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Wednesday, May 28, 2025

The Butterfly Dragon: We Who Stand On Guard - Episode 11 (Updated May 28, 2025 5:30 PM EST)

Got this updated, and spent another five hours coding in Delphi. See you tomorrow with some more Shhhh! Digital Media :-)


First of all, everything that I state here is in no way polarity reversed or intended as the opposite of what is expressed. I never operate like that and never will, no matter the pressure in society to do otherwise. It is part of a story that is told as its expressed, not the opposite thereof.


Chapters

  1. Four To Jordan Without A Road
  2. Keeping The Team Safe (May 27, 2025 1:00 PM)


Please be patient with this story as a lot of research is required and is an on going effort as I write this.


This content is produced by the artists indicated on the site, including myself, Brian Joseph Johns.

I, under no circumstance will trade, barter or otherwise swap my own identity for that of another person and I protect the same right for those who've contributed their artwork to the various projects under my management at Shhhh! Digital Media, my own company, no matter the colour symbolism involved. These rights are protected by law under the Charter Of Rights And Freedoms under section 7.

Also, FYI, I don't reverse or alter the polarity or context of my expression (sometimes referred to as "blove" by some people). I say what I mean and mean what I say, and generally only joke or am sarcastic with people I really know very well.

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I'd like to point out that it was the incredible Gary Sinese Foundation that brought the issue of Veteran's rights to my attention. I've always had little respect for those who'd forget the great contribution made by those who've risked life and limb to defend those values that so many of us espouse. Perhaps the true measure of one's principles are by that for which they'd risk their life.

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The Edgar Allan Poe Museum
Because Barris told me to put it here. If I didn't, he said he'd walk. Geez. Stardom really gets to some people's heads. Maybe I could kill him and bury his heart beneath the floor boards! Or I could encase him in behind a brick and mortar wall, for shaming my family name of Amantillado! 

In all truth, there's a good chance that thanks to the works of Edgar Allan Poe, Samuel Clemens (Mark Twain), William Shakespeare, Jane Austen, Jonathan Swift, Mary Shelley, Robert Louis Stevenson, Herbert George Wells, Jules Verne, Dr. Seuss, Stephen King, Clive Barker and Pierre Burton (for The Secret World Of Og and his ground breaking interview of Bruce Lee) that all of us are literate. Actually that goes back much farther to the Phoenecians and their first 22 character system of symbols. Literacy is important. Really it is. Literally. It allows us to approach our employer at the end of the week (with a big club) and ask: where my money?! Math important too. It help us count our thirteen fingers and toes.


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Shhhh! Digital Media
Brian Joseph Johns



Opening Notes:

According to my research of how most special operations unfold, when it comes to chatter between team members (or squads), there is no character building banter between them and the reason for this is because the comms are specifically for relaying timing and mission critical data between squad members. So you'll never hear lines during an active mission by members of such teams like:

"Remember that time we were in that bar in Tangiers, and old Roger stood up and threw his beret at the bartender?"

When you see that kind of activity in the movies or read it in the pages of a book, most often this is because the writers need to use every opportunity they can to acquaint you with the operators taking part in such a mission. That's a necessary part of the story telling, because they're people, and if you don't understand that and that they have their hopes and dreams too, then why would you even care, other than the natural propensity of most people to have some degree of compassion towards their fellow humankind.

Soldiers do joke and quite often, but rarely if ever in the midst of an operation. Focus, not levity is most often key to their success, and we're talking about professionals.

Perhaps that speech before their last stand might have such elements of levity, and call upon their love of whatever it is they're protecting, but while they're doing they're thing, there's no small talk, unless they did so in an instance to declare their independence from me and what I'm saying here. When they speak to each other, they own their communications. All of them.

So in a story like this, my use of banter between operators is a means by which I'm letting you know that these people doing these difficult tasks that often happen unbeknownst to us in order to protect and preserve the peace, the world over, have hopes and dreams as much so as any one of us. The difference is, that they often put their lives on the line to ensure that we have ours. 

Hence, we owe it to them to remind the world that there's people inside of They Who Stand On Guard.

Please be aware that many complex topics related to history and religion will be touched upon througout the course of the story, and in doing so I hope to retain a high degree of objectivity and fairness when dealing with these topics. Everyone will get their fair say and representation.

Brian Joseph Johns



Shhhh! Digital Media Presents:

The Butterfly Dragon: We Who Stand On Guard - Episode 11


Four To Jordan With No Road


The helicopter wreckage lay smouldering, but not burning or smoking for the man who'd planted the Semtech detonation pack had made sure that no such thing would happen. Fire, especially that fueled by the military class fuel upon which the UH-60 relied, burned heavily and with lots of smoke, producing black pyres high into the sky for all to see. Easily seen for tens of clicks by any nearby OPFOR detachments.


The nearby mobile SAM site that had intercepted their chopper had no doubt radioed in the fact that they'd downed a bird, and men had certainly been dispatched to search the area for survivors and to salvage anything they could from the wreckage.


All of these facts weighed heavily on the minds of the two men leading their prisoners to the border between Jordan and Syria, the latter of which whose soil they tread upon, and as quickly as they could. The first prisoner, Tech Head, had often slowed down, purposely so for he wanted them to be captured and executed right before him. He wanted to experience the glory that was his due and with his people, whom the second prisoner had betrayed.


The second prisoner, Phone Man, was technically not a prisoner, and the fact that he was bound was only for his protection. If their captors were captured by the forces undoubtedly pursuing them, he'd still stand a chance assuming that he overcame the treachery of the first prisoner. If he did, then he might have a chance to help liberate them. Allegiances are like gold, but quickly tarnish to the alchemy of betrayal, turning gold to lead. Lead that most often flew from the business end of a firearm in their business.


The two men walking behind them were their captors. Hardened by life, and the realities of an ever evolving battlefield. Both had endured brutal training from early in their lives, advancing to ever more specialized skills as their careers progressed, in both the military and their civilian lives. Every experience they'd had lead to this very moment that found them coaxing two prisoners forth in the rural farming terrain of southern Syria.


Tech Head suddenly tripped, rolling around on the dirt and holding his ankle.


"I think its broken..." he screamed.


Donahue walked over to him as he flailed on the ground, still hanging onto his ankle.


"Get up," Donahue spoke very clearly indicating that he meant it.


"I can't... I can barely move... the pain is sooo terrible..." Tech Head rolled around some more.


"I didn't ask. Get up!" Donahue repeated himself, this time mustering even more authority than he'd previously expressed.


"Please... You would make an injured man walk on their injury...? You are filthy beasts... Oh how I will feast after I see your heads removed from your bodies!" Tech Head responded, still hanging onto his ankle.


"Come on. We need to move. Now!" Stanton urged them both.


Donahue looked to Stanton, and then back to Tech Head, pulling his P226 from its holster and a subsonic silencer from his webbing, which he affixed to the barrel of the gun, quickly screwing it on. He then held it, aiming at the head of the man on the ground.


"Get up!" Donahue said firmly, looking the man right in the eyes.


"No!" he literally spat at Donahue's boots.


Donahue fired a round three inches from the man's head.


"Get up!" Donahue repeated himself.


"I will be praised in paradise, as much so as I will be praised by my people when they catch you. Do as you will," Tech Head responded, keeping his eyes on Donahue's.


Stanton by this point had lost his patience and walked over to the man on the ground, hoisting him into the air with two hands and then planting him firmly on his feet.


Tech Head stood for a moment in shock, not believing what had just happened.


"Now walk!" Stanton said to him furiously.


Tech Head remained there, his hands still bound in front.


Stanton then pushed him full force, causing the man to stumble backwards, using both feet effectively to keep his balance and avoid falling to the ground.


"Put a leash on his neck. You take point and the leash, I'll take up the rear. If he won't go to Jordan like a man, then he'll go like a dog," Stanton told Donahue, both of them clearly having had enough.


"Good idea," Donahue holstered his weapon, removing the silencer before doing so.


He then retrieved the steel twine from his pack and tied it around Tech Head's neck, carefully padding it with utility tape so as to avoid cutting the man.


"Here boy!" Donhahue said, pulling at the leash with force.


He followed without resistance this time and their four man wagon train resumed its treacherous journey to the Jordanese border.


"If anything happens, don't grab our weapons and try to fight your way out. You have a better chance if you play along and tell them you were captured. Kick us. Spit at us. Whatever it takes to convince them. This wretch of a man doesn't have anything that represents the fruits of his labour, while you have a family, and a career behind you. That will likely protect you enough to make it out alive. If they find us, they'll try to take my friend and I alive. We're more valuable to them that way. A diplomatic bargaining chip. This place will be crawling with NATO troops in three days unless we get to the Jordanese border," Stanton told Phone Man.


"I'm Sabir. Sounds a bit like Saber, but far less deadly. It means patient, tolerant, persevering," Phone Man revealed his name to Stanton.


"Its accurate too. I'd tell you mine, if not for the extenuating circumstances. I appreciate your gesture," Stanton responded, and there was a few minutes of silence as the four men walked.


"Your kids, they have future plans?" asked Stanton, trying to keep Sabir's mind on something hopeful.


"My family is away at another residence. I wanted to keep them away while this trouble with the launcher assembly was underway. My kids have many plans, so yes, most certainly. The youngest one wants to be an Astronomer. He really likes looking at the sky at night. Where we lived there, the stars at night were magnificent," Sabir explained to Stanton.


"I know. I got a quick glimpse of them. Reminded me of my cottage back home," Stanton replied, recalling the starry nights up in his cottage on the Lake of Bays.


"May I ask you something?" asked Sabir.


"You may. I can't guarantee that I can answer you. Go ahead," Stanton responded.


"Why can't you just use your radio to call in another helicopter?" asked Sabir.


"When we detonated the launch platform on your property and when they brought our chopper down, they likely started watching the area carefully. Our radios are encrypted, but the signal is detectable by radio direction finders aka RDFs. Some of the more sophisticated RDFs can determine the country of origin, ie whose army the device is in possession of by analyzing the patterns in frequency of the signal. If we used our radios now, they'd lock into our exact location in a short matter of time. It only takes three RDFs at different locations to determine that exactly, or the more advanced models can by themselves determine the exact direction and distance. Bottom line is, we can't," Stanton explained.


The distant sound of a loud motor pierced the silence, spurring both Stanton and Donahue into action.


Stanton hit the dirt, along side Sabir, while Donahue tackled and held Tech Head firmly in his grip, covering his mouth and keeping his neck in an arm lock.


Stanton had pulled his binoculars and was now searching in the direction of the grinding engine.


"Its an old farming tractor. About three hundred meters. Looks to be from the nineteen seventies. Diesel for sure judging by the sound of the motor. One guy, in his forties I'd bet. A civilian for sure. Thankfully, he's not heading this way. He'll cross the path ahead in about two minutes," Stanton told Donahue.


"They must have a bounty for us. Let's just lay low until he passes, and then check our options from there," Donahue responded as he spotted the tractor in the distance.


They lay in the dirt as they watched the tractor pass a hundred meters south of them, it continued on, the driver looking around as he continued on towards another farm in the distance.

Keeping The Team Safe


Halmand sat at a desk, taking further notes in short hand while Tricia continued examining the extent of the offices of Vector Engine Dynamics with a team of forensic investigators.


Tricia was going through the contents of the reception desk when she found a small locked chest in one of the drawers.


"A hope chest. How quaint. Now, if I were a flirtatious and charming receptionist in my mid twenties, where would I put the key?" Tricia asked herself aloud.


"Did you say something?" asked one of the forensic specialists as he passed through reception.


"Just speaking out loud. Going over case details," Tricia smiled to the specialist.


"Better be careful. Something like that can be contagious you know," he winked at her and left to continue his examination of the facility.


"Stuck to the top of a drawer?" Tricia asked herself aloud, feeling around the top of all six of the drawers of the reception desk.


She smirked upon not having found anything.


"Inside of the desk behind the drawers?" Tricia asked herself aloud again, immediately starting by removing the drawers one by one.


When she got to the center drawer beneath the computer keyboard, something metal fell from the drawer when she removed it. She searched the polished granite floor and found a small intricate skeleton key.


"Clever girl. She kept it in the rails on the drawer in the gap between the rollers and the front of the drawer," Tricia remarked aloud.


Tricia picked up the key and used it to open the chest, finding a stack of sticky notes and other paper scraps, each with a note of some value (to the receptionist) written on it. Tricia began reading them one by one, and a story of inter-office politics and romance began unfolding in great detail the more that she read.


Tricia paused upon realizing the inherent danger in what she'd discovered. She quickly made her way back into the office area and to where Halmand was seated, pulling her phone and ready to dial.


"What's up partner?" Halmand stopped writing in his note book and looked to Tricia.


"Do you still have Gracie's number?" asked Tricia.


"That's a bit personal don't you think?" responded Halmand, a little caught off guard.


"She's a material witness in a case involving materials unaccounted for, and now the detonation of a potentially non-conventional weapon over the Red Sea. I'd say that its not personal. Did you ever call her?" asked Tricia firmly of Halmand.


"I considered it a few times, after a few glasses at home, but no, I didn't. What makes her a material witness?" asked Halmand, suddenly feeling very much like he was being interrogated.


"Call her right now. Tell her to lock all of her doors and turn the lights out and play like there's nobody home. Tell her that we'll detach a team to pick her up immediately and to be ready in ten minutes. Now send me her number in our shared contacts list on CPIC. Got it?" Tricia didn't ask him, she ordered him as she put the chest of notes down on the desk in front of him.


He didn't waste any time, first uploading Gracie's contact information to CPIC and then immediately calling her afterwards. There was no answer, instead Halmand was greeted with an answering service.


"Hi. Its Gracie with an 'ie', which rhymes with smiley. Hope you're smiling too. Either way, leave a message and I'll put some cheer into your life as soon as I can. Bye!" Gracie's voice emerged from the phone, almost as bright of the sunshine that day.


"Hi Gracie? Its William. That kind of nerdy lanky guy in a suit that came to your office with a tyrannical red head the other day? Um, look, its kind of an emergency and I need you to be ready in ten minutes. Get yourself ready and we'll go out for a day on the town. Oh, and lock all of the doors try to stay away from the windows. I wouldn't want anyone to get a glimpse of you before I do. See you soon," Halmand left a message, throwing on his best charm without giving anything away to admins that could potentially listen in on or eavesdrop her message service.


Tricia in the meantime had dispatched an armed team to pickup Gracie at her home address, using her phone number to find it. She then hung up and found Halmand going through her notes, one by one. Halmand quickly realized the risk when he too had put the pieces together.


"Pillow talk?" Halmand asked Tricia.


"She's young. A little bit naive, though certainly experienced when it comes to social acumen of an adult nature. They might have divulged something to her that poses an extreme danger to her given the circumstances. They won't want us to find out, and we very much want to know," Tricia explained to Halmand.


"I got that much, but we aren't punishing her for living her life to its fullest, are we?" asked Halmand with a serious concern.


"No. We're protecting her. Its not her fault that one of those two men might have divulged something to her..." Tricia underlined for Halmand as a pair of men in designer business suits and brief cases entered through the front door of the building, quickly making their way to the back office door.


"Here's the lawyers..." Halmand interrupted Tricia as she turned to see the two men walking with determination to the back office.


"Excuse me? This is a crime scene! You don't have authorization to be here!" Tricia said firmly as she caught up with them, Halmand quickly getting up from his seat and following her, closing and grabbing Gracie's hope chest before doing so.


"And you are?" one of the two men asked.


"The senior officer on the scene. Now its your turn. Your names?" Tricia firmly faced the two men.


"We represent our clients, Vector Engine Dynamics in the interest of protecting their business and employees from wrongful arrest, not to mention the damage to their business. We need access to the corner office to collect our client's files. Now if you open the door, we'll collect them and there will be no further action taken against you... Inspector...?" the man faced Tricia, unintimidated by the woman.


"I'm Inspector Gadget. She's Inspector Miss Marple, at least until you tell us your names," Halmand stepped in.


The men ignored them both and continued to the front door of the office they intended to get into,  which was covered in Police tape, not to mention a number of symbols marking the room as containing hazardous materials. They ignored the markings on the door and turned the knob only to find that the door was locked.


"Unlock this door immediately," the first man demanded.


"We can't," Halmand said to them blandly.


"Why not? We're on legally sound ground. You could lose your jobs over this," the second man added.


"If we did, we'd be contaminating the entire office, not to mention much of the surrounding area. It seems that your client was keeping more than just lunch in his bar fridge," Halmand said to them.


"What's that supposed to mean?" the first man responded.


"Nobody's getting in there until its been scoured by a class A hazmat team. If you go in, about three days from now your skin will start getting itchy, and you'll start developing sores across your entire body. By day six, your organs will start failing, one by one, starting with your liver. By day nine, you'll be on the coroner's table for an autopsy. However, if you insist, I'll let you in, but its entirely your responsibility," Halmand explained to them, folding his arms across his chest, knowing fully well that these men knew about the connection between their clients and what happened over the Red Sea.


"You'll be hearing from us... and soon. Better start saving your money, because when our firm is done with you, you'll be sleeping on the streets and dumpster diving for food," the man said, turning and making his way back to the front door, where they exited, making their way through the officers who'd failed to stop them.


Tricia tapped on the door of the office in code.


A corresponding knock emerged from the other side of the door.


Tricia used the code words she'd given to Andrej, and he unlocked the door and opened it, letting Tricia and Halmand in.


"How's your progress?" asked Tricia of Andrej.


"Good. I'd give it about another ten minutes. I'm at the last position in the wheel-pack, and its looking good so far. Might even beat the time limit," Andrej explained to Tricia.


"We just chased off the lawyers, so you're probably good for time. It'll take them at least another day to get a court injunction allowing them legal access, assuming they do. We've got to make a run elsewhere, but we'll be back soon. Do you need a refill on coffee? Any food? I'll have one of the Constables outside make a run for you if you'd like?" asked Tricia.


"I'm fine. There's still some food in the fridge, but I certainly could use a trip to the bathroom and a glass of water," Andrej replied.


"You get this done, and I'll get you a bottle personally. The good stuff," Halmand responded.


"A twelve pack would suffice. Malt beer, like they have overseas where I'm from. If you can't find that, then a twelve of Molson Canadian, though its a bit early for hockey season," Andrej smiled at them as he skirted around them and made his way to the bathroom.


"Make it quick!" Tricia yelled after him.


Tricia and Halmand waited until Andrej returned a short time later and left him to open the safe, locking the door behind them and heading to their car to make their way to Gracie's place.


...


They pulled up in front of Gracie's quaint bungalow in north Mississauga, near the south border of Brampton and stopped the car behind the utility vehicle of the Emergency Response Team. The front door was already open as Tricia and Halmand could clearly see as they emerged from their unmarked cruiser and ran towards the house. They drew their badges from the inside of their jackets and unclipped their holsters as the arrived at the front door, bracketing each side of it for cover.


"RCMP! Two at the front door!" Tricia yelled into the house in order to make the ERT aware of their presence.


"ERT present! You're reckognized! The site is secure, but there's nobody home!" a muscular man wearing black gloves and ballistic armour stepped out of the dining area to meet with Tricia and Halmand.


"Got a SITREP?" Tricia asked him.


"I'm Sergeant McGrath. This is First-Class-Constable Deans. We arrived about four minutes before you did. Spent thirty seconds at the door with no response, so we opted for entry. We cleared the site, room by room, but didn't find the material witness. There's no signs of struggle anywhere, nor are there signs of the material witness having packed and left. I'd say she's out shopping," Sergeant McGrath reported to Tricia.


"Good job Sergeant. Constable. We'll need you to keep the home secure and extract her if she returns. We're going to check some material evidence we have in our car that might give us a hint of where else to look for her. I'll keep you updated," Tricia said to them as she stepped out front and across the lawn towards the car.


"Pretty slick. Nice gloves. Bet that helps with powder burn..." Halmand said to the Sergeant.


"Sometimes, but I'm looking forward to the days I have a cushy job like yours, and can look like a million bucks wearing thousand dollar suits," the Sergeant replied sarcastically.


"Try three hundred. Full price," Halmand said as he walked away, drawing a laugh from both the men.


As Halmand arrived at the curb, a car passed between him and their cruiser. It stopped momentarily in front of the house. As it did, Halmand caught sight of the driver. It was Gracie.


She immediatelys sped off down the street and around the corner as Halmand vaulted the hood of the cruiser and got in the passenger side door.


"It's her!" Halmand said frantically, pointing in the direction Grace had just fled.


Tricia and Halmand quickly buckled up and sped off down the road in pursuit of Gracie.


"Get the strobe up there..." Tricia yelled at Halmand.


"Already on it..." Halmand retrieved the flashing lights and affixed them to the roof from the passenger window.


By the time they'd arrived at Mavis Road, they spotted Gracie's car as it sped north into Brampton. Tricia pulled out into traffic, as it pulled aside for their speed run down the center of the road, quickly catching up with Gracie's car.


The light turned green at the intersection Gracie was stopped and she sped into the intersection in order to avoid her pursuers as another car turned from the adjacent road to join the chase.


"Who's that?" Tricia asked, checking her mirror.


"He's not one of ours. He's got a visor and tinted front windows. Can't really see him..." Halmand told her as he checked over his shoulder.


"Keep six for us. I'll stay with Gracie. Remember, these are big players. Selling non-conventional munitions to clandestine organizations. Return fire only," Tricia reminded Halmand of what was at stake.


Halmand pulled his service pistol from its holster in his jacket and readied himself in the event they were fired upon.


"She's a good driver. I'll give her that, though she's putting everyone around her at risk," Tricia said to Halmand.


"Let's hope she comes to her senses. Our tail is changing lanes into our blind spot. He's tricky. Very tricky," Halmand told Tricia, as he tried to find an angle from which to return fire in the event the need arose.


On the road ahead, Gracie sped up as she tried to get through the next intersection, Steeles Avenue, ignoring the red light. She maneuvered her car back to the left lane and tried to push through the intersection between cars when the rear of her's was blindsided by a sedan, sending her car spinning several times until it collided with a utility pole and stopped.


"Keep an eye on our tail. I'm going to pull up along side of her car and block the intersection!" Tricia exclaimed as the pulled up beside the wrecked vehicle and came to a stop.


She was out of the cruiser with Halmand as the car tailing them passed, continuing through the intersection, the driver peering at them from behind sunglasses.


As the car sped off into the distance, Halmand wrenched the front door of Gracie's car open and checked her for injuries, while Tricia called for an emergency crew, checking on the other vehicle.


"Are you in pain anywhere? Sharp pains in any of your limbs or ribs?" asked Halmand as he examined her for signs of concussion or shock.


"Dizzy... ill..." she said to him in a daze.


"Can you move? I'll help you..." Halmand asked her.


"Need air... so cramped in here..." she said, looking to the other side of her car which was now crumpled and twisted, the passenger seat nearly pressed against her.


Halmand guided her out of the driver's seat and walked her over to the cruiser. She leaned on the hood, and then fell forward to the ground, heaving heavily as her stomach evacuated her lunch onto the asphalt.


She sat on the pavement, catching her breath as Halmand squatted beside her.


"I bet you've never had a first date like that?" Halmand said to her, causing her to smile and then laugh.


"I always seem to find the wrong ones... The ones just looking for a good time... short time... The married ones... The ones who think I'm an easy lay..." she said to Halmand, gagging slightly between sentences.


"That's not your fault. I'd say its a good thing to keep some hope. You just have to be more discerning. Respect yourself. You have something to offer. So protect it. Make them earn it. However, there is the matter at hand, and I'm not a counselor. We're here to make sure that you're safe and that we can find out what you know," Halmand told her honestly.


"Snuggle talk can have a high price, can't it?" Gracie asked Halmand.


"You have no idea. You've got a rough road ahead of you. Lets get you into the cruiser. Its got bullet proof tempered glass, so you should be safe in there from most threats, but I think that you should lie down but don't fall asleep until we get you to the hospital. We're going to stay until the local police arrive and then we'll take you somewhere safe," Halmand promised her.


"Alright Romeo. Gracie. You'll both be happy to know that the other driver is alright. Minor abrasions and contusions, but nothing serious," Tricia told them.


"Its all in the hands of the almighty insurance companies then," Halmand responded as the sound of sirens reached their ears.


...


Much further down the road from the intersection where Tricia and Halmand tended to Gracie, the car that had been pursuing them stopped, pulling off to the side of the road as the dash phone rang.


The driver, a man in his mid to late thirties answered the call.


"Did you cancel the package?" a deep male voice immediately address the driver.


"The client wasn't home, and the gardeners were there, trimming the roses," Foller replied.


"You can't let that package get away from us. The client hasn't paid us yet, and you either need to collect on it, or cancel it," the voice on the other end insisted.


"The gardeners took the package and fled with it. They got blind sided by a car going through an intersection. I tried to get the package number and cancel it, but the gardeners got in the way," Foller spoke firmly.


"Get the job done and then seal up the rest of the loose ends and we'll take it from there," the voice asserted firmly, but before he'd finished his sentence, Foller had already hung up.


To be continued...

Credits and attribution:

CEO and Writer, Brian Joseph Johns
A photo of the writer, taken May 28, 2025
Artwork: Amy Wong, Wendy Pusey, Ghastly, Birdman, Brian Joseph Johns, Daz3D, Unreal Engine...

Tools: Daz3D, Corel Painter, Adobe Photoshop, Lightwave 3D, Blender, Stable Diffusion (Easy Diffusion distribution), InstantID, Sadtalker, Google Colaboratory, Microsoft Copilot (Windows 11), Hitfilm, Borderline Obsession...

Invideo.IO which was used to produce the ENERTRINSIC INTERNATIONAL INVESTOR PRESENTATION.

Rutherford model representation of Deuterium and Tritium: By Dirk Hünniger; Derivative work in english - Balajijagadesh.

InstantID by: Wang, Qixun and Bai, Xu and Wang, Haofan and Qin, Zekui and Chen, Anthony. Research Paper Title: InstantID - Zero-shot Identity-Preserving Generation in Seconds.

Sadtalker by: Zhang, Wenxuan and Cun, Xiaodong and Wang, Xuan and Zhang, Yong and Shen, Xi and Guo, Yu and Shan, Ying and Wang, Fei.

Research Paper Title: SadTalker: Learning Realistic 3D Motion Coefficients for Stylized Audio-Driven Single Image Talking Face Animation.

Gratitude: Our Mentors, Senseis, Sifus, Sebomnims, lifetime inspirations, family, friends, the Nomads (ask Stanton about that one), the Music, the Movies, the Theatre, the Arts, ASMR, (both YouTube and Bilibili and the many other creators on those platforms), the Gaming and Developer communities and of course, the audience.

Martial Arts (in the words of real experts and at least one comedian): https://brucelee.com (home of the real Dragon and an entire family of inspirations), http://iwco.online International Wing Chun Organization (International presence of a very scalable intensity martial art, protected and developed by Shaolin Nun Ng Mui) and the alma mater of Jinn Hua's own specialized variation thereof, https://iogkf.com International Okinawan Goju-Ryu Karatedo Federation (even Hanshi had his teachers), https://itftkd.sport International Taekwondo Federation (Here there be Taegers), https://tangsoodoworld.com Tang Soo Do World (the path of Grandmaster Chuck Norris), https://www.aikido-international.org International Aikido Federation (how else would Navy Chef Steven Seagal liberate a Nimitz Class Aircraft Carrier from a team of hijackers?), https://www.stqitoronto.com Shaolin Temple Quanfa Institute (The City Of Toronto's own Shaolin Temple), https://www.enterthedojoshow.com Master Ken's Ameri-Te-Do presence (If we can't laugh at ourselves, then we can at least laugh the loudest at others, and other Zen)

Jesse Enkamp: Karate Nerd

Sensei Rokas: Martial Arts Journey

Iaido: Train For Katana Mastery Like Samurai

Special thanks to Aitrepreneur, Mickmumpitz, Hugging Face and the YouTube educational content producers, including those catering to the AI content production pipeline and of course AlphaSignal.

Something to give you perspective: The very first teacher had no formal education, didn't graduate and was self taught, but only because they had no other choice. We do.

Very Special Thanks to our Armed Forces and Federal and Provincial Police Services, who really do Stand On Guard, especially when it comes to the Charter of Rights And Freedoms and the Human Rights Act, and often without being self righteous zealots secretly protecting religious law. True keepers of the peace.

This content is entirely produced in Toronto, Ontario, Canada at 200 Sherbourne Street Suite 701 under the Shhhh! Digital Media banner.

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