text:
To be honest, Real Person Fiction is not my forte. Except this needed to be written. Because a zombie apocalypse AU and PewdieCry give way to so many possibilities.
(Thanks, Pewds and Cry, for those zombie game co-ops. It does wonders for a girl's imagination.)
Title borrowed from Medic's Grace and Gravity.
Also, shoutout to suikalopolis for encouraging me to take on this project. She wanted one of these too.
"Friendship isn't about who you have known the longest. It's about who came and never left your side." – Anonymous
He turns and sees a zombie standing there.
Its skin is a sickly pale yellow which is on its way to rotting and there is dried blood coating its broken, misshapen nose. The poor man that this undead creature was before must have been killed recently, perhaps a few days ago, as the blood that bled out from the gaping hole in the middle of its back has stained the white striped business shirt it wears. It has not yet seen nor heard him come into the store of the abandoned gas station. It seems pretty occupied with banging its fists on a door which he is sure leads to where the storeroom is. He wonders whether the small, battered, blue Ford Fiesta parked outside used to be the dead man's car and whether he can fish the car keys out once he bashes it on the head until it is properly dead.
But now he needed to go into that storeroom. His supplies are running out. He needs more bandages, more medicine, more food to last for a few more days. To him, a storeroom is a gold mine. There are plenty of things to scavenge for and collect if he comes across one that has not yet been raided.
Silently, he adjusts his grip on the shovel he carries in his hands. He has other makeshift weapons that he has brought with him in his backpack but the shovel has been the most effective weapon against the undead and is therefore his favourite so far. The shovel's blade has seen its fair share of zombie decapitations and has saved his life so many times that he lost count. He eyes the wooden floor between them and considers the possibility of whether creeping up on the creature may not be a good idea if the floor panes are likely to creak. Zombies can't see or smell living things, he has learned a while ago. But they had hear you perfectly.
He considers throwing a random object to the other side of the room to distract the creature and draw it away from the storeroom door so that he could run inside but this plan is stopped when he thinks of the possibility that the door may be locked. Even if there is a second of hesitation, the rattling of a doorknob can drive the zombie's attention onto him and there is no way that he is going to take that risk. Which leaves one possible plan: to charge forward, shovel raised over his head, ready to strike the zombie down before it has a chance to turn around and attack him.
Cry quietly takes a deep breath and braces himself for the upcoming kill.
Three weeks ago
It begins on an ordinary day. Except he misses out on what happens during the morning and afternoon hours of his daily life. His 'day' usually starts in the evening and carries on into the late night and early hours of the morning where he spends most of his time recording and editing videos.
He doesn't know how he can sleep through an entire day without being woken up at all but once he does, he notices that something is wrong. The rest of the house lies in semi-darkness and he cannot hear anyone downstairs. On the outside however, he hears the muffled noises of blasting car alarms and people shouting and car engines roaring past. A dog barks continuously from the house two doors down from his and someone has set the TV volume on too loud from an open window somewhere, spilling out to the world the sound of the broadcasting News.
There is a yowling and scratching noise coming from the bathroom when he steps out onto the dark landing. Once he opens the bathroom door, he is almost knocked off his feet when his cat darts past him and flies down the stairs.
"Kitty!" he calls out in alarm because he has never seen her act like this before. He thinks he saw the whites of her eyes when she leapt out of the bathroom in a mad scramble. By the time he races downstairs, he hears the sound of the cat flap clattering against the door and knows that Kitty is gone.
He tries calling his sister and niece on the landline because it's nearing five thirty in the evening so they should be back by now but freezes when he finds that the lines are busy. After trying half a dozen more numbers including the emergency services, he comes up with the same result. The mobile phone he retrieves from the folds of his bed sheets reveal that there is no signal. The last text message he received from anyone had been more than six hours ago, from Felix Kjellberg, who informed him he was heading to the airport to catch his flight home to Sweden.
It is only then that the beginnings of panic start to seep in. I can't call anyone, he realises. I can't call anyone. What the hell is going on? What the hell is going on outside? He wants to step out the front door and find out but the amount of noise that's happening outside his house is worrying. Calm down, he tells himself instead as he pulls his gaze away from the front door. Calm the fuck down.
"The news," he mutters aloud to himself after a while. His voice sounds hollow and scared in the empty room he's in. It's unnerving.
When he switches on the TV, he sincerely wishes he hadn't.
"…We urge the public not to panic…"
"…Riots involving bizarre and violent behaviour– "
"Phone networks are down, including internet connection–"
"Please stay indoors…"
"…The situation seems out of control…"
"People attacking each other–"
"…Evacuate to a safer place…"
"Stock up as much as you can…"
"…Please do not approach these people…"
Somehow he finds the words he hears from the news reporters fly over his head because he cannot believe what he is seeing. It is like a scene that is familiar in the movies. An aerial view of some part of the city which he vaguely recognises is shown and the camera footage zooms in on a mass of people staggering towards a line of riot policemen armed with shields and batons. The people in this strange group are deathly pale, their faces twisted, their eyes unblinking. From the couch he sits on, he feels a shudder go through his body. Something is terribly wrong about these people, something unnatural and sure enough, he almost startles in his seat when one of the group separates from her party, pounces onto the nearest policeman with such force that it knocks his helmet off and then sinks her teeth onto his bare face.
A fountain of dark blood shoots up.
"Oh my god," he isn't sure if he is the one who blurts this out because the reporter who is voicing over this footage utters this too before continuing to babble in disbelief and horror. All he knows now after that first bite is that the situation quickly turns into chaos. The line of policeman breaks and the mass of crazy, deathly pale people fall onto them and it is only when a policeman's arm is torn off and two or three people begin to fight over it, ripping the flesh out of the arm and devouring it, that the footage is cut short. The newsroom returns to the screen to reveal the newscasters' stunned faces.
He takes off his glasses and presses the heels of his hands onto his closed eyes. He tries very hard to will himself to breathe normally.
For him, the footage he has seen is enough. He has seen enough images from movies and videogames and TV shows and comic books to guess what is going on. But this is surreal, he thinks, it's impossible and it's sick and it's hard to accept that this is actually happening. Is this why the streets outside are loud and full of frenzied noises, of families leaving in their cars and zooming past to get to the main highway leading far away from here? Is this why the dog from two doors down can't stop barking like mad and why Kitty ran away because they already sensed that this danger was coming? When did all this start? How can it happen when he spent the entire day fucking sleeping? And where the hell was– he gulps down his fear. Oh god, where the hell was his family? Are they okay? Did they try to call him like he did before and couldn't get through? Where are they, are they safe? Where was his sister and niece? They didn't get– Oh my god, where are they?
The next thing he knows he is pacing up and down across the TV screen, many questions dropping into his mind like weights, carrying with them a fresh wave of anxiety and disbelief. How can all this be happening? Is this a joke? A hoax? He checks another news channel on TV, ignoring the fact that his palm is sweaty as he grips the remote control. For almost an hour, he surfs every channel and finds the same kind of reports, watches the same images of random chaos, of people blabbering about what they saw ("Saw him attack old Mr. Grayson. Bit him in the neck like some vampire"). One news channel reports many cases of people looting stores and stealing things in a desperate attempt to stock up on supplies. Another channel shows a footage of a highway congested with honking cars leading out of the city. He can't believe this chaos, can't believe it is happening right now.
And here he is, alone and stupidly stunned and standing in front of the TV, having missed the development of this hell throughout the duration of the day all because he had slept through it.
Where was his sister and niece?
Panic keeps bubbling in his chest, making it hard for him to breathe. The thought of them out there, stuck in that traffic jam, thinking and worrying about him at home. The thought that they were rushing to get back to the house only to be ambushed by a mob of zomb–
"No!" he finds himself yelling. The remote control flies out of his hand and clatters onto the floor in several pieces. "They're alive," he tries to reassure himself, pushing the dreaded image away from his mind. "They're okay. They could have escaped the city. They're okay, they're alive."
In the end, he repeats this mantra over and over and again and again to stop himself from losing it completely.
Three days crawl by. He does not leave the house during those long three days except on the morning of the second day, when he opens the front door and is almost startled senseless at the sound of a piercing scream that fills the air. It's distant and not anywhere near his neighbourhood but it nonetheless terrifies him enough to retreat into his house and lock the door. After that, he barricades himself in, pushes heavy furniture to block any points of entry around the house except his bedroom window, which presents the view of his neighbourhood.
He gets used to waking up in the mornings now because during the night time, it becomes eerily quiet and the dead silence unnerves him. In the daytime, he watches most of his neighbours leave, piling into their cars which are filled with suitcases and food and boxes before they drive off to join the long queue of vehicles all heading away from the city.
Apart from his bedroom window, the TV remains his only link to the world outside and after every hour, the situation worsens. He watches in a haze of disbelief and with a heavy heart of fear as panic and violence and blood descend upon the city streets. There are people being attacked and bitten and eaten alive. A helicopter flies overhead, passing a tall building spewing black smoke from an open window. There are screams and shouts everywhere, crowds of people running and pushing at each other in a desperate attempt to flee. He is horrified when he actually sees someone get trampled to death by the raging stampede. On another channel, they show a footage of some of the bitten victims turning and it is disturbing to see them stagger upright, their faces sickly pale, blood staining their clothes and gushing out of gaping wounds, their eyes blank and unblinking and with their rising, comes the craving for living flesh.
All throughout this, he tries calling again and again to reach any of his family members or friends until, on the third morning, he picks up the house phone only to find the line dead.
So far, he has been living on the food in the fridge and in the pantry and it's enough to last him for at least a month. He worries about what will happen though once the month is up and considers that perhaps he should go out one day and scavenge for supplies in his neighbours' homes now that they have left.
It is on his fifth day that he finally sees them staggering around in his neighbourhood.
His first zombie, he realises with a start, is someone familiar to him. The man used to live down the road and worked at a strip mall about a mile away from here. Now he watches him – it, lurch crookedly up the empty road. It is dragging its broken leg with it, the foot twisted at an awkward angle. Part of its face is falling off, the sallow skin around its lips sagging, revealing the bottom row of its yellowed teeth. From his window, he can faintly hear the creature moaning softly as it moves and after an hour of watching it totter from one house to another, more zombies follow after that first one and he slowly watches them take over his neighbourhood.
The situation, he realises, is becoming dangerous. The last thing he wants is to emerge from the house and face a hundred of these. It is best to leave the house, the neighbourhood, the city while there are still a few of them.
The five days of being holed up in the house has been difficult for him because he has been living on the hope that he is waiting for his family to come home. Now, the arrival of the zombies in his neighbourhood have compelled him to shift into survival mode. The movies he watched and the videogames he played gives him a sense of what he should do in these situations. He begins to think about which supplies to bring with him on his journey ahead and what kind of weapon he can take to defend himself. Canned food, bottles of water, bandages and first aid kit, flashlight and batteries, matches, booze (oh, definitely that), a Swiss army knife, his spare glasses. Maybe he should pop down to the basement and take a look in the toolbox. There might be a hammer or something sharp he could use as a weapon.
This new sense of purpose gives him something to do instead of worry endlessly about the wellbeing of his missing family. He gets to it as soon as he can so by the sixth day, just as the sun begins to climb up the clear blue sky, he takes his chance when the coast is clear to emerge silently from his house, supporting a large backpack on his back and a metal baseball bat in his hand, and gives himself thirty seconds to say goodbye to his house, to his previous life and to the world he knows and has left behind, before he sprints down the road as fast as he can and does not look back.
He does not remember how much time has passed since he left the house but he is grateful when he finally comes across people who are not undead and not trying to eat him. So far, he has run into trouble a few times with zombies and the baseball bat he carries with him as a weapon turns out to be strong enough to push them off but not solid and sturdy enough to really kill them.
There are three people in the group he meets. They happen to encounter one another when he decides to scavenge for supplies at a looted chemist. (He's getting the hang of taking things from shop shelves without paying now).
"Oh ho," says the middle-aged woman with a cowboy hat as she looks him up and down. Her eyes crinkle as she smiles. "We haven't seen a living person for days!"
"Hi," he greets, automatically returning a smile and relief and happiness soar in his chest. It feels great to speak to somebody alive at last.
"What's your name?" asks the friendly looking older man with the bushy brown moustache standing beside the woman.
He opens his mouth and realises with a shock that he has forgotten his own name. He gives it a second or two to recall it and when it gradually comes back into consciousness, he can't believe his own name sounds foreign to him. Almost a week of isolation, running away from things that can eat him and with almost no contact with actual live human beings have made him forget the basic things about himself. How old was he again? When was the last time he hung out with his friends? What was the last thing his mother said to him? What videogame had he planned to play and record for his Youtube channel? Wait, he has a Youtube channel?
He certainly remembers he calls himself Cry when he's on the internet. And Cry – he realises with a start because how can he even forget – Cry is his gamer persona, Cry knows what to do in these scenarios, knows what the objective of the game is, knows that there are pieces of a puzzle lying around waiting to be solved. He thinks that if he takes on that persona, if he becomes Cry again (oh my god, how long ago was it when I played my last videogame? It felt like a hundred years to me), he is better able to handle the crazy world he lives in now. His mind-set will automatically shift into the appropriate one, the one that follows one route and one goal in mind, the one where he becomes focused and rational and purpose-driven and in control of himself. He thinks – it's like playing The Walking Dead or The Last of Us. It's just another zombie apocalypse videogame. The important thing right now is to stay alive and not die.
Because if you die, there is no restart button. If you die, you stay dead. Or worse – come back as one of them.
So the name he gives to this group of people is "Cry" and he deliberately tucks his real name back into the recesses of his mind.
There is one guy his age in this small group of three people he travels with. His name is Thomas and like him, he has lost his family and is trying to find a way to reunite with them. It's amusing how Thomas doesn't know him at all from Youtube.
"Marilyn and George found me the same way they found you," Thomas explains as they collectively make their way across the thankfully deserted street. "Except I was hanging around my brother's school, hoping to find him."
"Did you find any clue where he could be?" is what he asks Thomas. He feels a buzz of worry in his chest and tries not to think about his missing niece.
"Not much," Thomas sighs wearily. "There was nobody there. No school kids. But I noticed the school buses are missing so chances are the kids were driven away from the chaos. Maybe my brother went with them. I just don't know where they could have gone."
"Don't you worry too much 'bout that," croons Marilyn, the middle-aged cowboy-hat wearing lady walking ahead of them. She cannot help but overhear their conversation. Beside her, the moustachioed man, George, carefully balances an impressive rifle on one arm. He isn't looking back at them but they both know he is listening in on them too because he says, "They must have gone out of the city and headed to the next state. That's where there's help. That's where it'll be safe. It said so on the news."
Beside him, something uneasy forms on Thomas's face, as if he doesn't look quite convinced and Marilyn shifts her crinkling eyes from Thomas to settle on him. "What 'bout you, Cry? Where you headed?"
Cry. Oh yes, he is called Cry now. He needs to get used to actual people calling him this. To him, Cry has always been a nickname, a persona he wears when he's online as well as a part of him that he keeps separate from real life. Now, he takes on that persona just so he can come to terms with a reality that he still cannot fully accept.
"Just out of here," Cry answers. "Also looking for my family. They went missing so maybe they escaped the city while they could."
"It's good to hope," says Marilyn enthusiastically. "It keeps us goin'. I'm expectin' to see my grandson once we get to the next state. Fingers crossed."
Cry finds that he rather likes Marilyn and George. They are optimistic, cheerful people. Although he is sure they are bothered about the chaos happening around them and are worried sick about their families, they don't let this fact bring them down. Because of this, he finds their cheerfulness contagious.
The only thing that seems to keep the group's morale down is Thomas, who remains immune to the couple's optimism. He stays quiet most the time, looking distracted by his own thoughts. Even after Cry coaxes him to reveal more about himself, Thomas goes back into a daze after speaking a few sentences. Cry wants to ask him what's wrong – what's really wrong with him – because his initial assumption that Thomas is just worried about his family is shot down after the number of times Marilyn and George keep reassuring him that he will reunite with them once they get out of the state. It isn't just that, Cry surmises. There's something more.
Cry has a feeling that whatever it is that Thomas is thinking about, he does not want to share them when Marilyn and George are around.
Which is why he asks him one night when their group squat at an abandoned house and he knows that Marilyn and George are downstairs, counting their remaining supplies and therefore, cannot hear them.
"You can tell me, man," Cry coaxes again, gently this time. He is willing to be patient for Thomas because he and Thomas are so alike, their ages, the similarity of their family members, their previous lives (alright, not really. Cry spends most of his 'days' from the late night to the early morning playing videogames and making videos) and he wants to help him out, help relieve some of the thoughts that are haunting his mind.
Thomas finally speaks. "I dunno," he says hesitantly at first and Cry raises his eyebrows for him to continue. "It's just… this is some crazy shit, man. I mean, zombies? Actual freaking zombies?"
Cry lets out a breath, laughing a little at the absurdity of it all. "Yeah I know, right?"
"And those two," Thomas gasps. It's obvious he is talking about the pair downstairs. "They just don't care, don't seem to mind. There are people eating people out there and they get over this fact and try to get out and leave the state like it's a vacation."
"But isn't that kinda good?" Cry asks. "I mean – yeah, it's fucking crazy that there are zombies running around and the world doesn't make sense anymore but it's good that those two out there have a plan. They know what to do."
"Do they though?" Thomas says, scoffing weakly. His voice sounds bitter and defeated in Cry's ears. "What happens when they reach there and the situation's exactly the same? What then? Keep on moving to the next town, city and state and everywhere you go, it's the same thing. People get killed, get bitten and come back. It might not get better at all. There might be no way out of this hellhole. So what's the fucking point?" He doesn't sound angry when he says this. He sounds tired, weary, beaten. Like he's given up.
Thomas's words are not new to him. Cry knows it too, understands what Thomas is saying because he has been exposed to enough zombie apocalyptic stories to know that nothing good really comes out in the end. It just hadn't occurred to him that he is living in one of those stories until now. It's unnerving and terrifying because it makes him think about his life before this, all the good experiences and bad experiences he'd gone through, everything he was and is now and this is where it leads him to – a world where none of that matters. He understands now why Thomas pushes away Marilyn and George's reassurances. Because whatever they do now, the future will remain a bleak one. Either they die at the hands of the undead or continue the struggle of finding ways to survive. It's a simple two-way choice and there is no third option.
Cry does not want to die.
"We keep going," he says firmly to Thomas because he refuses to follow the dark path that the latter's mind has gone to. "It's still early days. We keep going and if we get lucky, we'll see our families again. Don't be like that. Don't give up hope. We'll get through this together." He then adds with a cocky assurance and a playful punch on Thomas's shoulder that his knowledge of zombie apocalyptic videogames will help them deal with what's happening now.
Thomas almost smiles after his rambling and his pathetic attempt at cheering him up. "'Cry', eh?" he hums thoughtfully but his expression still looks a little sad. "What was your name before that?"
On a cool, misty morning a few days later, Cry sees Thomas step off the edge of a steep drop that plunges twenty feet down into a concrete ditch, right in front of Marilyn and George. They hear his body hit the ground at the bottom. With a gasp, his baseball bat drops from his hand and his feet carry him to the edge where he sees Thomas lying sprawled on his side, his neck bent at an unnatural angle. Waves of shock and horror run through him, the image of Thomas's body disappearing over the side replaying in his mind on loop like a tape recorder.
"Oh my god!" moans George.
"Is he okay? He's not moving!" Marilyn whimpers.
"Thomas, no," Cry whispers. Despite their reassurances, Thomas continued to remain melancholic and unfocused throughout their journey. Cry never suspected his misery to be unbearable enough to result into this, that Thomas would choose death over the possibility of an uncertain future.
After a few minutes of silence and staring, George says, "We have to keep moving."
For once, anger flares in Cry's chest. "What about Thomas?" he says sharply, turning to the two people. "We can't just leave him lying there."
"There's nothing to do," George shoots back helplessly. "It's looks like he's broken his neck. He's sure as hell as dead."
"We can't leave him lying there," says Cry again because how can they? There are a set of stairs leading down to the ditch about a hundred paces away. They can still reach him. "He was our friend. He needed help. I tried to help him, hear him out, but you two…" this time he fixes his accusative glare onto Marilyn, who seems helpless and feeble as George is. "You two didn't."
There is silence once again and the cheerful charm Marilyn and George always used to exude is absent now, replaced by twin expressions of guilt. Now, they just look like a couple of lost children.
"What do you think we should do, Cry?" Marilyn asks, sounding subdued. It's a little strange to have people much older than him look to him for answers but he enjoys the feeling of authority that he gets while he can. He relaxes a little.
"We should bury him," he says importantly because it's the right thing to do. It shows we're still human, he justifies to himself. That we recognise the value of life, the sadness of parting, we know how to respect the dead. We're still human in this crazy, inhuman world. He motions towards the flight of steps. "We can get down using those."
George hesitates for a bit, turning his head to scan the road they are on. There is nobody around except for the trees, the grass and the wind. The sun is coming up, already clearing away the early morning fog. It is going to be a hot day.
"I think one of us needs to keep a lookout while we bring Thomas up," George suggests. "We might run into some company if we continue to stay put here. Why don't Cry and I go down to get him while you, Marilyn–"
"No, no, I'm comin' down with you," Marilyn suddenly interrupts to their surprise. She seems to have collected some of her composure. "I feel damn guilty about Thomas. We both didn't notice just how bad all this is affectin' him. Why don't Cry stay up here and we go down?"
He watches as George and Marilyn carefully make their way down the concrete steps leading into the large ditch. He contemplates on Thomas's suicide, hardly believing it had happened, mulls over Thomas's words – "So what's the fucking point?" – and wonders whether he would go down that road one day, when he is travelling halfway across America on his own, leaving a trail of dead zombies in his wake and realises that this will never end and what's the point anymore, what's the point of fucking living if what lies before him is another trail of zombies to cut through–?
But he sees Marilyn and George down there, walking towards Thomas's body and wonders how long they have been at it, travelling together and seeing the chaos unfold in front of them. How many times have they seen someone they recognise pulled down and mauled by zombies? How often have they thought about their families? How strong was their hope in finding them, in believing that things will get better?
Somehow he thinks about his sister and niece and his cat and his family at home and his friends and his fans (his fans – the people he does not even know who thank him for posting videos and for making them happy and entertained and he loves that he's doing good things in the world) and imagines them thinking about him too, hoping and praying that he is out there and surviving so that one day he will soon be found and saved. The very thought warms his heart, burns away the creeping dark whispers that have infected Thomas and taken him away. There is no way in hell that Cry will be their next victim.
Somehow, his musings lead his gaze to linger onto Thomas's broken body and he realises with a frown that there is no blood staining the concrete ground anywhere. Thomas died when his neck snapped in half. His head didn't break open, hence no blood. Which means–
His stomach lurches unpleasantly. He thinks he sees Thomas's limp arm move.
"George! Marilyn-!" he calls down in alarm. Oh my god, oh my god, he thinks. Why am I so stupid? Why didn't I notice this in the first place? I just told them to go down there. There's nowhere to run if–
But by the time George and Marilyn turn their heads to look up at him, half of Thomas's body rises from the ground and an arm darts out at lightning speed to grab the back of Marilyn's jacket.
George lets out a surprised shout, "What the fuck–?"
Thomas – no, not Thomas. He's no longer Thomas. It's one of them now – sinks its teeth onto Marilyn's leg. Dark blood spurts into the air.
Cry yells, "No!" and his voice echoes loudly around the concrete valley of the ditch and he stands there stupidly helpless, his baseball bat clutched tightly in his hand. He wants to get down there nowand help them out, wants to rip the zombie off of Marilyn and drag George up the stairs with him and why the hell is he not moving why is he frozen on the spot and just staring down at them oh god that thing keeps burrowing its teeth deeper into Marilyn's leg he can almost see bone and she is still screaming bloody murder and George is fucking freaking out why isn't he using his gun oh god why is there so much blood and guts on the ground it's pooling around them what should he do what should he do?
The sound of heavy, shuffling footsteps behind him startles him out of his panicked thoughts and when he turns around, he almost topples over the edge of the drop at the sight of at least half a dozen undead creatures staggering towards him, attracted by the noise coming from the ditch. Seeing this new danger so close to him, his mind suddenly becomes clear as water and he is presented with two choices that could mean life or death to him. It is like he is playing The Walking Dead again and he has to decide what to do within a fixed time limit.
Only his two choices are as follows: Go down the ditch and help George – or escape and leave him and Marilyn there for dead.
It takes only half a second for Cry to make a decision because he does not have enough time to contemplate on the possible repercussions of each choice. The zombie nearest to him stumbles and its pale, rotten hand which is missing two fingers reaches out, almost touching him.
Cry bolts from the spot.
Guilt rips through him the further away he runs from that place and he thinks, it was his idea that they should go to the bottom of the ditch to retrieve Thomas's body. It was his fault he didn't realise the danger of doing so. It was his fault that he got two people killed.
Marilyn and George's screams continue to resonate from a distance. Cry imagines them cursing his name and wants to crack his head open.
The first time Cry kills a zombie, he lets his anger and guilt for leading George and Marilyn to their deaths become his power. He lets the hatred for these undead creatures, his anger at the unfair world he lives in to fuel the adrenaline running through his veins. He has long abandoned the baseball bat, which lays bent and crooked after many blows, and arms himself with a shovel propped against a fence nearby. He finds it to be much heavier than the bat but far sturdier.
He batters the zombie on the head again and again – he sees that it used to be a blonde woman and he can still see her pretty seashell-shaped earrings – until part of its skull crumples inwards and Cry brings the blade's shovel down onto its neck, plants his foot onto the blade's footrest and stamps on it hard until there is a satisfying crunch as head and neck separate. By the time he stands up and stares down at the gory mess he'd made, he realises there is blood on his wrists, on his face, in his hair, on his glasses.
I can get used to this, he thinks, wiping his glasses clean with his trembling hands. It's just like in the videogames. I think I can learn to handle this. I have to move forward and not look back and grieve over my mistakes.
He doesn't know how long time has passed since he ran away from that ditch. He only knows he spent hours thinking extensively about what he had done, what he should have done and the thoughts circle around his head, stopping him from falling asleep. It is only then when he wakes up and is pounced on by a zombie that he snaps and resorts to violence. He feels more composed now that he has disposed the creature with his shovel. He tells himself that he can get back on track on his own, that he will stay in control, that he has to keep his emotions in check. The last thing he wants now is to lose what little sense he has left.
When he shoulders his backpack and picks up the shovel again, he turns and notices a dog watching him.
"Oh!" Cry blurts out in surprise. His voice sounds loud in the still, silent air and it startles the dog, making it retreat a few steps. It is a skinny dog with a dirty white coat and a wet, black nose. Cry can see it has been living rough on the streets. He's surprised there are living animals still lingering around even when the place is crawling with the undead.
"No, no," he says softly, approaching it. "Don't be scared." Poor dog, did its owner leave it here to die?
The closer he gets to it, the further away the dog retreats until finally, it turns tail and runs off. Cry watches it go with a heavy heart.
"There was a dog," he finds himself saying. He doesn't know who he's addressing but he just feels like pointing it out. "A dog running around in this zombie world. Now that's one lucky dog."
He continues his path forward. By now, Cry has learned to move quickly, silently and inconspicuously, to avoid nearing objects which can conceal hidden zombies, to look and listen carefully for signs of their presence. He also avoids living people now. Once he spots a group of travellers in the distance who are going his direction and he forces himself to change course so that they would not meet later on.
He freezes when he thinks he hears a sound behind him and he grips the shovel in his hands and tentatively turns around, expecting to see a zombie. His eyes land on the dirty white dog from earlier on. It is standing a few feet away from him.
"Oh hello," Cry greets, making sure his voice comes out soft and inviting. "Are you following me?"
The dog does not reply but continues to watch him. It does not seem wary or suspicious. It may just be curious of him because he is the first living human it comes across after how many weeks. After making sure the coast is clear, Cry crouches and extends his hand, "Come here. I won't hurt you."
The dog does not move. After some more coaxing and to no avail, Cry gets up to approach it only to have the dog run away from him again. He stares after it in disbelief as it disappears with a flash of its white tail behind a tree.
He turns, picking up the shovel again and continues on his way.
About an hour later, he turns around and sees the dog trailing after him, separated by a few feet.
"Why are you following me?" Cry asks it in mock-frustration. "What's the point of trying to travel with me if we can't even do simple communication? And how does communication look like? You let me pet you of course! We can build a relationship based on trust this way. If you just follow me around like this, it's going to look weird and stalker-ish. I'm going to be looking over my shoulder and thinking there's a fucking zombie behind me when it turns out to be you all along. Don't run away every time I come near you, okay? Are we okay with this?" he takes an experimental step forward and stops when the dog backs away from him.
"No then, huh?" he mutters. "Aw, come on. What's the worst thing I can do to you? No wait, don't answer that, not that you could because you're a dog. Just that I need to know your intentions for following me. Are you tailing me for food, to steal my food supplies? Sorry but I don't tolerate stealing. I am willing to share food but we have to be friends. We need to communicate." This is stupid, he thinks. Because the dog is staring at him like he's the stupid one. Cry huffs and lowers the backpack from his shoulder and sets it on the ground. He fishes out a packet of beef jerky that he nicked from someone's fridge and tosses a strip towards the dog. It catches the jerky with its mouth before it even hits the ground and hungrily devours it.
"Ohoho wow," Cry laughs, impressed by what he sees. "You're a great catcher!" he praises and proceeds to toss the rest of the strips of beef jerky towards the dog and it catches each and every one perfectly. Once Cry is done, he gets up and leaves – and the dog follows him from behind.
"Oh no, no," Cry says, stopping and waving a disapproving finger at the dog. "I've got no more food," he lies. "I may be impressed by that show you did earlier but if this is what you're following me around for, then you should just scram – shoo. Leave me alone."
The dog just stares blankly at him. He slumps his shoulders in defeat.
"Goddamn it," he mutters, and turns back to resume walking.
The dog continues to follow him from behind.
Time has passed – Cry estimates about two days – since their meeting. Soon enough, he and his strange animal companion begin to settle into an odd arrangement. Although the dog continues to shy away from him whenever he makes an effort to move closer to it, it nonetheless continues to keep him company in his travels, like a stubborn ghost who trails after him during day and lingers around while he sleeps. It happily accepts any of the food Cry decides to share with it and he feels content just watching the dog catch any food item he tosses towards it cleanly in the mouth.
Cry doesn't know the dog's name. He wants to call it Hewie like the white Shepherd from Haunting Ground but somehow the name never sticks. He finds himself berating the dog most of the time, particularly at the simple commands he gives it because the dog doesn't react to them at all. He also finds himself addressing it simply as "Dog."
"Dog, were you really someone's pet?" he asks one time while they walk across a bridge full of abandoned cars. He is careful to keep his voice low and his hearing sharp. "When I tell you to sit, you sit down. When I tell you to roll over, you roll over. When I say speak, you speak – or bark or whatever, like make some sort of noise. If we're supposed to travel together, we've got to start working together. When I mean by working, we got to have each other's backs. If you do good, I will shower you with love and beef jerky. If there is a zombie in front of us and I give the signal, you charge at it and take it down and you get more love and food. Just like Hewie. But no, no. You don't do nothing but follow me around. Come on, Dog – we really need to learn how to communicate. Or something."
The dog continues to remain silent, treading behind him like a shadow.
Eventually, Cry realises it is not too bad to have an animal companion like this, even though the dog never makes a sound at him or comes near him or follows his commands. For one thing, the dog certainly does make a good listener. Cry can praise or berate or cuss or complain at it for as long as he wants and, just as long as he continues to maintain their distance, it seems to stay and listen to whatever it is he has to say.
One night, they camp out in someone's tool shed and Cry tells the dog about his life before all this, spills to it his secrets, recalls his best and worst memories and almost wishes he hadn't. Talking extensively about his past life brings with it a terrible, overwhelming feeling of sadness which grips him by the throat and he wants to break down from the weight of it. He is stopped from doing so when he hears a low-pitched whine coming from the dog, who is sitting still on its haunches. It is the first sound he hears from the animal and he stares at it in surprise. Although they are always separated by a few feet, the dog's stare right now seems different, almost reassuring, and the quiet whine that has rumbled out of it is the first message it sends to Cry, that it understands how he feels, that he should not be sad right now because he isn't alone anymore.
Cry desperately wants to hug it, to wrap its arms around its skinny body, to put his face into its dirty white coat but he knows that if he makes a move, the dog will flee. Instead, he pulls out the remaining half of a stale croissant and tosses it and the dog catches it perfectly in its mouth like a pro.
"Good Dog," he praises, watching it eat.
The next morning, while scavenging the tool shed for anything useful, he finds a revolver concealed behind a shelf full of broken jars. He examines it in his hand, fascinated by the look and feel of it, and checks its cylinder. About half of its cartridges have been used.
"Perfect," he mutters, checking around the area for more ammunition but finds none. He pockets it along with a box of matches and then slips a lock pick set he finds in a toolbox into his backpack before leaving the shed quickly. The dog follows behind him as usual.
About an hour later, they run into trouble. Two zombies have heard them coming and begin staggering towards them, limbs swaying, jaws hanging open. They look like a mother and father and they must have died in the first week because their skin is already decomposing. There is a hole torn in the man's cheek, revealing to them the inner workings of its mouth and jaw. Dried blood cakes the entire front of the woman's dress and her arm is swinging crookedly by her side.
They haven't come across any zombies since Cry's first kill. Because of this, Cry wants to try using the revolver tucked into the waistband of his trousers but the need to preserve cartridges prevents him from doing so. He balances the shovel in his hands instead, ready to strike when the undead couple come close.
"Dog," he says. "Brace yourself." He peers over his shoulder and finds nobody there. The dog had bolted from the scene, leaving him on his own.
"Damn it, Dog!" Cry whines – and cries out in terror when he feels something grab him by the leg.
It is a little girl – a little zombie girl no doubt the child of the couple coming closer towards him, and it had crawled and sneaked up on him while he wasn't looking and grabbed hold of his foot. Cry desperately tries to kick it off but its grip on him is strong. The child-thing is horrible to look at. One of its eyeballs are missing and its little legs were broken in two, jutted in different angles. A shuddering, clicking sound is coming from its throat as it continues to hold onto him. Cry swings his shovel hard to push it off. The first swing smashes its nose, the second kills it instantly. By the time Cry pries his foot out of those rotten little fingers, the undead couple descend on him.
Cry yells and thrashes, tries to push them away, swings his shovel to the nearest zombie he can reach. He is panicking now, moving on pure fear and terror, lashing and beating as he tries to push them off of him. It's difficult, their combined weight is heavy. He is scared he'll lose his balance and fall to the ground, expects to feel a set of hungry teeth rip through his skin and flesh. He yells again, louder, and swings his shovel once more with all his might.
It hits the woman on the side of the face and throws it off of him and he continues swinging until he hits the male zombie too. But he tilts, his balance lost following the swing's momentum, his leg crumples and he falls to the grass. The shovel slips out of his grasp.
The male zombie attacks, hands aiming for his throat.
He has just enough sense to pull the revolver from his trousers, pull the hammer back and shoot the zombie right between its dead eyes.
Its face explodes. A mass of guts and brain spatter onto him. Cry flinches at the gunshot's loud noise. His ears ring. His heart pounds hard in his chest.
The unmistakable bark of a dog. Dog! He thinks.
Cry kicks the zombie's body away from him and quickly scrambles up to his feet. A few metres away, the gunshot has attracted the attention of the female zombie. It is trying to stagger towards him but is held back by Dog, whose jaws are clamped onto its ankle and who is trying to pull it away from him.
"Dog!" Cry exclaims, surprised and moved by the animal's loyal gesture. Dog is trying to protect him, Dog really does care, Dog is trying to protect him right now. He feels warm, protected, loved.
We're beginning to communicate, he thinks.
He needs to help Dog in return and quick. Jumping over the bodies of the two dead zombies, Cry goes to retrieve his shovel before a high-pitched, pained whine fills the air. He turns around and screams when he sees that the female zombie has turned against its attacker and has sunk its teeth into Dog's back, ripping through the dirty white fur, into flesh and blood.
"Nooooooo! Nooo, no, no, noooooo!" Cry howls, grabbing the shovel and charging towards it. "Stop it!" he screams, swinging the shovel down onto its head. "Stop it, you fucking– stop it, stop eating him – stop, stop, get off of him, get the fuck off of him, you fucking piece of shit. No, noooo!" One more swing and it detaches itself from Dog and Cry yells as he brings his shovel down and stabs the blade into the middle of its face, feels bones crunching as it smashes into a pulp.
The shovel clatters to the ground. Suddenly, he feels exhausted.
"Dog, no," his voice hurts, no his throat hurts, he can barely breathe, his eyes hurt, they sting as he sees Dog lying, dying there. Oh god, there is blood everywhere and Dog's insides are spilling out onto the grass and she's still alive yes Dog is a 'she' because Cry's close enough to see it now and she's breathing so hollowly it hurts just to look at her and she's looking at him like she's sorry she can't be with him from now on and just why is this happening this is so unfair they were starting to get along so fucking well–
Cry gives a dry sob, "Dog, no." It is the only thing he is capable of saying. He does not know what he can do, there seems to be no way to save her. He can't bandage an open wound like that. He feels helpless again and this is worse than when he left Marilyn and George for dead in that ditch a hundred years ago. What can he do? What should he do?
Dog whines again in pain. Cry brings up a hesitant hand – god, his hand is fucking shaking – and expects Dog to flinch as he leans closer to her. She doesn't move as he approaches. Soon, his fingers touch coarse, matted fur. Her ears feel soft to the touch. She is trembling too, he can feel her warmth diminishing, growing cold. When he strokes her muzzle gently, Dog tilts her head a little and nuzzles into his palm.
Cry breaks down in tears.
He has never cried so hard like this before. He might have had done so in the past, in a life he used to know but that life now feels like a dream he cannot go back to. He cradles Dog's head in his hands and cries into her fur, apologises into her ear, mumbles nonsensical things that mean nothing. When he feels Dog spasm in his arms, he pulls back to see her gaze. She is in terrible pain, he can feel it too and he doesn't want her to die slowly like this. She is looking at him expectantly. He thinks he knows what she wants him to do.
The revolver feels ten times heavier now as he retrieves it and comes back to her. His whole body is shaking, his hands are shaking as he holds it up. I can't do this, he thinks. His eyes are stinging again, his vision keeps blurring from the tears. I have to do this but I can't.
Dog has no strength to lift her head but she is still watching him, waiting for him. Cry presses the barrel of the revolver onto the middle of her head. He hesitates for a long time. Dog whines in pain once more. A tear trickles down Cry's wet cheek. His finger is tense on the trigger. Finally, he closes his eyes and manages to say, "Goodbye."
And thank you.
He pulls the trigger and Dog isn't the only one who dies that afternoon.
In the abandoned gas station where he passes a blue Ford Fiesta parked outside, he finds a zombie blocking the back door leading to the storeroom where he plans to scavenge for supplies. He takes a minute to decide what to do before he steps out and silently charges forward, his grip on his shovel tightening, the blade raised into the air. His quick footfalls land on the wooden floor panels, making them creak.
There is a loud clang as he forcefully swings the shovel across the zombie's head. His movements are precise, timed, natural – coming from many days of wielding the tool as a weapon. He doesn't flinch at the sight of the zombie's head where its side and ear are dented in from the blow. He doesn't feel horrified or disgusted as it lays there on the floor after being knocked off its feet. He stamps his foot onto its chest and doesn't hesitate as he stabs the shovel blade onto the middle of its face with enough force to split it. It's his signature move now. Blood coats the walls, his shovel, his hands. He steps back and exhales, relaxes.
And jumps when the doorknob of the storeroom rattles before it flies open and something charges out of the storeroom with a yell. Cry steps back and automatically raises his shovel to swing it but stops because the other person halts too, his yell dying in his throat.
It's a man. The first living man he comes across for so many days. He is brandishing a battered, dusty broom in one hand while holding a metal bucket in the other. He is tall and skinny and his face is hidden behind shaggy blonde hair and a full goatee which is not bushy enough to conceal his bright blue eyes.
For a long time, they stare at each other in disbelief. Until the shaggy man opens his mouth and nervously says in a voice and in words that are entirely all too familiar:
"Heheh… uh, how's it goin', bro?"


text:
For anybody who wants to go deeper into the ontology of an idea that animates a kind of music, or is illuminated by that music, read Greil Marcus's "Lipstick Traces", just reissued in an expanded edition for the book's twentieth anniversary. I often say that "Traces" is the best book ever written about music, even though it's not actually about music: it is about the life of an idea.--Sasha Frere-Jones"New Yorker online" (10/21/2009)From the Publisher:
This book is about a single, serpentine fact: late in 1976 a record called 'Anarchy in the UK' was issued in London, and this event launched a transformation of pop music all over the world. The song distilled, in crudely poetic form, a critique of modern society once set out by a small group of Paris intellectuals.
In Lipstick Traces, Greil Marcus's classic book on punk, Dadaism, the situationists, medieval heretics and the Knights of the Round Table (amongst others), the greatest cultural critic of our times unravels the secret history of the twentieth century.
"Sobre este título" puede pertenecer a otra edición de este libro.
Descripción Faber & Faber. PAPERBACK. Estado de conservación: Good. 0571277101 Moderate wear, no writing. 693. Nº de ref. de la librería MY-57GZ-EGYW
Descripción Faber & Faber, 2001. Estado de conservación: Good. N/A. Ships from the UK. Shows some signs of wear, and may have some markings on the inside. Nº de ref. de la librería GRP75390584
Descripción Faber & Faber, 2001. Paperback. Estado de conservación: Used: Good. We ship International with Tracking Number! May not contain Access Codes or Supplements. Buy with confidence, excellent customer service! j. Nº de ref. de la librería 0571277101D
Descripción Faber & Faber, 2001. Estado de conservación: Used. This Book is in Good Condition. Clean Copy With Light Amount of Wear. 100% Guaranteed. Nº de ref. de la librería ABE_book_usedgood_0571277101

domain: library


text:
It was a cold and wet Saturday night and in a fair world Blair Sandburg would have been home rugged up on the couch with a cold beer, watching the game in front of a warm fire. Instead, here he sat, next to a dirty, smelly dumpster in a rain soaked alley in Chicago, next to his best friend, Jim Ellison, waiting for a fugitive on the run from Cascade to pop up and try to buy some fake IDs so he could continue his run from the law somewhere else.
“You know,” he murmured softly to Jim, knowing the Sentinel had his hearing dialed up, “this is beginning to go beyond the bounds of friendship, man.”
“This? The whole sitting in a stinky alley thing?” Jim turned his head and Blair could see the smirk on his face by the light of the street lamp at the end of the alley. “Hey, I told you not to come. Said I’d be fine on my own.”
“Oh yeah, right. I know you haven’t zoned in months, Jim, but that’s in Cascade where you’re used to the sights and the sounds and the smells. This is Chicago. It’s like a whole new country out there just full of new things for your senses to get interested in and try to follow and identify.”
“I’d’ve been fine,” Jim said stubbornly then he turned back to the alley and grasped Blair’s arm in a sudden tight grip. “Sssh,” he whispered, “I think our boy is here.”
Blair watched as their CI, who was pretending to be the purveyor of fake ID, climbed out of his car and walked up towards the mouth of the alley, towards a tall, beefy man who stood waiting there.
“Damn,” Jim said, “he’s supposed to let Pike come to him. If he meets him near the entry, there’s too much room for Pike to run if he gets suspicious.”
The CI obviously realized the same thing for he turned and walked
back to his car, motioning over his shoulder for Pike to follow him. Pike hesitated for a moment then hurried after him.
Jim signaled to Blair to wait where he was then, just as Pike reached the CI’s car, the detective stood up and moved out of their hiding spot, his gun in his hand. “Freeze, Cascade PD!” Jim yelled just as their Chicago compatriots turned their patrol car into the alley, blocking off the fugitive’s one line of escape.
Blair was about to breathe a sigh of relief on a job easily accomplished when the driver of the patrol car hit his spotlight, the better to see what was going on. Blair watched in horror as he saw Pike reach into his pocket just as Jim turned to look at the spotlight. Even from where he was Blair saw the moment when Jim’s sight went into overload and he froze in a zone. He saw Pike’s gun come up and take aim at Jim’s chest and then Blair was flying across the alley, down low, tackling Jim at knee height with his shoulder. He saw the side of the car coming towards him almost in slow motion and then there was an awful pain in in his head and the lights blinked out.
Blair had dropped like a stone when his head hit the car. The crash had been enough to startle Jim out of his zone and he’d ducked down on the ground just as Pike’s bullet whizzed past his ear. Jim barely noticed what happened after that, his full attention on Blair, crumpled on the ground next to him.
He’d instinctively reached out with his hearing, relieved beyond measure when he picked up Blair’s slow but steady heartbeat. One of the Chicago cops came around the car, holstering his weapon and knelt down next to Jim. “You okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine but my partner’s not,” Jim replied tersely. He wanted nothing more than to turn Blair over so he could see for his own eyes what the damage was but he had enough first aid background to know Blair shouldn’t be moved till the paramedics arrived. He’d hit the car head on and Jim was worried that he might have injured his neck as well as his head. There was a small pool of blood beneath Blair’s forehead now, the blood coming from a small wound on his temple where he’d made contact with the edge of the car’s fender as he went down. Jim pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and carefully wadded it over the wound, without moving Blair’s head at all.
“Ambulance is on its way,” the Chicago cop said and Jim nodded. He placed his hand on the back of Blair’s curly head and just willed him to be all right. “You got Pike sorted?” he asked, though he was beyond even caring about the criminal at this point.
“Yeah, we got him wrapped up ready. He’ll be on prison bus back to Cascade tomorrow. Then he’s your problem again. Try to keep him locked up this time, okay?” the cop said with a grin. He looked up then stood up and moved back so the paramedics could get to Blair. Jim conceded his place at Blair’s side as well and the minute they had him in the ambulance, Jim was in his own rental car, ready to tail them to the hospital. He stuck strictly to the speed limit all the way there, much as it killed him to do so, and still managed to park his car in the Emergency parking area just as they were wheeling Blair inside.
He caught up with the gurney at the doors to the Emergency room and was gratified to see Blair’s eyes were open though he looked dazed and not with it at all. He’d had enough head injuries himself to know there were still a dozen things that could go wrong for Blair even now and so he was less than pleased when a nurse barred his way and told him he’d have to wait in the waiting area. Frustrated but not willing to hold the medical team back from treating Blair, Jim turned on his heel and walked back out to the waiting room. He could fill the time giving Blair’s details to the desk staff as well as calling Simon and letting his captain know that despite Blair’s injury they’d still managed to catch Pike. Besides, he could monitor Blair with his senses as long as he kept everything at a low level. It’d be a little more than embarrassing if he slipped into a zone here without Blair around to guide him back out of it.
He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and went outside to make his call. Simon Banks was audibly concerned about Blair and that made Jim smile to himself. Simon would never admit it but Sandburg had gotten under the gruff captain’s defences as much as he had Jim’s. That was Sandburg for you.
He ended the call then went back inside and spent the next hour alternately pacing and trying to read a magazine, while keeping his hearing alert to anything he might hear about Blair. After a short while though his hearing was simply skittering around and never really picking up on anything he could identify as being about Blair and he was beginning to get a headache so he stood up and went over to the reception desk. “My partner was just brought in by ambulance,” he told the woman behind the desk.
“And you are?” the woman said, looking up at him, and in that moment Jim felt as if the world tilted on its axis and then righted itself. He grabbed the edge of the desk to steady himself, watching as the same expression of realization he was sure was on his face was mirrored on the woman’s.
“What are you doing here?” Jim asked, stunned. He hadn’t had any contact with his mother in several years now. He’d been angry with her when she’d told him she was moving out of state and hadn’t been prepared to even meet her halfway at the time. He’d had his reasons, he reminded himself now, and they were valid to him. He watched a little warily as his mother stood up and walked around the desk, reaching a hand up to pull him down so she could kiss his cheek. He allowed the gesture but kept it brief, stepping back a little so he could scrutinize her better.
“Ben got a job here in Chicago,” his mother replied. “He’s in insurance. His old company went bust so he applied to AllState and they hired him. That was a couple of years ago.” She gave him an appraising look. “You’re looking well. So why are you here?”
Jim shook himself mentally and reminded himself he was here to find out where Blair was. “My partner just got injured on an arrest. I followed the ambulance here. Can you find out where he is so I can go see him?”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Jim. Give me a minute.” She walked back around the desk and sat down, opened up a screen and looked at Jim enquiringly. “His name?” she asked.
She keyed it in then pressed enter, read what was on the screen and looked up at Jim. “He’s already been taken to a room on the neuro ward. Room 10. It’s on the 5th floor. You can take the elevator over there,” she said, pointing across the room.
“Thanks,” Jim replied. He turned away then turned back. “Good to see you, Mom,” he said, forcing a smile onto his face.
“Jimmy? Can we maybe catch up for dinner before you leave? I won’t bring Ben,” she said quickly.
“I’ve never had a problem with Ben,” Jim replied tersely. His mother was apparently as clueless about other peoples’ feelings as she’d ever been. Her choice of second husband had never been an issue with Jim, or with Steven, his brother, either as far as Jim knew. It was about the fact that Grace Ellison Kirkpatrick had walked away from her sons not once but twice and that had cut Jim to the quick. He had no intention of letting her get to him like that again. That steel barrier Jim kept erected to prevent getting hurt had been lowered only for a few people – Blair Sandburg for one. There was no way his mother was getting past it. “I don’t think we’ll be here long enough,” he replied flatly. “I’ve got to do all the paperwork about getting this guy extradited and get him back to Cascade ASAP. As soon as Blair’s been cleared to travel we’ll be leaving. Give my regards to Ben.” He walked off to the elevators without a backward look.
Jim was relieved to see Blair sitting up in the bed when he entered the room his mother had directed him to. “Hey, Chief, how you doing?” he asked, crossing quickly across the room to stand at the bedside.
Blair had a large bandage covering his temple and half his forehead and he looked a little pale but otherwise much better than Jim had thought he would.
“I’ve got a headache with its own zipcode but other than that I’m okay. Eight stitches,” Blair said, tapping the bandage gingerly. “Mild concussion but I’m fine, man. How about you? Did we get Pike?”
“Yeah, we got him, no thanks to you trying headbutt that sedan though,” Jim replied with a grin.
“You didn’t give me much choice, man,” Blair countered, “standing out there like a deer caught in the headlights. Anyway, it’s not the first time I’ve had to do this for you if you recall. It must be in the job description for being a Guide to a Sentinel, I think.”
“Well, next time aim for beneath the level of the side of the car, Einstein.” Jim lowered himself into the chair next to the bed and tried to rub away his own headache that was building in intensity.
“What’s wrong?” Blair asked immediately. “Uh uh, don’t give me that ‘nothing’s wrong. Why would you think something’s wrong?’ routine, Jim. I know you too well.”
Jim sighed then decided to come clean. “I just ran into my mom downstairs. She works here. I didn’t even know she was in Chicago!”
“Wow, really?” Blair pushed himself up in the bed. “That’s totally great, Jim. You hardly ever mention your mom so I’ve never liked to ask too much about her. I wondered if maybe she’d died…”
“Nope, she’s not dead. She’s just been gone. Twice actually.” Jim sighed again. “Look, she walked out on my Dad and Steven and me when I was just a little kid. The only time we really saw her was when my Dad would practically have to beg her to have us for a few days so he could go out of town on business trips. Long story short, I caught up with her again after Peru, when I came back stateside. She must have read that story in the magazine and she came to see me. I thought she was coming to say she was sorry for leaving us with my Dad all those years ago and that she wanted to start over. But nope, she came to tell me she was proud of me and to tell me that she and my stepdad were leaving town.”
“And you never saw her after that? Never stayed in touch?”
Jim shrugged. “She sent me a few letters. I didn’t open them. Look, Chief, she wasn’t satisfied with walking out on me once. She did it twice. That second time was the nail in the coffin of our relationship for me. Besides I wasn’t a kid needing his Mom anymore. I managed on my own.”
Blair nodded. “Okay, I hear you on that but now? Are you going to see her again before we leave?”
“Why? Like I said, that boat’s sailed.” Jim yawned, suddenly feeling the eventful night catching up with him. “I gotta get some sleep. I’m going back to the Chicago PD to write up the report and sign the extradition request then I’ll drop your overnight bag off and then finally, I’m going to get some sleep. I’ll swing by around 12 and see if they’re booting you out of here, all right?” He leaned forward and placed a gentle hand on Blair’s shoulder. “Thanks for what you did tonight, Chief. Really.”
“Anytime, partner. See you tomorrow.” Blair waved as Jim left the room.
“Ready to go?” Jim asked with a smile as he walked into Blair’s hospital room.
“Oh man, I am so ready,” Blair replied. He was already dressed and had his overnight bag that Jim had dropped off for him the night before packed and sitting next to him on the bed. “I am starving, man. You get kinda tired of hospital food once you’ve had to eat it a few too many times. Which it has been since I hooked up with you, partner, if you know what I mean.”
Jim laughed as he shouldered Blair’s bag and waited for Blair to climb into the wheelchair the orderly who had followed him to Blair’s room had brought with him. “I thought you could eat anything, Chief, and judging by that green crap I find in my fridge every morning, you do.”
“Nah, hospital food is in a league of its own, Jim.” Blair shuddered theatrically as the orderly wheeled him out and down the hall to the elevator.
Jim followed them in and pushed the button for the ground level. “We can grab something on our way out of town,” he suggested.
“Oh no, Jim, no fast food. Not when we’ve got a flight and airline food ahead of us. There’s this place in town one of the nurses told me about. It’s like a bistro but with great food. Let’s stop there before we head to the airport. We don’t fly out till this evening.” Blair looked up at Jim, widening his eyes and putting on his best wheedling tone. “I mean I did kind of save your life the other night.”
“Okay, can the puppy dog act, Chief. Truth be told I wouldn’t mind stopping for something to eat myself. I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” Jim didn’t tell Blair that he’d spent most of the night feeling guilty over the way he’d treated his mom. He still didn’t think she was in the right about what she’d done to him and Steven but he could have been a little more diplomatic about it.
“Okay, great.” Blair hopped out of the wheelchair as they reached Jim’s rental car and shook hands with the orderly, asking him to pass on his thanks to the staff for looking after him. Once they were settled in the car Blair handed Jim a card with the name and address of the restaurant on it and Jim found the best route there on the street directory that came with the car then set the car in motion and headed out of the lot.
“So, why the bad night?” Blair asked as they pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot.
Jim shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep without your snoring,” he replied glibly.
“Haha,” Blair said. He climbed out of the car and headed for the entrance while Jim locked up the car.
By the time Jim caught up with him Blair was already at the front counter and talking animatedly to a middle aged couple who were already there. All three turned around as Jim entered and Jim felt as if he’d been hit by a two by four. “Mom,” he said, shooting a death glare at Blair. “What are you doing here?”
“Now don’t be pissed, Jim,” Blair said, moving towards him with his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. “I contacted your mother last night and asked her to meet us here.”
“I see,” Jim said tightly, repressing the urge to spin on his heel and walk out. “Can I speak to you in private for a moment, Sandburg?”
He waited till Blair joined him just outside the restaurant doors then said, “How dare you set me up like this, Sandburg. You have no right to meddle in my private life-“
“Whoa!” Blair held up his hands again. “I’m not meddling… Well, okay, yes, I am a little but can you honestly tell me that the real reason you didn’t get much sleep last night is because you were beating yourself up over the way you acted toward your Mom yesterday? Jim, the only way you’re gonna have any kind of peace over this is if you hear your Mom out at least. You know as well as I do that the reason you and your Dad are okay now is because you finally got the chance to sit down and talk things out with him after he was almost killed. Same with Steven. Now, if you can give them that opportunity I think you owe to your Mom to give her the same. “
Jim sighed. “All right, I’ll talk to her but I’m not promising it’s all gonna be happy families from now on. My Dad might have been a lousy father but at least he didn’t walk out on us twice.”
“Well, he did some other pretty crappy stuff from what you and Steven have told me though so hey, just give her this time to try to explain what was going on with her when it happened, okay?”
“Okay.” Jim walked back into the restaurant and went over to his mother. “I’m sorry, Mom. I owe you at least the time to explain.”
His mother turned glowingly happy eyes on Blair and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Blair, for making this opportunity happen for me.”
“No problem,” Blair said. “So, I booked two tables. One for Jim and his Mom and one for Ben and me. I thought you two might like some privacy.”
Ben laughed. “Good idea. Then if they haven’t killed each other over the course of the meal, we’ll join them for dessert? All right, Grace?”
“More than all right,” Jim’s mother said with a grin.
The concierge came over to escort them to their respective tables and Jim held back long enough to whisper, “Thanks, Chief. Again.”
“Any time, Jim,” Blair whispered back with a broad grin. “That’s what guides, and friends are for.”

domain: literature


The Snapdragon 8 Gen 2, Qualcomm’s new processor for top-of-the-line Android phones and tablets, stands out for its advances in artificial intelligence (AI) processing.
The technology is integrated throughout the chipset’s hardware and promises to deliver “extraordinary experiences”. Present in several components of the mobile platform – from the ISP to the 5G processor – AI allows you to enjoy advanced features, such as multilingual translation and a presence sensor that blocks the cell phone automatically when the owner of the device leaves.
The list below is five exciting features of the chip that uses AI. Read on to find out how each one works and what they offer.
Snapdragon 8 Gen 2 supports real-time multilingual translation. In other words, you can speak in one language, and the cell phone will translate your speech into several different languages. The resource may even look like a common translation application, but it is not: the translation is done directly by the smartphone, even without Internet access. During the Snapdragon Summit, Qualcomm demonstrated the technology to journalists; on that occasion.
This is possible thanks to the hexagonal processor architecture of the Snapdragon 8 Gen 2, which allows it to perform a technique called “Micro Tile Inferencing”. It consists of dismembering artificial intelligence neural networks into tens of thousands of pieces (or “tiles” to use the term translated) to run multiple processes simultaneously.
Cognitive, Emotional Tagging
When the brain stores a memory of a moment, it also holds an emotion associated with that episode. For example, you may feel happy when reviewing a beach photo taken with friends during your vacation. This phenomenon is called “emotional association”, and the purpose of the Snapdragon 8 Gen 2 is to help you relive some of these emotions – using artificial intelligence.
We explain: when searching for a keyword on the cell phone, the system returns a series of photos and videos corresponding to the term. Thus, if you search for “beach”, you will see among the results several images with water and a strip of sand, but not necessarily photographs of remarkable moments that you lived in beach environments.
With the “Cognitive, emotional tagging” feature, Snapdragon 8 Gen 2 uses artificial intelligence to identify the most interesting photographic records, which will appear first in search results. The same goes for videos: when opening the clip, the AI will jump straight to the most exciting moment in the content. Traditionally, on the other hand, the cell phone plays the video from the beginning.
Sensing Hub is a Qualcomm system that uses artificial intelligence to detect user presence. Thus, the technology can automatically block the cell phone screen seconds after the owner leaves the device, for example. The Sensing Hub can also capture footsteps and detect changes in light so that when the person returns close to the smartphone, the technology “wakes up” the cell phone, which the owner with facial biometrics can now unlock. According to Qualcomm, the feature saves battery life and helps preserve privacy.
Always Sensing Camera
The “Always Sensing Camera” feature, as its name implies, uses artificial intelligence to capture images constantly. The technology was announced last year but has received improvements: now, it allows you to scan QR Codes without unlocking the device and opening the camera, for example.
In addition to more convenience, technology promises more privacy. According to Qualcomm, the feature can automatically lock the screen so that others do not snoop on the phone over your shoulder and stop notifications from arriving when you share the display with someone else.
Real-Time Semantic Segmentation
The Snapdragon 8 Gen 2 has a cognitive ISP (an acronym for “Image Signal Processor” in Portuguese) that uses artificial intelligence to improve the capture of photos and videos. With the “semantic segmentation” feature, the camera gains context awareness, recognizing each aspect of your print or video frame and optimizing it individually – just like layered editing in Photoshop. Adjustments are made in real time before you even press the shutter button.
The filter was trained to detect faces, hair, clothing, backgrounds and details such as lips, eyes, and teeth. Thus, the technology can identify a pair of glasses and remove its reflection from the lens, for example, already during an image preview. Semantic targeting allows you to expect photos and videos with bluer skies, smoother skins, and sharper details.
Also Read: Advantages And Disadvantages Of USB-C Cable


text:
World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth is the seventh expansion pack for the massively multiplayer online role-playing game, following Legion. It was announced at BlizzCon on November 3, 2017. In contrast to previous expansions, which went live at midnight in each time zone, the game had a simultaneous release for all regions, corresponding to midnight Central European Summer Time on August 14, 2018.
Like other expansions, it adds new zones, dungeons, raids and etc. In addition to raising the level cap from 110 to 120, the expansion introduces the Kul Tiras and Zandalar continents and four allied races for both the Alliance and the Horde, while also adding dungeons and raids, warfronts (20-player PvE mode against opposite faction NPCs), and uncharted islands.
You can recruit the allied races, who were formerly neutral factions or newly introduced, by completing quest chains. When You unlock an allied race, new characters from that race will start at level 20. If You level up an Allied race from 20 to level 110 without using any character boosts, you will be rewarded with a unique “Heritage Armor” for transmogrification that reflects the unique lore behind the race, but is limited for use to that race.
Initial release date: August 14, 2018 Mode(s): Multiplayer Developer: Blizzard Entertainment Series: Warcraft Designers: Jeremy Feasel, Steve Burke, Matt Goss Platforms: Macintosh operating systems, Microsoft Windows

domain: entertainment


text:
Danny Brown, SKYWLKR, Corin Roddick & LOL Boys DJ’d a Pitchfork Fest afterparty @ Bottom Lounge (pics)
photos by Chase Turner
Corin Roddick (of Purity Ring) @ Bottom Lounge on 7.14.2012
After the 2012 Pitchfork Music Festival wound down on Saturday night (7/14), with closing sets from Godspeed You! Black Emperor and Grimes, Tumblr kept things going with a party at the Bottom Lounge featuring DJ sets from Danny Brown, SKYWLKR, Corin Roddick (of Purity Ring), and LOL Boys.
Chase ventured over after the festival and you can check out more of his pictures below...

domain: artistic


text:
India’s BJP-led government has released a set of revised GDP data that dramatically reduces growth during the previous administration’s tenure
- India’s Ministry of
Statistics, in conjunction with government think tank, Niti Aayog, released a back-dated series of GDPdata on 28 November.
- The data showed that growth under the previous
Congressgovernment between 2004-05 and 2013-14 was less than what the current BJP-led administration has achieved over the last four years.
- The government has said the latest data takes into account wider changes in the primary, secondary and tertiary sectors of the
economyas well as different data sources and methods of calculation.
- The timing of the release is significant as India prepares to go to polls next year, and crucial state elections in Rajasthan and Madhya Pradesh are underway.
The report has raised more than a few eyebrows as it showed that growth under the previous Congress government between 2004-05 and 2013-14 was less than what the current BJP-led administration has achieved over the last four years.
The average annual growth under the first four years of the Congress government’s first tenure between 2004-05 and 2008-09 was pegged at 6.7%, compared to an original estimate of 8.1%. In addition, growth under the Congress government’s second tenure between 2009-10 and 2013-14 was also downgraded to 6.7%, this time from an original estimate of 7%. Meanwhile, growth under the
The move comes three years after the government changed the base year for calculating GDP growth from 2004-05 to 2011-12 in order to “better reflect the economy by adding more sectors”, according to the Pronab Sen, the former chairman of the National Statistical Commission (NSC), which is housed under the MoSPI.
The latest report actually contradicts a set of data released in August 2018 by the Committee on Real Sector Statistics, which was appointed by the NSC. In its report, the committee found that growth under the Congress government’s two tenures, at 8.4% and 7.7%, respectively, was higher than under the BJP-led government in the last four years. As expected, these findings proved to be controversial, with the Rajiv Kumar, the vice-chairman of Niti Aayog, reiterating that the data was “unofficial”.
In response to these numbers, Kumar said that the latest report was more in sync with the international system of economic accounting.
What explains the revision of data?
Like most things, there a number ways to approach the calculation of statistics and hence, it isn’t a stretch to imagine that methodologies can be tailored to suit certain outcomes.
The government has said the latest data takes into account wider changes in the primary, secondary and tertiary sectors of the economy as well as different data sources and methods of calculation. For example, growth estimates in the agriculture and mining industries, which fall under the primary sector, were less than what had originally been calculated.
In addition, the benchmark estimate for the telecom sector was changed from the number of telecom subscribers to the total minutes of usage, while the RBI’s contribution to growth in the financial services sector was given lower weightage. This served to reduce estimated growth in the tertiary sector during the Congress’s tenure.
The timing of the release is significant -- India is preparing to go to the polls next year, and crucial state elections in Rajasthan and Madhya Pradesh are underway. The participation of Niti Aayog, which usually doesn’t dabble in the calculation of economic growth, has also raised concerns that the release of the latest GDP data is politically-driven.
P. Chidambaram, the former Finance Minister during the Congress years, made his distaste for the new data quite clear:
Niti Aayog's revised GDP numbers are a joke. They are a bad joke.— P. Chidambaram (@PChidambaram_IN) November 28, 2018
Whether the report is politically-driven or not, the central government will likely tout its superior management of the economy in an attempt to sway voters. Barbs will be traded over the accuracy of the data and people will choose to believe what they want to believe. What should be noted, however, is that the new data has no bearing on the direction the economy is headed in currently.
India’s GDP growth forecast just got downgraded by Moody’s. Here’s why that matters
India was the world's fastest growing economy for first 3 months of 2018, but there’s a catch
Popular on BI
- A 24-year-old stock trader who made over $8 million in 2 years shares the 4 indicators he uses as his guides to buy and sell
- Financial inclusion made easy for India’s small merchants with Paytm’s pioneering QR codes and Soundbox
- This frequent flyer who's been 'skiplagging' for a decade says she has 'no remorse and no angst'
- These are must to do activities in Lonavala on your next visit
- Inox Wind gets 150-MW wind energy project from NTPCREL
- RBI’s gold holdings jump over 17% to a whopping ₹2,30,734 crore
- Top 5 places to visit in Lonavala
- Meet the heroes of Chennai Super Kings’ who helped Dhoni lift IPL 2023

domain: economics


text:
Area Information in
Menu Home Page for Central in Scotland
UK Web Index
Other areas in Scotland
Dumfries and Galloway
Isle of Lewis
Counties in Central, Scotland
Please Select a Country region for this area:
Council and Area News From
Scottish Executive News Online
Affordable homes scheme goes from strength to strength
House builders encouraged to sign up to next round.
Appointment of a new sheriff
Floating sheriff for Tayside, Dundee and Central
Commonwealth Games trading regulations
Regulations to ensure safety and integrity of the Games.
New lease of life given to empty property in Fife
Homes Again project helps restore properties for affordable rent.
NHS Fife appointment
Chair appointed to Fife NHS Board.
Scotland News Results From
No Whyte-Green link over Rangers
Former chief executive Charles Green is cleared of having close links with former Rangers owner Craig Whyte.
Oil air deaths memorial unveiled
A memorial dedicated to 79 people who lost their lives in four oil industry-related air accidents around Shetland is due to be unveiled.
Police constable 'stole £205,000'
A former police officer goes on trial over allegations that he stole £205,000 in cash, as well as drugs including cocaine and heroin.
Shortfall of £62m in mining clean-up
Taxpayers could be left with a bill for as much as £62m for restoring opencast mines in East Ayrshire.
Tram cables to go up during summer
Final preparations to install overhead and underground cabling are being made for the city centre section of the Edinburgh tram line.
How to Add Your Site
Company Information, Privacy, Copyright & Terms of Service
Advertise With Us
Copyright © 2005 Search Portal. All rights reserved.

domain: news


text:
Nasha Mukti Kendra in Punjab is the life care centre which aims at social well being. It is a centre of rehab treatment where addicts get treatment of de-addiction so that they can recover to live a normal life. This is a centre of life care.
At Counselling Services Melbourne revitalize yourself by overcoming the problems that keep you stuck in life. We are passionate about creating longstanding change, by addressing the barriers that hold us back in life.
Anxiety is a mental disorder that affects your daily life. Some people don’t even know that they are suffering from anxiety. Adelaide anxiety clinic provide Counselling for anxiety problems.We use hypnotherapy and hypnosis to heal mental health care.
Avaana is Australia's leading online community for booking fitness, wellness, and health appointments.
Don't lose time trying to find and call for your next appointment, just use Avaana to search, compare and instantly book online.

domain: medical


text:
Ethereum has gone from the new kid on the block to cryptocurrency kingpin with staggering speed. Driven by the idea of smart contracts executed on the blockchain, Ethereum has become the de facto foundation for blockchain developers, enabling tons of new decentralized apps (dapps) and decentralized autonomous organizations (DAOs). 2017 is just the beginning for Ethereum and Ethereum price prediction experts agree that the currency still has enormous potential for future growth.
The Current State of Ethereum Prices in 2017
Ethereum has exploded in 2017. After starting the year with a January 1 price of $8.27 per ETH, Ethereum hit its peak on September 1 with a price of $389.15, according to CoinDesk. That an increase of 4705% over the course of nine months, making Ethereum the second most valuable cryptocurrency after Bitcoin. As of October 2017, Ethereum’s market cap was just north of $30 billion.
In September, Chinese officials announced that they’d be shutting down cryptocurrency exchanges in the country, leading to a massive devaluation in Ethereum’s price. However, in October 2017 Ethereum has begun to rebound from the bad month in September, and analysts are hopeful that it will regain its impressive growth rate shown in the first half of the year.
Barring any other major news reports, Ethereum price predictions have high hopes for Ethereum headed into 2018 and the medium-term future. Because so many other technologies and crypto-tokens depend on the Ethereum blockchain to power their core features, Ethereum is in a unique position where it’s tokens are actually being used to provide a service. Most cryptocurrencies currently on the market are mostly speculative or used as a means of exchange by a narrow percentage of the population.
Next Year: Ethereum Price Prediction 2018
Ethereum has a couple big technical hurdles in the coming months. None is bigger than its move to proof of stake over the traditional proof of work when creating new blocks for the blockchain. According to Blockgeeks, proof of stake will make the technology more scalable and use less energy for mining.
Instead of having thousands of computers compete to solve cryptographic challenges, Ethereum will have peers put up a sum of currency before they verify transactions. If they verify the transactions truthfully, they’ll have their currency returned plus a reward for the verification work. However, if it’s discovered that they’ve altered the transaction ledger, the verifier will lose all the currency they put up at the beginning of the proof of stake process.
This move to proof of stake will impact Ethereum’s price in 2018. If it’s implemented well, Ethereum will become more valuable as the longevity and scalability of the blockchain increases. However, a poor implementation could throw the Ethereum community into chaos, and the price of ETH could take a hit. Most estimates are positive, and the average consensus is that Ethereum should easily reach $500 in 2018. Some analyst claim even $1000 is not unreasonable.
Medium-Term Forecast: Ethereum Price Prediction 2020
In the medium term, Ethereum could overtake Bitcoin in the next few years as the cryptocurrency of choice for users and investors. Since Ethereum powers smart contracts and the creation of new tokens using the ERC-20 protocol, it’s not unreasonable that it’s popularity could outstrip Bitcoin’s. This is especially possible considering Bitcoin’s scalability issues and current transaction wait times.
Investors are generally bullish on Ethereum’s future. According to one analyst who successfully predicted Bitcoin’s rise to over $5000 this year, Ethereum is on track to at least double its current value. Bobby Ullery, a cryptocurrency investor, is even more bullish in his predictions. According to Ullery, Ethereum and Bitcoin combined will reach a market cap of $4.5 trillion sometime around 2020. He believes cryptocurrencies will make up 5% of global GDP by the end of 2020.
Ullery’s predictions are definitely among the most optimistic out there. Nevertheless, most experts agree that Ethereum makes sense as a good investment as long as you believe the blockchain will be an important, viable technology in the future.
Buy and Hold; This is Just the Beginning
If you believe blockchain technology is the future of applications, development, and data management, then Ethereum is a great investment. According to seven cryptocurrency experts in Fortune, Ethereum is here to stay and new decentralized technology will continue to challenge Wall Street and Silicon Valley. While cryptocurrency investors should be fully aware of the volatile market and be prepared to lose everything they invest, every passing year the blockchain revolution gets closer.
The age old investing advice of buy and hold applies in cryptocurrency as much as in other investing arenas. The cryptocurrency market is volatile, and timing the market is extremely difficult. Do your research and make your own judgments about whether you think Ethereum is a viable currency long term, then be prepared to buy and hold that investment through the bumps in the market.


CUSCO 1-WAY LSD Type-RS (SPEC-F) for Honda Civic FK8 Type-R
Developed by Cusco’s engineers based on Motorsports data and research, the Cusco Type RS SPEC-F mechanical LSD is a new concept using a flat friction disc found only in the SPEC-F LSD’s. Increasing the responsiveness and overall balance of acceleration/deceleration. Extremely high durability and reliability are derived from Cusco’s unique mechanism and manufacturing method.
The CUSCO Type RS LSD comes in both 1-way and 1.5-way options.
1-way LSD is specifically suited for front wheel drive cars. It activates under acceleration, and acts as a true LSD when the throttle is off.
1.5-way LSD activates under acceleration while the under steer under deceleration is less than a 2-way LSD.
2-way is recommended for those who are struggling with under-steer.
All Cusco limited slip differentials have the option of adjusting the responsiveness and the locking characteristics of the LSD by the combinaion of each plate and its designation of how it is stacked. Cusco’s exclusive clutch plate grooves are cut radially enabling instant oil movement, thus improving efficiency and durability. The pressure ring contact surface is polished for an even and flat contact with the clutch plates.
The exclusive Cusco Oil Through System enhances great oil circulation and supply to the necessary areas when used with the Cusco LSD Oil.
This listing is for a 1-way 35° LSD
Increase the driving experience for the Honda Civic FK8 Type-R.
We are continuously adding new products to our website, if you can’t find the part listing for your car, please contact us and we’ll price you up over email.
Other CUSCO Parts


text:
Acceptance of AERC recommendations a positive step forward.
Sinn Féin South Belfast MLA and Policing spokesperson Alex Maskey has welcomed the Assembly's endorsement of the recommendations from the Assembly and Executive Review Committee on the establishment of a Department of Justice.
Speaking after a debate in the Assembly last night Mr Maskey said,
"This is a positive step forward in relation to the devolution of policing and justice powers to the Assembly here in the North.
"It is of vital importance that locally elected and accountable politicians can take control of these important matters.
"I believe the vast majority of the public will welcome this development and will look forward to having a much more effective and efficient criminal justice system to tackle crime and anti-social behaviour within our communities.

domain: sociology


Will Booking.com’s Hungarian Hosts Finally Get Paid?
- Hungarian short-term rental hosts on Booking.com face significant payment delays, causing potential business closures. Despite Booking.com attributing delays to system updates, payments have not resumed as initially promised.
- In response to wildfires, Oahu relaxes short-term rental restrictions and Airbnb introduces a flexible cancellation policy in Maui to assist affected residents and travelers.
- Facing challenges during the pandemic, Sonder pivots to focus on hotels, launching the “Powered by Sonder” collection and highlighting its efficient operation of these properties compared to traditional multi-family buildings.
Hungary’s short-term rental hosts who offer their properties on Amsterdam-based Booking.com haven’t been paid for several months, leaving some having to decide whether they’ll need to shutter their businesses, according to published reports. Among the latest developments, regulatory authorities in Hungary initiated a complaint process against Booking, charging that a majority of hosts in the country haven’t […]


Unofficial and inconclusive results of the repolling for all 59 seats of the local body elections across 15 districts in Sindh have been received.
The by-elections were held on Sunday in districts including Hyderabad, Nawabshah, Khairpur, Sukkur, Sanghar, Jacobabad, Kundhkot, Larkana and Badin from 8 am to 5 pm. However, the results are yet to be declared officially.
Unofficial and inconclusive results from the 59 repolled seats of the local body elections in 15 districts of Sindh are now available.
The Pakistan People’s Party (PPP) reportedly won 39 seats, while the Grand Democratic Alliance (GDA) secured 6 seats. The Tehreek-e-Insaf (PTI) won 2 seats, and the Jamiat Ulema-e-Islam (JUI) and Muttahida Qaumi Movement-Pakistan (MQM-P) each won one seat.
Also Read: Imran Khan’s Politics Push Country to Brink: “One of Us Must Go,” Rana Sanaullah
The unofficial results also indicate that independent candidates won in 9 seats. The local body elections featured contests for Chairman, Vice Chairman, Member District Council, and General Member seats. The polls were postponed due to some constituencies’ allegations of rigging and violence.
During the by-elections in different areas of Sindh, a clash broke out between PPP and Tehreek-e-Insaf activists in Hyderabad. The incident occurred during polling on UC-18 in Hyderabad, where two groups of workers clashed, punching and kicking each other.


text:
While it is extremely important to educate yourself and your dental staff on dental sleep medicine and TMD, it is even more important to make sure you are educating your patients. A patient that is “in the know” with important information will be able to properly care for themselves and reach out to your office when a problem arises.
What is Patient Education?
Patient education is when you provide your patients with verbal or written material on a specific topic or area of interest. For your dental office, you would be providing your patients with valuable information on sleep apnea, TMD, craniofacial pain or other areas of Dental Sleep Medicine. These materials are used to help improve patient understanding and prevent complications.
Your educational material should offer patients an increased understanding of dental sleep medicine, the process and instructions about activities and treatments to help assist the patient. Providing educational material for your dental office can result in improved long-term outcomes, which ultimately lead to better coping and decision-making skills.
The Benefits for Patients
An informed and educated patient can actively participate in his or her own treatment at your dental office. They can also improve outcomes, and help to identify problems before they occur. Some other benefits of educating your patients include:
- Increasing your patient’s ability to cope with and manage their health.
- Empowering patients to make important decisions in relation to their care.
- Helping patients learn how to improve their health.
- Increasing patient confidence in his or her care.
- Decreasing treatment complications.
How Can Your Office Benefit?
While your patients will greatly benefit from education, your dental office can also benefit greatly. By providing targeted and appropriate patient education, your office can experience the following benefits:
- Increased patient satisfaction
- Compliance with regulatory standards
- Improved efficiency through cost-effective care
Knowledge is power, which means patient education is powerful for the patient and your office. To learn more about incorporating Dental Sleep Medicine into your practice and providing education to your patients, Dr. Mayoor Patel offers Consulting services to help each step of the way. Contact Dr. Patel today for more information.