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vendettaspathfanfic · 5 months

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Chapter Three

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The concept of a reunion between long-lost siblings is typically portrayed as an emotionally charged moment, filled with overwhelming joy, tearful embraces, and a bittersweet blend of longing and relief. It is often seen as a heartwarming occasion, a chance to mend the bonds that were torn apart by cruel fate.

But for Scourge, the reunion with his sister was anything but idyllic.

Aside from Tara’s aggressive and somewhat feral behavior, her unexpected reappearance in his life has thrown a wrench into his plans of rising back to the power that was stolen from him.

Instead of making strides towards regaining his lost supremacy, he found himself routinely reaching out for aspirin, trying to soothe the throbbing headache brought on by yet another of Tara's explosive fits of rage. The trigger for this latest outburst had been Fiona's seemingly innocent attempt to persuade Tara to exchange her foul-smelling, worn-out clothing for something fresh and clean.

“I DON’T WANT THEM CLOTHES BITCHSHIT!!!!” Tara's voice echoed off the walls, her arms folded across her chest in a stubborn show of defiance.

Fiona, visibly exasperated, retorted, "This place is already rank as it is, it hardly needs your stinky clothes adding to the miasma. C'mon, there's absolutely nothing wrong with the ones I'm offering."

"I WANT MY CLOTHES!!! SCREW THOSE ONES!!!" Tara's retort was filled with such vehemence that she punctuated her words by stomping her foot hard on the ground, further escalating the tension in the room.

"Two days of enduring this," Lightning growled under his breath, snatching the bottle of aspirin from Scourge's hand and hastily swallowing a much-needed dose. With a sigh of exasperation, he couldn't help but blurt out, "Good god, she makes Flying look like a monk." His offhand remark struck a nerve with Flying, who took offense to the comparison.

“Seriously, we can’t go on with the constant tantrums. We got work to do.” Simon chimed in, his voice a mix of frustration and concern.

Scourge, deep in thought, furrowed his brows as he pondered potential solutions to their predicament. Suddenly, his face brightened with a spark of inspiration.

Swiftly turning his head towards Predator, he instructed, "Go check the surrounding buildings to see if any of them have a hose we can use."

"Consider it done, boss," Predator responded with a nod, swiftly making his way outside to take flight in search of the much-needed hose.

Turning his attention to Flying, Scourge implored, "Flying, I need you to distract that little terror for a while. Fiona needs a break from the havoc."

A mischievous grin spread across Flying's face as he eagerly replied, "You can count on me-he-hee!" With that, he hopped behind Tara, waiting for the opportune moment. And just as Tara was in the midst of her tantrum, unleashing her fury upon the world, Flying let out a sudden, piercing yell that startled her, causing the young girl to lose her balance and tumble over in a mixture of surprise and confusion.

"HEY!" Tara’s initial shock quickly transformed into a blazing inferno of rage as she hollered back, her voice laced with fury and defiance. Her eyes narrowed, burning with intensity.

But Flying Frog was not one to be intimidated. With a burst of audacity, he matched her volume and ferocity, his own voice booming with equal force. Leaning in just inches away from her face, he unleashed a “HEY!” that reverberated through the room, his expression unyielding and his gaze unwavering.

Enveloped in a cloud of seething anger, the young girl's fury reached its peak. She released a prolonged, ear-piercing scream, its shrillness filling the air. Her head trembled with the intensity of her rage, and her widened eyes seemed to ignite with an inferno of wrath.

Unfazed by her outburst, Flying maintained his unyielding stance. His grin stretched from ear to ear, displaying an unsettling confidence. With relentless eye contact, he unleashed his own piercing scream, a sound so piercing and powerful that it prompted everyone present to instinctively cover their ears in a desperate attempt to shield themselves from the violent intensity of the noise.

Consumed by anger and frustration, Tara launched herself at Flying, her teeth bared and her nails poised to scratch.

However, luck was on his side as he narrowly evaded her attack, agilely hopping away with a gleeful, maniacal laughter reverberating through the room.

"Don't you dare!" Flying wagged his finger in a mock scolding manner, quickly hopping onto a nearby counter, out of her reach. Undeterred by her aggression, he taunted her once more, "I bite back-wack-snack!"

“I wouldn’t do that, Flying.” Fiona interjected, her voice tinged with weariness as she rubbed her temples, “she’s probably toxic.”

Embracing Fiona's warning, Tara adamantly declared, "Yeah, I'm toxic, bitch!" She stomped her feet defiantly, her gaze locked intensely on Flying Frog, readying herself for another attack.

Unfolding a mischievous plan, Flying Frog swiftly responded, his voice filled with playful enthusiasm. "Well, toxic little girl, how about we play a game of hide and seek? I'll hide, and you can count! Catch me if you can!" With that, he let out a boisterous holler and bounded out of the room, leaving Tara seething in anger, her desire for pursuit left unfulfilled.

“GET BACK HERE BITCHSHIT!!!” Tara shrieked furiously, her anger reaching new heights. She lunged forward, attempting to chase after Flying Frog, but her efforts were abruptly halted as a blur of green grabbed her ankle, suspending her in mid-air.

“Count. Those are the rules.” Scourge chimed in with a smug grin, relishing in his sister’s flailing rage as she struggled against her airborne restraint.

Infused with a surge of unrestrained fury, Tara emitted a primal, childlike roar of anger, punctuating her outburst by thrusting her hand forward and giving him the finger. The ring finger to be exact.

Scourge, upon witnessing this unconventional display of rebellion, was caught entirely off guard. The unexpected sight triggered his amusement, causing him to erupt into uncontrollable laughter. "Can't swear right or even give the finger? How the hell do we share the same DNA?" he exclaimed between fits of laughter, struggling to compose himself.

Ignoring Scourge's amusement, Tara's frustration intensified. She scowled and demanded, "Stop holding my foot!" Her attempts to wriggle free from her aerial confinement proved futile, as Scourge maintained his grip with unwavering determination.

"Count," Scourge insisted, his voice firm and resolute, his eyes narrowing with authority.

Reluctantly, Tara crossed her arms in a display of begrudging cooperation. With gritted teeth, she begrudgingly began to count, her voice infused with sullen determination. "One, two, three, four… Uhm…”

"Five," Simon interjected, rolling his eyes at the slight hiccup in Tara's counting.

"Five, six, seven, nine... eight... ten! Now let me go!" Tara demanded, her impatience palpable as she yearned to be released from her airborne captivity.

With a triumphant grin, Scourge acquiesced, dropping Tara to the ground, setting her free to embark on her quest to find Flying Frog.

"Good idea getting Flying to distract her," Fiona remarked with a sigh of relief, savoring the respite created by Tara's absence.

"Surprised my ears aren’t bleeding," Lightning grumbled, rubbing his finger in his ear, the echoes of the incessant screaming still reverberating in his senses, leaving his hearing temporarily muffled and distorted.

Scourge sighed, his face etched with a mix of frustration and concern. "Look, guys, I know it's a setback, but we won’t let it deter us. Once her infection is cleared up, we'll find an alternative place for her to stay," he explained, his voice laced with a touch of determination.

“She’s not staying?” Simon inquired calmly, although somewhat surprised he’d give up his own sister.

“‘Course not. We can’t be taking care of a kid with everything going on right now.” Scourge replied, his gaze drifting away momentarily, his fingers deftly adjusting the collar of his jacket. He reached into his pocket, retrieving a cigarette, and lit it with a flick of his lighter. The smoke curled upward, mirroring the uncertainty that hung in the air.

“Sure as hell not that one anyways.” Lightning scoffed, casting a disdainful glance in the direction Tara was last seen, his arms firmly crossed over his chest, “but who would take her?” He absently tapped his finger against his arm, lost in thought as he pondered the daunting question.

Just as the conversation was about to proceed, the group was abruptly interrupted by a raucous yell echoing through the corridor. "YOU'LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!" The voice, unmistakably belonging to Flying, reverberated through the rooms, capturing their attention and causing a momentary pause.

Within seconds, Flying burst back into the room, his movements frenetic and accompanied by the scrambling of tiny feet. Tara, fueled by determination and a relentless spirit, jumped onto and clung tenaciously to his back as he hopped and maneuvered, desperately attempting to dislodge her grip.

"Fo-- For fuck's sake," Scourge muttered under his breath, a mixture of annoyance and concern etched across his face. Hastily, he extinguished his cigarette, his focus shifting to assisting Flying in prying the growling child off his back. However, their efforts were significantly hindered by Flying’s own erratic movements, as he continued to bounce up and down in an attempt to shake Tara loose.

"Hold still, you maniac!" Scourge growled in frustration, his voice tinged with exasperation as he wrestled with them both, attempting to pry Tara off despite the relentless motion.

The chaotic fiasco finally came to an end when Flying, propelled by a desperate surge of energy, leaped into the air with remarkable force. His powerful jump propelled him to such heights that his head made a forceful impact with the ceiling, resulting in a resounding thud that echoed throughout the room. Unable to maintain his balance, Flying came tumbling down to the ground, his descent accompanied by a deafening crash.

Fortunately, Tara had jumped down to safety just moments before Flying's body would have squashed her. As the dust settled, Flying, still feeling disoriented and dizzy from the fall, struggled to sit up. He wobbled unsteadily, attempting to regain his equilibrium, before turning his bleary gaze towards Tara. Speaking in an odd and delirious tone, his words were tinged with a mix of admiration and defeat. "You sure know how to play, kid," he muttered.

In a cruel twist of fate, as if the universe was playing a practical joke on him, debris from the damaged ceiling plummeted down, striking Flying's head and causing him to once again collapse flat on his back. A brief moment of stunned silence followed, only to be shattered by Fiona's stifled laughter. Her amusement quickly spread, and Scourge joined in, their laughter filling the room.

“He keeps-“ Fiona managed to gasp between fits of laughter, struggling to catch her breath. "He did it again!"

“Damn it, Fiona!” Scourge exclaimed, his amusement reaching an uncontrollable peak as he struggled to maintain composure.

Perplexed, Fiona retorted, her voice tinged with amusement, "What did I do? He knocked himself out!"

Scourge pointed at her and managed to get his words out between fits of laughter, "You made me laugh!"

"But it was funny!" Fiona defended herself, struggling to contain her own laughter. " I mean, come on, he's practically a living cartoon!"

Their infectious laughter soon spread to Lightning, who couldn't help but join in the mirthful chaos. Even Simon, the typically stoic and somewhat gruff member of their team, couldn't fight off the urge to allow a few muffled chuckles to escape from his lips.

What astounded them even more, however, was the completely unforeseen response from the normally bad-tempered and irritable little girl they had the misfortune of being stuck with. Tara, to everyone's shock, also fell victim to the infectious laughter.

As soon as the others became distracted, their attention drawn to her uncharacteristically jovial demeanor, and their laughter eventually faded, Tara's own laughter quickly died down. She crossed her arms over her chest in a defiant posture and raised a single eyebrow in a mixture of confusion and curiosity, silently questioning why everyone had reacted so surprisingly to her joining in the laughter.

An awkward tension filled the room, the air becoming thick with silence. This silence was abruptly shattered when Predator re-entered the room, having successfully completed his task. His facial expression remained stoic, betraying no emotion as he surveyed the peculiar scene before him - the entire group standing around aimlessly, with the exception of the unconscious Flying, who lay sprawled out amongst the rubble on the floor.

Shattering the lingering silence, Predator voiced his inquiry in a calm and emotionless tone, hinting only at a mild curiosity, "Should I ask?"

Fiona waved off the question dismissively, her tone nonchalant. "Nah, he'll be alright. Hey, did you find somewhere nearby with a hose?"

"Yes, ma'am. There's one just down the block. I'II lead the way," Predator responded dutifully.

"Cool" Scourge nodded approvingly, diverting his attention to Tara. "Hey, Tara-"

"No! I wanna be named Toxic! Like she said!" Tara interrupted, demanding to be addressed by the insult Fiona had used earlier.

With an indifferent shrug, Scourge easily accepted the sudden name change.

"Alright, Toxic. This is your last chance to put on the clothes Fiona got for you." In response, Toxic emitted a low, menacing growl, baring her teeth in defiance. She extended her ring finger in Scourge's direction, her eyes boring into his with a cold, icy stare.

"Suit yourself," Scourge replied nonchalantly, his shoulders rising and falling in a dismissive shrug. He chose the safest and least repugnant method of grabbing Toxic by the ankle, preventing her from launching an attack on him. Ignoring her loud and indignant protests, he turned to Simon, seeking his help. "Hey, would you mind holding her up while we hose her down? You might get wet."

Simon wrinkled his nose in disgust, reminded of the lingering smell of the little girl’s filthy clothes. "I don't mind, as long as it gets rid of the stench."

Scourge, satisfied with Simon's agreement, nodded in affirmation. "Great. Fiona, grab the clothes and some towels. Predator, lead the way."

“Have fun,” Lightning sneered quietly at the departing group.

Toxic let out a furious roar, her voice echoing through the apathetic slums as she screamed, "DON'T YOU FUCKASSING DARE." before her protests escalated to an even higher decibel. Despite her fierce resistance, Scourge, Fiona, and Simon, led by Predator, remained undeterred, paying little heed to her outbursts as they steadfastly pressed forward with their plan.

Scourge, seizing the moment, offered Toxic a casual lesson in swearing. "Actually, it's 'don't you fucking dare.’ 'Fuckass' isn't really a commonly used swear word, especially when you're trying to emphasize something."

Toxic's eyes clouded with confusion as she squinted, attempting to understand the unfamiliar terminology that Scourge was introducing. The complexity of his explanation was a little too much for her four-year-old brain to comprehend.

Scourge, sporting a patronizing grin, dismissed her confusion. "You'll figure it out eventually. The bad swearing is becoming more irritating than funny, so I'll make sure you learn the right way to do it."

"Right over here," Predator gestured, his gaze shifting towards a grime-filled alleyway. The group followed in his footsteps, stepping cautiously over scattered debris as they ventured down the grungy, narrow passage. Taking a sharp left, they arrived in the secluded back parking lot of a dilapidated store. Against the graffiti-smeared wall, a hose hung haphazardly, ready to be put to use.

“IMMA KILL YOU!” Toxic’s voice once again erupted in anger, her frustration palpable as she fiercely struggled to break free from Scourge's grip on her ankle. With a sharp glare, she focused her attention on the hose. The prospect of being forcefully hosed down, an act she vehemently opposed, fueled her fury.

Scourge, unperturbed by Toxic's defiance, let out a dismissive scoff, shaking his head in mild amusement at her futile attempts to resist. Turning his attention to Simon, he calmly instructed him to, "Take the little gremlin.”

Without a moment's hesitation, Simon complied, his large fingers enveloping Toxic's tiny hands as he lifted her up, suspending the raging child in the air. Meanwhile, Fiona swiftly moved into action, retrieving the nozzle and positioning herself beside in front of Simon and Toxic, ready to unleash a torrent of water.

Toxic's enraged demands and menacing threats were met with resolute determination from the group, their focus unwavering as they pressed on with their mission. Scourge, hunkering down beside the spigot, deftly adjusted the settings to achieve the highest possible water pressure. With a twist of the lever, a powerful surge of water erupted from the hose, spewing forth with forceful intensity from the nozzle.

Fiona, positioned strategically, took charge of directing the torrential spray. With meticulous precision, she aimed the gushing stream at Toxic's dirt-covered form, meticulously washing away the layers of grime that stubbornly clung to her body and clothes. As the water cascaded over Toxic, the accumulated filth began to dissolve, forming muddy droplets that dripped off her, leaving behind streaks of brown residue on the ground.

Scourge's face twisted in disgust as he muttered “gross,” under his breath, his voice laced with a cringe-worthy tone. The sight of the runny grime on Toxic's body was enough to elicit a visceral reaction from him.

Fiona, sharing his sentiment, wrinkled her nose in distaste as she chimed in with a hint of disdain, "You should be thanking me. No wonder you got so sick, you're disgusting."

Toxic, now a screeching blur of blue fury, continued to unleash her verbal wrath upon them. Scourge growled low in his throat, finding it almost unfathomable that such an obnoxious and unruly child shared his own DNA.

After a thorough dousing, the water cascading off Toxic's body had transformed from murky brown to a clear stream, indicating that she was finally in a much more hygienic state.

"Alright, I think we've managed to clean her up as best as we can for now. Turn off the hose," Fiona declared, a sense of accomplishment evident in her voice.

With a decisive twist of the nozzle, Scourge shut off the flow of water. He then walked over to his fuming and swearing sister, his frustration with her escalating with each passing moment. Ever since they had stumbled across each other, Toxic had become an absolute nightmare to deal with. She exhibited violent behavior, displayed an incessantly bratty attitude, and emitted ear-piercingly loud screams that grated on his nerves. He couldn't stand her. Interrupting her tirade, he shouted directly in her face, his own anger boiling over.

"Shut the fuck up! God, aren't you tired of your own bullshit by now!? We've been nicer than you deserve—which you won't find anywhere in this place—and yet, you...you bite us," he gestured, counting her actions on his fingers, "you scratch us, you kick us, you scream so fucking loud it makes us want to shove knives in our ears, and you do all of this when we haven't done a damn thing to you! Just..." Scourge clenched his shaking fists, his body trembling with pent-up rage. He walked towards a nearby wall, his clenched fist slamming into it, causing several bricks to dislodge and fall to the ground. A mixture of anger and pain radiated from him as he growled, “FUCK!” through gritted teeth, blood seeping through his glove from the force of the impact.

His piercing gaze shifted towards the motionless group, their silence accentuating the intensity of the moment. “What?” he sneered in disdain. With a contemptuous curl of his lip, he swiftly reached into his jacket, extracting a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. The metallic clinks echoed as he forcefully inserted a cigarette between his lips and ignited it with a resounding flick. A brief pause ensued as his eyes locked onto Fiona's, their gazes intertwining momentarily. Breaking the silence, he issued a terse command, his voice laced with authority, "Give ‘em the towels. I'll be back."

Weary and in need of respite, he sought solace on the edge of the sidewalk. Inhaling deeply, he drew in the burning nicotine, its bitter taste a mild distraction for his racing thoughts. His blue eyes remained steadfastly fixed on an unseen focal point, as if attempting to anchor his racing mind. Alas, his efforts to silence the relentless clamor of his thoughts proved futile, each inhale only serving to fan the flames of his internal turmoil.

He cursed their decision to stay at the orphanage, wishing they had chosen a different hideout. If they had opted for an alternative location, he would have never crossed paths with her. However, if they hadn't stumbled upon it, she would have succumbed to her infection. The perplexing part was, why did her survival matter? He had spent years coming to terms with the fact that he would never lay eyes on her again, so whether she lived or died shouldn't have made a difference. Yet, the mere contemplation of her demise triggered the same strange and nauseating sensation he experienced when they initially discovered the deserted orphanage where he left her as an infant. He berated himself for allowing these emotions to affect him, considering them trivial under normal circumstances. However, as his thoughts clashed and collided, they brewed a tumultuous storm within his mind, obscuring his senses and leaving him in a state of disarray.

That is, until a subtle movement from the edge of his peripheral vision caught his attention. It was Fiona settling down next to him on the cold concrete curb. Without uttering a word, she extended two fingers towards him, a silent request for a cigarette. Scourge acquiesced without hesitation, his eyes barely leaving the horizon as he skillfully placed a cigarette between her waiting fingers, igniting it with a flick of his lighter, all without looking at her.

As time passed, an awkward silence draped over them, their shared cloud of smoke swirling around them, intertwining like ghostly tendrils. Fiona, in an attempt to pierce the growing tension, spoke up, saying, “Got her to change. She hated those soggy clothes.”

Scourge responded with nothing more than the barest of nods, his silence reestablishing the quiet that had briefly been disturbed.

“What are we doing, Fi?” Scourge finally broke the silence, his voice barely more than a hum. He extinguished his spent cigarette on the rough curb he was perched on, dropping the stub onto the pavement without a second thought.

“You tell me,” Fiona countered, her voice smooth as she took a long, deliberate drag of her cigarette. “You should've seen yourself when we stumbled upon that place. And then when we found her alive, well…” She trailed off, her eyes carefully watching Scourge for any hint of a reaction.

“Well?” His face remained a stoic mask, the only sign of his inner turmoil being a slight twitch in his brow.

“You were worried about her, Scourge. And since you matter to me, I helped out…” The crimson-furred vixen's voice faded away, her words dissipating into the air as she continued to speak.

“I seriously doubt you turned into a saint in a split, just to make me feel a bit better,” The green hedgehog shot back, a fresh cigarette already nestled between his lips as he sparked it to life.

“And what’s that supposed to mean, exactly?” Fiona’s brows furrowed, her body leaning in closer to Scourge as she sought an answer.

With a smug smirk, Scourge echoed a piece of wisdom she'd once harshly imparted to Tails, “You can’t count on anybody.”

Fiona scoffed, her crimson head shaking indignantly as she retorted, “That was a long time ago! And he was just some brat-“

“Same with her,” Scourge interjected, not giving Fiona a chance to finish. “Doesn’t matter who she’s related to.” He adjusted his sunglasses with a casual flick of his fingers, a plume of smoke billowing from his mouth.

“Alright, so what are you trying to suggest, Scourge?” Fiona demanded, her voice thick with indignation.

“Don’t play dumb, Fiona. You’ve clearly got a soft spot for the kid. And I don’t believe for a second it’s just because you feel sorry for me.” He sneered, a bitter edge in his voice. “Why else would you have spent the entire first night taking care of her?”

Fiona shook her head, her silence louder than any words. Scourge’s accusation sent ripples of turmoil through her, rendering her mute as she dropped her cigarette, the ember dying under the sole of her boot.

She was reminded of her own childhood, a time when she was chewed up and spit out by a cruel twist of fate. She had spent grueling years under Robotnik's tyrannical rule, forced into hard labor, subjected to inhumane experimentation, and ultimately abandoned in a dank cell to waste away. In the throes of her adolescence, she had clawed her way to freedom, literally digging her way out of her prison cell.

Adding to her torment was the fact that Sonic, the supposed hero of not just the world, but the entire universe, had saved others from one of the prisons she was kept in while she was there. But he couldn’t save her. The memory of being left to rot in that cell, the feeling of being forsaken, still made her blood boil. Regardless of the reasons, and despite her attempts to forgive, and even love him, the gnawing resentment lingered.

Toxic was not imprisoned like she was, but her fate seemed to be nothing more than an inevitable, bitter end. Fiona had learned to trust sparingly, but the desperate child within her couldn’t be silenced when she saw an opportunity to offer Toxic at least a chance at making it in this unforgiving world.

After a long moment of tapping her foot against the ground in a rhythm of frustration, Fiona finally broke the bitter silence that had settled over them. She stood up, the tension in her body pouring out as she stretched her arms above her head. Then, turning her attention to Scourge, she asked, "You hungry?"

Scourge, taken aback by the sudden turn in their conversation, paused, his mind needing a moment to recalibrate. Then, with a sudden jolt of realization, he remembered that the only food he'd ingested that day was a measly bag of potato chips. His stomach, now keenly aware of its long period without proper nourishment, issued a low, plaintive rumble of hunger.

"I could eat," Scourge responded, attempting to maintain an air of indifference even as his stomach clenched with a gnawing sensation of hunger.

"I'll go tell the others to head back," Fiona stated, her voice reverberating slightly in the confines of the narrow, dingy alleyway. She moved away with a confident stride, heading towards the rest of their disparate group. "We could do with a little 'us' time."

As she disappeared into the alley, Scourge rose to his feet, discarding his finished cigarette onto the cold, grimy pavement. He stamped it out with his sneaker, killing the feeble ember. He muttered a curse under his breath as he readjusted his worn jacket, the leather hanging awkwardly on his underfed figure.

"We'll bring stuff for you guys, okay?" Fiona's voice floated back to him as she spoke to the remaining group. Scourge watched as she, along with Predator, Simon, and Toxic, emerged from the murky depths of the alley.

His eyes met Toxic's and they held each other's stare for a moment, exchanging glares as frigid and sharp as a glacier. But it was Scourge who broke the intense eye contact, shifting his attention back towards Fiona.

"What are we in the mood for?" Fiona queried, sauntering back to his side.

“Tired of ramen. Pizza sound good?” Scourge’s ears perked up at the suggestion, and he casually draped an arm around Fiona’s waist.

“Smart boy.” Fiona complimented him, reciprocating his gesture by looping her arm around his shoulders, “lead the way, baby.”

As they began their journey out of the squalor of the slums, Scourge relished the tranquil feeling that came with the company of a single person. Not any random person, but Fiona. Her presence was a source of solace for him, one that surpassed the fleeting relief granted by any chemical stimulant. In comparison to any substance, she was his most potent addiction.

Feeling Scourge’s appraising gaze on her, Fiona quirked an eyebrow, a playful smile spreading across her lips, “what?”

“Nothin’. Just enjoying the view.” Scourge responded, sealing his remark with a flirtatious wink.

A wave of warmth washed over Fiona as she felt the familiar rush of blood coloring her cheeks. She tilted her head towards him, her gaze filled with affection, "Well, I hope you're not referring to that big pile of trash bags," she teased, her eyes flicking towards the stench-ridden pile they were passing by.

Chuckling, Scourge responded in a faux seductive tone, "Oh I don't know, Fi. It's got a certain... hot and steamy appeal to it," he quipped, his smirk acknowledging the trash heap wilting under the intense heat of the sun.

"Gross!" Fiona retorted, her nose crinkled in distaste as she playfully jabbed his shoulder, her arm still linked with his.

As they crossed into the lively shopping district, their eyes darted to and fro, scanning the dazzling neon signs in their quest to locate a pizza place. Their search was soon rewarded, and they plunged into the moving mass of people that flowed in multiple directions, propelling themselves towards the entrance of a rather run-down pizza parlor. As they stepped inside, a tinny jingle echoed from the overhead speakers, announcing their arrival.

"Snag us a spot, babe," Scourge murmured, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek as he withdrew his arm from her waist.

"Make sure it's pepperoni," Fiona instructed, pointing a finger at him as she set off to find a table for two.

"Gotcha," Scourge confirmed, flashing her a thumbs-up as he took his place in the queue to order.

Beneath the monotonous hum and sporadic flicker of the overhead fluorescent lights, Scourge moved to the front of the line when his turn arrived. He met the gaze of the cashier, whose eyes held a dull, weary look, and ordered two slices of pepperoni pizza accompanied by sodas. After settling the bill, Scourge picked up a number and joined Fiona at the table she had selected, his confusion evident at the sight of her staring off into the distance, lost in thought.

"What's on your mind, babe?" Scourge inquired, pushing up his red sunglasses to better perceive her in the restaurant's dim lighting.

"Just thinkin’..." She replied in a thoughtful hum.

"About what?"

"Where the hell are we going to place that kid once she's healed? Nobody in their right mind would want her," she mused, her gaze distant as she rested her chin on her knuckle.

"You’re right, but we can't keep her. We have our own lives to lead and we can't afford the delays this little psycho is causing," he asserted, his tone firm.

"Are there any other orphanages?" Fiona suggested, her eyebrow arched in query.

"I dunno, Fi. It's been years since I last looked. And even then, I could only find one we’re staying in." he replied, sounding somewhat deflated as he adjusted his jacket on his shoulder.

"But there’s gotta be some place where orphans go," Fiona mused aloud, her thumb nail caught between her teeth.

"In my experience, they either end up homeless or doing manual labor for some company," Scourge said, clearing his throat and scratching the back of his neck. He froze mid-movement as a sudden idea sparked in his mind.

"Damn…" Fiona muttered under her breath, her attention then drawn to Scourge's sudden shift in demeanor. "What's up?"

Scourge snapped his fingers and pointed at Fiona in a eureka moment, "We could possibly find an abandoned building for her. We'd have to teach her survival skills, but at least she'd be off our hands," he suggested, his voice brimming with newfound confidence.

"That could work… If nobody else is willing to take her in, I suppose it's better than forcing her into labor," Fiona considered, shrugging her shoulders in resignation.

Scourge nodded in agreement, just as their conversation was cut short by the shrill call of their order number. Upon collecting their food, Scourge evenly divided their meal, placing plates and drinks before each of them. Saliva pooled in his mouth as he opened wide to sink his teeth into the hot, oily slice of pepperoni pizza.

"Ew!" Fiona burst into laughter as she spotted a trail of drool mixed with pizza grease dribbling onto the table while she picked up her own slice.

"Fuck," Scourge mumbled under his breath, hastily wiping up the mess with a napkin, his ears flaring red with embarrassment.

"Good thing you're hot," Fiona teased, winking at him as she took a bite of her own pizza. "Pizza was a good choice."

"I'll grab a box for the guys on our way out so it's still warm," Scourge proposed after swallowing his mouthful of pizza.

"Smart idea," Fiona agreed, her smile warm as she sipped her soda, gazing fondly at her boyfriend.

"No need to rush, though," Scourge added, reaching across the table to hold Fiona's hand, his thumb softly stroking her knuckles, "When was the last time we actually went on a date?"

Fiona, intertwining her fingers with Scourge's, hummed in thought before answering, "Before you got arrested. So, about three months ago, more or less?"

"Oh right," Scourge nodded, "we could do with a moment like this…" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he tightened his grip around her hand.

"Why don't we deliver some pizza to the guys and then take the rest of the evening for ourselves? Perhaps enjoy a night out in the city?" Fiona proposed, her eyes softening as she watched Scourge press a gentle kiss to her hand before she reached for the last bite of her pizza slice.

"You read my mind, babe," Scourge mumbled in a low, gravelly tone against her hand before releasing it to rest lightly on the table.

"I'll grab the pizza," Fiona offered, an eager smile playing on her lips as she rose from her seat to join the queue.

"Roger that," Scourge responded, shooting her a playful salute before his attention was drawn to the television mounted on the wall. He cringed as an ad for the latest single from an up-and-coming teen pop sensation sang from the speakers while he polished off the last of his pizza. As he began to drain the remnants of his soda, a breaking news bulletin interrupted the regular programming. A police chase was underway, with the suspect described as a female blue child hedgehog. She had been seen stealing from an upper class shopping district on the opposite side of town, and had reportedly assaulted officers when confronted.

Scourge's eyes bulged, his jaw dropping in disbelief. He slammed his empty cup down onto the table, causing a resounding clatter, and belted out, "Fiona!"

Hearing Scourge's cry, Fiona quickly spun on her heel and hurried back to their table. "What's wrong?" she inquired, her eyebrows furrowing in alarm at the urgency in his voice.

Scourge pointed a finger towards the television screen, revealing to her the blurry image of Toxic taken from a security camera that was now being broadcast across the city, her antics having caught the attention of the local law enforcement.

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funeralprocessor · 4 months

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Replaying AC6 has me thinking about one of the weirder things from my worldbuilding project that was initially inspired by, among other things, the handler/pilot relationship. I don't have the terminology nailed down but I'm tentatively calling them Scions/War Princes, who're the mech/pilot equivalent in this analogy. The tldr is that they're kind of like purebred demigods, with everything that entails.

I got to thinking about the whole magical chosen bloodlines and descended from great heroes thing, which led me to thinking about sort of lamarkian evolution, and the end result of all of that is the Varya Supremacy, a horrible glorious empire of self made living deities forming elaborate dynasties and treating their children as somewhere between WMDs and pedigree animals.

The handler equivalent, called the Athame, were originally subordinates who were their (brainwashed and conditioned) right hands and stewards but primarily existed to carry their namesakes, a specialized weapon tuned to an individual Prince and capable of instantly killing them should they go rogue, betray their lineage, or simply need disposing of. Athame were hypercompetent by mortal standards and managed basically all the affairs of the Prince, who in turn were often remarkably reliant on their Blade. This is entirely by design. The dependency and devotion are cultivated by nearly every element of their roles to ensure that such valuable property can't easily run amok. A Prince is trained to find harming their Blade unthinkable, and Athame is conditioned to kill their Scion without thought, should the call come.

The Varya would fall in a great cataclysm, and with them would die the need for Princes and Blades, but not all who held such titles. The surviving Athame found their masters dead, their conditioning broken, and a wrathful demigod loyal only to them by their side in a world suddenly thrown into calamity. Their responses to the situation varied but needless to say the era had many many Athame warlords. Some ruled with their princes as equals (or something like it), some treated them as little more than weapons (which not all scions objected to), but all would be scourges against peace for many generations. As is so often the case, they would come to repeat the mistakes of their ancestors, but in trying to avoid their mistakes they commit far worse ones.

Lacking the surgical precision of Varya social controls to keep their tools in line, they opted for the hammer instead: modify them in ways that both enhance and hobble them, treat them comfortably but as subhuman, and minimize contact they have with anyone other than their Athame. Most would not need to endure this treatment long. Despite being treated as weapons of mass destruction and living for war, the leading cause of death for these princes was natural causes. Most were severely inbred in pursuit of greater power or to maintain a particular lineage's abilities, and the supernatural nature of their bloodline only exacerbates the deleterious effects. Most could expect to live only a few decades before the power seething in them destroys their bodies and minds beyond survival. Later dynasties would take this to the extreme: mass produced pseudo-clones with lifespans measured in months, force aged and kept in stasis when not deployed. Their whole waking lives were spent killing, and carefully micromanaged to keep it that way.

That more or less brings us to the modern day. All of what's been discussed is fairly ancient history but as ever, the sins of the past haunt the present. Those mass produced princes were *mass* produced, and while a lot of the stasis chrysalises were damaged or destroyed not all of them were. Caches of them are discovered every so often, and modern medicine can treat their genetic and pneumatic instability, leading to a slow trickle of them into wider society. That brings us to the modern day Athame. Their dynasties fell, the titular blades are mostly lost treasures, but the name endured. The scions were not the only group of powerful people who like the power but aren't so good at the people, and the legends of the Princes of the Varya and their Blades are deep seated in the minds of many cultures, so emulation of the (romanticized, usually far more equal) relationship was nearly inevitable. These Athame have extremely varied but inevitably very close relationships with their (don't have a term for the ones who aren't Princes), which conveniently is exactly what many of the revived war princes need.

Anyway sorry for the wall of text. Also fun fact Prince & Blade is one of the character types for the ttrpg I'm working on (slowly)

#long post?#long post #sometimes I feel like writing idk #gotta ride that wave when it hits #I'd love to know what people think about it #amalaposting #also sorry if its like weird or anything

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odysseyre · 6 months

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For you weirdos.

#sonic the hedgehog #scourge the hedgehog #sonurge #Uh #scourge supremacy #Art #art wip #wip #current wip #odysseyre #my art

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fideidefenswhore · 9 months

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There's a tendency in modern fandom to rob Henry of his agency, like saying Anne "lured" or "stole" him as if he isn't responsible for his actions. What I find weird is that seems to have, to an extent, been the idea at the time. A hell of a lot of the Catholic/Imperial faction seemed to get the thought that well, all we do is get rid of Anne and everything goes back to normal. Like Mary and Chapuys act like they expect her to be princess and heir again as if nothing happened and the English Reformation will just stop there and turn back. I just can't get my head round how much people then revered Henry as king but then think he's some weak puppet Anne manipulated and who they can manipulate when she's gone.

Yeah, the thing is that...A) We haven't changed as much as we like to believe that we have, B) Obviously modern analysis of contemporary reports of this period is reliant on these reports, but has the benefit of hindsight (and yet when hobbyists without any background in history simply read these reports absent of any contextualization or expert analysis, they tend to take them pretty...literally? which dovetails into these fandom interpretations), C) That very double negative is the cornerstone of misogyny. Women are ultimately, even supernaturally, powerful but also ultimately powerless/weak, and/or exploit men's weakness, world's tiniest violin.

Misogyny alone is not enough to explain, there's also the political and religious at play with the psychological:

"Anne became [...] 'the evil counsellor.' In spite of Chapuys, the Emperor needed to maintain a civil relationship with Henry for his own purposes. He therefore chose to believe that Anne was bullying Mary (and Catherine) behind her husband's back. In a similar way Mary deceived herself into believing that it was not really her father who was subjecting her to such remorseless pressure, but the wicked woman who had acquired such an ascendancy over him." +

"Her actual contribution to the 'scourge' of Lutheranism [...] was inflated to unbelievable proportions. Chapuys [went as] far as to blame 'the heretical doctrines and practices of the concubine' as 'the principal cause of the spread of Lutheranism in this country.' [This] created [...] a political/religious 'wing' of sentiment [against Anne Boleyn] that was [later] exploited by Cromwell [...] and it was a powerful obstacle in the way of Anne's acceptance by the (still largely Catholic) English people."

For me, what separates is that this subject (although more specifically on the mistreatment of Princess Mary, riffed on that here) is discussed as if it was an untapped timeline, and it's ...not? The events immediately preceding May 1536 do not vindicate or absolve any cruelty on Anne's part; by any means, but what they do prove is that Chapuys was wrong about her being the 'X factor' here, as it were. Once she's subtracted is when Mary's disbarred from succession in much firmer legal language by Parliament. Moreover, the Boleyn downfall was a watershed in court division and factionalism, its aftermath was not a period of 'relative' (or otherwise) tranquility but rather continuance, even amplification, of religious suppression for those that did not adhere to the tenets of the new Henrician 'supremacy'.

Also, let's not underrate the ambition of the 'Marian faction'. They wanted a return to the status quo, yes, we shouldn't discredit religious motivations either, but they also wanted to regain the status and favour they felt they had lost. They were bargaining on the future favour of Mary once she was heiress again, bargaining on the future of Henry having no other children by marriage (so, even Mary as Queen), that's generally forgotten because most of them did not survive to reap (and, arguably, Mary becoming Queen later had very little to do with her faction of the 1530s that had failed upwards, considering especially that Mary was not reinstated into the succession--conditionally, but still--until several years after the Exeter Conspiracy).

#anon #the candy-caneification of jane's queenship in this fandom really means that like #the political and brutal realities of these henrician years is ...ignored?#monks being chained to walls and starved #either means minimal influence; not as much 'affinity' with them as has been suggested #or the final option; which seems likeliest in context of how she came to the throne:#preservation of one's own position/favor/advantage > any existing principles #AB is seen as exceedingly cruel for her silence on the executions of traitors while she was queen #whereas jane is given a lot of credit for making one failed intercession...#but nothing is said of her own silence re: executions during heres #i'd argue AB and KH both aren't given the credit they're due for their successful intercessions #it's just an interesting dichotomy of that benefit of the doubt afforded in that vacuum #anyway im realizing now the quotes from that article are mainly in queue limbo #also that they need to be tagged #but i think the ask i linked has the article to read if you're interested #it gives a lot more information on this faction and their beliefs

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burning-thistles-bt · 1 year

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Hi! its me again. Something a bit different this time while Im working on character designs (Its my spring break, but I also just got my wisdom teeth out). Have some personal headcannons!

OLIVER + CLOUDTAIL ALBINISM SUPREMACY

Vitiligo Ravenwing (Everyone kinda gets freaked out when resident Black Cat Raven starts turning white, but Barley and his Street Cats knowledge chills them out)

Bone is HOH/Partially Deaf (Combo horrible ear infections and injuries). Has quite a bit of respect for Feather/Snow, but will never admit to that (Bloodclan Ableism)

Goldenflower is on the Aromantic Spectrum

Dustpelt LOVES flowers, giving and receiving them. idk why I think this, but this is totally canon in my heart

Copperleaf used to do 'Spa Days', complete with mudmasks, to humor the kits (Official Dawncloud soulmate realization moment)

Scourge was so confused when he first met Brick and had no idea what to call them, so just keep stuttering out different ones every time, much to Brick's appreciation (Brick has no idea, and Scourge would like to keep it that way)

Bone and Brick get along, as well as Bone and Fury, but Brick and Fury fucking HATE each other

After rescuing Cloudpaw, Oat started asking Onewhisker about Thunderclan (Hes thinks its subtle, but all the other kittypets know whats up, Onewhisker is just generally dumb)

Lynxpaw once had a crush on Cricketpaw, but was so disguted by the feeling, she began to hate Cricketheart even more because of it

When Redtail was first born and was called as a tom, everyone in Thunderclan just kinda assumed he was ftm trans because Male Calicos are basically impossible, so he had to do a reverse coming out as cisgender

Tigerclaw totally had a crush on Whitestorm when they were apprentices

Crookedstar was --THIS CLOSE-- to giving Tigerstar a life just to kill Thistlestar (Oakstar stopped him tho)

Stonefur is missing a claw from an apprentice accident (Slipped off an old tree and caught is claw falling) and it never grew back

50/50 chance Mudclaw is so grumpy towards Airleap still is because he has a crush

Brokenstar and Runningnose were actually really close as kits and young apprentices, to Lizardstripe's dismay

While in the Realms of the Dead (Starclan, Dark Forest, etc) kits cannot be killed like other fallen cats, so can cross the border to visit Dark Forest Parents (The other Starclan cats make a point of never ever telling kits this)

good headcanons!!!!!

the Tigerclaw crushing on Whitestorm one is BT canon even XD

the Brick and Fury one is going to so ironic soon pfffft

#lolling response #bt headcanons #headcanons #whitetiger #wc brick #wc fury #whitestorm #tigerclaw #tigerstar #burning thistles #burning thistles au #asked and answered #limonadedreamings #old asks

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plxntbasedbitch · 9 months

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pamela isley

Is that [Riley Keough]? No, that’s [Pamela Isley], AKA [Poison Ivy]! [She] appears to be [35]. [She] has the abilities of [cholorkinesis, pheremone control] which makes them a powerful [villain].

Pam believes in plant supremacy -- when it comes to nature itself versus human nature, the former is supreme and deserves to be ascendant over the puling creatures which have not only subjugated it, but abused it, for so long. She has dedicated herself and her formidable arsenal of skills to defending the Green, at whatever cost. If a few corrupt politicians and selfish CEO’s lose their lives in the process, that really isn’t such a loss, is it? In Pam’s view, they should have considered what their policies and companies were doing to the environment -- it’s fitting, really, if their remains end up feeding the loam of the forest. It’s the first and only time they have contributed anything to the world.

She inherited her love of flora and fauna from her mother, who turned to gardening in order to comfort herself in the face of an abusive marriage. Pam’s experiments with pheromones began in college, from which she graduated Summa Cum Laude despite handing out pheromone pills just to test their effects. From there, she worked for Jason Woodrue as she pursued her doctorate, only for him to turn her devotion to his cause into a terrible tragedy. Because of Woodrue’s failed experiment, she woke from a coma to find that her blood was chlorophyll, her sweat was poison…and the pheromone pills she’d handed out in college were old hat compared to the powers she had now. In the intervening years, she’s utilized the powers Woodrue inadvertently gave her to become Poison Ivy, scourge of any foolish enough to cross the Green.

personality:

Intelligent, protective, independent

Unforgiving, single-minded, violent

oddities:

Every time Pam’s father left a bruise on her mother’s cheek, he would bring home a new bulb or bloom for her garden. His father ended up taking her mother’s life, and is now under life imprisonment in Blackgate.

While she was in college, Pam interned for Wayne Enterprises as a research assistant. She was let go when she presented research which would drive up his advertising revenue by 100%...for some reason, Bruce had a problem with the fact that it was a pheromone which would rob people of free choice. Buzzkill.

She has a living, mutated Venus fly trap named Frank in her apartment. Sometimes, when people piss her off, she threatens to feed them to him.

As her civilian identity, Dr. Pamela Isley, she currently works at the Gotham Botanical Gardens, and has started research into combining human and plant DNA.

Because of the genetic mutation she underwent during Woodrue’s experimentation, in addition to her other powers, Pam will age slower and live longer than a regular human.

goal:

To protect plant life at all costs, and help the Green reassert its dominance over humanity

sexuality (and pronouns): Lesbian, she/her

age: 35

#gothamsintro #murder tw #domestic violence tw #drug use tw

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saysomethingnorway · 1 year

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A Call to Adopt the Scientific Definition of Race

As part of the quest to consign injustice - in particularly racism - to history, Say Something* calls on the global community to adopt the current scientific definition of race as a fundamental step in dismantling racism and creating a just world for all human beings.

According to the American Society of Human Genetics, the largest professional organization of scientists in the field,

“The science of genetics demonstrates that humans cannot be divided into biologically distinct subcategories.”

In 2000, the Human Genome Project confirmed that the genomes found around the globe are 99.9 percent identical in every human being irrespective of phenotypes, such as skin color. And in 2018, Scientific American stated that there is a “broad scientific consensus that when it comes to genes, there is just as much diversity within racial and ethnic groups as there is across them.” In other words, the concept of race has no genetic or scientific basis.

We affirm that race science, race ideology, and racial essentialism perpetuate a social hierarchy with whites at the top and blacks at the bottom – the basis of many of the atrocities of the past few centuries. This belief system, unfortunately, is alive and well. Racial distinctions continue to impact legal, political, economic, civil, social, and cultural spaces and perpetuate racism, as well as a plethora of other harms.

We recognize that race is a ubiquitous social construct and social convention around the world. We believe that continuing to propagate a discredited definition of race only fuels racist beliefs and perpetuates unjust outcomes in science, law, politics, academics, health and other aspects of life.

We thus disavow the scientifically-discredited traditional concept of race which supports the idea that humanity can be categorized into different categories of humans as biologically separate and distinct according to phenotype — observable physical differences — and ranked according to a value hierarchy with whites at the top and blacks at the bottom.

Join us in adopting the current scientific definition of race as a fundamental step in abolishing racism, changing the conversation, transforming minds, and creating a just world for all human beings.

CHANGE THE CONVERSATION

Racism continues to be a scourge on humanity. Around the world, racists (white supremacists) and “anti-racists” are becoming more visible and powerful, even occupying top positions of government, and using that power to perpetuate racial classifications and racism.

On one end of the political spectrum is the “anti-racist” identitarian coalition of the woke. They foster division by positioning humanity in opposing and irreconcilable sides of oppressor and oppressed, i.e., whites versus blacks (sometimes other people of “color”), white privilege versus black victimhood. The main proponent of anti-racism, Ibram X. Kendi, advances the argument that racial discrimination “is the sole cause of racial disparities in this country and in the world at large.” And as he has stated, “When I see racial disparities, I see racism.” Other anti-racists argue that whites are inherently and irredeemably racist and are the beneficiaries of white privilege. In keeping with the legacy of Stokely Carmichael, the father of Black Power, who said, “We must fill ourselves with hate for all white things,” some anti-racists, like Journalist Sarah Jeong (with her tweet #cancelwhitepeople) called for the cancelation of white people and Professor Brittney Cooper called for taking them out with her colorful statement, “…we got to take these mother fuckers out.”

On the other end of the political spectrum is the white nationalist conservative right (in the USA, this consists of the Republican Party, right-wing think tanks, media outlets, law firms, etc.). They foster division by advancing white supremacy, “great replacement” theory, fear of white genocide through immigration, race science, eugenics, and anti-CRT (Critical Race Theory) legislation. Two popular proponents of racism are Rush Limbaugh and Bill O’Reilly.

Common to both sides is the belief that race is a scientifically valid concept, a concept that continues to racialize society, stoke fear and hatred, and perpetuate the race war.

The current conversation about race is divisive and counterproductive. In order to change the conversation, we need to disavow the inherently divisive and scientifically-discredited antiquated definition of race. We propose that the term “race” be abandoned, and that in its place, “ancestry” or “ethnic group”/“ethnicity,” the terms that scientists use to describe human diversity, be used. “Ancestry” reflects the fact that human variations do have a connection to the geographical origins of our ancestors. Unlike the term “race,” “ancestry” focuses on understanding how a person’s history unfolded, not how they fit into one category and not another. “Ethnicity” and “ethnic group” evoke social characteristics such as history, language, beliefs, and customs. The terms African American/Black, American Indian/Alaska Native, Asian American, European American/White, Latino/Hispanic, Native Hawaiian/Other Pacific Islander can continue to be used, but explicitly as ethnic groups, thus reflecting geographic origin and ancestry instead of “races” which intrinsically connote biological differences. Using “ethnic group” or “ethnicity” in place of “race” has been the standard practice in Europe following the end of World War II.

In addition, when referring to race as a hierarchical system with whites at the top and blacks at the bottom, we recommend using the word “race” in quotations to denote awareness that this concept of race is not supported by science. We are not seeking to engage in revisionist history or sanitize it of the atrocities against humanity in the name of race.

Although the examples above speak to the United States, this dynamic has spread around the world. We believe that the current narratives about race on both sides are in direct opposition to humanism, universalism, and individualism and threaten to divide humanity even more – a step in the wrong direction.

We are seeking to change the conversation around race by using the current scientific definition so it’s uniform and consistent around the world.

THE CHALLENGE

We challenge the global community, including public institutions, governmental institutions, organizations, businesses, and sport clubs, to start using “ancestry” or “ethnic group”/“ethnicity” instead of “race.”

An example of this done right is The Equality and Discrimination Act of Norway which departed from The UN Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Racial Discrimination which prohibits discrimination based on race, skin color, descent or national or ethnic origin. The convention was adopted by the UN General Assembly on 21 December 1965 and entered into force in January 1969.

Norway dropped “race” as a descriptor. Norway ratified the convention on 6 August 1970 without reservation. The convention is incorporated into Norwegian law through the Equality and Discrimination Act. States' implementation of the UN Convention on Racial Discrimination is monitored by the UN Committee on Racial Discrimination, which consists of independent experts. Please see below.

The Equality and Discrimination Act

The Equality and Discrimination Act entered into force on 1 January 2018. The Act prohibits direct and indirect discrimination on the grounds of, among other things, ethnicity (including national origin, descent, skin colour, language), religion and outlook on life. The purpose of the Act is to promote equality,, ensure equal opportunities and rights and to prevent discrimination. The law applies to all areas of society, but is not enforced in family life and other personal relationships.

TRANSFORM MINDS

As stated above, the idea that race is real is ubiquitous around the world. Each side of the political spectrum perpetuates racist ideology to dehumanize the “other.”

In order to transform minds, we propose that instead of continuing to focus on our perceived differences, we focus on our scientifically-based sameness.

Categorizing human beings according to distinct phenotypes and highlighting differences reinforces a racialized worldview. The idea of biologically ranked subdivisions of the human species ranked according to phenotypical differences triggers in-group loyalty and intergroup competition. In-group bias causes us to favor people who look like us and to disfavor – and fear – people who don’t look like us. People in the in-group see themselves as being in constant threat from the out-group, and consequently are under constant stress, and people in the out-group perceive themselves as being excluded from the in-group, and also are under constant stress. This places both the perpetrator and the target of racism at risk of a multitude of health problems to the degree that Dr. Larry Sherman, Professor of Neuroscience at the Oregon Health & Science University, considers it a public health problem.

The “us” versus “them” dynamic has been manipulated in the media by both sides of the political spectrum to perpetuate the fear response. In Birth of a Nation, for example, “blacks” are portrayed as violent savages looking for “white” women to rape. Subsequent to modern-day films portray “blacks” as dangerous, lazy, and ignorant - the same attributes that were prescribed to “blacks” by scientific racism. Currently, in political discourse, leaders around the world have referred to immigrants with references to infestation, "cockroaches to be eliminated,” and rats. “Whites,” on the other hand, are depicted as saviors and agents of civilization. On the other side, blacks are portrayed as innocent victims and whites as the conscious purveyors of evil and the perpetrators of internalized racism. Both sides foster the “us” versus “them” mentality.

Psychologist Albert Bandura states that dehumanization (of the “other”) is a form of moral disengagement that allows people to abandon normal human sympathies toward oppressed minorities. Linking immigration to crime also activates a fear of newcomers which triggers support for politicians promising to protect the native population. Keeping out-group prejudice alive is harmful to both the racist and the target of racism. As mentioned above, both sides experience stress and have high levels of cortisol which exacerbate the top causes of death.

Fortunately, fear conditioning can be reversed. Introducing even a little familiarity about the subject rewires the brain, so we do not see people who are different as a threat.

We believe that popularizing the scientific fact that we, human beings, are 99.9 percent the same - and ceasing to classify ourselves as inherently different - will contribute to the familiarity effect and to minimizing the fear response. As a global, diverse society, we are in desperate need of rewiring.

The scientifically discredited definition of race has no place in today’s increasingly pluralist, interdependent, interconnected, and interrelated world. Changing the terminology and language can go a long way. As cognitive scientist George Lakoff has shown, even as a social construct, simply using the word “race,” even when criticizing racism, reinforces the false belief that human beings belong to fundamentally different groups. That’s because the more a word is used, the more that certain brain circuits are activated and the stronger that metaphor becomes.

CREATE A JUST WORLD FOR ALL HUMAN BEINGS

Historically, “race” has been weaponized by those in power to rob people of human rights and to further their political and economic standing. Currently, “race” is being weaponized by the anti-racist coalition to vilify white people and to correct education, income, and other disparities.

For the last few centuries, who was considered white and who wasn’t changed depending on the political climate and social and economic expediencies of the time. At one point, all “non-white" people were considered “black.” At another point, Italians, Irish, and Polish, who now are considered “white,” were considered “non-white.” The term “Asian,” as defined by the USA Census Bureau, only includes people originating in east Asia, Southeast Asia or the Indian subcontinent. People born elsewhere on the Asian continent—such as Turkey, Afghanistan or Iran—are not considered “Asian” on the USA census.

What has remained consistent is the concept of “race” as the basis for discriminatory laws, policies, and practices, such as Jim Crow laws, Black laws, redlining, the Trail of Tears, the Chinese Exclusion Act, Japanese internment camps, etc.

“Race” now is being used to right social and economic gaps. Identitarians and anti-racists call for programs to combat unequal outcomes like Affirmative Action, Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion programs, statistical parity initiatives, etc. In the name of diversity, they call that people of “color” have a seat at the table in the name of statistical parity. Allocating desirable positions on the basis of “race” rather than merit is not the answer.

Both of these approaches are flawed and fuel dangerous ideologies and behavior.

As a step toward eradicating racism, we call for the phasing out of the word “race” in all discourse. We believe that continuing to use the term “race,” which evokes innate biological differences, reinforces racism. Disavowing the discredited notion of “race” is an important step in the fight against racism. We support ending racism at the individual and structural and systemic levels, and creating a just world for all human beings — one in which we human beings are celebrated for the 99.9 percent that we have in common all the while honoring what is unique about each of us.

We commend the scientific community for being a leader in phasing out the use of “race” and racial distinctions. We urge the global community to follow suit.

“Say Something” is an international non-profit organization based in Oslo, Norway, dedicated to consigning injustice to history by transforming minds, changing the conversation, and creating a just world for all human beings through science via art exhibitions, documentaries, salons, and social media campaigns.

#race and politics #Definition of Race #genetics #us politics #human genome #antiracism #racisim

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mariacallous · 1 year

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There was no prospect of getting any more oil out of the old well. It was just a depleted cavern hiding beneath the sun-baked Texas soil. But then some folks came along and squirted a special liquid into it. They went away for five days, and when they came back it was no longer an oil well. It had transformed into a hydrogen source.

Cemvita Factory, a biotech firm in Texas, had spritzed a carefully selected combination of bacteria and nutrients down the bore hole. Once inside the well, the microbes began breaking down the residual oil hydrocarbons in there—dregs that would be unprofitable to extract—to generate hydrogen and CO2. This field test in July, though small in scale, was a “huge success,” says chief business officer Charles Nelson.

Nelson would not comment on what bacteria and nutrients the company is using, but he says his firm aims to produce hydrogen for $1 per kilogram, which would be competitive against other methods of obtaining the fuel. He estimates there are more than 1,000 depleted oil wells dotted around the United States that are suitable for the same kind of microbial treatment: “A lot of these reservoirs are abandoned, they’re in the custody of the state, they’re orphaned and waiting to be cleaned up.”

Hydrogen, which releases zero carbon emissions when burned, has long been touted as a future fuel. Even though it’s the most abundant element in the universe, with copious amounts on the Earth’s surface in molecules such as water, some effort is required to obtain large quantities of pure hydrogen. There’s a long list of techniques currently vying for supremacy. People have taken to color-coding them, and there is now a veritable rainbow to choose from.

There’s green hydrogen, where renewable energy is used to split water molecules into oxygen and hydrogen. Blue hydrogen, meanwhile, involves extracting hydrogen from natural gas. Cemvita Factory describes its product as “gold hydrogen”—“to pay homage to the past era of oil as the black gold and it now being used as a feedstock to make subsurface hydrogen,” says cofounder and CEO Moji Karimi.

Nelson explains that the firm’s goal is to treat oil wells with bacteria to enable steady, long-term hydrogen production—perhaps lasting for decades. Existing, disused infrastructure above and around the well for taking off gasses could be brought back into service in order to collect the hydrogen, he adds.

It will be important to prevent the CO2 byproduct from leaking into the atmosphere and contributing to climate change, however. Cemvita Factory argues that it can keep the CO2 locked underground, use other microbes to fix it somehow, or find commercial uses for the greenhouse gas. There could be barriers to simply storing it below ground, though. A major blue hydrogen project in Louisiana is currently on hold due to local opposition over a plan to store any CO2 generated beneath a lake, as some residents fear it could pollute local water resources. Exactly what solution Cemvita would use in each location—and how successfully—isn’t yet known.

Capturing or otherwise neutralizing the CO2 must be done safely, says Stephen Wallace, who runs a microbiology lab at the University of Edinburgh. But he adds that Cemvita Factory’s idea of harnessing microbes for hydrogen production is “indicative of a lot of the really interesting work going on in biotechnology right now.” Wallace and his colleagues are themselves experimenting with bioreactors and have had some success in getting microbes to yield hydrogen from things like moldy bread or the lignin in paper industry waste.

But while some microbes help produce hydrogen, others are the scourge of these projects, as they can eat up stored hydrogen or consume the gas in natural wells, says Jon Gluyas, a geologist at Durham University. “We’re trying to keep bacteria away from our hydrogen because they love feasting on it,” he explains.

And he has another quibble. He argues that “gold hydrogen” is different from what Cemvita Factory is proposing. To Gluyas, that term refers specifically to hydrogen that has been produced naturally underground. He should know. “I named it,” he says. That Cemvita has given the same name to its hydrogen—which, the company makes clear, is “produced biologically, by microbes, and through a human-driven process”—is just a “coincidence,” Karimi claims.

For more than a century, geologists have been pondering how much of the natural hydrogen to which Gluyas refers could be freely available in the ground beneath our feet. The German scientist Ernst Erdmann described in 1910 how he had detected an outflow of hydrogen at a salt mine and tracked it for four and a half years. But the possibility of widespread subterranean sources was still poorly understood, even into the 1980s, says Barbara Sherwood Lollar, a geologist at the University of Toronto.

She recalls surveying sites for gasses back then and realizing that significant volumes of hydrogen were present in the ground. “Good lord, it was hydrogen, these rocks were full of hydrogen,” she remembers. Yes, the Earth hath bubbles. Since then, she and colleagues have mapped the locations of potential hydrogen sources—based on geology and known deposits—around the world.

Different processes can give rise to natural hydrogen wells. One example is radiolysis, in which subatomic particles naturally emitted by radioactive rocks such as granite cause certain molecules to break apart, releasing hydrogen. In general, hydrogen is associated with crystalline rocks, rather than sedimentary ones.

But as Gluyas mentions, microbes often gobble up hydrogen formed in the ground before anyone has had the chance to siphon it off. So the tricky part is finding a subterranean hydrogen source that is both large and intact. “No one, I think, can pronounce on whether or not these accumulations of hydrogen within the crystalline rocks … will be viable at scale,” says Sherwood Lollar.

Some firms are already targeting hydrogen deposits, though—such as the company Gold Hydrogen in Australia. It estimates that there could be a total of 1.3 billion kilograms of hydrogen at depths of around 500 meters in the Ramsay Peninsula and Kangaroo Island in South Australia. There is also a large and well-known source of hydrogen in Mali. Both this and the Australian deposits are associated with “fairy circles”—where bare patches in the middle of vegetation indicate that hydrogen is coming out of the ground. Commercial extraction of hydrogen from any such locations, at scale, has yet to happen.

Whether you call Cemvita Factory’s approach “gold hydrogen” or not, one advantage of it is that access to oil wells is reasonably straightforward—and they are often in well-serviced locations with nearby infrastructure for transporting gasses. Cemvita Factory is not the only firm to have considered this point. A completely different method of getting hydrogen out of old oil wells involves injecting oxygen into them to stimulate a flow of oil and chemical reactions that result in the production of hydrogen and other gasses. Canadian firm Proton Technologies has demonstrated this technique—which it refers to as “clear hydrogen.”

Hydrogen production linked to depleted oil wells is interesting, but such projects are still at a relatively early stage, argues Richard Lowes, senior associate at the Regulatory Assistance Project, a clean energy NGO. “I’m initially skeptical, particularly when you can produce hydrogen quite easily with electricity—it’s just easier,” he says. And he questions whether such technologies could potentially shore up fossil fuel firms and fossil-fuel-related industries, in contrast to hydrogen production systems that rely on renewables. If new oil wells can eventually be transformed into green energy sources, they may appear more palatable.

All of these ideas for obtaining hydrogen are currently jostling for attention—and investment. That, and the abundance of this crucial element in so many different places explains the rich color palette of hydrogens now emerging. From green to blue, gold, clear, and beyond, no one yet knows what will triumph. As Gluyas says: “We’ll probably have more colors than Crown Paints by the end of this process.”

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