[b]The Anthrozine:[/b] [Channel has been unmuted] [LatheofHeathens is now AnthrozineEditorYork] [b]AnthrozineEditorYork[/b]: I’ve been thinking of this for a while now. Anthropozine goes back to when climate change was the big problem, but we’re not even on Earth anymore. We’re changing brand and dropping a syllable. [b]AnthrozineEditorYork[/b]: Thanks to Fickle for the new logo, digital pawprint should be up on the new frontpage now. [b]PerfidiouslyFickle[/b]: Are we going to talk about Junta? [b]AnthrozineEditorYork[/b]: This is talking about Junta. [b]AnthrozineEditorYork[/b]: transphobes have been holding a candlelit fucking vigil for the innocent journalist hit in the crossfire treating him like more of a martyr than Costa-Silva [b]AnthrozineEditorYork[/b]: we burned her so bad today and here’s a perfectly good cismale to take a bullet [b]AnthrozineEditorYork[/b]: how do you think Junta is going to feel when he wakes up to that, people using him like that? It wasn’t even the mouse that fucking shot him [b]NumbToNothing[/b]: if he wakes up [b]AnthrozineEditorYork[/b]: don’t [b]NumbToNothing[/b]: I saw the video man, it’s if [b]NumbToNothing[/b]: I want to have hope too but don’t lie about it [b]IAmWhatIAm[/b]: He’s stable. [b]AnthrozineEditorYork[/b]: You getting survivor’s guilt, Pope? [b]IAmWhatIAm[/b]: No worse than before, no. [b]AnthrozineEditorYork[/b]: Incredible stuff [b]3V: [/b]What about you? [b]AnthrozineEditorYork[/b]: Easy answer. If he doesn’t live then I can’t apologize for the last time we talked, and that’s too grim to be possible. [b]AnthrozineEditorYork[/b]: Besides. We all know the rules about Junta sleeping. [b]AnthrozineEditorYork[/b]: Two days before we start worrying about it. [b]3V[/b]:[b] [/b]It’s the first time he’s slept since Wednesday [b]3V[/b]: You know if he wakes up sooner than that he’s just going to ask to go back under [b]Bondi:[/b] “Their mum got shot because of us, right, what we did?” Bondi says more than asks. “I know she was going to shoot someone, but, we’re the reason she chose their mum.” The TV is off. The lights are dimmed and warm. Half a Malaysian takeout sits on a table at room temperature. [b]OESN:[/b] “... was a victim of domestic violence. The shooter, still only identified as ‘Squeaky Fromme’, is believed to have purchased the firearm for purposes of…” [b]Fiona:[/b] She’s in the physical rehabilitation wing, it’s all soft tissue damage but it’s done enough damage to justify it. The hybrid limb fits along the exterior of the leg and straps into it, with leads running into a camping backpack which carries the batteries for it. Ugly white-treated metal in utilitarian form, rugged and practical medicine in nature. She practices taking steps in it, it takes work to learn how to have the machinery take all her weight without putting any on her own legs out of habit. Every step is that feeling of when a staircase step is a centimeter lower than your foot expects it, and you’ve got to do it on purpose. She’s not expecting visitors here. She hasn’t heard the news yet. [b]NBN:[/b] “... proves that these modifications lead to derangements. Genetic modification passes the blood-brain barrier as we all know, and the effects of these drastic interventions-” “Tested, verified, peer-reviewed-” “[i]Drastic[/i] interventions clearly leads to instability as we’re now seeing, a clearly dangerous element, just look at Adrian Liddell-” [b]Chaka[/b]: The shut-down local rail depo in Aphrodite still works for its purpose, hauling freight, it was just built for residential zoning in a commercial neighbourhood. Chaka endlessly doomscrolls the videos over and over and over again, sitting with her back against the controls for the station-hopper she’s been using. “Alice, girl, what did you do?” The post-office sized building crammed with black cases holds no answer. “We could have talked. We could have talked this one out.” [b]Crystal[/b]: “They never see the first draft,” she says, ruined. “All that matters is what they see in the final cut.” She’s managed to tip the throne over on its side, surprisingly it’s not bolted to the floor - probably for cleaning purposes. She sits on the side of it, royal purple cushion ripped in half with her bare hands. Her hair is ruined and her cheeks are tear-stained, drying but never dry. “I’ll be what they need me to be tomorrow.” She looks across the room at where her phone lies cracked in a pile of fallen wall plaster. “I just need tonight.” [b]Dudekov:[/b] His cottage is dark. You can see him in his study from a high vantage point on a hill across the street, if you jump a fence for it. Two guards beside him, now. He’s not a part of this. These two things are not connected, related. All it has done is inspired in him the same banal fear of populist violence and retribution as any other member of this gated community to the news that not even a High Court Justice is safe. That’s not a reason against doing this now, focusing on it. This is something you can do. And with all the attention elsewhere, you will never get a better distraction to act than this.