Promoting the leftist value of not supporting Nazis or their businesses
2025.01.22 05:06 PUNd_it Promoting the leftist value of not supporting Nazis or their businesses
 | It's hard to see how the users of liberalgunowners requesting that we not be subjected to accidentally supporting Elon Musk via hosting links to his platform for hate, could be construed as anything other than leftist/progressive politics. Mods, please reconsider your oversight of the discussion - and maybe also consider prompting users to provide a screenshot rather than a link to X/Twittea nazi-owned website. submitted by PUNd_it to liberalgunowners [link] [comments] |
2025.01.22 05:06 altigra3 Avis Car Rental Discount Code for January 2025
Click the link for Avis Car Rental Discount Code for January 2025. Save some money by selecting one of the current promo codes or coupons on that page. That page is updated regularly with the latest coupons, promo codes, and deals. Take advantage of the discounts by selecting one to use.
submitted by altigra3 to ZapSupport [link] [comments]
2025.01.22 05:06 mantelopes- female torso anatomy
 | Trying to learn to sculpt the torso. I’m finding sculpting the female form more difficult than male, any input is appreciated. submitted by mantelopes- to ArtCrit [link] [comments] |
2025.01.22 05:06 RoyalFleetCaptain I just can’t seem to let go of this old thing…
 | JAVELIN Æ-7 submitted by RoyalFleetCaptain to NoMansSkyTheGame [link] [comments] |
2025.01.22 05:06 drewthectew Horror show/movie
So this is my first time here I'm they to figure out this movie/tv show. all I remember is that this guy entered one of those cookie cutter home he was investgating it.it when he was in the kitchen.it was a open floor plan in the living room this mass of blackness started screeching like a pig and the guy ran to the bathroom upstairs. and there this other one where 2 girls are in a similar possibly same house. then they saw like this ghost lady in white ran out to the street then the ghost was standing in the 2nd story window. and there was this other thing. was it was this girl and 2 guys. the guys when in to the kitchen to make food then out of nowhere the girl was being pushed into the wall and one of the guys into the cabinet.that all I remember please help if you can.
submitted by drewthectew to RBI [link] [comments]
2025.01.22 05:06 Prestigious_Tie_767 “Teeth”
It was supposed to be a quiet night. The kind of night where the station’s heater hummed louder than the radio, and the snowstorm outside made you wish you’d stayed home. I was the last one in the office, drowning in paperwork and trying not to think about the blizzard still raging outside.
I was the last one in the office, boots propped on the desk, and my mind already halfway to bed. Then my radio crackled to life, cutting through the monotony.
“Deputy needed, suspicious activity reported at [redacted]. Caller disconnected before providing details.”
The address was instantly familiar. Everybody in town knew about the house. The older kids dared each other to sneak onto the property, snapping grainy photos to prove they’d been there. Tourists, thrill-seekers, and amateur ghost hunters visited during the summer, ignoring the warnings about trespassing.
It was the site of one of Nebraska’s strangest unsolved mysteries. Back in 1981, the family who lived there—a mother, father, and their five kids—vanished. No note, no signs of struggle, nothing. They went to bed one night and simply disappeared. Investigators combed the property for weeks, even dredging the nearby pond, but there were no bodies, no leads, not even a solid theory. Just a quiet house, a half-eaten dinner, and a mystery that was never solved.
It sounded ridiculous, like something from a true-crime podcast I’d listen to while folding laundry.
Still, I grabbed the mic, pushing the ridiculous theories out of my mind. “Deputy Sloane responding. On my way.”
The drive out to the property was brutal. The storm had turned the roads into glass, and I could barely see through the thick veil of snow. The headlights illuminated nothing but endless white and the occasional shadow of a tree. As the miles dragged on, the surroundings grew more desolate. The sparse homes gave way to fields and forest, untouched and eerie under the weight of snow.
When I finally arrived, the house loomed in the distance like a rotting corpse. Its roof sagged under years of disrepair, and the windows were boarded up or shattered. The porch leaned precariously, as though the whole structure was ready to collapse under its own weight. Even through the haze of snow, I could see the front door swaying in the wind, slightly ajar.
I found myself gripping the wheel so tight my knuckles ached.
Stepping out of the cruiser, I was hit by a blast of icy wind. My flashlight cut through the dark. I noticed footprints leading to the house—large, uneven prints, almost like they were dragging something.
“Sheriff’s Department!” I called, “Anybody here?” I added.
No answer. Just the relentless wind.
The front door was ajar, creaking faintly in the wind. I climbed the sagging porch stairs and pushed the ajar door wide-open with my boot.
Inside, the house was colder than outside, and the smell hit me immediately—something sweet, rotting, and metallic. My flashlight swept over the entryway, revealing carnival-themed decor: peeling wallpaper with clown faces, strings of dusty, multicolored lights, and shattered porcelain masks littering the floor.
The rug in the center of the room was soaked in something dark and sticky. Upon closer inspection, I saw them: teeth. Human teeth, scattered across the rug like forgotten crumbs, glinting like tiny pearls.
My stomach turned.
I felt a wave of nausea rise in my throat. This wasn’t just a prank call.
My gut told me to leave, but protocol dictated otherwise. I had to clear the house.
Steeling myself, I retreated to the cruiser to grab the shotgun from the trunk. Protocol be damned—I wasn’t going back into that house unarmed.
With the shotgun in one hand and the flashlight attached underneath the barrel, I re-entered the house. The house was silent as I reentered, except for the faint creak of the floorboards under my boots. Every room I cleared was more grotesque than the last. The dining room had a long table set for a feast, the plates piled with rotting food and garnished with teeth.
The deeper I went, the more surreal it became. The peeling wallpaper wasn’t just old; it was carnival-themed, the faded designs depicting jesters, clowns, and painted smiles that seemed to leer at me in the darkness.
The smell of blood was everywhere now, clinging to the walls and furniture. The kitchen was worse—a rickety table piled with rotting food and carnival tickets, spilling onto the floor like confetti.
I heard footsteps outside, faint but deliberate, crunching in the snow. My heart pounded as I moved to a window, but the swirling storm made it impossible to see.
I tried to focus, to convince myself that there was a logical explanation. Maybe it was some deranged squatter, someone obsessed with the family who had disappeared decades ago. The theory was grim but plausible—someone who’d broken in and staged the house to keep the legend alive.
The thought made my skin crawl, but I dismissed it as my imagination running wild. Too many late-night podcasts, I told myself.
As I cleared the downstairs bathroom, A sound upstairs snapped me out of my thoughts— I heard it—footsteps upstairs. Slow, deliberate, and heavy, as if someone was pacing directly above me.
I froze, listening as the steps moved closer to the top of the stairs. My flashlight cut through the dark as I stepped into the main hall, my shotgun steady in my grip. My breath fogged the air, and I could feel the cold sweat on my back.
The wooden steps were coated in dust, but fresh tracks marred the surface, leading up into the darkness.
Each step groaned under my weight as I climbed, the shotgun trained ahead. At the top of the stairs, the hallway was lined with portraits of masked figures, their faces grotesquely human yet wrong. The floor was scattered with broken glass and carnival tickets, as if someone had staged a masquerade ball in hell.
The primary bedroom door was open.
In the primary bedroom, the flashlight revealed the bed soaked in blood, Teeth were scattered across the mattress and pillows, glinting like tiny bones.
A shadow shifted in the corner.
A figure emerged from the shadows, hunched and monstrous. It wore a rabbit mascot costume, the fur filthy and matted with dried blood. Its clown-like face was distorted, the grin too real, the jagged teeth too large. The eyes followed me as I moved, glinting like they were alive.
In its hand was a massive stake knife, the blade glinting in the dim light.
"Don’t move!" I shouted, leveling my shotgun, my voice shaking.
It didn’t obey. The thing didn’t just move—it flickered. Its movements were jerky and unnatural, like a stuttering film reel; as if it skipped between frames of reality. One moment it was at the window, the next it was inches from me.
I fired the shotgun, the blast tearing through its chest. It stumbled but didn’t stop. Instead, it let out a piercing shriek, its grin stretching impossibly wider. Its high-pitched shriek echoed in my ears as I stumbled backward.
It slammed me against the wall with inhuman strength, the impact loosening my pistol in its holster. Before I could react, the knife flashed, slicing deep across my stomach. I gasped as pain shot through me, warm blood soaking my uniform.
The creature leaned in, its hand reaching toward the wound as if it wanted to dig inside. My fingers scrambled for the loose pistol, and I fired.
The shots hit it square in the chest, sending it stumbling back with an unnatural screech. But it didn’t stop. I fired again and again.
The impact from the fall jarring the shotgun from my grip. My hand screamed in pain as its knife sliced deep into my palm. With my free hand, I yanked the knife out, ignoring the blinding pain. I slashed at the creature’s neck, the blade sinking into something fleshy and wet. It screamed, a sound so piercing it felt like it could split my skull.
Pain exploded through me, but adrenaline kept me moving.
Somehow, I managed to crawl towards my shotgun as I struggled to catch my breath, at the bottom of the stairs
The creature’s head twisted at an impossible angle, its teeth slamming together with a sickening crunch. That’s when I realized the truth. It wasn’t a costume. The "fabric" of its body pulsed and shifted, its teeth breaking through the seams of its face.
Scrambling to my feet, I bolted for the door, ignoring the searing pain in my hand.
I didn’t even notice the black envelope on the passenger seat. Not until days later, when I was discharged from the hospital.
My supervisor handed it to me with a puzzled look. "This was in your car," he said, oblivious to the ordeal I hadn’t reported.
I hadn’t seen it earlier. My heart sank as I opened it, revealing a single note in neat handwriting:
“You should always check the backseat.”
I quit the next day, but I’m sharing this to warn anyone near Nebraska. If you ever hear about the Landon Family estate, stay away.
Looking back, the worst part wasn’t the mascot or the house. It was realizing that every step I took inside had been carefully orchestrated. The masquerade details, the teeth, the blood—it wasn’t random. Something had led me through that house, guiding me like a puppet on strings.
The house at [redacted] is real. The thing inside it is real.
And whatever left that note in my cruiser… it’s still out there.
If you’re ever near Nebraska, don’t stop. Don’t go near the house.
And for the love of God, always check the backseat.
submitted by Prestigious_Tie_767 to TheDarkGathering [link] [comments]
2025.01.22 05:06 That_Darn_Firebird Snow
 | It’s snowing where I am rn, and it’s kind of rare to get snow here, so I had to decorate to commemorate it. …It would be a lot nicer if the power hadn’t gone out. Thank goodness for the line crews, but until they get to us my cats and I aren’t thrilled. submitted by That_Darn_Firebird to ACPocketCamp [link] [comments] |
2025.01.22 05:06 Various-Health-2837 Space Jam 1996 Or Space Jam: A New Legacy 2021.
 | Space jam 1-2 submitted by Various-Health-2837 to looneytunes [link] [comments] |
2025.01.22 05:06 No_Scarcity_4821 No doubt
Listening to Rihanna and no doubt and daft punk. I’m so close but so far and I’m drunk and stalked your Spotify and see you have a lady now. Give me a paper ring and I’m yours forever (I’ve dreamed this dream before) I’ve said I loved you before and it still holds true.
S
submitted by No_Scarcity_4821 to UnsentLetters [link] [comments]
2025.01.22 05:06 12eeeTwenty2iiii I know how sunny will achieve supremacy (spoiler alert)
It's pretty simple by imposing his "will" upon the the shadows of living creatures and also the archer.
submitted by 12eeeTwenty2iiii to ShadowSlave [link] [comments]
2025.01.22 05:06 Scuzzy1205 Your Favorite Character/s From An Adult Cartoon
 | submitted by Scuzzy1205 to FavoriteCharacter [link] [comments] |
2025.01.22 05:06 ajju20042004 Understanding Sutherland's Differential Association Theory of Crime
 | submitted by ajju20042004 to UnitedAssociation [link] [comments] |
2025.01.22 05:06 TheGardenCookie Does/has anyone used GloBird as an energy provider?
Looking for opinions on GloBird as a provider for gas and/or electricity. The energy comparison site chucked them up as the most cost effective for gas, and equal best for elec for me after giving a years worth of bill usage data. Secondly, if you use them and like them and want to throw the $50 friend referral code this way I'd be super grateful, plus you'll get $50 too Actually, if you care to, put up any and all energy provider referral codes. Then maybe anyone looking to change can benefit. (My current provide AGL don't offer a code - sorry).
submitted by TheGardenCookie to newcastle [link] [comments]
2025.01.22 05:06 erenfrombackthen I have no idea what I'm doing in life. I feel so stuck. I'm loosing my mind
I'm 20, soon to be 21. I know nothing. I don't know whats out there, how to find where I'm going. I wasn't set up for life, I am autistic and was in a specialized school all my life then just sent out into the world with barely any support. I tried college, but I had never been in such a large class and had so much expectations that I ended up dropping out in a month. At home, my parents always told me that I didn't have to do anything because as a kid I had oppositional defiant disorder. I also have fibromyalgia, a herniated disk, degenerative disk disease, and chronic headaches. I feel like I'm broken.
I have no idea what I'm doing with my life. I was not set up for this stuff. I have no life skills. I have my own place paid for by my mom, I'm employed by my mom, my mom pays for all my shit. I had my own job but I burnt out and quit because management was putting everything on me.
I dont know what jobs I CAN do. Like I dont know what jobs are out there for me, but I also don't know what jobs I can mentally and physically do. I am so bad at everything. I fail all the time and I dont know what to do. I put in so much effort and get minimal results. I feel like I use up all my energy just waking up. I can barely keep my house not a cluttered mess because I'm so tired and anxious. I want to clean but I get frozen with anxiety. I want to do anything but I'm frozen by anxiety. I also have depression and it tends to get really bad if I am in a situation that I don't feel comfortable in. I'm currently going through it because I hate my current job. I feel stuck and I'm just so depressed and anxious.
I am in a relationship with a wonderful man, but he is neurotypical. He doesn't understand that I'm struggling with more than just trying to find a career. I need to find something that I can actually do. There isn't many things. He keeps bringing it up and I dont know how to tell him that him bringing it up over and over makes me freeze with anxiety. Lately, I literally can't talk. If the topic comes up I get so anxious and overwhelmed that I cant even talk about it half the time. And its getting worse and worse and I dont know what to do. I am trying but I also have no supports. My mom is supporting me financially, but she isn't at all a type of mom I can ask for help. She is very hands off otherwise. I'm just so confused. I'm so confused and so frustrated.
submitted by erenfrombackthen to autism [link] [comments]
2025.01.22 05:06 ClassScary2902 E book writing guide?
Hello everyone, I'm writing an book myself on IT my book covers windows fundamentals for cybersecurity. I'm wondering if I'm doing it right, I'm using Canva to create my e book on my phone. What are the tools usually used by authors to write books? Do let me know, Ty
submitted by ClassScary2902 to selfpublish [link] [comments]
2025.01.22 05:06 Hacksaw6412 Disco Elysium: Elon Musk edition
 | submitted by Hacksaw6412 to SocialistGaming [link] [comments] |
2025.01.22 05:06 GodsGiftToNothing For Sale Autographed FOB drumstick, signed by FOB, Spitalfield, and Mike Kinsella from 2003 Show
 | I’m selling my autographed Fall Out Boy drumstick, given to me by Andy, from their 2003 tour. I saw them with my little sister at Fat Tuesday’s in Spokane Washington. We were the only two there for the entire show, and it maxed out at 4 people, which was a shame, as both bands were really good. It is signed by all of Fall Out Boy, Spitalfield, and Mike Kinsella (who was drumming for Spitalfield at the time). The drumstick is an apparently pretty rare item, as it was before the band was famous, signed by everyone, and is considered (according to an appraiser) a rare and valuable piece of music memorabilia. It was a great show, and the bands were lovely, and honestly, I wish I didn’t have to sell this (I have a mass on my pancreas, and need the money for surgery). I’m asking 1200USD for it, as that was what it was appraised at. If anyone wants to buy, please let me know, and we can set it up so both of us are safe. As an aside, my sister and I drove two hours to see them, and felt so bad no one was there, that we bought all of their merch both bands were selling, so they’d be able to get gas and food. Joe was extremely sweet, and loved my Bright Eyes shirt. We chatted with him, and warned the band about the problem with Neo Nazi’s in Idaho (I’m Ashkenazi Ukrainian, and having been the survivor of hate crimes, and didn’t want them to get hurt). They all seemed kind of befuddled as to why we’d want autographs, but as we’d just lost our Dad to brain cancer, we really wanted to hold on to memories, as our Dad lost all of his due to the sheer size of his tumor. They were really kind and sweet about it. I hope if someone buys this, they treasure it as much as I have. I lost almost everything due to a house fire, and my baby sister died, so selling this is hard. I just really wanted to see it in a good home, where it is loved, and new memories will be made with it. Also, sorry for not having perfect pics. I have tremor due to my neurodegenerative disease, so I’m not the world’s greatest photographer. If no one is interested, if you know someone who is, please let me know. submitted by GodsGiftToNothing to FallOutBoy [link] [comments] |
2025.01.22 05:06 Disastrous_Ad7477 What anime charecters had NO REASON to be as much of a crash out as they were
 | Isabel and Light had NO tragic backstory what so ever and had almost only hate in their hearts submitted by Disastrous_Ad7477 to animequestions [link] [comments] |
2025.01.22 05:06 Porygon_fan_87 “It was his skin”
 | This thing doesn’t have a name yet, I’ll have to think of one submitted by Porygon_fan_87 to danno_oclore [link] [comments] |
2025.01.22 05:06 Lakeel100 The Ballad of Orange Tobby - Chapter 4
The Ballad of Orange Tobby - Chapter 4 -By Lakeel [Prev] [first] [[Next]]()
‘What have I gotten myself into? Why Me? Why did I take the first job offered to me by a mad monkey xeno of all people? I’m a college graduate, for patron’s sake! Sure a bachelor's in Shasian history wasn't the most employable profession right now, but I’m not to blame for that. I could have been working at a museum, or with the Zarmian Archeologists, or been a history teacher!’
All the thoughts passed through the mind of Tobreal as he lay there, face down in the grass. His everything hurt… Mainly his legs and sides, but everything else ached too. He’d gotten whatever Noah gave him out of his system, but there was a crash in its wake. He’d check how long he’d been out, but that would require moving, and so far lethargy was winning. At least it was quiet out here. He just had to think that...
His ears flicked up as they detected a disturbance. The mechanical ‘putputput’ of a small chemical engine growing closer with the occasional rev. “Nohohohooo… I don't wanna get uuuup.” He whined into the grass, as if it might care about his plight.
It did not.
“Oi, Tobes! You alive, man?” The familiar voice of Noah yelled getting closer in time with the motor’s revving. “Cmooon man, say you’re alive. You’ve any idea how awkward it’ll be if I gotta drag your corpse back to your mom? She’d kill me. Hell, I'd kill me!”
Tobby groaned louder and with great effort, he made his tail swish in the air like the world’s saddest orange flag. And within moments Noah and the mystery vehicle…Which at quick glance revealed to be a scuffed-up bike of sorts, parked next to his limp form.
“There you are~” Noah exhaled in relief letting his shoulders go slack as he rolled his neck, making a few pops. “You good?”
“No, I am not good...” Tobby groaned muffled by the ground.
“Oh… you want some waaaater?” He suggested and Tobby could almost hear the sheepish smile.
Tobby made a slightly different groan in response.
“Bet yer not tired anymore, huh?” Aaand now he was talking to him like a 5-year-old that just crashed after a sugar rush.
“Don't patronize me…” Tobby groaned louder, finally forming words.
“Get a good nap in? It’s been about three hours.”
“Shut uuuup..” Tobby whined louder, ears laid flat on his head as his fists gripped and weakly pulled at the tall grass.
Noah paused, and according to the current track record that was never good, what was he thinking? “Hey Tobbs, you said Night-kin were the pitch-black ink-of-the-void ones right?”
“Hmm…?” An ear perked back up.
“Cause I spotted a few on a dirt road earlier, and I think that's them coming this way. With guns.”
Tobby sat up in an instant, his head on a swivel looking all around, wide-eyed and alert. “Where?!”
“There you are~” Noah smiled before pushing a canteen into the unsuspecting feline's hands. “You’re definitely dehydrated after that caffeine-fueled marathon. Drink the water or so help me I will IV it into you.” He oh so casually threatened.
Tobby blinked, looking at the canteen and then his surroundings once more. There weren't night kin at all! He’d been duped! “Seriously?” He growled a bit. “I confide in you my deep and highly personal issues with night-kin and not only do you stick me in a truck with one, but you say some are coming to kill me! Just to make me get up?!”
“I never said they were coming to kill you, you just assumed that Mr ‘knows better’.” He pointed out, resting his head in his hands with elbows on the handlebars. “And if you’re done making an ‘ass’ of ‘u’ and ‘me’ I’d also like to point out I only had your best intentions in mind when I paired you with Soapy. Figured you’d get tired of being scared after a few hours and would just start talking to her or something. Anything.” he shrugged.
Tobby glared and sat there in the grass, reluctantly starting to drink. “She threatened to leave me in the woods to be violated by the local inbred hicks…”
Noah raised a brow. “Did she bother to tell you that literally no-one lives in that little forest? It’s a national park. Why do you think we use it as the exchange point? The most technologically advanced thing out there is the pavement.”
Tobby blinked…And then facepalmed. “No…”
“Wow, you literally believe everything people tell you don’tcha?”
“N-no!” His ears flicked.
“Ehh, far be it from me to judge the level of faith one has in his fellow man… or in this case cat. Speaking of..” he nodded to the wagon hitched to the back of the bike. “You left before I could give you your hazard pay.”
Tobby tilted his head in confusion. “I get hazard pay?”
“Well sure! You were locked in a truck with a big scary, back-stabbing throat-clawing night-kin weren't you?”
Tobby squinted. “You think you’re hilarious don't you?”
“No seriously, just work with me here. This benefits you just as much as it benefits me.” He started to explain as he hopped off his bike and started unpacking the wagon's contents.
“I have never been more skeptical.” Tobby squinted harder. What was Noah planning this time?
“Skeptical? Of me? Why, Tobbs, I’m hurt. Mortally even, oh the pain! The pain of being judged by one’s peers!” He held his chest dramatically feigning injury again. Seeing that Tobby wasn't amused, however, he dropped the little act with a huff. “Yer killin’ me here.”
“And I’m still upset.” Tobby folded his arms, watching.
Several minutes later some fold-out tables were arranged in a line, and lids to the crates popped open. “Now believe it or not Tobbs, I am capable of being serious when I need to be.”
“That's the most shocking thing I’ve heard all day…”
“Wow, you are a sassy bitch when you’re cranky.” Noah commented but continued his previous sentence without missing a beat. “And, as a professional, I know this type of business can get dangerous. You’ve been working for me long enough that I doubt you’re going to flake any time soon. And I like to make sure those under my employ aren’t sitting ducks should crap hit the fan.”
Tobby slowly raised a hand. “What’s a duck?... And who’s throwing feces into a fan?” It sounded awful, and he could only assume the duck was involved somehow.
“Not important, and potentially our competition,” Noah answered while digging around through the crates, pulling out various firearms to lay on the tables.
Tobby perked up seeing the weapons. This was the 2nd time he thought ‘I’m about to be murdered’ in less than a day, it clearly couldn't be good for his health.
“Running the grey-market circuit between here and earth-space may be the most kumbaya work I've ever done, but that's only ‘cause demand currently outstrips everyone's supply. It’s a highly profitable and semi-legal market with literally no competition short of fighting over suppliers. A money printer, limited only by the number of ships willing to make the trip.”
Tobby nodded along and wondered where this was going.
On each of the kinetic weapons Noah laid out, he made sure they were loaded and racked while lining them up. “And I have a feeling, a hunch, an itch if you will... that nothing this easy lasts forever. Someone, somewhere, at some point, is going to decide they want to mess with it, and then the gig is fucked forever, for everyone.”
Tobby’s gaze followed Noah as he walked out past the tables to the rusted skeleton of a car half-buried in the grass. It looked good decade or five old by the degradation and now Noah was stacking cans on it.
“Everyone in the business knows I only deal with the Wiskitos. They're good to me, so nobody bothers harassing me into supplying them instead. I can just bounce and never come back if they try, unlike you.” He gestures at Tobby with the can before precariously stacking it atop a can pyramid.
One of Tobby’s ears and brows went down as he tried to process the mounting implications Noah was lining up for him before the earshot back up when it clicked. “I’m the supplier in danger of being harassed?”
“Yep! You actually live here. And let's be honest, even I’d mug you.”
Now Tobby just felt insulted, even if it was true. “I’m sure that's a compliment in some cultures…”
“Somewhere probably, but seriously. If anyone desperate figures out you’re in the business, they’ll know how you get paid, and they’ll want to jump you for everything you’re carrying.”
“Well that’s concerning…” Tobby didn't want to get mugged! He just wanted to pay rent! Was that so much to ask?!
“Which Is why I’ve laid out this lead buffet for you today. Might I recommend the pork? It’s rather fine this time of year.” He gestured in a sweeping motion to the folding tables lined with guns, sorted from smallest to largest. “Yes, I workshopped this… ”
These were for him?! “I..I don't think I can kill anyone..” The idea made Tobby shudder. He could barely bring his claws out to defend himself, much less kill a sha if he had to.
Noah rolled his eyes and gave an amused smirk of understanding. “And I’m not asking you to, I'm asking you to carry around an expensive ‘human’ gun so people think you're dangerous and/or connected enough to not mess with. It’s the promise of death, not the delivery.” he nods sagely, folding his arms. “Don’t take this the wrong way but you are the last person I’d hire to rub someone out.”
“Please tell me ‘rub someone out’ means to kill them and isn't some kind of innuendo…”
“It's both. Seriously I thought you’d know that one given the whole 2220’s vibe you guys got going on ‘round here.” Noah said, before rolling his neck and pulling his own piece from under his floral shirt, laying it at the far end of the table next to what Tobby thought was a heavy machine gun of some kind. “Economic disaster, organized crime is king, y’all love swing music, and..” He paused to look Tobby over. “Suspenders… suspenders for days.”
Tobby looked down, arms lifted, at the suspenders his mom made for him before looking back, offended on behalf of his whole species. “They’re comfortable and they look nice! We tried those weird belt things you humans use centuries ago and they don't exactly cooperate with tails.” He fwipped his own for emphasis.
“I know, I know, trust me as a connoisseur of anthro physiology, I know,” he stated before offering a hand to help Tobby up.
Tobby took the hand in a moment of cinematic gold as he pulled himself up and looked over the table. “This is a lot of guns though…”
“Yep! It’s my one-of-everything collection. I usually use it for display purposes but a lucky one of ‘em is going home with a new owner.” he leans closer “That’s you by the way.”
“You sure? You just said they were expensive and I told you I wouldn't use it..” He thought that point came across pretty clear.
“And I pray to God that people like you don't have to. You’re too nice, and have a fully functional conscience, unlike me. I don’t want you going on a murderous rampage, I just want my latest, greatest, and only employee to… ya know… not die!” He gesticulated with a new pistol in his hand. In addition, just to accentuate his statement, he offhandedly fired a round into one of the stacked cans without looking.
Tobby however flinched down and held his ears flat to his head as they rang from the gunshot. “Owowowowowwww! My ears!! WHY?!”
Noah continued his little speech for a moment making all kinds of mimed ‘shooting someone’ gestures, but Tobby couldn’t understand a single word.
“Whaaat?!” Tobby yelled in that way only a suddenly deaf person could yell.
Noah looked back confused for a moment before he facepalmed and said something else. It all sounded incredibly muffled as the ringing slowly receded. Though Tobby could guess it was something along the lines of ‘Oh not again!’
“I can’t understand what you're saying! You messed up my ears! Again, I might add!” Tobby had no idea what volume he was using but could at least tell he was audible.
Still, he saw Noah dig around the surprisingly large number of pockets lining the inside of his floral shirt before pulling out a pair of small black studs. Tobby’s eyes followed the human's hands as he kept gesturing between the studs and his ears before trying to hand them to Tobby.
The ringing faded until the only thing muffling Noah's voice was the literal large ears being held closed. Hesitantly, Tobby let go of his ears.
“Can you hear me now?” Noah asked as Tobby’s ears tried to flick the last of the pain away.
“Yes, unfortunately..” Tobby replied, still rubbing his ears. “I think I have hearing damage…”
“Hmm..nah~ You'd be deaf if it was anything permanent. But first, put these on.” he handed over the little devices.
“Are these going to blow out my ears too?” Tobby squinted, rapidly losing trust in the objects Noah just handed him.
“Opposite, these little beauties are the pinnacle of noise cancellation. Tap them on your ears and when they get hit by a sound above a certain decibel, they emit an equal and opposite sound to try and cancel it out.”
“Okay, that sounds super useful. Why didn’t you give me those before you fired the gun?!” Tobby raised his voice intentionally this time, still wanting to hold his ears.
“I forgot okay,” he shrugged apologetically. “Now get ‘em on so we can get to chapter 1 of my patent-pending Self-improvement program.”
Tobby paused, though not really shocked anymore after how his day had gone so far. “Your what now?”
“My patent pending self-help program, guaranteed to make you more confident or your money back.”
“But aren't you doing this for free?”
“Not important! What is important is that we dive face first into chapter 1: Power,” he says clenching a fist in the air with a momentary sadistic grin, which vanished back into his usual nonchalantness just as fast as it appeared.
“I’m pretty sure almost every culture in the galaxy has entire film genres about how violence doesn't equal power…”
“And they are correct for the most part. But I’m here to teach you MY interpretation of power,” he nodded, “Having the means to destroy right at your fingertips, and choosing not to. Influencing how others behave simply by them knowing what you’re capable of.”
“That first part sounds super easy. I already don't wanna kill anyone.” That went without saying right?
“You’d think so, but everyone thinks that before they gotta defend themselves. And I am very much a proponent of defending yourself.”
“So… you're a smuggler AND a killer?” Tobby asked with a brow raised in growing concern.
Noah gave him a reassuring pat. “Only people who deserved it.”
Tobby gently batted the hand away. “And why did they deserve it?..” The real question.
“They wanted to kill me or hurt people I know. In turn, they died from acute lead poisoning.”
“Only people who tried to kill you?” Tobby asked suspiciously…
Noah paused for a moment, and looked up into the sky, muttering to himself a bit like he was going down a mental list… a disturbingly long list. “Yeah, they all deserved it.”
And just like that Tobby had to wonder just how many of the local shootings on the news were caused by his new employer… “Please tell me you haven't been shooting up the neighborhood…”
“Only about 5…or 9 times. But honest to God, each of those was self-defense. Pretty sure even Soapy’s put a couple guys in the ground, if that makes you feel better.”
Tobby’s ears perked up at the mention of that particular night-kin shi. “Waiwaiwait, I've never seen her carry a gun.”
“Really… you really haven't seen it.” Noah folded his arms and leaned in raising a brow in doubt.
“No! I think I would notice she had more than one way to kill me.”
“So you didn't see the pistol she keeps tucked in the back of her pants, right above her dare I say,” both Noah’s hands came up with index fingers to his thumbs with all the rest extended, a human hand gesture for ‘just right’ or ‘zero’. “Perfectly proportioned ass.”
“No…I haven't noticed.” Tobby glared, doubtful. “Why would I look there? Ever?”
Noah's hands came back together, palm to palm and tilted them at Tobby, the ‘concerned prayer’ look, Tobby believed it was called. “Your radar is fucking broken my guy. And you don’t strike me as gay.”
“I’m not!” Defensive Tobby was defensive. He hoped to meet the right Shi one day… hopefully. With a great personality and similar interests and.. Won’t cheat on him with some jacked exotic with money and diamond-cutting abs. ‘Gods I need to stop watching soap operas...’ he thought.
“Didn’t say I cared if you were.” Noah nodded. “Now start down there at the far end with the pistols, take some shots to see how it feels, and work your way up. Keep doing that until you hit a gun you can’t comfortably lift. Then we move to step two.”
Tobby had the feeling he wasn't going to be able to get out of this, especially given he was in the middle of grassy nowhere. What was he going to do with a gun the instant someone didn't think he was intimidating enough? He killed a moon-moth a month ago for nibbling on his ear tufts and he still felt bad kinda about it! He couldn't imagine shooting another person...Okay he could easily imagine it, but he’d rather slap them with his unused claws so at least his attacker wouldn't die. Claws are why burglary and pickpocketing were far more popular than muggings; everyone can slash you if you tried.
Hesitantly he reached for the smallest of the pistols, it was barely bigger than his hand. It had a tiny amount of weight to it and the layout was pretty self-explanatory.
“Earpieces Tobby, earpieces.” Noah pointed out as he climbed up atop one of the empty crates and crossed his legs in a meditative pose.
“Oh, right,” Tobby quickly pressed the studs to his ears and they just… stuck? No clip, no pressure, just held onto the bottom of his tall ears like a sticker without the fur-pulling stick, neat!
Now that he wasn’t going to deafen himself he picked up the smallest gun again and elected to get this over with. ‘Just mimic how you’ve seen others use them. Kitten see kitten do.’ He thought to himself, raising the gun. Squeeze the trigger and-
Ping~
Admittedly, Tobby had expected to be rendered deaf again, or the gun flung out of his hands, or to become a victim of one of those, ‘gun recoil to the face’ videos. But when he opened his eyes…and ears.. He noted ‘A’ his face didn't hurt, ‘B’ his ears didn't hurt, and ‘C’ one of the cans was knocked over.
“Woo~ you hit it with the hold-out pistol.” Noah calmly cheered in the background. “Try the Neo-derringer next. Bigger gun, bigger caliber, expect a little more kick. Repeat ad nauseum”
Thus began the process. Gun by gun, shot by shot. All were deafened to great effect yet he could still hear them at varying volumes. These noise cancellers were great! They were all basically the same volume as you’d hear in games or movies. They weren’t 100% cancellation, which he guessed came with its own benefits.
Tobby tried out the guns one after another, to the point he developed a routine for each one he tried. Pick up a gun, raise/aim, fire, think about how it felt, and move on to the next one. He was able to get through most of the pistols just fine, until he got to the larger caliber ones. His hands hurt, his accuracy went through the floor, and the recoil was ridiculous.
The most recent one had Tobby nearly dropping the gun back on the table before stepping back shaking out and holding the hand that had previously held it. “Owowow!” The arm tingled from hand to elbow.
Noah was still atop in his meditative pose, opening one eye once Tobby looked up to him. “It would seem hand-cannons are not for you my young sapling, not yet anyways. Take a moment, shake out your hands, and take a whack at the longarms.”
“I…I’m not a tree?” Tobby felt the need to mention, confused after being called a plant.
Noah’s sagely expression broke for a moment just to look down at Tobby with that nonplussed look again. “It's a figure of speech dude, you’re killing the ‘Gun-Monk’ vibe I’m working on man.”
“Okay okay… Ardon save me.” Tobby muttered moving down the line, to the physically larger but smaller caliber guns.
Just like the pistols, he tried them out one by one, the variety of what the guns were capable of seemed to grow exponentially with size. Recalling what he learned about firearms from Shasian history and popular media he could identify a few of the types. Guns were a useful tool for the wars the old city-states fought over the remaining hunting grounds.
Compared to the rest of the galactic militaries, his people favored two extremes to counteract his species’ natural reflexes. One was spraying bullets, so one didn’t have to aim when their foe bolted for cover. The second was people hunting, killing the target before they could even use said reflexes, aka sniping. The middle grounds were always deemed too inefficient at killing one’s fellow feline compared to those two extremes.
Bows and slings ruled the savannah for all ten thousand years of the clay age. Wood, bone, and sinew arranged in every conceivable way to see what worked best. Then the snow-kin of all kin figured out metal, then the night-kin stole it from the snow-kin, the plains-kin raided the night-kin for it, the kinless scavenged it off dead plains-kin, and the sun-kin asked nicely for it, then retreated back to their plateaus. The same went for animal husbandry, crossbows, siege engines, and eventually guns. An infinite cycle of creation and ‘mostly’ violent redistribution. The whole system went sideways when the sun-kin figured out flight though…
Aaaaaand then Tobby picked up something he didn't recognize. “Uhh… Noah? How do you use this one?” Tobby asked, picking up a rather long one with a wide barrel and a foregrip that seemed to move.
At some point, Noah had acquired dark-tinted sunglasses that reflected the noon-ish sunlight. “That’s a shotgun, Tobby…” he said, having advanced from his meditative pose to being laid out on a flimsy cloth-and-frame chair atop the crates.
“Why would it be ‘shot’ if I haven’t fired it yet…?” He asked, head tilting and one ear going sideways. Maybe something was lost in translation?
Noah said nothing, his eyes hidden behind those dark glasses staring up at the sky.
“Noah…?"
And Noah took a deep breath. “Sorry Tobbs, I was in the middle of having a stroke..” He said, sounding so so so very disappointed.
“Are you…okay? Should I call for rescue or…” Tobby asked, concerned.
“No and no,” he said curtly before sitting up and raising the sunglasses. “That’s a shotgun, it comes in many flavors, but that one is a pump-shotty. You ‘pump’ the foregrip to load the shell into the chamber, thus the name.
“Shell like… Artillery shell?” Tobby questioned looking down at the gun again. It was a large barrel but he doubted it was anywhere big enough to be categorized as a ‘shell’.
Noah pursed his lip for a moment, processing for a moment before saying, “Fire it and find out.”
Hesitantly, Tobby tried it, At least he expected the recoil this time. ‘Expected’ is not the same as ‘prepared’ for when the orange feline fired it, the poor guy stumbled back and fell on his rear. Tobby wheezed down in the grass, “What was that…?”
“As I said, a shotgun. Great grandchild of the blunderbuss, or as I sometimes like to call it ‘the random bullshit cannon’.”
“My shoulder hurts…”
“Yeah, it tends to do that when you’re built like a razor handed slinky.”
Tobby raised a lone finger up in the air. “If I knew what a slinky was.. I’m sure I’d be offended,” he said before the arm fell limply back down.
“Need a break?” Noah asked, peering over the edge of his chair and crates.
Tobby pushed himself up and timidly put the gun back on the table. “I think I’m fine.. Just need something with less recoil?” he smiled sheepishly.
“Gotcha.” he said rolling and less than gracefully hopping down from his perch. “How bad do your arms hurt?”
“They’re kinda sore and my fingers won't stop tingling.. Why?”
“You’ve hit your limit, that's why.”
“What? It wasn't that heavy.”
“This isn't about the heaviest gun you can carry, it’s about what you can comfortably carry and use consistently.” He started to explain while taking one of the earlier longarms from the table, removing the magazine and a few other parts. “As cool as it would be to carry a retrofitted third-war slug thrower all the time, just cause you can, you’d get tired very quickly.”
Tobby looked down at his arms, flexing his fingers and trying to shake the tingle out of them. “Okay.. Makes sense. So..which one should I use?”
With a few twists and clicks of parts snapping together and a new magazine being loaded, Noah put the now rather modified gun in Toby's upturned arms. “This one.”
“What uh.. What did you do to it?”
“What I did was give you a custom order I normally charge out the ass for.” He says, stepping to Tobby’s side. “Because I feel like being ironic, this lead-hose is chambered in 45-ACP which is about as fat as pistols get without turning into a revolver.” his hand pointing to the individual parts as he listed them off. “Until you build up some muscle, you need something lightweight, easy to maintain, hard to break, and fights recoil at every possible step. Thus the SS-Special.”
“What do the ‘S’s stand for?” Tobby was kinda curious.
“This over-customized SMG is called the ‘SS-Special’ or ‘Triple-S’ cause it was the favorite loadout of newbie street sams back during Earth’s cyber age. Vented barrel and compensator for recoil, pistol rounds to save money and dodge suspicion, modeled after the AK platform to minimize moving parts and maintenance, and the option to swap between drum mags and belt-fed to satisfy that 600-RPM fire rate.
As fascinated as Tobby was…he did have one question. “Aaand… the stock made of wood because…?”
“Cause wood used to be fancy and expensive”
“Oh…” Tobby looked at the gun again and opened his mouth for another question.
“No, I am not going into a history lesson about Earth's various environmental disasters.”
Tobby silently closed his mouth. Opening it again as another question was about to surface.
“No the 600rpm isn't mandatory, there's a switch on the side for semi-auto and burst too. Yes, I am aware using pistol rounds to save money is contradictory to a gun that fires a couple thousand dollars a minute. No, I will not paint it for you. Yes, I will give you ammo for it.”
Tobby’s maw slowly closed again, opening a bit every time a question came to mind but closing it again because Noah already answered everything that came to mind. “I umm.. I-I don't think I can carry this in public…”
“Of course you can. You'll just get arrested! If you carried this thing around, people would think you were a sha-kai soldier out to off someone,” the sarcasm was real. “Nah, you keep it ‘nearby’ in the event you need it, not while you’re out daywalking. Like on your nightstand or the floor of the delivery truck, if you’re expecting trouble.”
“Then what was all that about having a gun blatantly on me so people don't jump me?”
“That's what the pistols are for. You handled those just fine, so just pick one you like.”
“You’re giving me two?” Toby blinked looking down the table at the pistols.
“Sure! I’m a super loveable and considerate employer, consider it your Christmas bonus.”
“What’s a Christmas...?”
“If you keep asking all these historical questions I’m gonna start paying you with answers..” Noah squinted from behind the glasses making it hard to tell if that was a joke or if he was annoyed.
As tempting as that was, the answers don't pay Tobby’s rent. So he dropped it and slid on over the pistol table remembering how each of them felt. All before he sheepishly reached for a.. less-than-practical choice. The pretty one…
Noah lowered his glasses to peer over the lenses with those judgemental blue eyes. “The gold inlaid, pearl-handled magnum? Really?”
“I uhh…” he looked around awkwardly trying to find a justification better than ‘he thought it was pretty’ “I thought you said it needed to be expensive looking…” Which was almost as bad.
Noah facepalmed. “By virtue of it being an imported gun, not so expensive it makes you come off as someone who thinks it looks expensive. I’d mug you for the gun!”
“Oh…” his ears flattened a bit. “Should I put it back or?...”
“No-no you keep it.” Noah pointed, “I want to see you justify to people why you have an iron that says ‘My daddy’s a pimp’.”
“But mom said my dad was a chemist…”
“Do you think Soapy would believe you?”
Near biological FTL stuck again as in a moment the pretty gun had been swapped with a less fancy version of the same model. He did not want to give that shi an excuse to be pissed at him! No way, no how!
“That’s what I thought.”
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