{"id":3025,"date":"2024-04-15T16:03:29","date_gmt":"2024-04-15T16:03:29","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/xrafstar.monster\/blog\/?p=3025"},"modified":"2025-10-27T02:26:14","modified_gmt":"2025-10-27T02:26:14","slug":"cunt-toward-enemy-13","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/xrafstar.monster\/blog\/cunt-toward-enemy-13\/","title":{"rendered":"cunt toward enemy[13] terrorism is magic"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

There is a minefield in Golan Heights.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A pack of wolves lives among them, too light to trigger the sensors.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If they leave the minefield, they will be shot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If the mines are removed, their ecosystem will be destroyed. And they will be shot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Your paw on my sensor. Lithe, watchful. Just delicate enough to keep yourself alive. As long as you don\u2019t push too hard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

*<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon clings naked to the damp body, his finger wiggling inside a bullet hole. His bony legs kneel on either side, his toes curling, what\u2019s left of them. The sun is starting to creep into the room, hot with the smell of gunpowder. His soles are blinding, two side-view mirrors.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

He bites into the dummy\u2019s head. It breaks apart in his mouth, 280 bloom gelatin hydrolyzed from pig skin. He spits out a bullet. Keeps chewing. His saliva trickles through the perforated skull, an ant farm for high-caliber ammunition.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You did this to me. Your need for control. It ruined my body. And you don\u2019t even see how suffocating you are.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The ballistic gel is starting to smell. Rubbing, sweating, sleeping with it. Night terrors. Wet explosions. He grinds his blastrated crotch into the dummy\u2019s face. The sun grows hot on his scars, back like smoked glass. The gel fills with dreamy light, a body of crystalline water. Bullet trajectories are revealed like spurts of ocean spray.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There is a black cloud in the crotch, and the face, and all throughout the blow-up doll, (KABOOM), the mold of his moisture, the closest he\u2019s come to a living thing in days. No one comes inside. His bedroom is a shooting range. He\u2019d rather piss on the floor and drink Ensure out of a bowl than have the aides touch him with their healthy bodies, with their pity or disgust or mere perfunctory maintenance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The dummy quivers passionately, shouting barking BANG BANG BANG, bullets flood the crotch. A handgun dangles from his foot, big toe filling the trigger guard. His leg is arched like a dog pissing toward the ceiling, exposing scarred thigh all the way down to his razed ass, one eye clenched, the other red and sighting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He collapses on the dummy, his small battery depleted, gun dragging between his toes. The gel burns with his body heat, slimy and stinking. He kisses the riddled head, feeding the black cloud with his drool.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My sweet dummy. I hope you can survive me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

*<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur smokes a preroll in the stairwell, tablet balanced on his knee.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The machine is closing around him. He knows this. Not just from his unusual interactions with the hyper-terrorist community, but the cosmos itself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

America is a machine for destroying the world\u2019s information. The great Continent, the Moloch Pangaea, which must absorb all things into itself. The two halves of his identity, Semi Novan, Lechian, whatever, are ways of organizing information for capital. It doesn\u2019t matter if the information isn\u2019t real. What matters is that the machine makes it true. Until nothing is left but a tomb of paper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The two halves of his identity and all their marketable sub-compartments are goop poured over the wires of the world. And the thing called PTSD is stuck inside him like a wire in a candle. The burning, subhuman reality-monitor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But he has a way out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A way to become safe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon says, \u201cI love when you do drugs. You always make bad decisions.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur stares at his bad decision. Rubicon shimmers in the hybrid haze, glittering with indica-dominant sparkles. Scars melt subtly into each other. Ripples of heat distortion. You\u2019re so fucking hot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Did someone walk past?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Echo from another stairwell. But it has him shielding his tablet, preemptively justifying himself. Just talking to my disabled nephew. He\u2019s a patriot. Got blasted to hell.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What if the agency finds out?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We\u2019ve noticed sexual undertones to your relationship. Yessir. Him craving my dick is a matter of national security. Don\u2019t worry. He would fail utterly. The technique of a baby. A weak, toothy baby. One of those failed babies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat are you laughing at?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJust you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Just enjoying those fine shattered kneecaps of yours.
Is there something wrong with me?
Some people are ass men.
Some people are breast men.
I\u2019m a cripple men. Monster High looking freak. Color-coded anorexic cunt. They should institute gift giving on the 4th of July. Giftwrapped amputees. Melted quads in a box. It would really make the holiday hit home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon talks a lot. He sounds even sloppier now, letting his guard down. But Lazur is learning a new language. He understands the wet suck and smack of that mouth. It gives him a pang, for some reason.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He tunes back in. Rubicon is saying, \u201cFundamentally, I\u2019m a guy who does something, and you\u2019re a guy who says don\u2019t do that thing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Smoke trails from Lazur\u2019s mouth. \u201cThat\u2019s that dad thing?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot gonna lie, the fact that you have a high-ranking government apparatus behind you is kind of a turn on.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m only an authoritarian for you, Rubi.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat was your dad like?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur considers. \u201cMy dad. He wasn\u2019t a bad dad. But when I grew up. Thought about it. A lot of the shit he said was illogical. It was a private neurosis. And I took it as gospel.\u201d Coughing. \u201cThis legal weed is dogshit.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWish you were here. I have these superterrorist gummies that are insane.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI bet they are.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon thumbs his morphine button. \u201cI\u2019d share my drip with you. Would you like that? Knowing your high came from my pain?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLike there\u2019s a limited amount of happiness in the universe.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s so cute when you try to give me your private neuroses.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The morphine hits and Rubicon flops back in his wheelchair. Through heavy lids, he catches Lazur looking at the dark triangle of his skirt, lacerations growing from it like ivy. Slack smile. \u201cI used to think you\u2019d never date someone like me. Now I wonder if you\u2019d date me if I didn\u2019t look like this.\u201d He spreads his legs weakly, pushing them with his hands. \u201cYou like these atrophied limbs? Fucking chaser.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCan\u2019t chase what can\u2019t run.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A little happiness, a chemical attack. The kind where you don\u2019t remember what you were talking about, because it doesn\u2019t matter. No hands on faces, just naked dials.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon says, \u201cWhatcha smoking?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSmoking that Twilight Sparkle.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTerrorism is magic.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Flashback to counter-terrorism studies. College reading. The Psychodynamics of Terrorism<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Terrorism is magic: it is thought to produce its effect no matter what, and all by itself. There are no causal linkages to be traced, as in the case of genuine military operations.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon would have been 8 or 9.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Terror is first of all a kind of symbol-magic. Reciting the magic formula or pronouncing the magic name puts irresistible powers at our disposal.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ru-bi-con.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Throughout, a low key is to be maintained; terrorism is reinforced by the emotional excitement it can produce. Heightened suspense, anxiety, horror, moral outrage, and the like, contribute to what the terrorist experiences as consummation, just as do approval and admiration. What terrorists want to be able to say is, \u201cI didn’t know you cared.” They are disheartened only when they can no longer mistake for emotional involvement with them what is only our concern about the victim.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn\u2019t know you cared.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He takes another hit, inhaling smoke like an explosion in reverse. The watch on his wrist is the watch he wore as a child. Blue plastic. Clocks melt together, the Disintegration of the Persistence of Memory, regimented rectangles like city blocks or caskets, atom bombs flowing like schools of fish, while the real fish is alone, detailed, inert. Only the dead can be captured so clearly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Use separate rows for US, multinational partners, and adversary dead.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Noise from the street flows past him. Civilian combustions and crosswalk countdowns. The sky he can\u2019t see through the concrete vents, just a chained-up tree quivering like an old faggot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There\u2019s a feather on the step, flapping in the breeze but not coming loose. A dark avian paste, stuck since the 4th of the July. He wonders what his final configuration will be. What aesthetic school his chunks will be arranged in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He laughs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon says, \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI was just thinking. If they found us. Like those skeletons buried in the same grave. They\u2019d think what the fuck is that. Is that two dogs and a man. Did he die fucking Rainbow Dash. My little cousin loves that shit. I hope she\u2019s doing okay.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBuried in the same grave?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah, my normal bones and your crazy bones\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s so fucking romantic.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t mean it that way.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow the fuck did you mean it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLike if we killed each other.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re just making it worse.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The victims of terror are usually anonymous, nobodies in the terrorists’ eyes, such as terrorists themselves once were. The victims may also be, on the contrary, notable, deliberately selected to symbolize the terrorists’ ruthlessness and power. We might call such victims the glamorous victims.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Your glamorous victim. Suffering under your mutilated cat stare.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If the anonymous victim represents the terrorist’s past, the glamorous victim may serve as his or her ego-ideal for the future. Like imitation, violence, too, may be a form of flattery.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon says, \u201cI wanna see your face. Get it up to the lens.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Terrorism may provide for the terrorist a sense of intimacy with both target and victim.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI wonder if I\u2019m one of those little lines next to your eye. A private little scar.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThis is emotional terrorism.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI got the other kind too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Wind flaps the skirt. The shadows of leaves mix with the shadow of a bomb.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon says, \u201cI\u2019m sick of this LDR.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLDR?\u201d Is that the name of a president?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLazur Distance Rubicon.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI hate these fucking orange trees. They smell so good and taste so good but I know it\u2019s only a fraction of what it used to be. And I can\u2019t stand that. I\u2019d like to burn them all down. But Cal likes them. I think.\u201d He studies Lazur\u2019s face. \u201cYou\u2019re scared. It\u2019s okay. I think he\u2019s got that analysis paralysis.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur is encouraged. \u201cWhat\u2019s his next move?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI can\u2019t give you information that would hurt him. Do you think I\u2019m stupid? Am I just a pretty face to you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m not trying to insult you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI know, baby. But you fucked up.\u201d Rubicon picks at the exposed grimace of his teeth. \u201cJust kidding.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The tablet is sweaty in Lazur\u2019s grip. Even across the world, he can\u2019t escape the physical reaction. He hefts the tablet to keep it from falling. If he slips, Rubicon cracks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s okay, Laz. I worked it out. A new world is coming. And in that new world, I get to keep you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLike Noah\u2019s ark.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah. If the ark had one guy in it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIs that what love means to you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy not?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt makes sense. Your dad kept you all alone in that big mansion. And now you live with his friend. In another mansion.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThis has nothing to do with my dad.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know, Rubi. Maybe it has everything to do with your dad.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re jealous of Cal.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo. It\u2019s just. It\u2019s obvious you think he\u2019s going to win.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCal kills people. You don\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThere are legal avenues.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI prefer mass casualty boulevards.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI just\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

How can he explain it? Rubicon\u2019s wound is fresh. Lazur\u2019s is the pain of becoming used to loneliness and having the wound reopened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A tear falls. He doesn\u2019t think Rubicon can see it through the webcam fuzz, because the boy is still talking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCal just wants power like everyone else. He\u2019s not going to nuke your mom or whatever.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A notification appears. Location decrypted. The place where orange trees grow. The place where Cal will be arrested.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No matter what Cal has, he is a corporation. A private citizen. He can\u2019t stand against a government. He could possess a nuclear warhead and it wouldn\u2019t matter. He will become pieces of paper, and he will be incinerated by dragons, because he sought to steal their fire.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon says, \u201cAre you listening?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur smiles like he only can when he feels safe. \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

*<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Greenwich meditates on the nature of the qatran.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There are two ways the qatran expresses itself. These correspond to dread and terror.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It acts slowly, so you may behold it with the majesty of dread.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Or instantly, turning your body into a mere echo of this terror.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her gums itch. They fixed her teeth, but her body is still cleansing itself. It doesn\u2019t matter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Physical therapy is improving her mobility. It\u2019s not enough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She steals a pen. Hides it under her mattress. It\u2019s not enough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She will steal a gun. It\u2019s not enough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The door opens and she reaches for the pen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s Lazur. They talk for some time. She pretends to be slowed by painkillers, so she can study him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He\u2019s a virgin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Of course, there isn\u2019t a certain marker for someone who has killed. People contain infinite compartments. They can be laughing with the greatest innocence, then shoot you between the eyes. The destroyer lives in the same house as the child.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

*<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He brings her snacks. Green apple gum. The pack has a promo on it. Chance to win Zhyber Valhalla free gamepack with\u2026<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

It hurts to chew. This is reasonable, given the state of her mouth. But she listens carefully for the hum of her weakness, the traitor in her nerves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Zhyber Valhalla.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Darkness. Immobility. Violation. Separation from God. The perception of God. Her muscles still lack it. This is what scares her. This distortion.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She knows very little of Rubicon, but she knows what he looks like now. She wonders how badly a body can be damaged before it loses the capacity for faith. For love.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon. The name of Lazur\u2019s weakness. He is good about covering it up, but she can tell. His pain is purple. It shows under his eyes. And when she says the R-word, he dances away too well, as he dances for nothing else. The methodical agent skips a second. How many moments has he stored away?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She can\u2019t trust him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She cups the empty pack of gum in her hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Zhyber Valhalla.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Free gamepack on purchase of.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A most excellent deal, if you are already a consumer of that brand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Darkness. Burning oil. Eating at her scalp.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She crushes the pack.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her heart throbs in her palm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She opens it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Zhyber Valhalla.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Free gamepack. Darkness. Chemical burns.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She unfolds the pack. The creases remain. Nothing can return it to the pristine state of a minute ago.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Crush.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Inhale.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Unfold. Look at the damage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Exhale.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Crush. Unfold. Zhyber Valhalla. Pain throbs in her skull.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Calendula.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Orange plastic. Red button. Blue paint. She names the colors in her environment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Crush. Unfold.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There it is. The weakness. Tight in her fingers. Swelling in her neck artery. She places the trash in her mouth and swallows it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Green apple.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The only trigger she will permit is steel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

*<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The earth shakes in his dream. Bzzz. Bzzz.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He fumbles in the darkness next to his bed. The tablet lights up, blinding him. \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI can\u2019t sleep. The painkillers wore off.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOkay.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI had a dream about a dynamite fuse coming out of your pussy like a tampon.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMy what?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYour vagina.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t have a vagina.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJesus, Lazur. TMI.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m trying to sleep.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCal is asleep. You\u2019re asleep. I picked the wrong fucking demographic to get involved with. You\u2019re all so fucking tired.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Well, if Cal is asleep. Lazur should be awake. He should be the opposite of everything Cal is. He rolls onto his stomach, suddenly alert. \u201cHe sleeps a lot, huh? Guess cosmetic surgery can\u2019t fix his rotten fucking insides.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHaha. I do not sleep, Cort\u00e1zar. I simply die for brief periods, and come back to life. The Olmec knew of this.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s exactly what he does. He does that thing with the concepts.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTell me, Cort\u00e1zar\u2026are you familiar with the ancient Japanese art of kintsugi?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMy genetics are too bad to know about smart stuff.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJust as I suspected. Kintsugi is the philosophy that when something is broken, it’s fucked forever and it sucks shit and everyone hates it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI heard about that one.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re smiling.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s great because your mouth makes every impression you do the retard version of that person.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ll make you the retard version of you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cToo late.\u201d Lazur watches colors flash across the scarred face. \u201cWhat are you watching?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLet\u2019s plays. This one is, uh. Suzuki Bakuhatsu. Never got translated. It\u2019s about a normal, cute girl. Just living her life. And bombs appear in everyday objects. You\u2019re literally the protagonist of this game.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWow.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

*<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur says, \u201cWhat\u2019s your favorite game?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBomberman. Don\u2019t laugh. Stop fucking laughing. I\u2019ll kill you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

*<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBomberman 64. Good multiplayer, good minigames, good music. Did you play Super Bomberman 5? The evil guy, Terrorin, his face is a CLOCK.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

THE DEMONIC HAND OF EMPEROR TERRORIN HAD DRAWN NEAR THE PEACEFUL BOMBER WORLD<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

PEACEFUL BOMBER WORLD. Let that soak in\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSounds very peaceful.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a utopia!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

*<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLook. The original Bomberman. He was just some robot forced to make bombs. He was a slave. A bomb slave.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Hold on. I\u2019m reading the wiki. Shut up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The European home computer versions were released as Eric and the Floaters to avoid any association with a series of terrorist bombings carried out by the Irish Republican Army during The Troubles.[12]<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I bought a NES from a pawn shop with my allowance. Set it up in the basement, surrounded by my mom\u2019s antiques, all these old flammable things, I could see the combustion potential of everything I looked at. And I would play Bomberman. I still have the manual. See?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon holds up the OPERATION MANUAL, and loose pages fall out. He kneels over them, squinting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThank you! You have just made a perfect choice by selecting and purchasing the quality Hudson Soft product! Ummmm. Warning! Warning! Warning! Avoid hard shocks. Soiled connectors can cause system breakdown.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

*<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Bomberman is a robot engaged in the production of bombs. Like his fellow robots, he had been put to work in an underground compound by evil forces. Bomberman found it to be an unbearably dreary existence. One day, he heard an encouraging rumor. According to the rumor, any robot that could escape the underground compound and make it to the surface could become human. Bomberman leaped at the opportunity, but escape proved to be no small task. Alerted to Bomberman’s betrayal, large numbers of the enemy set out in pursuit. Bomberman can rely only on bombs of his own production for his defense. Will he ever make it up to the surface? Once there, will he really become human?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

*<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTry to use recorded secret codes to restore a game. Hmmmm. Do all character input carefully, because a single error will make it necessary to start over from the beginning. Are you getting this, Laz?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYessir.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI need another pet name for you, now that we\u2019re such great friends. Maybe something like Idiot Fuck Carcass.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI was just about to say.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon goes back to reading the manual. \u201cDuring the course of a game, players may discover new technics, hidden characters, and other features not covered in this manual. These are part of the challenge of this game and it\u2019s up to the player to work them out. Good, uh\u2014look what it says here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Good- Luck !<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIsn\u2019t that special? I can\u2019t play anymore because of my fingers. But if you beat it. Which I did. You get an ending screen, and it says\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Congratulations.
You have succeeded in helping bomberman to become a human being<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Laying in the dark. Night through the window. Light through the tablet. A siren grows and fades. A boy falling asleep in a puddle of pages.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMaybe you could play it for me sometime.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur holds up his hand, displaying five intact fingers. \u201cOkay.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

*<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s going to be a beautiful day. The nerve agent in Lazur\u2019s brain tells him so.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dawn. Parking lot of XGILEAD. The sun has not yet hit the windshields. All is visible, yet cool and serene, without volatile optic effects.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He enters the structure. He carries a milk tea, 100% sweetness. He greets the receptionist (who just came back from maternity leave), and nods to a colleague who once gave him a jumper cable boost.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Why was he ever afraid of elevators? A microcosm of life, traveling in the steel chamber of your ego. There are lonely times when you see nothing outside yourself, only your reflection on the glass ceiling, waiting for a number to go up. Then the protective steel slides open and new people come inside. Some stay for a brief time. Others are going all the way up to the top. We\u2019re all brought together, despite our differences. Just humans trying to get by.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In this compact space, small acts of personality become visible. Nail polish in a non-neutral color, an aggressive cologne, or like him, hair a little longer than regulation. It’s all so beautiful and human and everyone is doing their best.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He enters Greenwich\u2019s room and gives her a black tea, zero sweetness. They talk. Tomorrow, her statement will be recorded, and become a legal document. Her voice is still raspy. It will be good for the recording, and play well if it comes to trial.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He will argue that immediate detention is necessary, to keep military secrets from being sold to other nations. Calendula will be arrested. And Lazur will win.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

*<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Driving home through a stretch of trees.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His phone vibrates. \u201cRubi.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow\u2019d you guess?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI can hear the saliva hitting the receiver.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHehghghgj. Yeah. Sorry about that. Wow. It\u2019s my friend Laz. My special friend. My special male friend.\u201d His voice has a morphine slur.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m driving.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s okay, Laz. You don\u2019t have to be sad anymore. Everything is going to be okay.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ll call you when I get home\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe\u2019s dead. So it doesn\u2019t matter anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“What are you talking about?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCal told me. She\u2019s dead. So there\u2019s no evidence. You\u2019re not a threat.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The lines of the road disappear under the car. Clouds travel through bits of glass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJust leave it alone\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tires screech as Lazur turns around, pedal crushed to the floor.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

There is a minefield in Golan Heights. A pack of wolves lives among them, too light to trigger the sensors. If they leave the minefield, they will be shot. If the mines are removed, their ecosystem will be destroyed. And they will be shot. Your paw on my sensor. Lithe, watchful. Just delicate enough to […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_mi_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[57],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3025","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-cunt-toward-enemy"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/xrafstar.monster\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3025","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/xrafstar.monster\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/xrafstar.monster\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xrafstar.monster\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xrafstar.monster\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3025"}],"version-history":[{"count":26,"href":"https:\/\/xrafstar.monster\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3025\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5171,"href":"https:\/\/xrafstar.monster\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3025\/revisions\/5171"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/xrafstar.monster\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3025"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xrafstar.monster\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3025"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xrafstar.monster\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3025"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}