Have you all ever discovered something cool?

It could be in an attic, or in a back yard, during a dig up, or in a pocket of clothes.

To qualify, it has to be unexpected, and unique. Like finding a silver dollar in an old grandmothers’ coat, or a ticket to Woodstock in an old book. Or, perhaps it is a curious written message taped to the wall in a crawlspace. It could be anything.

I have a cousin that discovered a 1950’s era Lionel train set in the attic of a house that they had bought. Sure it was a fixer-upper, but the discovery of that old train set was glorious.

My friend from boyhood; Dino discovered (during the family home renovation) that there was once a fire in their house, and the previous owners simply wall-papered up and over all the burned wood. Imagine that!

My sister lives in Lewistown, PA. She buys homes as a hobby (?) actually for investment. But whatever. Well, it’s kind of cool the things that she would discover. She was once renovating one of these houses, and pulled off the paper-walled wall, when she discovered a gorgeous set of “pocket doors”. They were amazing; all in exquisite hardwood.

All kinds of things can be found in the most obscure locations.

I once found a pile of old “girlie” magazines behind an access panel. This was in a second floor handyman’s apartment above the Manor garage.  There was an ancient refrigerator in the kitchen area, and behind it was this little access door that led to the cubbyhole under the eves of the garage.

It was  maybe an inch or a half high, and covered with decades of dust.

These girlie magazines were nothing like what you would see today.

All the girls wore clothes, and bikini’s.  No nudes. Just suggestive images and photos with lusty stories that were pretty darn hot.

Who knows what discoveries that you might come across in your future?

Today…

May not be truthful

In the past, we were taught history or general knowledge documented in school textbooks and then tested to determine our level of understanding and knowledge retention of what we were taught. No chance to question.

Now we realized that history books written may not be truthful and news that we read or listened to may be fabricated to lie and to deceive us. We now have to question everything especially coming from our government leaders and mass media.

Do our own research, participate in social media discussions and form our own conclusions. Many of us should be educated enough to hunt for the truths – thanks to the internet. But we have to speak up and share our findings, otherwise what good is there to keep the truth to ourselves.

How I see the USA as a European (After a Month There)

What is the best example of “someone having the last laugh”?

At that time I was flying from New York to India and the plane was quite full.

Next to me sat an elderly Indian woman. As I was getting comfortable in my seat, a couple came to our seats (a row of three) and told the elderly woman that she was sitting in their seat. I could tell that the Indian woman, traveling alone, was having a hard time responding in English. So, I checked her boarding pass and asked the couple to wait a moment while I called the flight attendant on duty.

The wife started being rude and saying things like, “We’re Americans, so we should be given priority,” and ” Foreigners always book tickets at the last minute and because they don’t speak English, all this chaos happens.”

I stood up and offered the protesting woman a seat and she said she wanted “her seat” which the older woman was sitting in.

Luckily, a flight attendant came shortly after, then I explained the situation and she saw that the couple was still ranting.

He asked me to take our bags and escort the old Indian ladies.

As we walked away, the wife was still ranting about how we had inconvenienced them.

Honestly I didn’t think much of it because for me sitting in another seat wasn’t a big deal.

We started walking. We crossed two sections of economy seating and ended up in business class!

I told the flight attendant that it was okay for me to go back to my original seat in economy class and she said, “You can accompany this lady. I’m sure she doesn’t want to be here alone.”

I had to go back to my seat to get my reading glasses which I had left in my seat pocket.

And what I saw, the wife argued with the flight attendant because we were already in economy class, they were the ones who should have been moved to business class. Obviously, she saw what happened.

I hope their flight remains enjoyable.

As the plane was about to land, the old lady sitting across from me (in business class of course) grabbed my hand and said ‘thank you’ and that was the most important moment of the trip.

Peace.

Scientists Have Just Detected Something Huge In Space That Keeps Sending Us Thousands Of Messages

A very interesting and fun video for your enjoyment.

As a non-Chinese, do you see China as a friend or a foe?

In am an Indian

We NEED CHINA badly

I don’t say China is a friend

Yet on an economic scale, India can’t do without China if India wants to advance or grow realistically

Presently Indias Manufacturing represents around 3% of the Global Manufacturing of which 68% is Low Grade & 32% is Medium Grade

This means India represents 0.96% of all Medium Grade Manufacturing in the world

Less than Vietnam (1.7%) , Mexico (2.4%) or even Bangladesh (1.0%)

China’s Manufacturing represents 36.3% of Global Manufacturing of which 14% is Low Grade, 71% is Medium Grade and 11% is High Grade and 4% is Advanced

This means China represents 24% of all the Medium Grade Manufacturing in the world

So to increase our manufacturing base, train our people and increase our output – we need Chinese Equipment and Chinese Investments

Without them we can’t genuinely progress forward

---

I can’t endorse hitting ourselves on the feet with an axe just for 50 paise nationalism!!

Maybe we need to rethink “nuclear weapons”

Pot Roast with Potatoes

Ingredients

• 1 (1 1/2 pound) pot roast
• 3 garlic cloves, crushed
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1 tablespoon vinegar
• 1 onion, cut into small pieces
• 1 tablespoon olives and capers
• 2 tablespoons Red Oil(Oil with Annatto)
• 3 potatoes, cut into halves

Instructions

1. Season the meat with garlic, salt and vinegar. Make small holes in the meat and fill with chopped onions olives and capers. Brown the meat in the Red Oil.
2. Sauté the potatoes. Cover with water. Season to taste. Cook for 45 minutes covered, over low heat.

Life on a Station

Submitted into Contest #24 in response to: Write a story set in the dark recesses of space where the two main characters are often at odds with each other in humorous and comedic ways.… view prompt

Corey Melin

Gorgin walked the corridors once again to make sure everything was okay.“Why do I have to continue to check out the station when we have systems set-up to make sure everything is in order on the station?” he asked the commander of the station, Morgan.“Just do it,” said Morgan.  “You never know what can get past our systems way out here in space.  There is a lot of unknown things out here. I’m tired of explaining to you each time it’s your turn.”Now, Gorgin was walking through the corridors, and checking out room after room.“Why such  huge station for just a few people?” thought Gorgin.Gorgin rounded the corner, and in front of him stood an alien that stood seven feet tall, green scaly skin, fish eyes, a mouth full of sharp teeth, and claws reaching out to him.  All Gorgin could do is stare in shock then let out a piercing scream as he started backing up around the corner, then turning and running as fast as he could. Before he reached the end he could hear someone laughing hysterically behind him.  He came to a stop and turned around seeing Dwight in the alien outfit pointing at him and laughing.“I will be taking this to the commander!” he cried out, as soon as he went to his room to change.“I can’t believe I have two adult men standing in front of me,” said Morgan.  “The two of you clowns have been at each other since you came to this station.  Should we go over everything the two of you have done to each other?”“This was all started by Dwight,” said Gorgin.  “He was the one who set the dials so I woke-up out of slumber as an old man.”Morgan and Dwight chuckled over that one.“That was a quick fix, but it was fun while it lasted,” said Dwight.“It didn’t end there with the two of you,” said Morgan.  “I believe the next mishap is when Dwight transported in the station and appeared in another section with three butt cheeks.  Courtesy of Gorgin tampering with the controls.”“Sitting down was quite comfy,” admitted Dwight with a grin.“Even though, the two of you have brought much humor to everyone you need to act like adults,” said Morgan.  “You think the two of you can do that?”The two of them nodded their heads.“Now get out of my sight and do your duties,” demanded Morgan.Both of them left the room, staring at each other with dislike.“I would greatly appreciate it if you could move to the other side of the station so I would see you less,” said Gorgin.“I would say that it would be even better if you would move off the station,” said Dwight.“Just stay away from me,” both said at the same time, and they went their separate locations.It was a couple of days later that the two met again.Gorgin went into what everyone called the “Pet Room” to create himself a pet to keep him company.  As he entered the room he saw that Dwight was already in the room at the controls.“What the heck are you doing in here?” he asked.Dwight turned to him.  “Looking for a pet. What do you think idiot?”“Hurry up then,” said Gorgin.Dwight went back to the controls and went back to pushing buttons.  Time went by as Gorgin waited impatiently for him to finish.“I think I got it,” said Dwight.  “Oh wait. That won’t do.”“That is enough,” huffed Gorgin, stomping over to Dwight.  “Give me the controls.”Next moment, both of them were fighting over the controls, pressing and clicking until there was a sudden flash that lit up the room.  Both of them stopped and looked at each other with befuddled looks.

“What the heck was that?” asked Gorgin.

“Not a clue,” replied Dwight.

“We should probably check around the station to make sure everything is okay,” said Gorgin.

The two left the room, trying to call the commander, but getting no answer.

“Let’s go to command center first,” said Gorgin.

The two rushed to the command center.

“Dwight did it!” Gorgin cried out as soon as they entered the room.

“No I didn’t!” Dwight called back.  “You butted in!”

But the two realized they were wasting there blame game for the commander was nowhere in sight.  They looked all over, but no sight of the commander.

“He’s not in the freshening room,” said Dwight coming out after a flush.

“Strange for him to be gone,” said Gorgin.

Then the two of them heard a squeak.

“What the hell was that?” asked Dwight.

“Sounds like the commander has a pet,” replied Gorgin.

The two started looking around until the two came to the commander’s chair.  Both saw at the same time a squirrel on the seat looking at both of them. It started chattering, then jumped off the chair.

“I didn’t know the commander had a pet?” asked Dwight.

Gorgin shrugged his shoulders and scratched his head.  Then a light bulb popped on inside his head.

“What pet were you looking at getting?” he asked Dwight.

“I was contemplating on getting a tamed squirrel,” he replied.

It didn’t take too long for the two to figure out what happened.

“Did we turn the commander into a squirrel?” asked Dwight.

Gorgin just nodded then the two searched for the squirrel, which ran around the room.

“We need to get him,” Gorgin said.

The two chased after the squirrel, bumping into each other, and Gorgin grabbing the squirrel, but it bit him, and was loose once again.

“We need to get the room robot,” said Gorgin as he shook his hurt finger, going over to the panel.

He pressed some switches and next moment the robot came out.

“Retrieve the squirrel,” said Gorgin.

It didn’t take long for the robot to scoop of the squirrel and deposit it into a glass came.

“Now to see about the rest of the crew,” said Gorgin.

The two of them checked for lifeforms on the station, then checked the screens for each room they detected life.  All the lifeforms were squirrels.

“What did you do?” asked Gorgin.

“You were the one pressing numerous buttons,” said Dwight.

“We need to fix this fast,” said Gorgin.

Gorgin released the robots in each room, and the squirrels were scooped up.  The other robots were sent to the pet room.

“I hope we can reverse this,” said Gorgin as they headed to the pet room.

All the robots were in the room as the two of them tried to figure out a way to make their crew human again.

“I think I got it,” said Gorgin.  “We need to get out of the room so nothing happens to us.  The robots will be released once we leave.”

The two left the room, robots released, and there was a bright flash.  The two went back into the room and saw everyone was human again. The only thing is that they were all naked.  Commander Morgan stood up and looked at the two men with a stare of death.

“We are in trouble,” muttered Dwight.

The next day the two were put in cryosleep  until the next crew came in a couple of years.  Before both of them lay down for their sleep they looked at each other, and both of them grinned.

The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

A website that creates new words for emotions that don’t have a name. It’s a poetic and thoughtful exploration of the human experience.

Sorrows

Some examples of the content…

7 USA CULTURE SHOCKS we experienced as New Zealanders in Big City America!

Shorpy

Anyone out there remember The Good Humor Man?

If I were to hear the Good Humor Man’s bell right now, after not having heard it since 1988, no doubt my old retired leg springs would automatically reactivate, and shoot me out the door, landing me down the street, right at the side window of his truck — Creamsicle, please!

The reason I happen to know the very last time I heard it is because I was in the midst of first time sex with a man, we were on Ecstasy, and neither of us had heard it in over a decade, having been living on a Good Humorless island in Puget Sound.

But we’d used a friend of mine’s Seattle apartment as a trysting place that day, and suddenly, in the midst of thrashing joy, the bells of perfect childhood began to ring!

Yes, I remember the very last time I heard the Good Humor Man’s truck, surprised only that I can’t pinpoint it any more than Spring of ‘88, when we didn’t even get out of bed to chase him down.

Who knew it’d be the last chance!

TOP “Drill Sergeant Monologue” Reactions! Full Metal Jacket Movie Reaction First Time Watching

Half of Forever

Submitted into Contest #24 in response to: Write a story set in the dark recesses of space where the two main characters are often at odds with each other in humorous and comedic ways.… view prompt

Morgan Elbert

 

“Christ, One!  What the hell were you thinking?” the voice came through the hud slightly distorted.  Nothing had been right on the Doppel Station for days, maybe weeks. It was difficult to keep track of time in this lifestyle.  There were no nights, no days, and essentially no schedule. Work needed done when it needed done and it didn’t matter if the men were tired or hungry or whatever other excuse they might concoct. One tried to focus his mind enough to remember when the issues had arisen.  He knew it was during Twenty-Seven. Measuring events in that way made him feel lugubrious, but it had been his best method to date. These minor external repairs were not typically so frequent, and he grew concerned that it meant the end of the station was coming soon. Perhaps it had drifted from its axis, or some distant celestial body had shifted and was influencing it in some way.  They were still waiting to hear back from the Union regarding their query.

“One!  Yo, you listening, man?” the voice crackled through again.  One rolled his eyes and sighed, knowing the heavy exhale would be detected by the suit.  He liked the idea of his disdainful sigh echoing through the main deck for his crewmate to hear.

“God One, you don’t have to be so pissy.  Just fix that panel and get the hell back inside.  I’m sick of monitoring your vitals,” came the response.

After finishing his work, One leaned back against the hull of the station and watched the swirling of the reality around him.  The Dorra galaxy was on the small side for those that had been explored, and to One, it felt quaint — cozy even. It was like living in the smallest nearby town and still being able to see the nightlights of the closest big city.

At least, that is how One thought of it, from his studies of old human culture.  He, himself, had never lived on the planet known as Earth. Born and bred on this ship, he spent much of his free time daydreaming; imagining what life must have been like for his ancestors.  Walking in something called grass — typically green with threadlike fingers of roots extending down into the soil for nutrients, hydrogen dioxide, and security.  He wondered what that might feel like, having roots and security. Breathing unfiltered air, filled with the pollution and aromas of the natural world.  One’s entire life had been inside this shell, floating endlessly in an even more endless vacuum of nothingness. Even the gravity he experienced wasn’t what he considered natural.

“Bro — Wake up and get your ass inside,” the voice broke his melancholy revelry and One felt more angry than he had in weeks.  It wasn’t often that he sat out against the hull and let himself take in the view, but it was without fail that whenever he did, he was called back inside with the same crass phrasing that effectively wrecked whatever peace he had found in his meditation.

As One closed the airlock behind himself and secured it, he could feel the needy eyes on him through the door.  He slowly and meticulously removed his gear, inspecting each piece before placing it carefully in his cubby. Mainly, he took such care in this process because he found it an effective method to avoid returning into the main hull of the station, and thereby further prolonging his peace and isolation.

Technically, they were always supposed to take this level of care in their return inspections, but it was well known that few of the ‘nauts ever did, especially this far from the Hub.  Stations like the Doppel rarely, if ever, received elite visitors, and never had surprise inspections from the higher-ups. In fact, the Doppel was much more of a small outpost than a proper station.  The Doppel was a small superfluous station responsible for monitoring the oxygen levels and watching for signs of life on tiny dead rock on the outskirts of the galaxy. ‘Nauts stationed here were meant to exist, write reports for the Union, and maintain that there were always two living there.  Nothing else.

A pounding echoed around One as he painstakingly inspected his last valve and he turned to the door to see an angry face peering through the glass at him.

“Come on, man, get in here!!!”

“I’m doing my inspections,” One replied.

“You’re wasting time and you know it!”

“ME? Never. Why on Doppel would I ever do something like that?” he asked, faking an aghast expression.

“Duuuude….”

He ignored the plea.

“Duuuuuuuuuude.”

He continued fiddling with his equipment, turning away from the door to hide a smile.

“Gawwwwd, dude.”

One started laughing.

“Alright, I’m coming, Twenty-Seven. Calm down,” he said, crossing through the door at last.

Twenty-Seven tackled him.

“Dude, it is so freakin’ lonely in this tin can, man. I don’t know what to do with myself,” he said, latching on to One’s back.

“Maybe you should try studying or reading or something,” One replied, pulling away from the younger man, “you haven’t been alive long enough to be this bored.”

“I’m plenty old enough to be bored, bro,” came the indignant reply.

“Dude, you’ve been alive 46 days.  I activated the Womb for you less than 3 months ago.  You have no right to be this bored.”

“Yeah, and you’ve only been alive, what, 180 days?” the young man asked sarcastically, though he knew the actual count was much longer.

“I’ve been here forever.”  A cold and measured response.

The younger man scoffed before jumping on One’s back again.

One pulled away once more and went to the bunk room.  Twenty-Seven followed him closely, something clearly on his mind.  One turned to him.

“What’s up, man?” he asked tiredly.

“It’s just — Man, uh — What happened to Twenty-Six?”

“I’ve told you what happened to Twenty-Six.”

“No, you just said you needed a replacement.”

“That’s what happened to Twenty-Six.  He needed replaced.”

“Dude, you know what I mean.”

“Twenty-Six died.”

“Well doy. How?”

“We’re in space. Even if we weren’t, death is a certainty.”

“Dude, One, you are the worst at answering questions, like, ever.”

One laughed.

“Yeah, but I’m still the best teacher you’ve ever known.” he chuckled.

“You’re also the worst everything I’ve ever known,” Twenty-Seven quipped.

The men stood in silence briefly. One lowered himself onto his bunk.  Twenty-Seven watched him, an increasingly tragic expression spreading across his face.  One leaned back and closed his eyes tightly, intentionally refusing to see the younger man’s pitiful appearance.  He was tired of answering these questions with each new iteration. At this point, it seemed an exercise in futility.

Each story ended the same, each life coming to the same closing line; never anything special.  It had become easier with each passing individual. Two had been a real struggle. One had been uncertain that he would ever recover from losing his first second hand man.  He had tried to make himself disconnect since then. He spent more time outside the station when he could. Tried to be independent from them. But Twenty-Seven — Twenty-Seven reminded him too much of himself in the very beginning, beyond the obvious fact that they had the exact same face, the same DNA.  Each of the men had the same face and DNA; that wasn’t special. Somehow though, Twenty-Seven was special. Excitable and eager to know whatever he could. Stifled by life inside the Doppel. It took great effort to remain aloof with this one. One reflected on the lives of the others, how shockingly dissimilar they had all been, all facts considered, and yet they all ended the same.  Such is life, he thought to himself.

 

 

 

One woke up naturally for the first time in what felt like ages.  No klaxon blaring, no clingy crewmate awaiting his eyes to flutter open.  “Good,” he thought. Perhaps at last Twenty-Seven had gotten the hint to stop asking so many questions.  He rose slowly, stretching his aching body. The human body was not designed to spend its entire life in space.  Even One, essentially created for that purpose, still struggled with the effects.

One found Twenty-Seven sitting quietly near the com panel and staring through the view screen at the celestial bodies of Dorra that blinked and flickered around them.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he whispered, placing his hand on Twenty-Seven’s shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah,” Twenty-Seven responded, being jarred from whatever distant reality his mind had ventured off to.

“So like me,” One thought with a gentle smile, before saying “Get some sleep, man.”

Twenty-Seven rose mindlessly and followed the instruction.  “How long has he been awake?” One wondered, before taking Twenty-Seven’s place at the com.  Still no message from the Union. One felt a familiar twinge of concern, before shaking it off.  What did it matter, really, he asked himself. He went about his routine, checking the equipment, checking readings, looking for anything that might have gone awry during his rest.  He was relieved to find there had been nothing out of the ordinary, and returned to his studies.

“Tell me what happened to Twenty-Six,” a groggy voice croaked from behind One.  He had been reading for hours, and the sudden reminder that he was not alone startled him.

“Christ, man!” he yelled.

“Tell me,” Twenty-Seven said again, “I need to know.”

“You already know.”

“I know he’s dead. I don’t know how he got there.”

“Does it even matter?” One shot back, “Dead is dead. Who cares how anyone arrived at dead. All that matters is that they are dead.”

“What happened to you, man,” Twenty-Seven asked quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“What happened to you?  Seriously, how can it not matter how they got there?  Dead is DEAD, man! Becoming dead is a big freakin’ deal.”

“Drop it,” One yelled. He felt his long stifled emotions bubbling up inside him.

Twenty-Seven was silent.

One was silent.

The silence became its own entity.  A threesome to their short staffed company.  It floated down on them and wrapped them up, holding them against one another.  One stared at Twenty-Seven, staring at his own face. Younger, not so worn down by the nihilism, unscathed by the repeated witnessing of death after death.  Hair still cut to regulation. Twenty-Seven stared back, tears prickling at his eyes and throat. He saw himself, and yet something completely different. Long, unkempt hair licking at that uncanny face, yet the skin pulled differently.  Tighter, and yet wrinkling slightly around the eyes, across the forehead. That face no longer held its softness. Silence coiled tighter, beginning to hint at suffocation.

“Look, I can’t tell you what happened to them, man,” One whispered through the smog of silence that nestled around them, “I just can’t do it again.”

Twenty-Seven nodded slowly.  Time drifted without meaning again, the way it had for so long, the way it always would, but in that moment, it was palpable.

An alarm blasted through the station, nearly shaking the men.  Something was wrong. Severely wrong. The silence that had enveloped them was eradicated.  They rushed to the com to see if they could see anything. The view screen was blank. The instruments were going berserk.  Inconsistent and chaotic readings flashed over and over before the entire com powered down. The lights dimmed inside the vessel, and a warning message began repeating itself.  One looked to Twenty-Seven. The young man’s face was contorted into fear and frown. One patted him on the shoulder. “I’m going outside,” he shouted over the various sirens and messages the station’s computer blasted through the hull.  Twenty-Seven grabbed his hand. “I’ll go,” he yelled, but One slipped away and ran for the airlock.

One grabbed his gear and slipped it on far more quickly than he ever had.  This was not how these situations were typically handled. The man with seniority was not the one who was supposed to go out during the outages, but he didn’t care.  Regulations be damned. He wasn’t going to watch it happen again. Twenty-Seven stood at the doorway, watching One as he dressed, screaming something unheard through the chaos that shattered everything he had ever known.  One heard as Twenty-Seven began trying to open the door into the airlock and before the younger man could progress, he opened the outer door, effectively locking the rest of the station down until proper procedures allowed things to open again.

One ventured out onto the shell of the station where he had spent his life.  He immediately saw where the vessel had been struck by some manner of space debris.  Two of the twelve power cells placed around the outside of the ship had been knocked loose, likely causing a short in the circuit and causing the power levels to fluctuate inside.  He set to repairing the damaged pieces, and looked up to see still more hurtling towards the Doppel. He worked as quickly as he could, but it was not fast enough. He had only been able to repair one of the cells before the next impact.  A small piece of rock struck him at such velocity it tore through the arm of his suit. Safety procedures activated. The arm was severed off and sealed instantaneously. The temperature rose rapidly on the blade inside the sleeve, cauterizing the amputation.  One screamed in pain, though from everything he had read, this was nothing compared to what would have happened without the guillotine effect of his suit. He had poured over the manuals that warned of what could happen in these circumstances. How the water in human skin would vaporise in the absence of atmospheric pressure; moisture on the tongue would boil.  All of that, of course, only mattered if the rest of you somehow had oxygen and protection from the vacuum of space. The hud began a countdown, indicating how long he had left without receiving proper medical attention. These suits, while advanced technology, could simply not stave off human death without other measures being taken to recover.

One’s mind flashed back, again and again, to each of the different men he had lost during his time on the station.  Had this been what they had felt? This fear? This — well, this relief? What sort of emotional cocktail did they each experience?  Were they — Was he — glad? He felt himself floating away from the hull of the station. The impact must have been enough to separate his magnetic boots from the titanium.  It was a weak bond anyway. It only made sense that it would have. As he rotated away from the only home he had ever known, the only home he could ever have known, he tried not to imagine the face of his protege.  He tried not to see that same face, over and over again in his mind. The fear. God, the fear. Two’s final scream flashed through his mind. Eleven. Nineteen. Each face, the same, and yet so different in that final moment.  Each death had been different, but was that even possible? Each had taken place in the same location — this godforsaken station in this corner of this godforsaken galaxy. Each death of the same person, genetically. How could it have been so different each time?  The urgency of the message in his hud increased, counting away One’s final seconds, and he felt a feeling of anticipation. Of impending freedom?

 

 

 

The Womb hummed in the background as Twenty-Seven sat at the com, studying up on life in the olden days, back on Earth.  He absent-mindedly worked his finger through the scars on his face. The scars he had put there with a broken piece of the ship gathered during a repair mission.  They were designs he had created after discovering the concept of “tattoos” during one of his deep dives into old human culture. It was his only way of feeling different.  When at last the Womb unlocked, he felt a very slight tickle of excitement. What it would be to not be alone again, even for a little while. He tried to stifle the feeling.  He knew how this always ended.

“Welcome to the Doppel,” the computer voice chirped pleasantly.

Twenty-Seven stepped into the room to watch the new arrival recover from the incubation process.  It sat up slowly, rising out of the pink amniotic fluid that each of the men was born from, stretching its back and arms.  It looked around. Focusing on his face. It blinked several times, and he waited patiently for the eyes to focus. It took some time, this orientation to the world of the living.  Fortunately, each of the clones was born with the ability to understand language and to speak it; once they figured out how to make their vocal cords work, anyway. The amnion drained from the incubation pod and the hatch opened, allowing the newest arrival to the station to step out into its new home.

Twenty-Seven leaned against the wall.  His hair was long, tumbling down his shoulders.  His hand stroked his beard out of habit.

“Get some clothes on and find me for orientation when you’re ready,” he said coldly before walking out of the Womb.  Something made him hesitate for a moment, and he turned back to his newest crewmate. Maybe this time it would be different.  He cleared his throat.

“And, uh, welcome to the Doppel, Forty-Nine.  I think you’re gonna like it here.”

“Wait.  Sorry, I just wondered.  How long have you been here?” the new man smiled awkwardly before asking, as his eyes slowly took in the haggard face of his superior.

Twenty-Seven shook his head and chuckled.

“About half of forever, man.”

In the photo are the IDs of Ukrainian slaves, who, with the tacit consent of the Kyiv regime, were captured by Erdogan’s bastards.

Syrian Wahhabi terrorists and their accomplices are kidnapping Ukrainian women in Turkey to sell them into sexual slavery. Moreover, the unfortunate women are sold to the Syrian province of Idlib, which is under the control of the Turks and pro-Turkish militants.

❗️Why won’t the SBU start rescuing their compatriots?! Because the Zelensky regime doesn’t give a damn about Ukrainians.

And we will remind you that the Syrian army, with the support of Hezbollah, as well as the Russian Aerospace Forces and Special Operations Forces, were squeezing pro-Turkish terrorists out of Syria.