FTCI (Fc CP) _________________________________________________________________ {Loong tired sigh. I kinda lost my train of thought there, so now I gotta start all over. There ain't a drop of Lovecraft in this one, but it may still end up in Horror. As far as storyline goes, it probably belongs in the yet to be opened Atrocity Wars folder, but know when to stop reading. As far as I'm concerned, the main character is at least as abominous as Amanda Hunt, and hystory (/"Babysitter") at least as horrible. Story Codes: Cc = Teen/Child gender indescriminant, and CP = Child Porn, albeit subtle. The soundtrack for this is R. Korsikov - Shaharazade (DJCMB o:<Hardclash>:o Mix) >:(Tm) J. P. Anderson, which doesn't exist outside my head, yet, so don't bother looking for it.} Connie {Fb NS} "Africa. Once the cradle of Humanity, is now in terrible danger. Wars, Famine, Disease, and Death have come to threaten the very ballance of life here, where it is most precious." Jump cut from a map of the continent to a face, pretty, blonde, and blue. "I'm Connie Foster," panning back, standing in a sun dress, "And this is !xol." Doesn't get the glottal stop quite right. Next to her, tiny, almost orange/brown skin, hair rolled close to the scalp in pill like napps. "His tribe has been run out of their ancestral Kalahari," she picks him up, "No longer a desert, it's parched climate protected them from the marauders, warlords, and slowly expanding farms of South Africa. Always Nomads, the Bushmen moved on, but like so many Children, little !xol was left behind. An orphan, without a county who will claim him citizen, an Identity, nor family." Panning back, "Like so many here," more children, crowding in, all dark, cute, half naked, if not fully. "Refugees, AIDs, Famine, and War orphans, alone, unloved, starving, and helpless. The climate change which orphaned little !xol, here, and all his people started in America, global warming from our cars, and comfortable homes. Let US also help them, save them from this disaster, and a slow, early death of starvation, thirst." Turning, she walks down the ragged line of youth. "Here at FTCI, we don't waste money, or resources on Bibles, building Churches to convert them. We buy food, stoves for cooking, water to drink, and equipment to purify it, medicine to treat their illnesses. We build houses, and schools to educate them, give back where we have taken so much." She sets him down at the end of the line. "In return for your donation, we can send you pictures, of the children you've helped save, their villiage, new school, clothes, and even letters, written by them, in thanks. You may send money, non-perishable food, clothing, whatever you can spare, and think will help. If you want, we can even arrange travel, to see these poor unfortunate children, and how your involvement helps. Adoption, and travel to your country, we have offices in Europe, Asia, South America, wherever there are children in need, and people with love to give them." "For the Children." [(c) FTCInternational, 1996] Billy {M Solo} A few years old, "Little !xol" is probly all growed up by now, taken up arms, or if he's lucky, adopted, and brought to the states. I try to imagine it, life there in the Atrocity Wars, which hadn't even been coined yet. Kalashnikovs, and RPG 7s, Crasy Ivan's clearence sale, and everyone else who could afford to copy them. The screen goes blue a moment, but I rewound futher, not yet reached the point that the tape's owner left it. It comes back on, still Africa, but no sound, voiceover. The kids, running, and laughing silently, the camera shakes, handheld, walking after them. To a waterhole, what's left in the bottom of a dry river, or Arrojo, what an Auzy would call a "Billabong." Splashing in it, cheap nylon shorts, and tee shirts discarded at the bank, and beach, naked, jumping in, and out. The camera man stopping, panning, and zooming. A boy jumps out, flacid shrunken prepubertal dinkle flopping up, and he splashes back down. The frame shaking, zooming back to compensate. Steady as a heartbeat, my pulse spiked. Panning around, I can almost see his point of focus, subjects centered, then artisticly offset while taking in another. Boys, dark, young, naked, girls in the relative background. !xol standing up, at the edge of the frame, loincloth draped over a rock. His bottom flexes, then he assumes the characteristic posture of his people. Hips back, arched above, smooth swell of tummy out front, running, camera following, grinning, jumping, legs tucked up, hands over his face, and splashing into the deep water. I ran it back, brought up the counter, watched where it was subtly edited, slow motion, and sped up past unrelated material. The rythmic shaking of the camera, getting faster, more despirate, peaking, then stopping right before the Bushman jumped in. Little people, even fully grown are never larger than a child, their elders look like wrinkled, white haired kids. Primal, closest living relative to Australopithescenes, not quite human. Yeah well, all that, and where I found the tape. The only Beta Max in the whole place, you'd be hard pressed to find a police station anywhere capable of playing it. The machine, "hidden" on a pile of other obsolete technology in the basement, the only one plugged in, and hooked up. To an old RCA cabinet TV, real wood, swing open doors, no windows in the room. In the house of a known pedophile, with travel documents, adoption papers, including the set for his "daughter." Looked nothing like him, black as night, tall, and all most inhumanly beautifull, for her estimated 11 years of age. Uneducated, she did not understand English, or speak. I told her my name, "Billy," patting my chest. "Mara." the only thing I heard her say. The only other papers were for a boy, as yet unnamed, but the unused tickets were for South Africa, near the border, and Kalahari. Oh, yeah. And the spokes person for FTCI, Connie, must've gotten her latest last name from Ellen. Now, I know she's a pedophile, child pornographer. With a camera man who just jacked off watching little boys play naked in the water. My mind reeled, even as the tape rewound, and I set back. A perfect racket, with the old Undernet shut down by the AOL crash of 1999. Not for profit, Beta Max, and not overtly child porn. Even the outake at the end was barely enough for probable cause. Softcore, but that's not where the real money is. Child sex tourism, and slavery, in drag. All dolled up as philanthropic Travel, and Adoption, it's almost legal, but for the intent. Run by pedophiles, for pedophiles, I know where that leads. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of children, orphans, survivors, sold to child mollestors, rapists, and men like this last one. Mara never saw him, I hid the body, and cleaned up the blood before I led her out. There arent even words, a name for this kind of pathology. She wasn't modest, moved to fascilitate the exam. Still physicly virginal, hymen intact, no sign of sodomy. Still young, the scars mostly healed, I marveled at the work. Not even certain how he did it, no sign of sutures, and the incisions seem too small to be what I think they are for. Inhuman beauty, like a super-model at eleven, never seen before except by her "father." A plastic surgeon, I read his notes, plans. {No, I'm probably not going to write that one.} Forewards, and backwards, what he did to her. She went to private care, a specialist I know who is good with child survivors. That taken care of, time for the new case. Unavoidable, I have to stop her. Connie {MG NP} {NP means No Pedo, or No Porn. Not usually even noteable, except for consentual adult sex between two child pornographers.} "Hey, Walt." He stops, and turns on the trail. I'm thankfull for his strength, carrying his recording equipment, and the rifle, setting it down. "Let's take a break." He sighs, and sits down. I sit next to him, help him take off the carefully balanced load. So much like his father, strong, capable, and a pedophile. We don't have a playmate with us, and besides, it's too hot. "Hah," he lowers his flask, offers me some. "So what's the plan?" "Glk! Hhi, It was easier in Africa, we had a whole bunch of kids, boys, and girls of all ages, blondes, redheads, the local pedophile found us, gladly offered to be our guide. Just our luck he had a thing for bushboys, knew their language. It sounded musical, with precussion, the clicks they made we don't have letters for. What did he call it? "Koi!xan," with an X beeing the closest thing to the sound between the click, and whole vowel. I took a class in speach pathology, but it didn't even touch on that. "How's your Spanish?" he shrugs. "Lowsy," I giggle. "Your's?" "Pretty bad, let's hope there's a pedo here knows more Inglese." Enough of a break, I guess, Rainforest clearcutting, tribal backlash, villiages whiped out, or ransacked, stories of Mass Rape, kidnapping, slavery sold to the cartels funding the land grab. The UN, Greenpeace, Amnesty International, and Christian fucking Children's Fund too busy to deal with this atrocity, this new source of displaced children, war orphans, witnesses, and victims. By the time they even noticed, we'd be long gone. A little randy, Walt, and I hadn't even been alone this long without the children in so long, but I was willing to have a go at it. It was hot, even in the dripping shade, and an ovegrown war zone is no place for them. Sighing, I opened my shirt, let the steam out, and exposed pretty much all of my bra in the process. Now I know my husband, and that it takes a lot more for him but he knows me well enough to know what it means. For one thing, he doesn't really like my breasts, and another, he doesn't mind me shaving all my body hair. "HhH!" he noticed, and helped me undo my shorts. Kind of romantic, really, I could close my eyes, but still hear the jungle, smell it, feel the thick heavy heat. Too much to get close, we sat several inches apart, but I could reach his lap. Already into my wicking underlayer, I was soaked in sweat, but starting to dilute it inside. Just his big strong rough hands, touching me, fingertips on my soaked smooth lips, thick hardness in my hand. "Nh!" I squeezed my thighs, fingers against me, and hitched to let him pull my shorts down. My other hand went to my chest, slipping the cup down, exposing a nipple to pinch, and roll between my fingertips. "NhHhH!" "HhuhH!" I lost my grip from himstanding up, slipping his hands up to my hips, let him turn me, bend me over. Faced away so he can't see my chest, I prop my elbows on the log, cross my arms, feel them even as he slips up behind, and into me. "Nht!" I gasp, to feel fuller, and squeeze my legs together to tighten around it. "Hnh!" he slips his hands back around my ass, slides almost out, and grips me to sink back in. PLOP! About the closest to the sound of out sweaty flesh comming together, his shaved slick groin gently spanking me, shaking the soft heavy roundness in my hands, harder, faster, deeper. "NhunH!" yeah, can't talk, or keep the gutteral animal sounds from cumming out. Like that Consuelo girl, already a victim of rape, witness to much worse, when he showed her how it's supposed to be, when the man is gentle, and loving, how good it can feel until she stopped squeeling "Si si sI!" and degenerated to the wordless sounds of pleasure. "nHNhunNhH!" I felt it, the rapture, twitching around him, all the way in, holding it, hands shaking on my back, filling me with his love. But not life, we stopped using protection years ago, to failure. Saves money on Birth Control, but I would so love a child now, His child, inside me. That would just, make my life complete. Billy {MMM NS} "All right, now what did you say," the one English speaker in the villiage, "About the white people who came here, with the children?" No need to waste a ticket. "N'gumono!" he said above, and next to me, chucking his head. "Whut, nigga?" I reconcidered paying for his. "You best,.." "K!" put my hand up, "Chill out!" Yeah but, me, in Africa? I had to bring somebody along, and didn't think he'd stick out so much. "Ait," impulse control, damnit! Part of it was telling him what it was all about. Hard to believe how long ago, almost 2 decades, long enough for her son to grow up. Okay, I'm just not going to talk about funding on this one. Let's just say I know a party who'd be intrested in the possibility of a female pedophile running an international child pornography, prostitution, and sex slavery ring, and hopefully, nothing will have to get redacted. "Hey tok do dem," he points, to the shifty looking fucker down the street. Now, we been here a few days, and so far the only other black guy I saw wearing shades was K. His wrap around though, hiding his eyes, sitting in the shade, pretending to kick back, relax, so you can't see where he looks. "J hook," I step aside, "queen's side," and he steps out. Looking down, he crosses the dirt track. The target's head moves, subtly, but seemingly ahead of him, before he's even level with him. A high voice, giggle floating, bouncing down the street. A girl, yellow dress, dark outline underneath. Our guy, I step out, quickly crossing to the shadow of the same building. He looks back. "Hi there," he starts, "You speak english, yes?" "uhH!" turns back, K smiles. "We need to talk." grabs him, and pushes him against the wall. "Wha?" he raises his hands, "Huyu? I do no thing, whayu wan?" "Yeah, you remember the outlanders come in her a few years back?" Not much bigger'n me, I spoke right in his ear, "You guys get along? Yeah, I betcha did." Calmly, "Now, you're gonna take us everwher you took em, and tell us everthing you remember. Got that?" It's nice to have a bigger one to sweat it, I'm not cut out for this climate. "I," a little more pressure on the Hammer Lock, "Yes yes, I show you, ahH!" I'm no longer sure were we are now, the disputed region between South Africa, Kenya, and some tribes that decided not to let themselves be claimed, and exploited by nations any more. Joining the Red wearing Massai, the Bushmen of the Kalahari semi-desert, parts of it were starting to swamp, with rainy seasons unlike anyone had heard about, any of them. Sometimes, deserts wetten up, it's the new ones drying where there was fertile land people thinks is a bad thing. Just like nature, only faster, I'm looking for a less natural disaster right now. Pussy, barely moren a teen hisself didn't break down crying, but obediently led us. The watering hole, almost dried up again, no kids, laughter, splashing, even a ripple on the puddle. "So," he was sat down, in the shade, "What happened?" Nguru {MGmg Pedo NP} \{I'm not going to write this one out in bad American Africanese, the assumption is Billy transcribed/lated it into something intelligible. I'll insert a {?} when the accuracy of the transliteration is in question, and possibly offer an alternative interpretation.} The light people came, not all white, but the woman was blonde, and blue like The Arfricaanz from the south. Exoticly beautifull, all the men of the villiage were interested, okay, all the other men, some of the boys, and even one of the women. She was there with a man, her husband, and several children. All sorts, and colors, though none of them were black. She asked a lot of questions, while her husband filmed it with his camera. Only myself, and one of the elders spoke well enough to be understood, I learned from American movies, and television. "Disney" is one of my favorites, I have a TV, and tape player in my home. We trade for things here, but she asked about refugees from the surrounding areas. I told her yes, we have had them pass through, all women, and children, their husbands were murdered, and this was months ago, all the women were pregnant. One of our women, barren from the Aids adopted one of the children, and gave much food in return. A little "bushboi" {As said} she had me take them to him, and filmed something out front with him, and the other children. His adoptive mother permitted him to show them the watering hole, it was hot, and they went swimming. While her husband filmed it, she {Connie Thorpe} took me asside, and talked to me. Like you, she seemed to know my terrible secret, why I have not yet a wife, or children of my own. I love them, the children of the village, and the refugees who sometimes pass through. I cried, and confessed that while they were here, I was with several of the girls who were too young to be pregnant. None virginal, all had been Raped, and some of the boys as well. She called one of the girls over, from the pool, and introduced her. Fanh, she was from Korea, and orphaned in the wars between them, China, and Japan, I think. Captured, she was used as a prostitute, and very sexually skilled for such a young child. I believe she was nine, ten, or eleven, large for a child, but not yet growing into a woman. She was not white, but very light, with straight dark hair, and eyes, tight like your's. Beautifull, and willing, she was already naked, and as I said, very capable, with her mouth. The sunhaired woman undressed as well, she touched her, and even kissed down between her legs {Indicated by a gesture.} Both of us now wet, She layed me down for her to straddle. {Emphasis to differentiate between the girl, and Woman.} I gave her my seed, then she went to where her husband was. With one of the girls, and the bushboi, I speak a little of their language from trade with his people before they moved away. It is more common here, than english, which I speak, so I could translate. Between us all, we manage to get him to open up about what happened to him, and his tribe{?}. !qol {b Mono Mass Rape CR Necr Sodo} \{Down two levels, this is third hand, and translation, so trust it to be about as accurate as say, the King James edition of the Bible.} I was not old enough to remember the Desert. My parents, and their's spoke of Our Kalahari, which noone else wanted. Over a generation, the dry season got shorter, and the rains lasted longer, and came out of season. We moved on, when our villiage flooded, and again as the South Africans came, black, and Grunt Tongued whites {Much like the Dutch word "Hottentot" only in reverse.} Burning away trees older than them, they drove the game ahead, and planted feilds behind, so we kept moving north. But we walked, and they rode, machines, and caught us, camping far from where we used to live with the land. They also had guns, and shot our men out of range of our bows. Our mothers took them up, but even with drugged arrows, we were surrounded, and overrun, and captured. All that day, and night, I heard the screams of the women, but we huddled together, looking in, hiding our sight from what the men did. Soldiers, they came, and took us out of the circle, one by one, first the oldest girls, then younger, and boys, and I was taken as well. I saw what they did to our women, and even the dead of a man, like an animal, cannibal, worse than I could imagine. And it was done to me, I was surrounded, and stripped, and they already had their uniforms open, guns in their hands. They beat me, and held me down, and forced themselves into me, and my mouth, and other things, the barrel of a gun untill I knew nothing but sleep. We woke up, and they were gone. We kept going, and many bled to death, or became infected, as did I but I survived. When my mother came here, she was sure I would die, and even our remaining knowlege of plants, and medicines didn't take down the fever. I shat puss, and felt it swelling inside me as if pregnant. My mother decided to leave me, with a very nice woman from the village, who said she could get antibiotics, and take me to the white doctor when she came back to this area. I got better, and learned some of their language, even as they better learned mine./ Nguru {MmGbg c... Orgy MC} Even as he told me this, he noticed how we were all undressed, or undressing, but so were the children, and the outsiders came to play with the villiage children around the water. The woman explained through me how the soldiers were trying to wipe out his people, Genocide so they can not bear witness to their atrocities, or come back to reclaim their anscestral land. He was angry, but had been watching this other girl, who joined us, and listened. She turned to me, as I spoke for him, in English. I watched her too, naked, listening interested, sitting with her legs crossed. Not white, but light brown, darker than you, and not yellowish like you, or him. He went on, but the husband, and wife were very affectionate, even as She talked to us. He hardened after mastrubating with the camera earlier, and I was starting to ache. I also took off my clothing, and the girl, with loose curly black hair, and brown eyes came over to me. We touched each other, while I talked, and listened between the boi, and woman. The boi was not distracted by all of the affection, his people see each other naked, all the time. They have little in the way of clothing, and do not hide themselves to bathe, urinate, nor even have sex. He was too young to participate, according to his, and other cultures, but having witnessed us with the other children, and being a victim of rape, it was not difficult to get his cooperation. The man was very good at arousing boys, with his hands, and fingers, and he played sex with the girl. I had fantasized about such things before, so many children playing sexually, I lost count at almost thirty including the ones around the pool. Finished before the women came to gather water with the shade from those trees over the water in the evening, we dressed, and returned to the villiage. By then, I helped invite him to go with the outsiders, and perhaps be adopted by a man in America. I was not told his name, but we were shown a picture. I don't know, he was white. Yes, it was him, I think./ Knight {M Solo} Yeh fuckit. I can't stand there and listen to this. I understand, all part of the investigation and all, but come on! All that shit with kids, that little nigger talking about it like it was nothin. Ait, you know I aint Racist, but you know what that word really means? I know what it feels like, but that guy, right there. That's a fucking Nigger. So anyways, I heard there's Massai around. Again, what this trip's all about, where I'm from and all that. I read about them, followed them in the news, kicked out of the Mara for the expansion of the other tribes. No turf, nomads already, but not like the little ornge pigmies, the hunter gatherers. My people, or my mother are Warriors, bust Red so anybody can see them for miles across the savana, arguably the best spearmen alive. They take down Rhino. I don't know from spears, so Hank had a custom sent ahead, from Germany. Here in the villiage, even a black man walking around with a gat over his shoulder kind of attracts attention, but Billy said start out lo pro, and I didn't argue. Now, it's about time to head north, where the Massai were said to be headded, so it might be good to get out some protection. [Kreighoff Int.] the case is Fine, wood, burnished steel banding, arabesques tooled into the brass clasp. KRAWK! the lid stands up on small braces, so I slip back the cloth. Velvet, wood, and steel. Full stock, and barrel lenth. "YeAh!" (ULTRA( engraved on the side of the barrel assembly )2X.333MBM), Moran Belted Magnums, plus a tube of 12 gauge. Carefully seat the receiver, tighten the lug, set a couple long tapered cases in the extractor. KAWRK! The fit is invisible, not even a dotted line between the breahes, and barrel stops. Slide them through my fingers, standing it on my knee, I pick up the fore grip, snap it on, screw it down. Never shot this, caliber, Hank says it should go right through a lion, "not even slow down much," or defeat most armored cars on a direct hit. Oh, and some special shotgun loads, he hand packed before we left. Connie & Walt {GM NP} "Equador" Facial closeup. "Just another stop on the greater Latin American conflicts, here we are before the UN, and Greenpeice, because children are endangered. Not of abuse, neglect, or starvation, but Extermination. This is not the usual 'Ethnic Cleansing', or Genocide, but just a side effect of founding a new nation. We are actually standing on the former border of Equador, and Columbia." Lush jungle, zooming back, and panning up simultaniously, leaving her shrinking face, and head at the bottom of frame. "In the foothills of the Andies, this pass continues through, to central America, on the Pacific side." Now gone from the bottom, the tops of the canopy are visible, mountains looming above. "Once a pass for the Cartels of the Drug Wars, a renegade faction of the Columbian army fled to occupy it. All men, they killed all who lived there, except for the women." Switch to another camera, fixed while the cinematographer runs down to it. Turning, "This is Concepcion'," picking her up, "One of the few who escaped to tell her story. In Spanish, she says the soldiers came, and she witnessed the killing, ran crying, and screaming from the Mass Rape." she reaches up to scratch her nose, and looks back at the camera. "She doesn't understand Englese," look down to her, then back to Walt, "Otherwise I wouldn't put her through it, the horrors she saw, and was the victim of. Her mother," turning to look up, "Is probably still there, gang raped daily because the Guerillas didn't bring any women with them." Disgusted sigh, sensitive frown, shift her to the other arm. "We can't stop them, literally an Army, yet still we are here, For the Children." Raise my hand to cut under my chin. Billy {M Mono} Hope Keith is all right, hadn't heard from him since he ditched me in Africa. I got into Central America as a civilian consultant with the invasion force. The sovreign nation of Passo, they had Krazy Ivan's surplus. Now lemme try and explain this. Throughout the Cold War, the Soviets cranked out 3 things at capacity, Nuclear Missiles, Kalashnikovs, and RPG's with whatever MiG, and T series tanks taking up slots 4 an 5. Then, it all fell apart, and a bunch of Former CCCP barrier states became sovreign nations, with armies armed with the surplus. Now some of them sold off the leftovers, while China, Bulgaria, and several smaller countries started making copies. The AK series, or some derivative became almost half the main battle rifles on the planet, and is featured on a flag in Africa as symbolic of the revolution that gave birth to their nation. These revolutionaries are drug funded, so able to shop deeper in the catalogue. They also have several SA series antiaircraft missiles, man portable, and vehicle launched. Against US with the technological, and numeric superiority to even attempt digging them out of such a defensive position. A crack through the wall of the Andes, the shoulder launchers could be anywhere in the slopes, hills, and overgrowth of the south American mountains, plus trailered launchers and radar trucks capable of shooting down anything that flies s/lower then a SR71. Nice little pocket war just a backdrop for Connie's conniving exploitation of free children. Can't really get an handle on this one, Her angle when they're killing the children too, unless it's genuine concern for them through the sociopathic mentality of a paraphillic child abuser. She's smart, and self concious enough to think of doing a few true non profit projects, not even taking children for the hidden income, and sexual motives of her supporters, to point to when she's eventually confronted. Africa made more sense. It didn't take much searching of his shack to find everything. The stationary bike generator to fire up the TV/VCR combo, hidden in a wooden crate with a tablecloth over it. The secret stash, and latest Vidio, from the last delivery to the villiage. From Connie, here, I also found the documents, copies of adoption papers, in duplicate for the two nations, travel araingements for a 7yo girl, from Sri Lanka. Her debut vidio, still in the machine, I still ain't watched all of it. In the third world, without real oversite, she doesn't have to make it subtle, politicly correct, hide the sexual nature of the immigration. She could send child porn, in all it's sickening graphic detail, shew what a good little cock sucker she was. His belated payment, for silence, contacts, hopefully a line on the constant flow of refugees in a continent without sides, just everbody fighting somebody at any given time. Practically bragging in her letters, detailing the child prostitution for sex tourist. Again, the conflicting feelings of rage with nausia, undeciding whether to kill some damn body, or vomit till I pass out. She's not here, to take responsability, so I do the latter, but stay concious. "Damn it." only one continent away so far, I'll never catch her following her lead, I need to anticipate enough to catch her stopped to make another vidio, and contact, leapfrog to the next, and let her catch up. Let's see, before Passo, Slovakia, Africa, Sri Lanka, Australia, New Zealand, a tour of the Pacific, zigzagging around the globe, tacking at every hotspot of endangerment and/or exploitation. LA, Vegas, Boulder, Milwakee, Toronto, Detroit, Chicago, St. Louis, Pittzburgh, Boston, all the way back to Madrid, and rural Kentucky. But I have to think forward, to Asia, run through the wars, and disasters there, try to think like she would, picking one out, looking for possibilities, the perfect one... Connie {G Mono} "Thibet," long tired sigh, sensitive concern almost dripping from her face. "Once such a sacret place, now just another Atrocity War." {Author's note, yes, this is the exact point of Coinage for the term.} "This time China, testing the technology to wipe out the naturally defensive valleys if neccisary to exploit them as they thaw. Global warming, we can do nothing about it, nor the People's Republic, but that's not why we're here." Panning back, and down to the children. All oriental, but mixed, many shewing the ancient youth of the valleys of the Himilayas. Summer, warm enough to die trying to get to The highest point, or displace another wave of Refugees. Not bundled, nor naked, hard to gauge the mix of genders in the exotic young faces, smiling for the camera. "These are the few who we could find that survived to escape, and tell what they witnessed. You can't see the horror in their eyes, but I heard the sadness in their stories, even before the translator told us their meaning. How their families died, protecting them even as the nerve gas swept up their valleys, or the avalanches where shaken down by artillery. The bombardment, and sweeping raids, mop ups they were small enough to hide from." "They no longer belong here, in a land who's beauty only reminds them of the horror they witnessed, to young, and helpless to stop, or understand. They don't know about Global Warming, only know the stories the heard about the glaciers, which covered even to here scant decades ago. All they know is pain, and loneleness, with no place, or familly left. And noone to take care of them, but you. If you can afford the plane ticket, have room in your home, and heart for just one of these hundreds of War Orphans, thousands of others from the wars, and disasters, family killers, and life destroyers. Don't let them take these lives, too young, kill what little innocence they have left. Do it For them, The Children." Walt {MB IR NS} He said he would be in with the next plane, of volunteers, and supplies from the releif effort. Not yet involved militarilly, the UN, US, and EU are supporting the cause with an army of mostly Hippies, activists, food, medicine, and some specialists such as Doctors. We've dealt with others, one of the professions that attracts people like us. Not activists, our organisation says Not For Profit in it's official charter, but that's not the only meaning of "For The Children." So clever, that Connie. First realising that social work is best for adoptions, immigration, and distribution, then using what she calls Atrocity Wars to find the perfect victims. Let me be clear here, we are pedophiles, and self aware enough to know that it's intrinsicly abusive. That's what makes War Orphans, Famine Refugees, and Exploited children so perfect. If we expose a child prostitution ring, they arrest those in charge, but leave the victims, have nothing they can do for them. Because they don't realise the truth. They're victims, pedophiles need victims. Ask a child who's witnessed mass rape, or been rescued from a sex tourist ring how she feels about being mollested by a rich single man who wants her to call him "Daddy?" Ask the boy who was gangraped over his father's body, then watched his mother give birth to a mixed race baby how he feels about his new parents, who can't have children of their own because of Incest. Now, what was his name, Billy Young, flying in ultimately from West Virginia. I expected a Hillbilly, ballcap, jeans, toothpick, or match sticking out of his mouth. Noone like that, but an Oriental man walking up. "You Walt?" Not dressed oriental, looks like cotton khakis, hiking boots, silk shirt crossed, and tucked in behind a thick leather belt, "I'm Billeh, I recognise your picture." "Uh yeah," strong grip, cooks callous inside his index finger, but short, and thin. Barely adult sized. "Somewhere we kin talk?" he shifts a bag on his shoulder, more like a pack, he could probably camp out of it. "Over here," I parked not far from the runway, dirt, but flattened by multiple cargo flights. "I'll take you back to camp, where you can meet Connie." "Okay," he grinned, so I started it up, "We met, go way back, but I ain't seen her in a while." "Really?" I drove out, "How'd you meet her?" "We was in a movie together," his face fell, not pleasent, "Then I tracked her down, and we got together once or twice since." "Huh," I never saw any of her legendary movies, they were destroyed before I met her, but she told me about some of them. "And I knew her Daddy." Almost rage in his face, but I understand. She told me all about him, and the nightmares she sometimes still had. He hurt her, liked too, got off on it. She still won't have children, she's so afraid of Incest. I'm pretty sure I told her I can't have any, and why. "Where you from?" his accent, kept changing. From Hillbilly to California, like her's sometimes. "Thailand," he sighed, "But I was taken to the states, Kentucky when I was real young, and moved a bunch." "With your father," and mollestor, I guessed. "Between Daddys." he looked over, widened his eyes so I could see them, "They Traded me, the first one to Connie's father for her." Sighing, "I guess we kin come right out with this, you ain't recording, areya?" "What do you mean?" I mean, yeah, I have cameras, and sound equipment in the truck, but I don't bug myself. "Huh," he looks me in the eye again, and I glance nervously back at the road, "I mean, I've known a lotta other pedophiles, and I Know. You, Walter Foster, are a pedophile. I seen your work, I fucking Know." "What about you?" while we're just laying it all out there. "Yeah," he shrugs, Billy {BM NS} "I love kids," too much to abuse them. Now, I kin look you in the eye, tell you I am, or am not a pedophile, and you would not know the difference. I've done it so many times, convinced a child mollestor I was like him, and just leaving out the part about not mollesting children. The trick is, they don't let you in unless they trust you. I felt naked, unarmed for the flight, thankfull for Hank, who knows how to smuggle a damn gun. I usually preferr a revolver, but for a trip to a fucking WARZONE, I like a little more firepower. "Boys, or girls?" he wondered, "Age?" "Not all that preferrential," I guess, "Race, nor color neither," I don't abuse any of them. I guess it was a pretty long drive, rough for the condition of the "Road", but he could handle a 4x4. Makes for slow going though. Plenty of time to get it out of him, his rationale, story, what he tells himself to sleep at night, often with children. The real trick is not letting them see your skin crawl. Kinda handy being able to not shew my eyes less I want to, and he's distracted a lot by the navigation. AahH! One of those. He knows it's wrong, to sexualise a child, so he displaces to already sexualised victims. Used to rape, sodomy, blatent abuse, they often put up with anything they don't recognise as abuse. Lets him fool himself that it's not still abusive, since they're "broken in," to far worse. My ass, what he needs is a nice trip to the farm, shew him that philosophy for hisself, only turnt round. He seen Atrocity, Mass Rape, Genocide through their eyes. Still don't hurt no less getting gang raped up the ass in a tool shed. Of course you can rape the willing, just got to find somethin they aint not willing to do, or are to young to recognise as abuse. _It's_Still_Rape_. but I ken't tell him that, yet. "You wanna get searched?" we pulled around to line of site on the fance, and gate. "Not particularly," Like a prison, obstensively to protect the people inside from possible attack from the PRC, they wouldn't be so brazen, but could take them all out with a well placed fragmentation shell. We pulled up to the soldiers in [UN] armbands, "He was cleared at the airstrip." Or closest level spot they could clear enough to land on. "Papers," strange accent, uniform, and flag on the shoulder, and hat. "Hospital is over there," he waved my passport in the general direction of a Navy blue M.A.S.H. tent, "Doctor," and handed it back. "Who are you heer with?" stressing the English, not his first language, looks like a mix between Russian, and Medditeranian. "Just volunteered," I shrug, "Heard there were people in need, and decided not to just donate money." Big charming grin. "Verr nobel," he nodds, and turns away, waves to the guard shack. "Velkome to New Shangre La." Now, I don't know if they was goin for Irony, or it just happened that way cause of the universe's sense of humor. Connie's face smiled sincerely from a screen, said something soundlessly as it panned back to the croud of mixed Orientals around her. "See that?" I twisted in the seat. Walt chuckled, "She made that for the U.N." scoffed, "All they asked is that we don't directly referr to our organization because it's their spot." "Great spokes model, eh?" not much of a surprise. "The best." Yeah, I bet. I found an unoccupied tent, just set up, claimed a folding table, cot, and tied the flap to unpack. First thing first, in a sheilded elecronics box, Xray Proof, dummy lights, gauges, and ports, I flipped the switches in combination to unlock it, and open the side. Looks like a computer, you'd have to get a monitor, cables, and plug it in to prove it ain't. Big enough for a pistol, a couple clips, and as many spare rounds packed in sideways as to keep it from all rattling. Heavy as hell, but worth it, I pulled it out, and the holster. Hank called it a Skorpion, says it comes from the Czeck Republic, that's what the lettering means. He didn't just clean it, ballisticly altering the barrel so it couldn't be matched to the crimes, and changing the serial number, but also altered it. The main thing is the wingnut in a protective ring on the butt. Replacing a strap swivel, it can adjust the rate of fire, to compensate for climb/weight, and the detachable supressor. I checked that too, the can isn't dented, don't rattle, I ken still look through it, and neither set of threads are damaged. No idea what alls in there, but that's how Hank told me to check. Taken from a real fucking sick Serbian mobster, he made a business of kidnapping, torturing, and killing famillies for extortion. His weapon of choice, I screwed on the muffler, and folded the stock back through the slots for it in the side of the mounting ring. A warzone, but where I'm not sposed to be armed, I hoped not to have to shoot some damn body, but if'n I did, it'd be real nice to not have everbody in the damn camp hear it. Hope for the best, prepair for the worst, it's 9mm, but not parabellum, a Russian round I don't recallect the name of, but Hank says is subsonic. Africa, Crazy Ivan sells pistols too, but I should have plenty. Relaxing, I sit on the cot, and load both magazines. Hard enough to conceal in this heat with the muffler, I slot in the short one, shouldn't need full auto at all, tuck it under my pillow, and take a nap to counter the jetlag. Actually a turboprop on the last flight, what time is it, where? Never mind just drift off, worrybout it later... !qol {mB NS} "!xol?" I turned and dropped my hood to the man who just passed. Like many from this region, but he stopped, and called my name. "Qltol," I corrected slowly. "So it is you," he smiled, "You speek English?" "A yes," nod, "Do I know you?" "No," he shook his head, "Sorry I just recognise you from an old movie." "I see," as far as I know, there has only been one movie made of me. "I'm doctor Billeh," he held out his hand, "You know Connie?" "Yes," she brought me here, taught me so much. "Have you seen her?" he scratched his head. Not like the other Tibetanese, he didn't talk or act like them, "Are you from here?" "No," he laughed, looking around, "Never been here afore," back at me, "I came from South East Asia, Indonesia?" "Ahyes!" I nod, "Like SrilanQa?" Not so dark, or angular in the face. "Yeah round there, but I'm a Merican. Connie's kinda my sister." "Oh," I heard stranger things, seen many since leaving Africa. "So, whatd'you do now?" he followed me back to my tent. I opened it, and sat down, he just stood in the opening. "I just travel with Walt, and Connie, we help children, rescue them and find them homes." "What kinda homes?" he grins, but I don't understand the humor. "Loving homes," I think. How does she say? "We are not like, most children. The families in america, and other developed nations are mostly used to their children, innocent, helpless, and pampered. They did not grow up like me, and would not understand my suffering much like the other boys, and girls she saves. They would not be able to help me, children like us that go to their homes are destroyed for life, it their heads." "What about the homes they go to?" he seemed truly interested. "They are different because they Love children like us. They understand we were raped, or otherwise abused because most of them were themselves. She tells them, long before they meet us, and teaches them how to help us get past it with love, and understanding." "I see," he nods, shifts his bag to crouch down, and sit on his heels like a baboon. "But you did not go to one of those homes?" "No," I shook my head as they do, "I stayed with Connie, and Wally, and N'guru showed me how, what happened can be loving and good instead of evil, and hatefull." "What," he looked me down, and back up, "Exactly did he show you?" Billy {Bm AgeP} He read straight out of the NAMBLA handbook. How a man, and boy can love each other, in a non abusive way, as mentor, and student. "He showed me how to love myself, through loving me." He showed me, the almost boringly predictable escalation. I closed the tent flap, but he stood up, and started opening his clothes. Cool, after Southern Africa, and South America, no goose bumps, but not sweating either, in comfortable clothes. He wore a baggy homespun shirt, and loose pants, which hung down to ties at the ancles, picked up his bare feet to unwrap them. What the fuck, I'm acting as a pedophile, and he's not a child, not like I never done AgePlay before. Unshaven, but I can't help noticing how little body hair he has, curled up into scattered pills, napps, like cotton. "He took off my undercloth," "likeis?" he replaced the leather with a fine weave, cotton, tied the same way, under the front flap, my knuckles brushed him, hard! "Hhuh," he took another breath, "Yes." Good English, weird alien accent, but almost propper. "UhH!" Not a boy, but still cute, natural, I roll the skin back with my hand. He ran his hands up my belly, pushed out my shirt. "He was not dressed." "Ocorse," I opened my belt, and button, set down the bag while he felt inside, pulled out my underpants, and felt inside. "Hmn!" I can't see his face, just the top of his head. He's not black, like other Africans, or even Keith, who's only half Massai, but an orangish brown, as exotic skin tone as my tarnished bronse. "UhH!" "Then what?" I closed my eyes, but kept feeling the skin slide in my fingers even as my foreskin rolled back. "He only touch me like this, a long time, until I could cum." "HhHhH!" My head whirled, "But then?" "But then, he tasted it." Oh god, come oN! "HhowH?" breathless. "Like this," Oh god Yes! His mouth felt so good, his tongue, digging out a drop of premen from the tip. "Krlgk!" "HhehH!" Sick fuck made up some story about a girl, the men can be so homophobic in a culture likeat. They'd almost rather admitt pedorasto, or even bestiality with a female ape. I heard one African joke about "Bushy," or bush/pussy, quite a few concider bushmen little higher than apes. "Did he fphf, fuck youh!?" "Mlhm!" he nodded, mouth too full to speak. "Uh," my fingertips slipped between the pills of hair on his scalp, "NhuhHN!" He smiled, pulled back, but just to catch all of it in his mouth. Carefully licking his lips, he stood up, and I bent to kiss him. I tasted great, standing, and petting his cute little cock. "Smwip!" I licked my lips, "Did you ever fuck him?" "No," he blinks "Noman." "HhHhH!" I havent been fucked in so long, "Wanna try it?" I had grown, and he was so small, couldn't hurt me, right? Knight {M Solo} Shit, shoulda known this won't my hood. I was fine, with the sun up, hot, so dry I's startin to get ashy, but I could see it all, take a deep breath. Rhinos, two of them, and another, cute little thing, bump on it's nose. Right, little like just a full dressed touring motorcycle, only half a ton, mom&dad can duke it out with a full sized pickup, each. Stop by some shade, catch my breath, hot stale water tastes like the inside of the metal canteen. Great idea, wander around Africa, alone, lookin for my anscestors. "GrhrhrhrH!" Jump back, and look up at the branches. One bends, shakes from quite a weight. Gaps between the leaves, but some of the dots of shadow shift. KlkKT! Combi Cocking Device, both strikers. WHMP! Don't run, maybe after all this, I'll call up Kreighoff Gmbh., and see about a bayonette mount. No fear, none, big eyes looking up at the shaking muzzles. "HRHRHRHRH!" Bending it's elbows, shoulder blades comming up to almost touch behind him. "HhHhH," so beautifull, KPHLW! gracefull, lethal, dead. "Sorry," I shake a finger around in my ear, "Kitty, didn't wanna kill you, butcha stepped." KrawK! pick out the shell, and replace it. More spots on the pelt, red ones, seeping, sad, but him, or me, no, her. Not much to salvage, but I thought to bring a machette. Not the jungle, I know, but I don't got no sword, or spear, and it's what I could get. CHaNG! The tail, undamaged, about all I could afford to take, and knew how. It twitched in my hand when I cut it, and I jumped back, but it didn't move. "Hah," sun'll go down soon, take another drink, should be around here, how thfuck dyou hide out here in fuckin Blood colors? By the time it set, I had no place to camp, wouldn't know how to put up one of them tents anyway, I aint whatchu would call a camper, roughing it to me means a budget motel. No buildings, streets, just rolling hills low enough to look over most of them, straw grass, or somethin, and animals, can't keep track of all the different ones. Deer, about ten different kinds from greyhound with little spikes for horns, up to almost pony sized, way out there, but could be as big as a moose. And jackals, and cats, one snarled, and slashed at me from the grass, looked for all the world like a housecat, even a Calico. And snakes, cobras, constrictors, scorpions, and cats. The leopardess, as big as me, could probably hall my ass up that umbrella tree if I didn't blast it. And lions, stay the fuck away from them, go around, avoid eye contact. Just kickin it, up on a tall little hill, watching their turf, panting in the evening heat. Like Hoovers, watching their turf, harem around the Alpha, main rustling in a slight breese. grhrhrhH! Damn it! Must've followed me, didn't see in the starlight, low, still can't make it out. KRAWK! Feel out a DB, snap it shut, and walk backwards, shouldered, pointing out in the dark. Wrapping my arms in the strap like Gunny Hank showed me, PROUCH! Dragon's Breath, lit up the night like a flamethrower, lionesses shrinking back, into the shadow. PCHW! PCHW! Damn! The weight soaked up some of it, but still kicked like a kung fu master. Muzzle flash for the first gave enough light for the seccond. Didn't hit a damn thing, but they stepped off. Voices, shouts, lights, torches, running back to keep the Lion gang back, flanking to surround me. KRWK! set it down gentle, "Hey," blood colors, "sup?" hands up, spread open. "Any you guys know English?" All men, bolt action, spears, an AK, and RPG? Can't see the launcher, but looked like the warheads, sticking over his shoulders, spear pointed at me like the leaf bladed bayonettes. "Huyu?" the leader, with the Avtomat. "3K," hold out my hand, but the muzzle blade twitches up from my head, goes flat under the muzzle, and piston housing. "Ait," back up, "Scool." "Y U ere?" not a twitch from the muzzle, black as night, even in the torchlight his eye, on the side of the receiver, the other obscured by the site. "Hey, I was just in the neighborhood," shrug, and smile, "Thought I'd stop by and look up some famly." Wink, "You're Massai, yes?" Peeking out from behind the rifle, it don't move, but his eyes search my face. "U Massai?" Grin, shrug, and nod, "Half," chuck my head, watch his eyes twitch up, right before my hand catches the muzzle just behind the blade. "Hai!" Right handed, I've already stepped to cross, levering it up en passant, and stepping in between his feet. Too close for them to shoot, stab in with spears, and bayonettes, trip sweep as soon as my hand is on the stock. SMK! he goes down, and I follow through, palming the butt, holding the blade over his chest. Even if the shoot me, I just drop it. "Now," catch my breath, "Kinwe just talk a minute?" Calmly, seven seccond exhailation while they look at each other, babble, and whisper. "Yes!" something in Massai, they step off, "Wha you wan talk about?" I help him up, hand back the rifle spear. "How bout you tell me bout your tribe, I'll tell you bout mine." I went back with them, "Deuce Deuce Cripps," pull back to the fork on my chest, dice next to it, and other associated symbols. Someone gave me a blanket, "Now normally we don't wear Red," but I'll have to make a exception. "Was that you, shooting?" They gave me my empty gun back. "Yeh," close it up, empty, let down the strikers, it'd cock it'self again when I loaded it. "I got in a fight with some lions." "And a," strange word, lifting the stiffening tail. "Leopard, Yeah, but that was self defence." Chuck my head, "What're they up to?" The little orange guys with the nappy heads, clustered around this tent kite thing, on three little wheels. "Uh," he turns back, "That is, Aerplain." Or ultralight, I thought they're biggernat? Connie {G Solo MG Rape Guns} God damn him! Billy, Wally called on the radio, told me about my "Old friend" came to visit me here. Tricky little bastard, the only reason he would track me down, here and now, is to stop me, arrest me, end all I have done, and worked for. "Like hell!" I told him I had to leave, and he should too, on his own. We can get back together later, but if we do now, he will catch us, and probably bring us before the world court. No matter how well he acts like one of us, a child lover, he is our enemy, agent of our Nemesis with the rest of humanity. I happened to not be all the way on the other side of the camp, and he's distracted with X'qol there, so we might even rendevous at the airstrip, be able to take the next flight out after offloading. Amazing, like hitchiking into the sky, all you got to say is, "I just want to help," or "We Have to get back." Still seperate is better for now, he can't catch both of us, and he's closer to him. I love him, but he's a big boy. He knows the risks, and doesn't want me captured with him any more than I want him with me, in prison. One of us has to make it, carry on without the other, or all we have done is lost. I can't go through that again. Still, I have to prepair myself for possibly never seeing him again, alive. He could be killed, the worst, if I can accept that, anything less would be a releif. Neither of them knows where exactly I am, can't torture it out of him, or convince him to give me up, talk to him long enough. The only man I fear, once again right on my heels, after almost using my Rape against me, and before that almost turning me in when we met to exhange information. Would he kill me? Rape me, or necrophile my body after? He's not a child abuser, but I know what he'd been through. My daddy only got worse, and he had him after me. No telling how that twisted him up inside, what kind of monster he'd become. I don't know him well enough to guess, but he must be something horrible, to pursue me so fanatically. Better not even find out. Hope for the best, "Hai!" I stop, and he shouts something else unintelligible. I turn at the sound of mechanical clacking, the rattle of a weapon, a gun being readied like in the movies. I Hate guns. They're horrible, I can't move, barely speak. "Ddon't," I shiver, "ShshhH!" "You A Mer'cun?" What kind of accent is that. "Yes," I relax, "Volunteer, I" "Donmoove!" close now, I close my eyes, try to swallow at the sharp jab in my back. "Why you heer?" "I," HhHhH, it's touching me, "IiIiI ggott llosst." Crying, trying not to shake, fall down sobbing, wish I could faint away from this terror, but all I can feel is the burning itch on my back, phantom hole tearing through me, shooting out with a thunderclap. "You tresspass," he puches me with it, "No supposed to be here." "Unh!" my hands scrape in the rocks, and dirt. "UhuhuhuhN!" News {R Mono NS} War Releif volunteer Connie Foster has been reported captured by foreward Chinese forces in Thibet. In a recent twist what is now being called an "Atrocity War" has become official, as the PRC decrys the armed peaceceeping force of UN troops an invasion, and act of war. Missile attacks on the controversial refugee camp have so far been shot down by defensive counterlaunches, and tensions mount as they say they will kill their hostage if the UN does not withdraw. Chinese premeir Sun Tzang. "Thibet is still Chinese territory, and we will not stand for an American invasion in UN armbands. Go home, western decadents, and leave us alone!" Critics of Tzang's rule compare it to Stalin, and Mousilini, charging ethnic cleansing, and other war crimes in what they would insist is a localised rebellian, being supressed with minimal force. If you'll look at this sattelite view, (Courtesy Google) this is the overcrouded refugee camp, and these highlighted units are UN troops in APCs. Here, {zooming out with two fingertips} are the PRC troops, surrounding with tanks, troop carriers, and missile trucks towing Radar trailers. Capable of shooting down any civilian flights in, and out, there's more than enough firepower to wipe out the entire camp, and surrounding lightly armed unarmored force. In effect, the camp it'self is being held hostage in this continuosly unfolding story. From Thibet, Im,.. Billy {M Solo EC, NS.} WhrshSHsHShsH! I turn, "Got," smoke, flashing in the wake of fires rising in the sky, "DAMN!" and comming over to fall. "WhHhHwW!" Run. Make as much distance as I can before they hit, explode with a KRMPh! I can feel. Catch my fall on my calves and forearms, curl over protectively while Hell caves in behind me. Nothing even fell close, but it was bright, with my eyed closed, trying to dig my head into the sand. "(Clusterfuck)" Pump my jaw, that didn't sound right, snap my fingers by my ears, fuck. Drums don't feel burst, but I sure hope it gets better. Check myself, and everthing, get up, keep moving, he can't be gone to far, tried to run. I ain't Kenny, and this ain't my country, but I'll be damned if he's gonna get away without as good a chase as I ken give. Fucking pedos, never do what you think, keep surprising you, I know Connies long gone by now. Feels almost familiar now, but I got to get him to lead me back to his wife. Hateta go back empty handed, but at least I got proof. And I'm alive, not back there, where the conflict was ended with authority. It'll only escalate now, to full blown War, what did she say, "Atrocity War," yeah, pretty much sums it up. Not the only one neither, nough to keep me'n her busy for lifetimes. CRK! Stop, that wasn't me, over there. No light, open my eyes as wide as possible, sturrin through the low scrub like flashlight tag when you ain't it. Not an army, no more sounds, no there, was that a scrape? Head turned to hear better, let go of the can to cup my ear. There, footsteps, slow, even quiet, but close. Is that motion? Black on shadow, eyes adapted as they get, in the starlight, and growing light dome behind me, where he's headded. Turn at the waist, and neck, close my eye to the fire, the other sheilded by my nose. A rifle, long one, scoped, and one of those camoflaged panchos make you look like a walking bush. Sniper, nice rifle, SVD I think, or Knokov, what did hank say about them? "Decent rifle, heavy, great skope, IR for night." Past pretty far, can't even hear his footsteps, so I carefully unfold the stock, and push the safety foreward to semiauto. I ken probly do this with one well placed shot, soon's I'm sure where the head and body is. Better not risk it, stop, take a deep breath, line it up, let it out. PchPch! he falls, and I keep the crumpled bundle in sites running up. Pch! to the hard round lump of the head, look around, listen. Nothing, no night sounds, there, comming back. "Now," bend down, "Less get a lookat this site."