about Patrick, and to comfort those who would miss him most.   Most importantly at this point?  He was BRIEF!  Oh, thank you, merciful universe!  He thoughtfully opened the floor for anyone else who wanted to speak, and a few people did.  We heard another twenty minutes or so of fond remembrances, offers of assistance and comfort-- things you would expect at a funeral.  (Unless you live in the South, in which case you also expect a twenty-to-forty minute sermon on why you should be seeking Salvation, even if you're there to bury an atheist.)  A few family members spoke, shared memories, and _finally_ everyone was done.
 
The Ushers had silently slipped into their positions at the front corners of the room, well behind the casket and the podium, and the speaker popped and hissed, alerting us "regulars" that the third and final song was about to start, after which we would be "ushed" out to the foyer.
 
As my spine began to leap for joy at the prospect of getting out of that pew and staying out, the music began proper.  My eyes bugged out as I heard the first bars of Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Freebird."  As my spine screamed, there was a clatter.  A guy on the other side of room-- and older man; perhaps mid-seventies, had thrown his cane is disgust, and whacked it quite solidly into the casket. "[] Damn it, Patrick!" he yelled with great ire.  This, of course-- not the yelling or disgust, I don't think-- Patrick was one-hundred-percent known as a practical joker, and we were _all_ convinced that this choice of music had been his entirely (though I bet he would have thought better had he any clue about how the rest of his funeral was going to go), but because he had thrown his cane at the casket of a dead man.  This started another round of screaming and yelling and name calling that ran on for ten minutes.  Unfortunately, that meant that once it had stopped, we still had six minutes of Freebird  to sit through.
 
And that's us, people.  That's the other side of my family.   And there are now fourteen of us-- perhaps the first humans in American history-- to be banned from a funeral home.
 

 
 
And that, my friends, is me venting.  Yes; it's the story of the worst funeral ever.  It's the story of the one funeral I will _never_, _ever_ forget, no matter _how many_ COVID tests I take.  It's mostly just me venting.  Remember that after all this crap, I still had to make a two-hour drive to work (I didn't bother going home to change: the shirt was a lost cause, and there are a few blood splatters on the pants I hadn't noticed until they were pointed out to me.  "Oh my Gosh!  What happened to you?!" asked the young lady that serves as our receptionist / salesperson.  "Funeral," I said, like that explained _anything_.
 
And here I sit, at work still, typing this up while waiting for a few e-mail responses, just so I can e-mail it to myself and copy / post it to the board the moment I get home.
 
EDIT:
 
I mentioned that the "secrets" thing would come up again, but I failed to follow through on that.  A few years ago, J invited Patrick to live with him until he found a place he wanted (Patrick had just moved back to the area).  During this time, J had weekend custody of his daughter, and Patrick was always careful to stay out the whole weekend so J could enjoy his daughter without concern for Patrick's needs.  The roommate arrangement fell apart over a shower door.  Pat was getting ready to take a shower, but when he opened the door, it fell into the tub, landing on a corner which punctured the fiberglass tub and shattered the glass of the window.  J insisted Patrick pay for it; Patrick remained steadfast that he did not break the door: he had simply tried to slide the door open, and it fell.  The argument grew heated, and Patrick moved in with one of his exes for a month or two until he found a place to buy.
 
During the last bit of the service, J's daughter got up and shared a few stories about Patrick-- most of them none of us ever knew.  She concluded with "and now that he's gone, I have to tell you this:  I broke the shower door.  I opened it to get out of the shower and I slipped, but I was holding the door handle, and it popped off the tracks and fell into the tub.  It scared me really bad, and Uncle Patrick (not her uncle, but most of the kids of her generation knew him as 'Uncle') was banging on the door asking if I was okay.  I was okay, and I got dressed, and I was crying, and I told him what happened, and that I broke the door, and he noticed my arm was bleeding.  He cleaned up the blood and put a band-aid on it, and told me that I didn't break the door, and I told him all over again what happened and he said 'listen to me: you did _not_ break the door, okay?  Your Daddy just got his life straightened up to get to see you every weekend, and we're not going to have him mad at you for the last time he gets to see you this week.  _I_ broke the door.  That's that."
 
 
J blushed.  I suppose he was thinking about the two-week argument about the shower door.     Patrick never said a thing, and that was twenty years ago.
 

Today (Dec 8th) is Aaron Allston's birthday. Let us light a candle and toss a few D6 for our missing brother.
 
 

You mean the next shooting that makes national headlines. Otherwise we’d be stuck on the topic daily. 

And my nomination for best line:  "And it folded more dramatically than a European Soccer player faking an injury. "
 
Though "'I HAVE BEEN, AND ALWAYS BE... A BETTER ACTOR THAN YOU'" is a close second.
 
I'm glad that Viewpoint and Slime got a little time in the spotlight.  While I know it's important to show how the rookies have progressed and grown, that shouldn't relegate the others to the basement.  Nice balancing act, IMO.
 
Edit to add:  Though I'm sure Lawnmower Boy would say that it needs 50% more Pogo.

And I'll second the thought about American beer...

https://www.cnn.com/2021/06/26/us/arvada-colorado-police-shot-good-samaritan/index.html
 
Fairly recent example of “good guy with gun”.
 
Also an example of why inserting armed civilians in a police response situation can be a bad idea.

There are some non-big company stuff that is at least drinkable.
 
Beer is one of those things where there is so many varieties, there is likely something you would find tolerable (if not actually likeable) but unless you really feel the need to find a beer to drink it's not worth subjecting yourself to the costs of finding it.
 
Though random chance can provide unexpected opportunities, which is how I actually know of beers/ales I will drink by choice.

I shouldn't have been surprised that Clamdigger didn't want to talk to me face to face. We'd each exchanged temporary contact information. I say temporary because no way were we letting him have access to a private line for our team, no matter how much Tornado trusted him. And no way was someone as savvy as Clamdigger going to let heroes with access to high technology have a surefire way of tracking him. Also, my nearly choking him unconscious might be good cause for avoiding hand to hand range on his part, no matter how okay he acted about it.
So we each had our equivalent of a burner phone meets VPN set up, as he gave us the details. 
"This is Marlowe," I told him.

"Yeah, heh, Marlowe, news flash for you, got word on Bench," he says "Man's got family problems. He and his wife are separated , have been for over a year now. Sees his kid on holidays, pays the bills for them. She says he's not the same man he was before. Bitter, angry, sometimes prone to fits when he saw a superhero on the news. Sounds interesting huh?"
 
"Wait, you didn't put pressure on his wife or kid did you?" I realized even if he had, the man wouldn't likely confess to it.
 
"What? Do you know how unsubtle that would be?" He sounded offended all over again, not because it would be morally wrong, but because it would be sloppy,  "No. I pulled favors of my own, and hacked her social media, borrowed her cellphone covertly before returning it, the smart way. Cool your jets, big man."
"Fine, I apologize for underestimating you.  Where is Doctor Bench living now?" I asked, "His address? Details?"
 
"Oh you're going to love this," He told me sounding amused, "Given your gift, Marlowe."
 
I rolled my eyes, how much ego was I going to have to pat here? But I stayed cool and said, "Enlighten me, please."
 
"He's on a houseboat, at the Marina," Clamdigger informed me, "Isn't that a kick in the pants? Pier 3 at the Crystal Waves Marina , Boat six."
 
I had to confess, my hopes went up, "That's like swimming  way past the shore when you know Jaws is pissed at you." 
"My very thought, I didn't trust it," he tells me, "But I took a look, cleaned the boat..."
 
"Wait, you robbed his houseboat?" 
 
"You know I'm really tempted to hang up and let Tornado call me back. He respects my that I'm a professional," Clamdigger said all touchy again "Why would I tip off a target by TAKING anything? I did however sort through his stuff, you want to hear what I found or treat me like a teenage shoplifter doing it so his parents will finally notice him?"
 
I really needed to talk to Tornado about finding less sensitive scumball informants, "I would love to hear it, please."
 
The magic word seemed to work on Clamdigger and he told me "A lot of it was medical mumbo jumbo and science formulas way over my head. But there was a list of villain names, most of them less than top tier, with the words 'viable' or 'not viable' , some of them miscreant auditions who got their asses kicked. Nevermind Geek Elite's little crew."
 
"He's going to try to test them to see if he can increase their power," I said "he got a good look at Fumian tech. Heck, he could probably do it now. Why isn't he? Besides the fact we put most of them in jail?" I knew something about the number of partials out there, it wasn't a huge amount, but there was a reason only a few years after the enhancement tech was even selectively leaked that we could field a team of them.
 
 Well, mostly partials anyway. Who knows how many the government had despite Lady Obsidian's slapping their nose over Valorous' little raid? Man, that felt like forever ago.
 
"Out of my league, but I remind you, he's been healing up a lot the talent. But they're all coming back, no guys vanishing while new villains appear. Just healthy."
 
I listened to Clamdigger's report, then nodded "How many of the talent work for him?"
 
"No one works for Bench, because he's just some doctor. And I can't tell you how many work for the other guy because that would get my ass kicked," He told me.
 
Oh for the love of God, I thought.
 
But then he went on, "I can tell you that about two dozen guys are looking pretty flush and seem pretty happy with a new job. They have some pretty nice gear, or so they boast. Flashbangs, IR eyewear, protective jammies, and some guns that go zap."
"Anything else?" I asked.
 
"Nah. I don't know  the doc is moonlighting at all. Folks are a lot more tight lipped than that," He informed me, "Normally I try to give the whole package."
"It's okay," I told him, "Your debt is paid off. Maybe more than paid off. I'll make Tornado knows."
"My marker has been called and paid, then I'm a happy man," He says.
 
And we hung up. I turned to see the crew, "And yes," I held up the tracker, "I know where to find him. At least  I think so, and if you'll forgive me for splitting from you while you saved the city from Miscreant mischief? I'd like your help." 
"Aspirant  told us how you went super sleuth while we gained the glory," Pogo said, standing near the telepath, "Geez, it's not like we wouldn't have helped you with that too you know? I mean, I can be sneaky. I'm hardly the only teenage Chinese-American in Californian. Ninjas are in my heritage," Her words promising stealth and subtlety did not match the way she tapped and moved about as she talked, "I can be sneaky."
"Ninjas are from Japan, Pogo," Bramble spoke up, then looked at me, "Do I get in on this? Because I forgive you leaving us out of the know if I get to go along. I'm tired of sitting in the chair. I've studied until I'm feeling brain fried. It's worse than that, actually, I actually do have all these ideas on how to use these plants for creative destruction only now I can't do it."
Pogo muttered "Well, it's China adjacent" 
"Your leg?" I pointed out to Bramble, needing little context.
"Hover cycle cast combo," She countered, "I don't have to get toe to toe to cause some mayhem and I can use some strong reinforcements to protect my leg. Come on."
 
Inwardly, I winced. Hovercycles were rare and precious, but she had been scoring well enough on the vehicle classes. I looked over at Valerosa.
"I think we should let her go," Valerosa decided ,much to Bramble's delight, but not without a proviso, "provided she uses her plants to swing or drag her butt out of there if that hover cycle goes down."
Bramble made a face, "Yes, ma'am."
 
I was very careful not to smirk. Ma'am was almost hardwired into me by my upbringing, Ariana as a California woman equated it with age. I equated it with respect of a woman no matter what her age. But it was funny to know that she'd be muttering about it later when were alone.
 
"Hussar, you in?" I told him.
 
"I damned well better be, I've worked too hard to improve. No more stupid flashy stunts," He told me.
 
"That's a shame, because I may ask you to do a stupid flashy stunt. We're talking Aspirant's gun. You get to carry it," I told him, "Don't fire until we tell you to."
"Wait, he gets the big gun?" Aspirant protested, "I stole that fair and square."
 
"He's strong enough to handle it," I told Aspirant, "And yes, we need it, because it's possible that Ophiotaurus has by now been briefed on our powers and abilities even for you new guys. I want an ace in the hole, and I know one thing about Hussar now, not only is he strong enough," I looked at him, "I trust him to realize what misses the villain may hit something else, and take that into account. He's learned. He deserves the shot."
 
Hussar blushed a little, and looked to the side "Don't worry, Aspirant. You'll get it back."
 
"I'm a little more confident in my offensive options now anyway," Aspirant admitted, "So, fine. Good luck. And yeah, I am definitely in."
Viewpoint and Slime watched. Clearly they had figured out that it was the rookies in question.
 
"Of course you are," Pogo told him and they held hands, each smiling.
 
 It looked like the ego bruising he got from her ordering him back to his post had healed up without me, or even my advice.  I glanced at Valerosa ready to see a pleased look of mission accomplished on her features. To my surprise, while she did seem pleased, she gave me a soft head shake and a shrug at my unspoken question.
This wasn't either of our doing? Huh. What do you know, the universe we were in didn't revolve around either of us; thank god.
"Yes, of course you are," I told him, and looked over at each, "You have, all of you,  busted your asses. You've put in the work and gotten stronger, more powerful, and most importantly more controlled. Where we saw timidity in some of you, bravado in others, now there is confidence. Some of you thought all you had was a few tricks up your sleeve, now you're learning your power is so much more diverse than you ever dreamed possible. We've tested your mettle, not just in battle where you showed courage under fire,, but in those moments after where you've each seen who you are, seen how far you have to go to be the heroes you WANT to be, and decided 'I can and will do this, not easy, but yeah', I looked at each of them, "Trust me. That is a path filled with pain and struggle. I'm still not there myself after a good head start but I'm closing in on the guy despite a few stumbles. Somewhere your better heroes are ahead. Let's  see if we can introduce some bad guys to them and make those bad guys piss their pants."
 
"All right!" Hussar grinned and smacked his right fist into his left open palm.

Traiblazer, her back straight and proud gave a slow nod. Aspirant puffed up and didn't look silly doing it. And Bramble gave a thumb's up.

"Bramble, let's get get you in a hover cycle. The rest of you? Follow  your captains," I nodded at my lady lest she think I had neglected her share of the good we'd done. More her doing than mine in some cases.
"mmph," She put a new communicator in my ear and whispered, "Good speech, lover."

I blinked at her with my best poker-face, "What speech?"

She gave me a look as if not sure if I was joking or not, then shook her head and moved on "Remember the new battle codes. If Ophiotaurus  has learned any of the old ones we're going to need them. Got it?"

"Got it, Cap," Hussar declared. The others affirmed as well.
Viewpoint looked at Slime, "Not bad huh? You know, considering it was Eel."

YES, Slime's response played along his surface, IMAGINE WHAT HE COULD DO WITH A BETTER SCRIPT WRITER?

Which is why using a firearm is considered the use of deadly force and is only “justified” to defend against death or great bodily harm. 
 
Having worked in armed security, and having had similar use-of-force training as military law enforcement, you are trained to shoot to “stop”.  Which if you’re aim is good, your opponent will be in need of medical attention at a minimum.  However, assuming you have not inflicted an immediately lethal injury, if you continue to fire once you are no longer under threat you are no longer considered to be acting defensively.
 
That does not always seem to be reflected in courtroom proceedings, but that is the way it is supposed to work. 

Exactly.
 
One of the core rules of gun safety is to never point a firearm at anything you aren't prepared to see destroyed.

Which is why using a firearm is considered the use of deadly force and is only “justified” to defend against death or great bodily harm. 
 
Having worked in armed security, and having had similar use-of-force training as military law enforcement, you are trained to shoot to “stop”.  Which if you’re aim is good, your opponent will be in need of medical attention at a minimum.  However, assuming you have not inflicted an immediately lethal injury, if you continue to fire once you are no longer under threat you are no longer considered to be acting defensively.
 
That does not always seem to be reflected in courtroom proceedings, but that is the way it is supposed to work. 

Wasn't it Kissinger that supposedly said "Power is an aphrodisiac"?
 
Judges have power - some people are all to willing to abuse power, regardless of the source.
 
Weapons are a subset of tools.  It's not much of a stretch since not everyone uses firearms as a weapon.

"Let me get this straight, Eel" Viewpoint asked me as we did a patrol with the flying vehicle, "Your co-captain and girlfriend threw you under the bus to establish a rapport with one of the newbies in order to create a bond of womanhood or whatever you call it. Had a little fun at your expense."
"Right so far," I nodded at Viewpoint as we took a wide sweep over the edge of  Costa Sagrado near the beachfront and shoreline that had become my regular area of focus. Mostly due to the nature of my powers; I was the face of the New Samaritans at said beach. Of course, I had to share a little of my aquatic fame. Yes, there were some folks wearing Eel merchandise but lately the most popular hero of the beaches wasn't even human, and I don't mean Slime. 
 
Whale Guy bikinis and backpacks were still flourishing. The Gray Whale I had teamed up with in my first year (Long story) had caught the imagination of the locals. He was often depicted with a ridiculously undersized cape for his mass. And interest in Gray Whales had gone up. I had used the team resources to trademark him as a joke. Put the proceeds into some ecofriendly charities, and of course, save the whales causes. 
 
I could just kick myself. When I think how much college is costing me, even with help, I truly regret not squirreling away a bit more for yes, selfish reasons. Also there's something very humbling when you discover you are number TWO on folks favorite sea going superheroes, and you thought it was a list of one. Still, the beaches were cleaner than they'd been in years, and certain corporate forces that wanted to turn the public beaches into private purchases cursed Whale Guy's protection. It's probably for the best. Besides, Viewpoint had taken a lot of flack during his own 'sell out' period and I had a feeling that if I complained in front of him I'd get the world's smallest violin playing at best. 
 
So we talked about my plan for playful revenge on the lady of my life instead. I had no idea the opportunity was going to follow so quickly.
 
"So you," He continued as we veered away from the beach and back inland, "Wait to pay her back with immature ass performance art, which can lead to an escalation of some middle school level romantic  shenanigans, and you want me and the other guys in on it. At little to no gain to me, but just because you asked."
 
"I didn't just ask, I asked nicely," I reminded him, resisting the urge to remind him I had said pretty please with sugar on top.
 
"What the hell, I've made poorer life choices," He surrendered, "And they say to decrease than quite cold turkey. This is stupid and a bad idea, ,but it should cut down on the cravings."
 
"You have been disturbingly reasonable lately," I confirmed, "And thanks."
 
"No problem, could be fun and-" he looked down in the distance. Viewpoint has a lot of visual powers, and telescopic is just one of the many options, "I got something. Costumed figure, short range teleporter, popping here and there, I don't think he sees us." 
 
"Give me a description, any logos? What colors?" I started to type in the notes he fed me. For all we knew, this guy was another rookie hero in town. 
"Male," He confirmed "Can't tell the age or much else. Bodysuit covers most of him. Black costume with bronze wavy lines in a concentric ring. He's got a gun, looks like a blaster.. He just vanished again" Viewpoint's head swiveled around, "He's at that old used car place."
 
"The one that closed?" I said surprised. Not what I pictured as a super base for villains or heroes.
 
"Yeah, I guess it was only a week ago when it closed. They probably figure it's still not too crumbled.  I'm looking through the walls now. I think there's like a half dozen of them. I know one of these guys. That's Geek-Elite. I fought him once. I was not impressed."
 
I got the report back, "The teleporter is called Scatterpath, pretty low powered with a losing history. Who else you see in there?"
"The angle is wrong for some of these," He continued to use his X-Ray/MRI vision whatever it was, "I see a girl and. .wait, there's a guy with really long hair and a Lion tattoo on his chest."
 
"Mane Man?" I snorted with undisguised disdain.
 
"I know that name," Viewpoint realized mulling it over.
 
"You should, not many guys have the power of prehensile hair and are considered so lame even the Miscreants don't want them," I told him, "His hair  is steel strong, stretches. That sort of thing. I think we just got a chance to try out my idea. These folks appear to be weak sauce. Heck, I think the two of us could take them out," Maybe I was being a bit overconfident, but none of these people mentioned so far were known for teamwork, leadership, or competence.
 
"So let's go down there and bust em up," Viewpoint suggested.
 
"No, I want to give the rookies a win on this, maybe have Slime on reserve in case it all goes wrong. Heck, I might even hang back for this one, save for my job as macho leader" I deepened my voice with a layer of extra cheese "Grunty McManscowl, CAPTAIN, Grunty McManscowl."
"Well I agreed to it," he said shaking his head even as he committed,  "make the call."
 
When you have surprise on your side, plus numbers, plus power, you have what you call an ideal situation for an easy victory. I knew I was pushing my luck , so the first thing we did was divert traffic from the area and put up some 'road closed' signs. Technically a violation of our full authority, but I was only trusting our luck so much. 
 
We had put the vehicle in stealth mode, and actually parked on TOP of the used car place with the villains below us. The others had been told to come in as quietly as possible. For Hussar it was actually easy, he was no ninja but, like the car, he came in above things. Aspirant had a harder time of it but he was able to pick up on thoughts of look outs and that aided him sneaking past.
Here, Aspirant's voice came in my head, 'Guys?'
 
'Here,' Viewpoint replied 'But I think I prefer the communicator, no offense, Aspirant.'
'Don't look at me, it was Eel's idea' Aspirant pointed out.
'When do we get to kick ass?' Hussar's thoughts were direct and simple. Which ironically enough  set the tone nicely.
 
All the guys knew that none of the women were in on the link. What we were doing was juvenile and shallow. If it didn't get us killed it would also be hilarious. What Valerosa didn't know was that I had already shared the notes with the guys that even now she was speaking aloud on the coms. 
"Now this should be a piece of Cake," She was telling everyone, "But Slime's got the perimeter so if you need to fall back, lead whoever back to him. On the other side, Pogo is in the ready. Eel, you said something about wanting to take lead on this with the guys?" She seemed confused by that.
 
"Trailblazer hang back too" I grunted "She run fast. She run circle. All good"
 
"Eel, honey, what are you doing?" She whisper hissed, but I was already starting it up.
 
I pointed to Aspirant , "You. Brain Bliky! Him no dodge!"

Even as my thoughts were more like 'Okay, Aspirant, ScatterPath's one competent edge appears to be evasive teleporting. I think he's our most likely to get away guy, but with your mind whammy he won't be able to dodge it or go get help. You'll strike first. It's good practice for your new ability. If you have trouble getting mad at him, get motivated by some other emotion'

'Like impressing Pogo, maybe?' Hussar managed to smirk mentally.
Our mentalist blushed 'Lay off, guys, but yeah I think I can do this'
Of course what he said out loud was "Brain Can do!"
"Good, Brain," I fought the urge to scratch myself to drive the act forward and looked over at Hussar 'Wings, you smash badbrain hat!"

What I actually thought at him was a bit more coherent, 'Viewpoint says this guy has a dozen tricks, blinders, greasers, but nothing really supertech and he thinks he's the smartest guy in the room. This building is scheduled for demolition, so take a chunk out of the celling and throw that down at him. It should catch him off guard.He's got a personal forcefield, but he won't be able to cut his way out anytime soon. Might remove him from the fight at the start. If we're really lucky he'll end up pinned and you can take off his helmet which everything else is connected to. Got it?'
"Wings can do!" he beat his chest while thinking 'This is gonna be so much fun'

"Are they possessed?" Bramble blinked
"No, worse, I think they're thinking they're funny. Now, guys come on,  we need to talk over a plan." The love of my live gave a glare that could wither plant life.
Too bad. I was in too deep now, "Captain Grunty McManScowl lead good. You see." 
'Okay guys,' I thought "The girl in there is an unknown. My own plan is to use Mane Man's own hair to tie her up, but Aspirant, as soon as you zap the target,  However, if you can learn her abilities, it would help, Viewpoint, if you'd give her a blinding look, I think it's wise'
"Captain Grunty McManohmygod?" Trailblazer was muttering as if she had taken a wrong turn and found herself in an asylum with a six drink minimum.

I looked at the guys on the team "Macho hero time, Brain, Wings, Peepers, Go go go"
And we were on!
 
It went perfectly! Geek Elite was beginning his speech "We are all of us, about to hit the top tiers of supervillainy, where we were always meant to be and..."
That's when Scatterpath clutched his head then looked up "Boomstick!" He gasped as if seeing the  thunderous hero right next to him, he convulsed, and collapsed. I'd heard of Boomstick, wide spread sonic powers which short range teleportation was not likely to help against. Now he was relieving that memory!
Geek Elite gasped, activating his force field just as he blamed everyone else "Which of you idiots lead the heroes to a secret meeting? We're not ready!"
Hussar surged towards to him, and Geek Elite was trying to get a lock on him, then missed with a blaster as Hussar , instead of tackling him, hit the ceiling above him and rained debris down on the guy. All those options and no exo strength device Tsk Tsk. He  was trapped.
"Wings do good" Hussar went down to compact the material around Geek elite even tighter!
"Wings do" I grinned. The guy even stayed into character so props there. 

The villainess , whoever she was, clutched at her eyes as Viewpoint blinded her. Me? I had Mane Man to deal with!
"I was too good for these losers anyway! " his hair lashed out, and waiting for it, I caught it, and slammed him around a bit before twirling him around against the girl.

"You two be good." I grunted "No hanky panky!"
The villainess cursed, "By the darkest breath of night I summon the..." And suddenly, she was sputtering, what sounded like spells ruined by a mouthful of vines!
"I'm sorry to interrupt boys night out, but that sounded spooky bad and I wasn't going to wait for it," Bramble said pragmatically, "Did anyone else besides imagine a bad low budget horror movie effect about to happen?"
Just like that, the villains defeated! 
"You do good, Green thumb!" Aspirant flexed!
And further back, a young woman broke into giggles .
"Pogo, do not encourage this!" Valerosa fussed.

"Oh come on that's... that's hilarious they're all puffy and.." Pogo loved it. I figured she might. And any doubt Aspirant might have had at joining in was gone at having made her laugh. I do believe our resident telepath had it bad.
Then Bramble joined in with a head shake and snerk

"Selfie time" I held up a throw away, "For manly man hero hour with me, Captain Grunty McManscowl! And team!"
Every guy in on it joined me in a coordinated "Rawr! " and we all Flexed like a group of pro-wrestlers trying to promote a really tacky body spray.
And in Spanish, I heard Valerosa contemplating my justly earned demise and asking Saint Mary why she had fallen for this dingus.  I was going to get an earful later. Maybe with some justified points about taking risks over something so petty.
You know what? It was totally worth it.

 

Levitating//Dua Lipa
 
(My radio choices in my work truck is limited - and the station I listen to runs 80s to “now”)
 
For something less “common” (YouTube can take you down some interesting rabbit holes) - Live Forever//Skerryvore

Levitating//Dua Lipa
 
(My radio choices in my work truck is limited - and the station I listen to runs 80s to “now”)
 
For something less “common” (YouTube can take you down some interesting rabbit holes) - Live Forever//Skerryvore

I saw this today and thought it good enough to share.  Source is:  'Freedom Cafe' description is a perfect response to arguments against mask requirements - Upworthy 
 
"Welcome to the Freedom Cafe!  We trust you to make your own choices if you want to wear a face mask. And, in the same spirit of individual liberty, we allow our staff to make their own choices about the safety procedures they prefer to follow as they prepare and serve your food."
 
"We encourage employees to wash their hands after using the bathroom, but understand that some people may be allergic to certain soaps or may simply prefer not to wash their hands. It is not our place to tell them what to do."
 
"We understand that you may be used to chicken that has been cooked to 165 degrees. We do have to respect that some of our cooks may have seen a meme or a YouTube video saying that 100 degrees is sufficient, and we do not want to encroach on their beliefs."
 
"Some of our cooks may prefer to use the same utensils for multiple ingredients, including ingredients some customers are allergic to. That is a cook's right to do so."
 
"Some servers may wish to touch your food as they serve it. There is no reason that a healthy person with clean hands can't touch your food. We will take their word for it that they are healthy and clean."
 
"Water temperature and detergent are highly personal choices, and we allow our dishwashing team to decide how they'd prefer to wash the silverware you will put in your mouth.
 
"Some of you may get sick, but almost everyone survives food poisoning. We think you'll agree that it's a small price to pay for the sweet freedom of no one ever being told what to do - and especially not for the silly reason of keeping strangers healthy."