I know why Trump ordered only 100 million vaccines, and now YOU can know too!

Via our good friends who write The New York Times morning email brief:

Once Pfizer delivers its first 100 million vaccine doses to the U.S., the country may not get another batch until June. That’s because the Trump administration passed on a deal last summer to secure more shots, and the European Union bought them.

Pundits are punditing, opinion writers are opining, and Democrats are… doing what Democrats invariably do: wasting time and money on the same failed strategies and messaging that lost them seats in the House and will almost certainly cost them control of the Senate.

But as far as I can tell, precisely no one has plainly stated the reason behind Trump & Co.’s decision to cut off the country’s access to Pfizer’s COVID vaccines at 100 million. Okay, so maaaaaybe the New York Times did? I wouldn’t know; I didn’t click their link because hello, New York Times.

But I will tell you the reason. Don’t you want to know?

[Read more…]

It’s Winterfest at Freethought Blogs!

Childlike drawing of house, trees, snowy hills with a bright sun streaming up in the background and a track of footprints, and a banner that reads "Winterfest Fundraiser, FreethoughtBlogs, December 5, 2020."

Today the Fun is Fantastical and Free at FreethoughtBlogs! We’ve got a deliciously diverse lineup of offerings for you to explore and enjoy. What’s your pleasure?

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PZ interviews briefly some Rock Star FtB bloggers! You can put a face (and a voice!) to the names of your fav writers here, and maybe discover new faces and places you will really enjoy.

Megan Rahm of From the Ashes of Faith

Dr. Sarah of Geeky Humanist

Giliell of Affinity

William Brinkman of The Bolingbrook Babbler

TD Walker of Freethinking Ahead

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Our new story chain, “A Martian Odyssey” – the adventure has begun!

arid, reddish, martian landscape.

Part 1 by PZ Myers at Pharyngula transports us to the wild world of our future, where an isolated, conservative Earth has for centuries turned her back on her weird and wonderful offspring now populating the solar system… until now. How weird are we talking? Well, why take 10 million years to terraform a planet into an environment fit for humans when you can quickly whip up a little radical genetic modification to planetform the human to the environment instead?

Part 2 by Yours Truly here at Death to Squirrels picks up with three of PZ’s strange characters – a Marsborn and two Spaceborn – facing a profoundly consequential decision: what to do about Earth. Iris Vander Pluym, having ZERO experience writing fiction except for that one chapter in last month’s story chain, naturally decides to kill one of them off straightaway.

Abe Drayton now has Part 3 up at Oceanoxia, and now it’s up to William Brinkman at The Bolingbrook Babbler to bring it home! (I’ll post an updated link for Part 4 when available.)

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View our Winter Photo Gallery at Affinity! This collection comprises submissions from FtB bloggers and readers in our community – including YOU if you send a photo or ten to affinitysubmissions@gmail.com, and the Affinity collective likes your work!

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Creativity for Skeptics — a conversation about secular creativity with TD Walker of Freethinking Ahead. This is the event I’ve been looking forward to most this month. I’ve long loved exploring the topic of creativity, but I find the writing of so-called experts and thought leaders tends to be chock full of flaming woo. As an anti-supernaturalist this is off-putting and disappointing to say the least. I can assure readers that whatever my own process(es) may be, supernatural forces play no part in them, and I would like to learn more about what’s really going on within myself and other artists.

I’m definitely watching this just as soon as I finish…painting a dress for a 6-year old. What? Hardly a big deal since I painted my sofa.

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Gaming!

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And finally, I’ll let PZ take it away:

“Did you know this will be the one-year anniversary of our legal victory over the Pissant of Evil? Several of the defendants will be gathering to celebrate that happy event!”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NzbTXTvMpaA&feature=emb_title

Aww, man! Pissant of Evil was totally gonna be the name of my new fake socially-distanced band! But there goes PZ ruining everything again AS USUAL… 🙄

I kid! I kid! Our illustrious Dr. Myers bore the burden of the infuriating SLAPP suit(s) with the same wit and brilliance he does everything else. And for readers who may not be aware, that includes an enormous amount of work behind the scenes at FtB, from tech support to his laissez faire approach to management issues (which I am 100% convinced would be MUCH easier if he simply ran things like a typical tyrant) to herding the proverbial cats – in this case a large litter of curious, opinionated, godless, passionate, lefty bloggers – better than any human I have ever seen. It takes a lot of (mostly thankless) work to make this place a reality, and by far the brunt of it falls on PZ Myers. I’m sure I speak for FtB comrades and readers when I say: THANK YOU. We are very grateful for this place. And all of your arduous work, even through difficult times, is genuinely appreciated.

PZ especially deserves our congratulations for taking on the fight for freedom of speech, and triumphing for himself, his co-defendants, and all of us.

If you can spare some coin to help with the legal costs incurred when you need to fight “Pissants of Evil,” please give what you can via our PayPal.

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A Martian Odyssey, part 2 (fiction).

Part 1 of our story by PZ is here.

If you enjoy our writing and the work we do here at FreethoughtBlogs, please consider a donation to our legal fund!

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A Martian Odyssey, part 2

Nothing prepared Key for this moment. Neither their formal education nor diplomatic experience qualified Key for the operation the Spaceborn were now proposing. They felt unprepared in other ways, too. Jimin’s sudden disappearance added more weight to an already weighty mission, but that wasn’t all. Key, like every Marsborn, knew next to nothing about Earth.

The children of Mars were abandoned by Mother Earth so long ago, the primal wound had healed over, even if the scar ran deep. Marsborn schoolchildren learned only that the once-strong bond of interdependence between the two planets had been severed cleanly by Earth’s own hand. She had cut the cord with such ferocity and finality there was nothing for her burgeoning progeny to do but erase all but a diaphanous vision of her. Except for her occasional looming into range of its ground-based scopes and solar eclipses, Earth had become utterly inconsequential to the Marsborn.

Not so for the Spaceborn. The distance from Martian gravity required by the Spaceborn had provided another kind of distance as well: a perspective quite literally above it all.

When Earth withdrew itself from the colonizers, she did not go quietly. Instead, every station, satellite, probe and craft within her impressive firing range was blasted into spacedust. Collectively, these were host to legions of unsuspecting Spaceborn. And the Spaceborn, for all of their disparate lifeforms and cultures spanning the solar system, still held one thing in common: a long memory.

Spaceborn schoolchildren learned early and often of Earth’s unprovoked massacre of their peaceful and productive ancestors. Spaceborn casualties of that horrific event were honored on day 500 of the Martian year, the number representing the approximate number of vessels lost. And the first such event marked the official, permanent system-wide sync to the Martian calendar and the end of Earth time. Ancient Copernicus exonerated one more time, the world no longer revolved around Earth.

Unsurprisingly, keeping the memory of Earth’s violent treachery alive among generations of Spaceborn had some repercussions. For one thing, whereas the Marsborn viewed Earth as a non-entity, if they even gave the blue dot any thought at all, the Spaceborn viewed Earth quite differently: as an enemy. The disparity caused no small amount of friction between Marsborn and Spaceborn, as every so often it gave rise to conspiracy theories that had to be quickly quashed, lest someone act to destroy the enduring relationship between them. However, it was not lost on the Spaceborn that Earth could easily have done considerable damage to critical installations on Mars, perhaps even put an end to the colonization project for good. Yet Mars survived unscathed, while the Spaceborn nursed their wounds and mourned their dead for centuries. Whenever sparks began to fly, cooler and wiser heads had historically prevailed. For the most part, all that remained between them was a healthy, mild suspicion right alongside an abiding respect, driven in part by amity and in part by mutual benefit. It was an arrangement that kept everyone on their best behavior.

But the most significant consequence of the Spaceborn worldview was the overarching priority to never again be attacked – unaware and undefended – by Earth or by anyone else. This would mean, among other things, that the Spaceborn would oversee the development of advanced defensive technologies as well as some slick artillery of their own. But after a thorough analysis following a deep dive into Earth’s history, the Spaceborn had come to a conclusion as unexpected as it was unavoidable: wielded properly, there was one weapon superior to all others, in all places and all times. That weapon was information.

With the Spaceborn maintaining all of the routes and communication channels connecting the farthest inhabited moons to the inhabitants of Mars, there were ample opportunities to develop and deploy information collection technologies along the way. Over the centuries, the Spaceborn inevitably became the keepers of inconceivably vast troves of information obtained via a virtually undetectable surveillance network. Sharply honed bots and algorithms continually trolled through endless seas of data, and when called upon, would instantly deliver a state-of-the-art, up-to-the-minute dossier on anything in the solar system that moved. Including, of course, anything that moved on Earth. Or Mars.

In a small meeting room in Wei station, Key began to methodically absorb and analyze what facts he could from the scene in front of them. Here were two struggling Spaceborn who said they had just attempted a rescue and recon mission at the Martian pole, the site of an Earth vessel landing. This was a fool’s errand, doomed from the start, as any Spaceborn or Marsborn could tell you after one look at these hastily slapped together prosthetics. Key knew, from many long, late-night conversations with Jimin, that the same Spaceborn technology that enabled the successful colonization of distant moons could easily enable two non-adapted Spaceborn to travel the Martian surface for a brief mission, or even a long one, should this be deemed a high enough priority.

And what, Key mused in his mind, could possibly be a higher priority than an Earth vessel landing at the Martian pole, the station going dark, their own diplomat sent on a stealth recon mission and having not been heard from since? 

And what about these two Spaceborn? Key studied them carefully. When their ridiculous mission failed – if there even were any mission – why seek out Key? Matters such as these would most certainly be of interest to those at much higher levels of the collective than a career Marsborn diplomat and these two apparently expendable Spaceborn. They were underequipped for a pit stop on the planet, much less a rendezvous with a brutal Martian winter, and terrain populated with bandits and giant bugs. Not to mention a potentially hostile Earthborn landing party.

But the most troubling question to Key was why the Spaceborn had kept all news of an Earth vessel landing on Mars a secret – for a week. Two months, if one counted from the nanosecond its launch trajectory was picked up by Spaceborn surveillance systems. That would instantly render a report to the highest circles of Spaceborn governance. Who else knew?

Ditya made a gentle, barely perceptible motion with her head. The message, though, conveyed without words, came through unmistakably: yes, we know what we are asking of you, and we are deeply sorry, but you are the only Marsborn we trust with this.

“I have…concerns,” Key said cooly. “And questions.”

Afia locked eyes with them, and said, “We understand. You don’t know us. We don’t know you. But here we are. And unfortunately, we don’t have much time.“

Ditya began to wheeze a bit now, the weight of the Martian atmosphere crushing the fragile membranes that supported breathing just fine at zero G.

“What you need to know about me is this,” said Key. “I would fight my way through the planet’s core for Jimin.”

For a moment, Afia and Ditya seemed more at ease. Key clarified, “Not for the Marsborn, not for the Spaceborn. For Jimin.” They continued, “What I need to know from you is everything that has happened from the time Spaceborn systems fired up the alert on the Earth vessel’s launch trajectory, to this very minute. And I mean everything.”

Afia spoke gravely, “Yes, we agree. There is no time to waste. We have fitted our transport with an encrypted channel to Ditya and myself only. We can begin to brief you as soon as you are underway.”

“One more concern,” Key said as all three moved toward the exit. “We are all at a complete loss when it comes to the Earthborn, after centuries of isolation.”

Ditya’s voice found its strength again, and let go with a wry chuckle. “Key,” she said, “I can brief you on anything you want to know about the Earthborn.”

“Now how would you know anything about that?”

Ditya seemed to grow smaller and more shrunken by the minute, yet she had now taken on an air of gravitas, speaking to Key as if he were her student.

“My dear,” she said softly. “I am old, and I have played many roles in my lifetime, official and unofficial. And what I know about the Earthborn could fill a gas giant.”

Key was stunned. The door slid open and transport guides swiftly slid the Spaceborn into waiting gel couches. They would finally have some relief from the Martian gravity, and soon enough they would feel at perfect ease in orbit. Afia and Ditya were sure of that, but of little else. This trip to the Martian surface had been an enormous risk, and nothing had gone to plan. What awaited them once that airlock opened in orbit was anyone’s guess.

Key made their way to the transport without being noticed by anyone who knew them – they hoped. Once strapped inside and cleared for departure, they heard Afia’s voice, crisp and clear. “Key, are you ready? We can begin the briefing shortly.”

“Yes,” they replied. They were eager to get started.

“But first, I’m afraid I have some bad news. Ditya has…died, Key. She’s dead.”

“I – I don’t know what to say,” Key replied.

“It’s just that she gave everything. She risked everything…” Afia’s voice trailed off.

“How did it happen?” Key inquired.

“That’s just it, I don’t understand,” Afia’s tone was strained with anxiety now. “Ditya was fine when we locked in for the jump to orbit. All her vital signs had stabilized, and the gel sensory web indicated the all clear. But when we arrived at the station and the airlock opened, she was… lifeless.”

“I am so sorry,” Key responded. “We can put the briefing off for a bit if you need some time.”

“No,” came the answer. “This mission was the culmination of Ditya’s life’s work. It is imperative that we continue.”

“Very good, then,” said Key. “I am standing by.”

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Part 3 is here, by Abe Drayton at Oceanoxia!

Veterans Day 2020: Fun, free and low-cost ways to honor U.S. vets.

Today is Veterans Day in the US.

Here are some things you can do for the veterans of our wars:

Veterans for Peace™.

Veterans for Peace™ is a coalition of military veterans and their allies whose mission is threefold: exposing the true costs of war (economic, environmental, human casualties, PTSD & suicide, social); building a culture of peace; and healing the wounds of war, at home and abroad. VFP is at the forefront of our most pressing issues – see e.g. this open letter from veterans to recently activated National Guard troops – and on the right side of many others with which it stands in solidarity. Current National Projects include:

It offers many ways to donate and participate meaningfully in making a better world, not just for veterans but for everyone.

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Wounded Warrior Project®

Because America’s Owners believe themselves entitled to the sacrifices made by these men and women and their families, VA programs are chronically underfunded and veterans benefits are perpetually on the chopping block. Until we can fix that problem, Wounded Warrior steps in with counseling, job resources and material support for veterans and their families. Even if you cannot donate funds, there are all kinds of opportunities to donate time. You can also stay on top of WWP’s news by signing up for their emails. If you’d like to keep on top of precisely how and where the U.S. government is failing veterans, just sign up for their weekly e-newsletter here.

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Contact Your Representatives and Senators.

Call them up and tell them exactly what you think of cutting veterans benefits so that the planet-polluting corporations who benefit from the sacrifices of our soldiers and their loved ones can pay low-to-no taxes! Email your congresscritters a little note telling them to cut the defense budget in half and fund universal single-payer health care with mental health parity! Demand legislation requiring that all companies benefiting financially in any way from our wars be run as non-profits! I am sure you can think of numerous hilarious and fun things to say!

Put those congresscritters’ numbers on speed dial and bookmark their sites. The least we can do to honor our veterans is get ourselves on a whole bunch of anti-lefty government watch lists – today.

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[excerpted, heavily edited and updated from a pre-FtB blog post.]

BREAKING: U.S. Army Coming Soon to a Street Near You! UPDATED.

Multiple notifications popped onto my screen yesterday announcing that the Loser-In-Chief had fired his defense secretary Mark Esper. I was working on something else (and also trying and failing miserably to observe a news blackout for personal reasons*) so I didn’t dig any deeper than the headlines.

But my mind kept on poking at me with a big stick and asking “Why?” “Why?” “Why?” For sure, the reason would be sad, funny, fascist, illegal, counterproductive, enraging, ridiculous or some combination of those. However, this morning as I looked over a few of these notifications before deleting them, our Liberal Media™ informed and enlightened me further only with something about Commander Cheetohead bashing Esper on Twitter. Which, okay, ticked A LOT of those boxes if not all of them but did nothing to shut up my shouty, stabby stick. And It’s not like I was going to click on actual links to read actual stories! I got shit to do, people.

Enter The New York Times to save the day! (Not really.) From this morning’s Times email briefing:

[Read more…]

NYC Happy Noise! UPDATED.

Almost live! NYC’s (West Village) celebrates Biden/Harris win. Three things:

-It’s even more exuberant than the frontline workers/first responders cheers we used to do every day at 7pm the beginning of the COVID lockdown.

-This is Donald Trump’s hometown. Hahaha.

-I shot this video (well, it’s not much to see, it’s all about the sound) maybe 20-30 minutes ago, then imported and uploaded it to youtube and did all the admin stuff, and wrote this post – and this is still going on. If anything, even louder and more boisterous.

UPDATE:

My partner just came home from an errand bearing gifts:

© flyboy 2020
All rights reserved.

© flyboy 2020
All rights reserved.

The happy racket is still going. Now it’s like the crowd at a stadium doing the wave down the West side: very distant thunder (midtown?), rolling closer (Chelsea/Meatpacking) then West Village. Don’t know if it keeps going to Battery Park City, but I’d like to think so.

Hey New Jersey, CAN YOU HEAR US?

 

Happy Election Armageddon Day! + UPDATE, + MOAR UPDATEZ.

I hope you’re hunkered down and staying safe, today and in the days to come.

Here at Death to Squirrels Central™, it’s as if a massive blizzard or Cat 5 hurricane had been predicted: we were already sort of well-stocked with staples and essentials due to COVID, but we’re now very well-stocked. We’re also charging all devices, checking flashlights/putting out candles and just generally being extra-EXTRA-paranoid. We have no fucking idea what today may bring – and neither does anyone else.

I have heard a few sharp and contentious-sounding conversations outside my window on Hudson Street this morning, which would not be unusual generally, but is highly unusual on a morning weekday. Then again, the water in my building is shut off to fix a drain pipe or something, so it could just be a couple of my pissed-off neighbors yelling at the super and the plumber. That would be totally normal.

Fuck. I just heard more yelling. What was I saying about extra-EXTRA-paranoid? Yeah. I think it might be klonopin o’clock.

I will NOT be hoping or praying for you (because hope is not a plan and nothing fails like prayer). But for whatever it’s worth I will be thinking and worrying about you, good people of the lefty persuasion (godless or not).

Remember, Iris loves you! Unless of course she doesn’t!

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UPDATE 1:

This just in:

New York Daily News "Breaking News" header, including black and red "Daily News" logo and "NYDAILYNEWS.COM"NYC Election Day: Long lines, lots of voters, plenty of angst across the five boroughs

Lines outside some city polling locations already came with a long wait within three hours of the 6 a.m. start opening, with the sites open until 9 p.m.

Read the Latest

Where’s that klonopin?

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UPDATE 2:

I clicked the link to Read the Latest:

Voters wore masks and observed social distancing in the year of pandemic and a presidential race pitting President Trump against ex-Vice President Joe Biden.

Voters who wear masks and observe social distancing are almost certainly not Trump voters. So, you know, that’s good.

Also: klonopin achieved.

[Read more…]

A Dark Web: Part Four.

Freethought Blogs - A DARK WEB - Halloween Fundraiser

This is Part 4 of a story chain that some FtB comrades are writing by turns.

If you have not read the first three parts of our story:

Part 1 is at The Bolingbrook Babbler.
Part 2 is at Freethinking Ahead.
Part 3 is at Impossible Me.

This collaborative story is a project for our Freethought Blogs Halloween Fundraiser. If you enjoy and appreciate the work we do here, please consider making a donation to our legal fund. Every single dollar helps, and is greatly appreciated.

 

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A Dark Web
Part 4

From the second Kyle broke through the door of Lucy’s, Connie would be operating on autopilot. Adrenaline, training and experience in dozens of these missions would coalesce in blood and brain to transform her into a singularly focused machine. And Connie’s unique “gifts” would provide a covert advantage no ordinary human could match.

But in that instant before the switch flipped, the events that led her to this precise point in space and time flashed before her in an instant. Images, sharp and vibrant, paraded by, bringing back with them the heavy emotional weight of her journey like an unexpected gut-punch. Connie Herbert remained one of few people alive who had a front row seat for all of it: a witness to the whole world transforming, fundamentally and forever, over the course of a single day twenty years ago.

One could only marvel that over two decades–two decades!–very few people knew anything of it at all. Fewer still knew the full story in all of its grotesque spendor. A 20-year, globe-spanning, total information blackout stood as a towering testament to the Company’s power and reach. An ongoing joke among insiders turned on the unfortunate fact that the most successful Op in company history could never be leaked to Sales & Marketing.

But there had been leaks, of course. A leak sparked the whole mess in the first place. The critical breach occurred one morning when nearly every subject in the study – H. sapiens, Latrodectus or “other” –  manifested a stunning variety of transmutations, all at once. The researchers were quickly overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the task of quantifying every one of these strange new phenomena. They called for emergency reinforcements right away.

Connie had awakened that morning feeling oddly out-of-sorts. Once she took in the view of the lab, she puzzled at the sight of Dr. Myers and a half dozen lab techs systematically peering into the dozens of small glass enclosures arrayed against the far wall. Another tech disabled the locks on the lab door and propped it open so the extra staffers could come right on in and get to work immediately–well, immediately after they picked their jaws up off the floor, and remembered how to breathe.

Billy was ranting and pacing in his pod, agitated as ever. Not for the first time, Connie was grateful the glass walls between them provided excellent soundproofing.

Just then, three men in well-tailored suits strode through the open door and made a beeline for Dr. Myers.

“Poor guy,” Connie smirked wryly to herself. “He hates dealing with the suits.” And if the suits were here, it could only mean one of two things: either phase III had just been deemed a smashing success, or something had gone very, very wrong. At the moment she couldn’t tell which. It looked like nobody else was sure, either.

Staffers in crisp white lab coats came streaming in continuously, some of whom she hadn’t seen since phase I or II. Those studies had gone exceedingly well. Phase I investigated human reactions to various Latrodectus venom extracts, as well as Latrodectus reactions to various H. sapiens blood extracts. Phase I yielded very little new information, but it did provide a vast trove of baseline data.

Phase II was similar, except the extracts derived from both species underwent molecular modifications before infusion. Results revealed, among other things, potential applications for modified venom extracts, including non-lethal bioweapons, a broad range of medicinal properties and “neurocognitive effects.” Or, as some of the H. sapiens subjects put it, “Wow, I am really high!” At the time Connie wondered whether the Latrodectus subjects experienced similar effects, and how anyone would know if they did.

In the present day, standing at the back door of Lucy’s Bar and Grill, Connie would wonder whether the “Venom” presently drawing in the Halloween party goers traced directly back to that fateful morning in phase III, or if it was indeed just a marketing gimmick. The cartels and dealers were always branding retail heroin packets with names of exactly this sort.

Phase III had been a much more ambitious undertaking. For one thing, all subjects had undergone cross-species genetic modifications prior to the infusions. Early results in Latrodectus took an interesting turn when the females bore spiderlings that inherited their respective new gene sequences intact. Most of these clusters died off before or shortly after hatching; only two continued to thrive. As these clusters began hatching and maturing, it became apparent that the novel genes had expressed in mutations so profound, these creatures could hardly be classed in the Latrodectus genus at all. They were something entirely new. So was the venom.

Human life cycle constraints naturally prohibited any investigation into Latrodectus gene expression in the offspring of H. sapiens, to say nothing of the Geneva Conventions. The Company was already treading dangerously close to those limits, perhaps even exceeding them.

And those Latrodectus genes roiling around inside ten human subjects were not exactly lying dormant.

Connie was struck with the sense that something was off about Billy today (more so than usual, that is). She turned back for another look. Billy took heaving breaths, wildly contorting his upper body as if he were trying to glimpse the back of his own neck. Strange. But what was all that…that…stuff? Thick, glossy strands and strings clung to his arms and torso, wobbling like jello with every twitch.

No one seemed the least bit concerned about Billy: all attention was focused on the dozens of small glass enclosures lining the back wall. Some of them were moving, in short pulses. A metal cover from one of the higher enclosures came spinning down.

Dr. Myers and the techs descended from their ladders and took slow steps backward.

The enclosures were jumping and jerking more violently now. Metal lids came down. Whole enclosures crashed to the floor, and shattered. The Latrodectus were out.

Billy and a few other subjects were pounding on the glass walls, some throwing furniture and other heavy items. It was all for naught. All eyes were transfixed by the chaos exploding outward from the far wall. In less than a minute hundreds of spiders were trailing sticky silk to every nook and corner in the lab.

Billy swung at the glass with a piece of dismantled bed frame. The wall first cracked, then shattered under the blows. He was now swinging at the other pods, freeing the frenzied subjects inside.

“Get back!” he yelled at Connie. She could barely hear him, until Billy smashed down the wall between them.

The suits were the first to make a run for it. The swarm of techs followed behind them, moving like a single organism and sweeping Dr. Myers right out with them.

Someone had set off the fire alarm: sprinklers showered the room, a siren a strobe light flashed, sirens shrieked, silk webbing criss-crossed the ceiling. The effect was surreal.

Connie knew there were risks when she volunteered to be a subject. But she never imagined anything like this. No one did. The consequences were as yet unforeseen, but they would come, hard and fast, in the form of shockwaves around the globe. Connie or any of a hundred tactical officers like her would be there when they did, mitigating all of the damage, destroying all evidence and ensuring that any narrative taking hold would never lead back to the Company.

Kyle would be first through the door tonight. The others would follow in a practiced and precise routine. Just then, in that breathless last second, Connie wondered what the world might look like if only the last tech to make it out that day had stopped to shut, lock and bolt the lab door behind him.

“On my mark,” she said coolly. “Three. Two. One. Go.”

__________

Read Part 5 at Oceanoxia!

Again, if you enjoy the work (and the community!) here at FtB, please consider contributing what you can to our legal fund. And by all means, check out more Halloween treats we have lined up for you.

It’s a weird year, to put it mildly. Many Halloween traditions you might have enjoyed in the past may not be possible this year, at least not if you prefer to avoid catching and spreading a deadly virus and you have the terrible misfortune of living among conservatives in the US. So please, if you are celebrating this weekend, have your fun safely. And if you’re looking for something to do, hang out with us here on Halloween!

Freethought Blogs HALLOWEEN FUNDRAISER

Men, get to work.

[CONTENT NOTE: gendered violence, murder, suicide.]

OCTOBER 26, 2020
 BREAKING NEWS 

Man shoots girlfriend dead on Manhattan street, then commits suicide in front of shocked onlookers

Bursts of gunfire sent passersby running for cover just before 9:20 a.m. at Morris St. and Trinity Place in the Financial District, where violence is rare.

Read the Latest

[Read more…]