I'm approximately 6 feet tall. I weigh about 175 lbs. I don't have blue eyes or brown eyes, but I have a very pale monitor tan. I'm Brian Joseph Johns and this is Shhhh! Digital Media.
Chapters
- The Fatal Shot (Finished May 8, 2026)
- From A Considerable Height (Finished May 9, 2026)
- Desserted (Finished May 12, 2026)
- The Predator and the Prey (Finished May 15, 2026)
- Shower (Finished May 20, 2026)
- Birth (Finished June 18, 2026)
- Exit or EXFIL: Friends in Parallel Places (Finished June 19, 2026)
Warning: This episode contains mature situations intended for an adult audience. Reader discretion is advised.
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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.
"None can speak more eloquently for peace than those who have fought in war."
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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!
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Shhhh! Digital Media
Brian Joseph Johns
Shhhh! Digital Media Presents:
Grand Tapestry Of Moments 05 - Mirror, Mirror
by Brian Joseph Johns
The Fatal Shot
In my line of work, life is a window of opportunity. A window that exists only if for a brief moment. Enough so to reveal a lot in the split seconds the frame a moment which will ever only have been seen, in person, once and only once.
A moment between my sight. The lens, and the distance between myself and my target.
Long enough to mean the difference between the hearing of a cry for help, or the sudden silence that follows it.
The difference between life and death.
I knew from the moment that I first pulled that trigger, that I was truly meant for this line of work. In fact, I enjoy it so much, that there has never been a gig that ever felt like work to me. In fact, I've often found myself hesitant on the trigger, if only because I didn't want that moment: amidst a grand tapestry of moments, to ever end.
The cross hairs are perfectly lined up as I contemplate this, my latest gig.
There's a life on the line, but that's not my concern. I'm just another part, in a much bigger apparatus than myself, and if I'm going to continue, and succeed, I never question that moment where I finally pull the trigger.
<Click>
...
"They're good, Stanton. Real good. How'd you get that DOF at that time of day?" asked his publishing editor of photography.
"Well now. That's my secret, and mine alone. Lets just say that I'm old school when it comes to setting up a shot. I mix real lenses with digital lighting compensation. Seeing as Kodak-Eastman never made a TMAX-4000, I made my own by compositing a real lens SLR with digital film speed analysis software. I have a friend in the programming business and he writes a lot of custom code for the DSPs you find in most modern cameras. I threw him a few grand, and he tweaked a custom BIOS for mine that lets me tighten the film speed all the way up beyond eight grand, while syncing with a long shutter speed thanks to a custom gyro. Between the DSP and the gyro, I get a perfect image, no ghosting, and a perfect exposure with natural DOF. Just do me a favour, and don't ever ask me for my coder's name..." Stanton spoke confidently, knowing that the secret to his photographic composition was intricately woven into both his mind, and his camera's BIOS.
"That's the best image we've got of a Red-tail during a ground kill/snatch and grab. Canadian Nature is interested as they're doing a birds of prey issue in July, but they'll only commit if the images are exclusive..." Campeau negotiated with Stanton, whose sigh could be heard on the other end of the line.
"Well if they want to lock the Red-tail in, they're going to have to pay. I've already got Bruce with NatGeo, and he's willing to offer a bit more, without locking me into exclusivity. As long as we wait six months before republishing, he's willing to pay almost twice what Canadian Nature can afford," Stanton dangled the bait in front of Campeau.
"Where's your patriotism Stanton? This is Canadian Nature. They're our front line in the wild and they've been supporting guys like us almost as far back as Jacques Cartier. I know that landing another series with NatGeo will give us international exposure, but just this once, could you give Canada the upper hand?" Campeau pleaded with Stanton's sense of national loyalty, but he wasn't having it.
"That way I see it, Campeau, is that if I get us another gig with NatGeo, then I'm taking Canada along for the ride, and that kind of international exposure will be good for Canadian Nature, because next time, they'll pay what they can afford for my exclusivity," Stanton responded.
"So be it. I'll get what I can and I'll call you if I think we beat Bruce at NatGeo's offer. Say hi to Bruce for me," Campeau responded, though sounding as if he'd already given up.
"Will do. Look. Call me anyway. I'll weigh it regardless and let you know. That's the best that I can do. Now I've got to get cleaned up. Jennifer invited Anthony for dinner and I still stink like the swamp," Stanton responded, getting up from his desk chair and heading for the bathroom.
"Thanks for calling us first Stanton. At least you're giving us the option. We'll talk later, but only if I don't smell you first," Campeau responded and then hung up.
A moment later, and Bradley Alexander Stanton was in the shower, and hot running water mixed with the suds of his favourite body wash, as he lathered his toned and muscular form. When he'd finished, he fixed himself up and donned a comfortable pair of black jeans and his favourite corduroy shirt and began sorting out the dinner he'd planned to cook for them that night.
From A Considerable Height
There was a short and quiet knock on the door, and then the sound of the latch as the door opened.
"Dad? Its us..." an affectionately curvaceous woman in her mid twenties peeked her head around the corner from behind the door, her reddish-blonde hair gently illuminated by the pot-light in the ceiling above her by the doorway to Stanton's downtown condominium.
"Its open, honey. My hands are covered in marinade, so you're going to have to let yourselves in," Stanton responded from the kitchen, as he massaged a pair of steaks, and a succulent cut of chicken breast beside them.
She stepped in through the door, revealing her pastel tinted day dress and the sandals she'd been wearing during the day. Behind her, a cleanly shaven man a few inches taller than her followed. He wore a pair of black jeans and a stylish blue shirt, with splashes of green. In his hands were a bag from the LCBO (that's the wine store where they were from), and a bag with a particularly delectable dessert for the evening's fare.
The lady navigated her way down the hall and into the living area, where she directed the man to have a seat at the sectional sofa. He looked around, his eyes captivated by the walls, which were lined with prints of various wildlife, each of them captured in a once in a lifetime moment. Each a make or break situation for the subjects therein.
"Dad?" she found her way around the corner beyond the sofa around the island countertop kitchen, where her statuesque father stood wearing his favourite button-down silk shirt, both sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he turned to face his daughter.
"Just a minute honey..." he said to her, then turning to the sink and running his hands under the water with a dab of anti-bacterial soap for good measure.
"Thank you dad. You remembered," she gestured to the chicken breast.
"I hope Anthony likes his steaks?" Stanton raised his voice ever so slightly.
"Medium rare, with just a bit of pink in the center," Anthony responded from the sofa, still never having met Stanton in person.
"That's more like it," Stanton dried his hands and approached his daughter, wrapping both his arms around her for an embrace.
"How are you Jennifer? Look at you. I hope your mother is seeing this," he asked her, landing a delicate kiss on her cheek and then presenting her to their only absent family member.
"Anthony and I were out today at the Kensington Market Bizarre, and there was a fashion stall that had the cutest day dress... Isn't it awesome?" Jennifer modeled it for her father.
"You definitely make that dress honey. We can let these sit here for a moment to breath. Remember, oxygen fuses marinade through fermentation, and that's the secret to making a great steak, despite the fact that you're a no-steak kind of girl. Just like your mother. So, are you going to introduce me?" Stanton asked his daughter.
"Anthony? Meet Bradley Alexander Stanton. My father," Jennifer took her father by his hand and pulled him out of the kitchen and to the living area.
Stanton stood a full two inches taller than the man, his form intimidating but his face friendly and welcoming.
Stanton presented his right hand, waiting a moment for Anthony to respond as he stood.
Anthony's hand found Stanton's and in that moment, the two men knew each other better than if they'd tried to tell the other about themself in words.
"So Anthony, you're a tools man?" Stanton asked him, having assessed his calloused hands.
"I'm more of a hands on designer kind of guy..." Anthony responded, Stanton's grip on Anthony's hand unwilling to lighten until he thoroughly knew his daughter's fiancé.
"He's the chief engineer of Clearwater Systems, dad," Jennifer stepped away from her father's side and over to her fiancé's.
"An engineer, eh? Impressive. I thought engineers worked with their pens and slide rules?" Stanton asked Anthony sarcastically.
"Not this one. I design the tech, and I get my hands dirty building the prototypes. You can't be an engineer unless you get your hands dirty," Anthony responded to Stanton confidently.
"Tell that to our steaks, Anthony," Stanton smiled, shaking Anthony's hand firmly once again, almost wielding a grip whose firmness was beyond measure.
"You took all of these?" Anthony looked around the walls of Stanton's condo, indicating the many photographic prints that lined them.
"Every single one, in the crosshairs... click!" Stanton released Anthony's hand long enough to mime a camera taking a photo.
"I'm no photographer, but I'd say they're pretty good," Anthony responded, trying to reach with his engineer's mind to grasp something that had entirely occurred on its own. Fatalistically.
"Yeah, well, for each of my subjects here. This was their defining moment. The majestic poise, grace and stature, defining what they truly are when no other eyes fall upon them. To them, these moments are happenstance. That Owl? Plucking a warbler from out of the air in the dead of night, and making it look easy in the process. See that Hawk?" Stanton gestured to an image on the wall.
"That large bird... with the talons...?" asked Anthony as he looked to the photograph that Stanton had indicated.
"That it is, my steak loving friend. That, in the Northern Goshawk's talons, is the most independently dangerous scavenger omnivore of all. The legendary Honey Badger..." Stanton wrapped his right arm around Anthony's shoulders, making certain that they were both looking to the same photographic print on Stanton's wall.
"How'd you even get that shot?" Anthony looked on in awe of the photo.
"To be honest, I didn't plan that. Jennifer's mother had to have had a hand in it from where she is right now (Stanton gestured upwards indicating the direction that he understood as being that of heaven). I was in Iraq on a wildlife preservation visa, trying to capture the elusive Northern Goshawk, who was the subject of this particular photo. My editor, whose political leanings at the time were to lend to the political pressure to get the States out of Iraq, and the Canadians stationed in Afghanistan back home. What can I say, my editor has friends in NATO, and they didn't like what was going on. So, they sent me to capture the essence of life outside of the war. The nature that surrounds it. The people there, and the wildlife, they share something in common. They're subject to forces far beyond their ability to affect, so I was there to give them a voice," Stanton pulled Anthony tightly to his side, wielding him like there had been a bond between himself and Anthony, his lifelong friend.
"That Goshawk. She has a family. A few eggs at that time, that were just to the left of that photo when I shot it. The Honey Badger in that particular case, was the aggressor. She was just looking for an easy meal, and managed to get her ass up and into the tree where that predatorial hawk just happened to be guarding her nest. My intention was to capture a predator on digital film, going about her life despite the chaos of conflict around them. She was protecting her unborn children, when this particular Honey Badger, while I was focusing on the Goshawk tendering her nest, happened into the frame..." Stanton patted Anthony's shoulder with his powerful hands a few times and then loosened his grip.
"Honey Badgers in the wild, are the defacto independents of nature. They literally do not give a f#ck at all, whether they're dealing with an elephant, a panther, a lion, or an entire pack of them. Honey Badgers have no equal in the wild, and they live by their rules alone. This particular one, who at that moment she stepped into the frame of a photo I'd been lining up, taking random shots for nearly two hours before that point, decided she had a craving for eggs. Well as soon as the Honey Badger's intent was known, the Goshawk opened her wings, and that framed shot there on the wall, was in fact one of the final moments for the Honey Badger, because the Goshawk instead of fighting the Honey Badger in the nest, just hefted her up and off of the tree and into the air, about a two thousand feet up, and then just let go, and gravity did the rest..." Stanton smiled proudly.
"The photo became a symbol amongst wildlife circles, even without the full story of the Honey Badger's fate, and especially unifying the many families in the Middle East, and centered around the mother protecting her nest. Shortly thereafter however, the exit strategy was announced, the Taliban were already making plans for their grip on Afghanistan, and the whole f#cking thing that had given momentum to the women of the Middle East, shortly thereafter was turned around against them to oppress them as soon as the big boys were gone with nobody to keep everyone in line," Stanton patted Anthony's back.
"You know what my first thought was after that Anthony?" asked Stanton.
Anthony took a moment to ponder it, truly trying to put himself in Stanton's shoes before he finally realized that he needed Stanton's perspective rather than his own.
"If that Honey Badger, and that Northern Goshawk had worked together, instead of opposing each other, then things might have been quite different now," Stanton said thoughtfully, looking to the photo and essentially reliving the very moment he'd pressed the trigger.
<Click>
"Want a beer?" Stanton asked Anthony.
"I'll get it, dad," Jennifer put her purse on the coffee table and turned towards the kitchen.
"So tell me Anthony? How does an engineer fight the good fight?" Stanton asked his daughter's fiancé.
"...by making clean water a reality everywhere," Anthony quickly responded, feeling exactly what Stanton was getting at.
"That's right. Good food. Clean water. Safe nests. A protected environment. Cold beer. Good music. A family to go with it all. Faith in something beyond one's self. That's the Canadian way," Stanton was already beginning to admire his daughter's fiancé.
"Isn't that like how most people everywhere prefer it? Like its the world way?" Anthony responded, thinking more in terms of a worldly inclusive approach for society.
"Now that's my daughter's future husband speaking," Stanton said as Jennifer arrived with a cold pint, one in each hand for the two most important men in her life, quickly running back into the kitchen to retrieve the glass of wine she'd poured for herself. The three of them met in the middle.
The three of them clanked glasses, and each of them took a drink, and gravity did the rest.
Desserted
Their plates sat empty, and in front of them each one, a fork nearby with a bit of the meringue still clinging as much to their dessert ware as to their taste buds.
"Well that was one awesome pie, let me tell you. Did you pick that up around here?" asked Stanton, looking to his daughter.
"No. There's a cute little bakery near Anthony's home. They make the most delectable cookies, so we thought we'd give their desserts a chance," Jennifer replied, sliding her chair a bit closer to her fiancé's.
"So Anthony? Are you up for a drink?" Stanton asked Anthony.
"I don't know. What did you have in mind?" Anthony asked him.
"After I get the dishes stashed, I was hoping that you might help me pick something. Whiskey? Scotch? Gin? Bourbon?" Stanton suggested, standing from his place at the table and preparing to clear the table.
"Don't worry about that dad. I'll get the dishes. You made dinner, I'll get the dishes. Have a drink with Anthony. I'd like that," Jennifer stood from the table with her offer.
"Alright honey, but when we do this at your place, don't sluff me off when I return the favour," Stanton winked at her.
"That sounds like a good deal to me," Jennifer began gathering the plates and cutlery as Stanton and Anthony stepped over to the bar.
"So, like anything that you see?" Stanton presented the contents of his wall of fame, a large variety of bottles, most of them full and unopened given the fact that Stanton spent most of his life in the air and on the road.
"I'm not sure. What would wash down that pie we had earlier?" asked Anthony.
"Well, I think we've had enough sweet for the night. We need something with a bit more of a complex flavour. We've got some Penderyn and Mackmyra if you fancy something European. There's Bushmills if something Irish tickles your fancy, and Glenmorangie if you're looking for something Scottish. If Asia is more in your sights, then I've got Hakushu, popular Japanese fare. Amrut, which is a single-malt variety from India. I've got a bottle of six hundred dollar Baiju, which was gifted to me by the head of research at the Chengdu Giant Panda Breeding Reserve. I've also got Kavalan if you'd like to try one of Taiwan's favourite exports. In the Bourbon arena, I've got Basil Hayden's, or Jack Daniels if Tennessee is more your flavour. If you'd rather stay closer to home, I've got Canadian Club. The 1st of the chronicle series, aged 45 years. Most of these aren't opened, so we're both in for an adventure," Stanton offered to him.
"I'd be in for the Basil Hayden's or the Mackmyra myself. Your call," Anthony suggested.
"How about a glass of each. On the rocks. I'd suggest the Basil Hayden's first," Stanton grabbed two crystal glasses, using a pair of tongs to serve each of the two glasses with a trio of ice cubes from the ice dispenser on the bar fridge.
He then poured them each three fingers of bourbon whiskey, handing Anthony his glass and taking up his in hand. The two of them walked over to the balcony and sat looking over the Toronto skyline from the Queen's Quay, as the last of the sun disappeared behind the twenty-hundredth hour horizon.
"So how'd you finally get into photography?" asked Anthony, holding out his glass, the two men clanking the crystal together before enjoying their first sip.
"Well, to tell you the truth, I had my mind set on the military. I knew that I wanted to see the world. Meet exciting and interesting people..." Stanton began.
"...and then shoot them, right? I mean with the camera," Anthony's words initially left his trap before he'd thought them over, though he quickly caught himself and indicated his context.
"Yeah, right. I just wanted to do something meaningful and see the world. So one weekend, I had my mind set on going to the recruiter's office for the armed forces. I was eighteen at the time, lets say nineteen for the record, because that night, my friends and I got drunk around a campfire up north of the city, when one of them pulled out his rifle. It was a twenty-two. A Ruger shorty as he called it. Thankfully, he was the only one of us sober as he was on call that weekend, but he let me try it out when I was well under the influence... And so I shouldered the stock. I aimed, centering the target just beneath the horizon of the iron sight. I slowly exhaled and pulled the trigger. Nothing. Not even a click. It was jammed. Before he could stop me, I lowered the damned thing and grabbed the lever, trying to clear the round manually, while I still had my finger on the trigger and BOOM! Put a quarter-inch hole through my own foot, I did, at point blank..." Stanton paused to take a sip of his bourbon as Anthony grinned at his story.
"Needless to say, that was that for my career in the military. From that moment onward, the only shooting I did was with my custom hybrid DSLR camera, and my shooter glasses, which we will get to once we've had our second glass I might add. I'm old school in case you haven't noticed, but in better health than most men half my age. I work hard, and I like to play hard. If you watch carefully when I walk, I still have a bit of a limp from that day," Stanton smiled and took another sip of his drink.
"So that's all it took? One moment like that, and your entire destiny changed. I have to be honest when I say that without giving it much imagination, I could picture you as a soldier," Anthony nodded as he looked to Stanton.
"I guess you could say that I still am. From that point on however, whenever I took a shot, my chamber was empty and I got a pretty decent photo instead, not to mention a half-decent pay cheque. I'm the unloaded gun as the saying goes. So, is engineering as complicated as it sounds?" asked Stanton, taking a sip of his whiskey.
"Not quite as complex as the flavour of this bourbon, but close. Its mostly chemistry from my end of things, but working with water purification systems means I do a lot of stuff with modular systems. I don't often have to get myself involved in the chemistry. I did that work initially when I designed our flagship cold-filtering modules, and they come in six different sizes. Two for each of the supported ISO standards on the residential, commercial and industrial scale filtration systems. After the success of our flagship filtration systems, I have an engineering design team that does most of that stuff, while I look after the company, but to be honest, every once in a while you'll catch me in the machine shop, trying alternate configurations and just playing around trying to keep my chops up. When you start a company as an engineer, the thing that they never tell you is that you eventually end up as far away from engineering as you can be, in order to run the company. Sometimes, I wish it was someone else's company, and I just had a hands-on job doing the engineering," Anthony explained to Stanton.
"I think I can relate with that, but in my line a work, its always a lot of waiting. Someone else is running the show, and I'm just part of a secret audience watching in the wing for the moment when something happens. I never know what its going to be, but when it does happen, I get a sort of tickle in my stomach. Like when you're a kid and you ride an amusement park ride for the first time? As soon as that happens, I'm all eyes and ears, with my finger on the trigger. I guess that's kind of like you being the guy running the company, but sneaking into the machine shop so you can be a part of the stuff that happens when someone else is pulling the strings," Stanton observed astutely.
"Honey? Could you come into the kitchen for a moment? Dad, I just need Anthony for a minute. Won't be long," Jennifer stepped out of the kitchen and stood in the doorway, addressing the two men as they sat on the balcony.
"Sure sweetie. I'll be back in a minute," Anthony stood, leaving his drink on the table between himself and Stanton.
Stanton sat leaning back in his chair and enjoying the warm night air, and the sound of activity on the harbour front scene thirty stories below. The bourbon had nicely warmed his insides and he was looking forward to the Mackmyra, when his phone suddenly began ringing from inside of the pocket of his slacks.
"Stanton here," he answered.
"You don't know me, but I'm about to change your life. Your camera? The custom one? You're going to need it in about a minute. Bring the zoom lens. Hurry!" a man's voice told him firmly as he snapped out of his relaxing state.
"Don't you have anything better to do than to crank call photogs? Don't tell me, Bruce put you up to this?" Stanton responded skeptically.
"You have another forty-five seconds before you're going to miss the shot of a lifetime..." the man said to him quickly and unflinchingly.
Stanton suddenly got that feeling in his stomach. The same tickles he'd get before pulling the trigger. He got up from his chair and quickly ran the distance to his bedroom, finding his camera and the zoom lens side by side. He grabbed them both and ran back down the hall, fixing the lens to the camera and locking it in place by the time he got back to the balcony.
He then grabbed his ear bud, and pressed the button to activate it, pocketing his phone.
"You still there?" asked Stanton.
"You have twenty-five seconds. There's two men down at the second pier on your right. They're seated side by side right now. One is wearing a flat-cap hat. He's got a briefcase beside him on the left. To his right is a younger fellow. Muscular. Beefy. He's the aggressor..." the man told Stanton, as he lined up his camera lens, zooming in as tightly as he could on the scene unfolding below while still managing to fit the two men in the same frame.
"Yeah, I got 'em," Stanton said as he carefully used the railing to steady his camera and lens.
"In a moment, you're going to see the younger man level a device at the older man. It'll look like something from the movies, but suffice it to say that's a real subsonic silencer on the end of his pistol. The big guy is going to shoot the older man, and take his briefcase. You have to get a shot of this the moment that he pulls the trigger, and then another shot when he grabs the briefcase. I hope you're not too drunk?" asked the man of Stanton.
"I'm a few sheets to the wind, but not drunk, but certainly not willing to drive," Stanton responded.
"That's good. After taking those photos, you're going to make your way down in the elevator and intercept the man as he walks on foot, north towards Union Station. You got it? Three... two... one..." the man on the phone paused as Stanton watched through the lens, a large tubular device wielded in the hand of the younger, larger man. At that exact moment, Stanton pressed his trigger...<click>...and witnessed a bright flash from the muzzle. The old man suddenly slumped over, limp and unmoving, while the younger man reached for the briefcase. Stanton immediately zoomed in and managed to get the both the man's face, and the briefcase, a perfect photo that gave him the profile of the younger man's face, along with a tag upon the briefcase indicating three numbers from a baggage check that had recently been retrieved from Pearson International Airport.
"Did you call the cops?!!!" Stanton asked excitedly as he realized that he'd just witnessed a murder.
"We're way beyond that level, my friend, and if you'd just run for the door right now, you'll be at the intercept point in about two minutes as I told you. Don't delay, or things could turn out very badly for the people you care most about," the man demanded of Stanton.
"Who the f#ck are you! Are you threatening my..." Stanton almost slipped, revealing that he had a daughter but he'd caught himself at the last moment and instead paused.
"Every second you delay this, you're putting in danger the lives of the people you care about most. I'm trying to help you, and you're f#cking up by ignoring my instructions..." the man assured him confidently.
Stanton slung the camera strap around his neck and ran for the front door, quickly unfastening the zoom lens and dropping it safely on the sofa as he passed.
He had his favourite shoes on already, and given the weather was warm, his silk shirt would be enough to endure the evening. He threw the door open and ran out into the hall, sprinting the short distance to the elevator and finding the call button and pressing it.
"Given the fact that you screwed around for five seconds back there, you're going to have to sprint for at least five seconds to make the intercept point. When you get there, I want you to stand with your back to the man you're tailing, keeping your face out of his view. Don't let him see you, and hunch your back slightly, so you appear shorter and less confident. Like somebody who got the sh#t kicked out of them by life. We don't want this guy to know your true capabilities, because if he does, you're done as in six feet under. As in game over, but this ain't no f#cking video game. Got it?" the man advised Stanton.
"Yeah, I got it," Stanton responded affirmatively, though in all honesty acknowledging the man on the other end of the phone tasted like sh#t in his mouth, especially after his hinting at the danger directed towards his family.
The elevator doors opened and Stanton leapt out of the elevator like a spring-loaded toy, almost knocking over a younger couple who'd been waiting for it in the foyer.
"Watch where you're going! There are other people who live here you jerk!" the man yelled after Stanton, though by that time, he was already out of ear shot.
Stanton rather than running, walked very quickly through the front lobby, the soft soles of his shoes barely making a noise on the polished granite floor. When he arrived at the front door, he pushed through and as soon as he was outside of the view of the front cameras, he began to sprint like a world class athlete in the direction that the man on the other end of the phone had indicated.
"Perfect. You're almost back in sync. Just push it a bit more and... there. You can walk now. A brisk pace though, but trying not to draw attention, if that's possible with a guy like you. Remember what I said. Slouch, looking down a lot. We don't want you to trigger this guy's alpha male radar. Remember, he trained with a class full of a bunch of A-type personalities like you, except that he can kill a man in under five seconds with his bare hands. You're nowhere near that level. Yet," the man said to him, speaking to him as if he knew his entire life's story.
"So what'd he do, other than killing that guy?" asked Stanton about the man he was pursuing.
"Exactly what he was trained to do. Silence a potential insurgent asset, and acquire his intel cache, ensuring that any information about the former operation he's protecting is obscured and secured. Its as simple as that," the man on the other end of the phone told him with carefully picked words.
"So who's team are we on, and who are they?" asked Stanton, picking up his pace slightly as he turned north onto York Street from Queen's Quay.
"You're fishing for flags? Well don't ask. Its better that you don't know at this point," the man strongly suggested to Stanton.
"You could be some dark web hacker who happened upon my info from one of the recent data leaks, and you're playing me for something big. Bigger than I have the foresight to be aware of," Stanton reasoned with the the man.
"What's bigger than your nest egg? That measly seventy-five grand you keep in your long term savings for a rainy day? Your portfolio? Your net worth? Think about what you just asked me. If I was just such a hacker, then why would I need the elaborate setup to hook you into a scheme? You just witnessed a man being executed in plain sight, but the man who did it is a pro. Its a bloodless kill. The round entered and lodged in a part of his body devoid of arteries, severing his spinal chord along its trajectory. He lived and was fully conscious for about three minutes, but completely paralyzed before he succumbed to asphyxiation. Without his spinal chord, his nervous system couldn't maintain the signaling of the rhythm of his breath, and his heart beat. Both were stopped dead in their tracks. It took about forty-five seconds before he entered into a fully conscious dream state, and from there, three minutes later, his conscious awareness faded to nothing as the last of the oxygen in his system ran out. Unless they check him up close, most people will think he's a sleeping drunk, but he's as dead as a door nail, killed by a pro, and you have both the kill, and the killer in your camera, and unbeknownst to you, both have been secretly uploaded to a cloud service in my grasp for safety's sake, because there's a good chance that you get made by this guy, and he uses that kill-a-man-in-five-seconds-or-under training of his on you. He'll disappear with that intel cache in his hand: the briefcase. and we'll lose the best chance we have of gaining the full details of said operation, and dismantling it once and for all. You have no idea how much is at stake, but I'm hinting at it because I know you're an A-type, and once you know the goal, you're centered on achieving it. Tunnel vision, and that's exactly what we need to get that briefcase without becoming that guy's next victim," the man explained to Stanton, taking the time to fill him in on the details, while still keeping the secret of the flags.
"Why is he on foot? Why didn't his exit plan include transportation?" asked Stanton, now able to see the man on foot just ahead of him by a hundred paces.
"He's a double-blind. His agency doesn't know who he is and he doesn't know anyone from his agency. No contact or handler identities involved. No names or faces. Just details. The job. The target. The payout drop point. All encoded to sound like two people talking about a recent sports game, or the latest episode of a popular streaming series, or any of a number of other forms of social camouflage. If someone arranges for an EXFIL, that's a lot of exposure not to mention the presentation of extensive resources, with very little plausible deniability. As a double-blind, if he gets picked up by Police, he's just some random guy, with no affiliations whatsoever. However, that briefcase in his possession would be linked to classified operations, and he'd be dead within hours and it would look like an accident or a random altercation in jail, not to mention the clean-up crew would tie up all of the loose ends. The Police involved in the investigation. Their families, and anyone else who was potentially exposed to classified material. I hate to break it to you this way Stanton, but you're an adult now. Welcome to the real world," the man's explanation was salt and peppered with sarcasm, but somehow maintained its course away from the cynicism it represented.
"So he's just going to leave on public transportation?" asked Stanton of the man.
"Most likely, but not before making certain he doesn't have a tail. That's why you're going to have to get another shirt, and lose the one that you're wearing," the man advised Stanton.
"This shirt cost me an arm and a leg, not to mention its my favourite shirt," Stanton resisted the urge to hang up the phone and return to his condominium.
"Buy another one, assuming you live through this. You've got to stay with that guy until he presents an opportunity for you to obtain the briefcase," the man told Stanton.
"Why the hell didn't you tell me that before? I could have sprinted to him and tackled him, and ran off with the briefcase before he knew what hit him," Stanton sounded even more frustrated with the man than he initially had been, and he was quickly losing the motivation to persist with his goal.
"How's that gunshot injury, Stanton? Your foot? With the Ruger? That twenty-two shorty?" the man reminded Stanton of his life path altering injury.
"You have a bug in my apartment, don't you?" Stanton challenged the man.
"You told Anthony that story? Tonight, after your meet the daughter's fiancé dinner? You and he had a mano a mano, didn't you? I'm impressed, Stanton. You've really bought into this whole life, haven't you? Well you're living a lie. You were meant for much greater things, but that one choice f#cked up everything, didn't it? So you opted for the runner up life, not the one you truly wanted!" the man laid the cards out on the table for Stanton to see.
"I didn't make that choice! Life made it for me!" Stanton responded angrily at the man, yet careful enough not to raise his voice, for the man he was following was slowing, and the distance between them was closing.
"No. You're still in the dark, aren't you? You think that everything and everyone is disconnected, and that the world is just a bunch of disjointed people whose choices in life form some kind of cohesion that becomes communities, cities, provinces, countries, corporations and religions, and that your life's path is entirely within your grasp. What if I told you that you've been living a lie for your entire life. That most, if not all of these apparently disjointed people have affiliations that they've been keeping secret from you for your entire life, and that to them, you're no different than the soccer ball in a stadugame. Wake up, Stanton. All of that, your youth and life, all those opportunities and choices, they weren't yours. They were put there as part of a bigger game. One side trying to keep you on the path that you truly wanted, while the other side tried to derail you in the interest of their own ideals and plans for you. Your friends, the ones who took you out drinking and shooting that weekend? They planned that. Everything that happened, they planned it, because they didn't want you to become a part of the machine they think is oppressing them. Think about it. How many of them vote? How many of them do you recall making their taxes a priority? Their family Doctor? All the things that are part of the machine that is trying to keep them down. Allegedly. If you'd have gone to the recruiting office the next day, your future would have been far different than the one you're living now," the man explained to Stanton, as if he had some kind of special insight as to the nature of fate.
"Are you saying that my wife and daughter were not my life path?!!!" Stanton defended what mattered to him the most.
"..." the man was silent for a moment.
"No. I'm not saying that at all. In fact, they're the only choices you ever made that were truly yours. I just wish that on that night that you shot yourself in the foot, that you didn't. You have no idea what could have been, but you're getting a little taste of it now..." the man said to him.
Stanton, as he approached the man he was trailing, did an inventory of his life. Examining all of the times where he'd come to a branch point, on his journey, and quickly began to realize an emergent pattern there within. At every one of those situations, there were certain people nearby. Certain people who'd made themselves present every single time there was a significant life choice that would determine his path, and there they were. Seated on his shoulder. The path he'd most wanted almost always remained the most silent. Perhaps like the woman who truly loved him, hoping that his love for her alone would lead him in her direction. But it was always the louder, more bold and prominent voice that won. The voices of those whom he thought were his friends, but whose motives were actually quite hidden and presumptuous. He realized that there was truth in what the man had told him. That there was plenty of evidence that coincided with the idea that he was simply a ball on the playing field of life. Someone who was capable of keeping their feet on both sides, so one of those teams decided to make it a game of using him to their benefit constantly, and at the expense of his own wishes, and without him realizing it.
They'd played him, and more importantly, they'd played him on the basis of his naivety and his trust, but at the same time, he felt himself the fool for allowing it to happen, though he'd extended his trust and it had been ignored and betrayed most purposefully. At that moment he lost respect both for those people, and for himself for allowing it to happen. Trust was a double edged sword. It could just as easily cut the one wielding it as it could cut those betraying it, and those who relied upon the expectation of others to honour it, were as surely to dishonour it themselves until they truly realized its value. In understanding what it was to know how his trust had been betrayed, he suddenly realized the few times he'd as much betrayed trust, though he'd never planned it, nor had he ever used trust to deny any of his family or friends of a future they desired. His daughter was the only living love in his life that represented that fact of what he'd once had with his deceased wife. The only real trust he'd truly ever known.
"What could have been, but never was, Stanton. There's not many of us around anymore. Those of us who had bigger plans for you. For us, but there are a few of us left. The real miracle was that your life somehow hardened you up in a similar way to what the military might have done for you. We have a saying in my line of work, and that's: when one school of life fails you, there's another one that picks up the investment made in you. By that miracle, you're an older man, but in the best shape of your life. You've slept in the worst of conditions. Under the sky and in the bush. In swamps, and lived off of the bottom of a log. You've been lost and isolated in the depths of the wild, only to survive and eventually find your way home again. You've lived experiences that few could manage to survive, at the very bottom, and in the depths the furthest away from civilization. What that friend's Ruger took from you, life and nature took up as our investment in you, and that's the only reason you're tailing this guy now..." the man confided in Stanton how he'd come to be chosen for this particular assignment.
"Sh#t! He slowed. A lot. I just noticed. He's been closing the distance between..." the sound of a loud impact on Stanton's forehead emerged from the man's headset, and there was only the sound of heavy breathing, grunting and the occasional sound of bludgeoning and battering.
The Predator and the Prey
Stanton followed the narrow foot path through the interior of the Aberdares Forest, now deep within and ascending along an upward gradient beyond the two-thousand meter line according to the Garmin Fenix 3 which encircled his wrist securely.
The armed guards walked ahead of him, two of them straggling behind ever so slightly, while the third kept his pace with their guide as they pushed through the forest.
Stanton paused, noticing that they'd passed the last of the olive trees, at which he point he saw a straggler about fifty meters away.
"Hold up for a second..." Stanton requested of his guide, raising his voice ever so slightly so it would carry up the trail.
"Be quick. We're already a half an hour behind schedule, and I've got to make the return trip before dark," the guide responded to him, the three guards each finding a place to sit amongst fallen logs and the outcroppings that surrounded them.
"Be right back," Stanton responded, making his way through the light brush and over to the olive tree. He quickly found the area of the tree with the ripest variety, and began plucking them by the handful and depositing them into a bag he'd just tied to his rig. As Stanton cleared the last few remaining from the branches surrounding him, he observed a pair of eyes watching him from the thick of the brush. A wet snout began sniffing the leaves and Stanton saw that it was a deer of some kind.
"Come on. Hurry up. We're losing daylight," the guide urged Stanton, who ignored him for the time being and instead stepped forward toward the deer and stopped about halfway from where he'd been picking olives.
He pulled a handful from the bag and deposited them on the forest floor in a healthy pile. He then slowly backed away from the olives, keeping his eye on the deer as he grabbed his DSLR and readied it for a quick photo.
Stanton squatted down and lined up the shot through his viewfinder as the bushbuck stepped out of his cover, carefully looking around for any signs of danger, and then stepping forward to the pile of olives. He then looked to Stanton, perhaps even posing for the photo which Stanton quickly snapped, and then he began eating the olives. Delicately. One by one.
Stanton then returned to the trail, returning the lens cover to his camera.
"You shouldn't do that," the guide advised Stanton.
"What? Pay a deer his residuals for a photo op?" asked Stanton sarcastically.
"What makes them dependent upon us, makes them less likely to survive on their own," the guide reminded Stanton.
"This trail is frequented by more than six different safari tours. You mean to tell me that none of them do what I just did? We're on their land. I'm paying my dues," Stanton responded to the guide.
"Where we're going, there are no safaris permitted. Untainted life gives nature a chance. Don't go about treating the preserve as if you're readying it for the eventual arrival of coffee shops and pet stores. That animal will follow us now, and the there are predators on the trail we're taking that even poachers will not confront," the guide told Stanton firmly.
"You mean you guys aren't here to protect us from poachers?" asked Stanton of the guards.
"No. We're here to protect both us and you from what lays in the forest ahead," one of the guards responded.
Stanton reached into his bag of olives, and then tossed one to each of the guards.
"Don't forget to protect him. He's my friend," Stanton gestured to the deer, who'd just finished eating the pile of olives and was turning back to the cover of the forest.
"We continue now and we don't stop for anything until you're situated at the overwatch near the camera traps. Then, you're there for the night all by your lonesome until the morning," the guide turned away from Stanton and then resumed his ascent, up a steep part of the grade, which eventually leveled to mostly even ground as they climbed the path to the overwatch.
Two hours onward, the second of which their hike became challenging to the point of requiring the use of both their legs and hands, the sun's angle in the sky closed in on the altitude of the forest canopy. The shadows by that time were almost complete darkness, while what little sunlight could filter through the canopy produced long shadows across the forest floor, making their voyage through the brush that much more difficult.
There eventually came a point where the guide stopped, and turned to face Stanton and at that moment they knew that their point on the journey had come to an end.
"You're less than a kilometer from the last Sapper hut, and another five hundred meters beyond that is the overwatch and camera trap control point. You'll have about another hour of light with which to take a photo by the time you get there and setup, after which you'll have to rely on night vision optics. From there, you'll have to wait until morning to get the photo for which you've traveled here, and there are no guarantees my friend. If I were you, after you get setup, I'd clean my scent as best I could, as there's a bit of an eastward wind that will carry your scent down range towards your subject. Depending upon who shows up, that could scare them off, or make them curious about you. If you suspect the second possibility, then I would suggest that you immediately run back to the Sapper hut as quickly as you can and stay there until morning with the door firmly shut and locked," the guide advised Stanton as the guards stood by anxiously, already eager to begin the return trip.
"Thank you. I wish you could have taken me the entire way, but I'll accept this. So we agreed upon five hundred...?" confirmed Stanton as he reached into one of the clipped pockets in his rig and pulled forth a bill fold and began fanning through twenties, counting them carefully.
"Five hundred US dollars. Not Canadian my friend. That was the agreement," Stanton paused in his count, looking to the guide.
"So... six hundred Canadian?" Stanton tried his best to haggle.
"Try seven hundred and fifty. That will be enough to pay for my services and the guards, and our gratuity. I've heard that Canadians are and can be grateful people," the guide negotiated with Stanton in a most diplomatic fashion.
"Very, when we're not being taken advantage of," Stanton counted out seven hundred Canadian and then handed it to the guide.
The guide began counting the money himself, as Stanton reluctantly counted out another sixty, waiting until the guide had finished his count before handing him the final amount.
"It was a pleasure doing business with you, but fret not. There's nowhere out here for you to spend your money anyway. Its better in my hands where it can find some use back in the village," the guide smiled and shook Stanton's hand firmly.
"One last thing. Where's the fuel for the generator at the Sapper hut?" asked Stanton.
"There should be an Imperial gallon of fuel in the gas can inside of the utility hole in the hut. That should give you enough to charge your electronics if you need to, but if you plan to take photos before sunset, I'd highly suggest that you don't use the generator. Its loud and it will scare the wildlife away for hours. Enjoy your stay, and remember to keep your pistol near you at all times," the guide advised Stanton one last time.
He then turned and proceeded back the way they'd come, the three guards following closely behind him as they divided up their portion of the payment between them.
Stanton unclipped his hip side holster and pulled forth his stamped metal 9mm Glock-17, a firearm for which he was licensed to carry, though he'd only ever practiced with it once. At a gun club in the downtown core, where his closest grouping was in the vicinity of six inches at twenty-five meters. Not very good, but good enough to scare the kinds of more aggressive wildlife with which he assumed he might contend. He unclipped the magazine, and checked the rounds within. They were packed core rubber projectiles. Non-lethal. They wouldn't do any permanent damage, but they'd certainly leave a mark and provide a little incentive for the most curiously aggressive of wildlife to vacate the premises. He'd only filled the magazine to a capacity of nine, as only two shots at most are all that would be needed to scare off most predatory wildlife. Besides, he wasn't there to shoot them with a gun. He was there to shoot them with his camera. The unloaded gun.
He picked up his pack and shouldered it, and continued on in the direction that the guide had indicated, emerging from the densest part of the forest into a lightly covered clearing. The sun glared down at him without any obstructions to block its path and he found its warmth soothing after emerging from the dank humidity of the interior forest itself.
The trip to the Sapper hut took about another half-hour, and shortly before arriving he'd sighted it clearly from four hundred meters away. It sat just outside of the other end of the forest clearing, the last fully enclosed residence of humanity's presence at this altitude in the Aberdares Forest, and the demarcation point at which the bamboo line began. Most of the forest from this point would be dense and humid patches of bamboo, with a variety of thin and large leafed plants and brush on the wet forest floor.
The hut itself was small, having only three tiny rooms. The first room upon entry held a brick wood stove, with room enough around it for two or three campers to sleep on the floor. The second room was a latrine with a seat, and whose inground interior was deeply dug into the ground. A barrel two thirds full of a lye and citric acid powder mixture sat beside the latrine. A hand written sign on the wall just above it stated: ONE SCOOP ONLY!!! Stanton noted the three exclamation marks, and wondered to himself how many times the occupants had gone overboard on that count.
The last room was the utility box as the guide had referred to it. It contained the gas can as he'd indicated and Stanton immediately checked it to see how full it was. When he was satisfied that it was about a gallon and a half, he put it back down and checked for other supplies. There was a small cupboard that contained several boxes of wooden matches. And two cannisters of starter fluid, obviously for the wood stove. When Stanton left the utility room, he spied a pair of axes. A full sized tree felling axe, and a smaller hand axe for detail work and splitting small logs and kindling.
He grabbed up the large axe and went around to the side of the hut to check on the wood situation. When he saw that there was barely enough for one night, he immediately set about locating the closest fire-worthy tree and headed in that direction, leaving his pack and the rest of his supplies behind the closed door of the hut.
The tree in question was an isolated Hagenia abys, though it was clearly dying, likely as a result of direct exposure in the sun bleached opening of the forest rather than in the moist safety of the forest interior. He quickly sized up his best point of attack and began strategically hacking away at the base of the tree, notching out a sufficiently angled portion of the tree so that it would fall easily once he began breaking it from the other side, which it did about a minute later.
He quickly stripped the smaller dead branches for kindling, and then worked at the base, breaking the trunk up into smaller portions which he could drag back to the hut and break them up into the sizes he'd need for a good woodstove fire. The entire operation took him about fifty minutes in total, and gave him enough wood for six days, meaning that he'd be leaving the hut better supplied than when he'd arrived. The general rule of thumb which he preferred to live by when camping in shared facilities in the wild, especially during his wildlife photoshoots.
When he'd finished, he gathered his pack and supplies again and headed out the door, closing it behind him. He walked in the direction towards the overwatch, there barely being a trail for this was the portion of the forest that received the least traffic, with only the most hardened rangers and wildlife experts venturing up this far, and to track the rarest of protected of species, one of whom was to be the subject of his photoshoot attempt.
As he reached the tree line on the other side of the clearing, he stopped and placed a small solar charged motion sensing light on the forest floor near the path entry into the forest. Its fluorescent colour would make it easy to see in the daylight, and the motion sensing light would become very helpful if he needed to vacate in the dark. Several of the trees were marked with reflective tape nearby, but Stanton liked always to have a backup of some form. There was nothing worse than being forced to flee in the darkness of night, with nothing but a flashlight to guide the way. He'd be spending the night amidst the dark hunting grounds of one of the most rare and dangerous predators on the planet. The Melanistic Black Leopard.
When Stanton stood up after placing the light, he noticed that he was once again being watched. He turned around slowly, looking for any pair of eyes that might be spying him at that moment, when the same bushbuck emerged from behind a tree. The one that he'd fed the olives earlier.
"What are you doing up this far? You know this is dangerous territory for you, don't you?" he said to the bushbuck.
It looked at him, perhaps most curiously more so than anything, causing Stanton to proceed in his direction, returning along the trail to the tree line once again. The bushbuck backed away from him and stepped into cover as he dropped to a squatting position well outside of the higher altitude forest, and left a another pile of olives for his friend.
"That's far enough. You eat these, and then turn around and go home. You got it?" he said firmly to the bushbuck.
The bushbuck watched him as he stepped away from the olives and when there was a safe path to the pile, the deer stepped over to them and began taking them up into his mouth with his lips one at a time as he consumed them.
Stanton waited for the bushbuck to finish them, and then ran at the poor beast, screaming like a maniac.
"Now go on! Get out of here! Go!" Stanton yelled at the top of his lungs as he charged at the beast. It turned and fled, only to face him once again when it had an appreciable distance from him.
Stanton dropped his pack and then charged at the beast once again, flailing his arms and screaming at the top of his lungs, in a most frightening display, sending the creature fleeing for the other side of the clearing.
Once Stanton was satisfied that he'd put a sufficient amount of effort into steering the bushbuck back to its own home, he continued towards the tree line once again, picking his pack up from the trail before proceeding into the darkening bamboo forest ahead.
The trip to the overwatch was tricky at several points, and Stanton noted that at those points the trees were often wrapped several times with reflective tape. There was also an inclined stretch that had a rope ladder, allowing for a less difficult traversal of a particularly difficult climb. All of it was marked so as to show up in the dark under the guidance of a flashlight, but Stanton nonetheless deposited the second of his solar powered motion sensing lights at the bottom of the climb. That way, if he needed to scurry down in a hurry, he'd have a certain indication as to where the base of the climb was.
He knew that he'd arrived when he saw that the forest once again opened up, revealing a tiny eye through the canopy above. Perhaps fifty meters diameter, and directly above the overwatch point which had been used by many adventurers for important work in the fields of science, the environment and in protecting endangered species.
There upon a large moss covered stone that provided the floor of the overwatch, was a solidly constructed wooden lean-to, large enough for an observer to lay down flat upon their chest and peer out into the scenery about thirty meters below. The opening in the canopy provided a convenient natural light source during daylight photography, not to mention a small stream passed through the base of the drop, making it a central point for many species, especially the local herbivore and omnivore population, to get a drink. By this fact, it was also one of the most dangerous places in the forest, for its most deadly predator often used this location as its hunting ground, given the vast selection of species on the menu. In irony though, and as nature thus far had managed on the dwindling biospheres remaining on the planet, this same predator was on the endangered species list, while those who supplied its food were amongst the most abundant of species in the Aberdares Forest. Thus were the economics of survival.
A grey waterproof metallic box sat within the lean-to, tucked into the tightest corner of its fit. A thickly covered wire line ran from this box to the solar panel that topped the roof of the lean-to. Glued atop of the metallic box, Stanton observed a small plastic laminated map of the surrounding area. There in the center of the map was an 'X', marking his location, while an arrow pointed directly out and over the drop, stopping just short of the altitude lines that indicated the stream. Stanton also observed that there were four other places marked on the same map, "I" through "IV", each of them indicating the location of one of the camera traps and its accompanying FLIR (Forward Looking Infrared) flash.
Stanton then checked the front face of the metallic box, and found four green and yellow LEDs, each of them paired, and marked with "I" through "IV" to line up with the map on the top of the box.
"Yellow must mean motion sensing, and green must mean that the camera trap has been fired. I wonder what the cooldown time is?" Stanton noted to himself.
Stanton lifted the box, and found more writing on the bottom. Once again, items were listed "I" through "IV" to indicate each of the camera traps, this time however they each included a WIFI name, a non-admin username, and a password. There was also a corresponding frequency table which supported the older non-digital analog format broadcast reception feature used by hardware from the 1980s and 1990s.
"Looks like compatibility won't be a problem. Kudos. Well documented and very straight-forward too," Stanton noted, eliciting respect for those who'd taken the time to design the setup atop of the overwatch.
Stanton turned his pack over and pulled a rolled up rubber mat, placing it atop of the floor of the lean-to, making sure that there was no exposure through which the mat could be exposed to rainfall, if there was any to come. He then covered the mat with his sleeping bag, and finally, pulled a tightly folded hi-tech plastic tarp, and fastened it to the top of the lean-to, covering the entire area around the lean-to for a complete protection from rain. The tarp itself was transparent on the top (allowing for the solar panels to keep the metallic box fully charged), and camouflage patterned near the edges so as to conceal him from the few nearby animals who relied on visual acuity.
After fastening his camera strap to one of the supports on the lean-to, he got into position affixing his camera to a tripod and gimbal. The gimbal arm allowed him minute adjustments while aiming for a shoot if he chose to do so directly, his favourite method of lining up a shot. His smartphone could connect to the camera and gimbal, allowing for him to remotely control the precision aiming of the camera, while previewing its shot through his smartphone's display. This way, in the event he need to shift his position before sleeping, he could while on his back, be ready for any photo opportunity that presented itself on short notice.
When he was satisfied that he was fully prepared for the night, he cozied himself up to the camera and kept watch over the drinking area of the stream and waited for the stars of the show to arrive.
As fortune would have it, the first of his arrivals was amongst one of the most endangered. A trio of African forest elephants, most likely part of a larger hike, for they generally traveled together and in larger groups. Families however would occasionally stray in search of water or food in the form of bamboo leaves, tree bark and the menu favourite of many Aberdares herbivores: bamboo shoots. This particular trio however seemed only to be concerned with water, for they made their way directly to the stream and stood drinking from it for nearly two minutes. The smaller one, being more playful than the others, sprayed one of the larger ones, who quickly returned the gesture, or rather the jest. Stanton thankfully managed to capture the moment, both that of the playful youth, and the return fire of the older adolescent elephant. The three of them then left the stream as quickly as they'd arrived, most likely to catch up with the rest of their hike.
Not long after they left, other smaller animals that had fled upon their arrival (mostly out of concern of being crushed underfoot), returned to the stream where they too partook of the natural bounty beneath the overwatch.
A pair of Mountain Yellow Warblers found time to play in the stream. Both of them each in turn, rolling around in the shallows and then chasing each other in circles before flying off into the shelter just beneath the canopy. When they'd left, an Abyssinian Crimsonwing quickly dropped to the stream, cautiously taking a few drinks before taking flight to a nearby exposed bamboo shoot. It then began digging its beak into the shoot, managing to tear off several sizeable pieces, which it quickly consumed before flying off for better cover amongst foliage that matched its opulent hues.
Stanton managed to land a few more photos, of the birds and one of the rarest of finds on such an expedition: the Mountain bongo. An endangered species whose numbers were estimated to be close to one hundred individuals in four key locations in Kenya, the Aberdares Forest being one such location.
This group of six, four of whom were young, accompanied by two adults who Stanton assumed to be the nursing mothers for the youths, stayed close together, emerging from the bamboo forest not via any trail, but rather from deep in its midst, squeezing between the bamboo trunks and sloshing through the dampened forest floor. The soft and wet soil of the bamboo forest floor often kept the secret of their travels safe from predators, though on this very day, they were being watched very carefully by one of the most elusive unbeknownst to Stanton.
The six of them found a suitable place from which to drink, the four youths and one of the adults taking theirs simultaneously while the second adult kept watch. When they were done, the last adult drank while the others watched. They remained very quiet and kept their time near the stream very short before they disappeared back into the thick of the bamboo, leaving Stanton with a series of shots that would be of considerable value to publishers and interest groups.
As the sun descended lower into the canopy, Stanton found his day's hike suddenly catching up with him. Satisfied that he'd managed to get enough photos for the time being, he allowed himself to fall quietly to sleep as the darkness of the Aberdares forest night crept across the them all.
...
He dreamt of his wife. They were together on an adventure vacation, she being one the few women who could keep up with him, though he honestly knew that it was actually the other way around. Every time he thought he'd reached a new peak in terms of achievement for himself, especially with his adventurous life style, she'd break it, and he'd be forced to follow her in order to keep up. This dynamic had been what had cemented the early part of their marriage. She'd managed life like that with him for five years before she'd decided that she wanted to have a child. From that point, she'd changed. Almost overnight. She found exhilaration in life in ways other than the thrills and spills of an active lifestyle.
She'd become interested, almost obsessed with gardening, and they purchased a home with both a room for their child to come, and a larger more luscious backyard for her newfound hobby, though her home life was far from being one of solitude or inactivity. While she was carrying their unborn child, she taught yoga up until her sixth month, and from there, she continued by preparing sprouts from her garden (perennials), and gifting them to Stanton's contacts in the media and publishing industry.
Stanton stayed home for the final three months of pregnancy, rehearsing for their big day, going through the Le Mans classes and often preparing the most creative and engaging of her food requests, leaving pickles and ice cream as a third runner up to more exotic ideas like onion and nutella knackwurst dogs, or gummy bear and anchovy chicken wraps (with chopped cilantro for good measure). On one occasion, she even had a nibble of one of Stanton's steaks, a medium rare ribeye, sandwiching the piece between two shortbread cookies. Perhaps the only time she'd ever tried beef with him.
Stanton had always managed to find something to keep himself busy, despite his practically climbing the walls at the thought of being home all day. During her last two weeks, she sat in a lawn chair in their backyard and directed him as he did all of her gardening, nearly driving him bonkers with the specifics of details she'd wanted to see him achieve. He weathered it very well, and managed to find the humour in every such moment.
Then, their big day came. It was eleven thirty in the morning. She was laying on the sofa, and he was in the kitchen preparing her lunch when the cramps started, their intervals quickening.
"Honey! I think...!" she yelled to him from the sofa, though when he heard the first of her words, he instinctively knew.
He immediately finished making her sandwich (pickled artichokes and black forest cake on a bun), and wrapped it in tin foil for their trip to the hospital.
He then quickly grabbed their kit, and helped her to the car.
"Keep breathing honey. Steady... pace yourself and don't hyperventilate!" he said to her as he drove, following along with her breaths with her as best he could.
"Just drive the f#cking car...!" she responded, sparing what little breath she could.
"That's the spirit! You're doing fine, but you're slouching on the breathing. Come on, you can do better than that honey. I know you can," he responded to her.
"Do you even...? Oh... this is... are we there...?" she replied, gasping for air as they pulled into the hospital.
He got out of the car and ran around to her side. When he opened the door for her, he sat up suddenly, bumping his head on the lean-to.
"Damn!" he cursed to himself quietly, rubbing his forehead as his eyes watered.
He quickly checked his Garmin for the time: 1:36 GMT+3.
"What's going on down there?" he whispered to himself, grabbing up his phone from the mat and unlocking it.
The camera's preview screen displayed on his phone. He switched between Starlight and FLIR mode on the camera, to check which of the two modes gave him the best overall image.
"I guess we're doing FLIR with simulated colour post processing when I get back," Stanton panned the camera on the tripod as the gimbal stabilized the image.
There was little activity apparent until Stanton happened upon the rump of a deer. It was a bushbuck. He panned upward until he found the head and eventually the face of the bushbuck. It was his friend. The one to whom he'd given the olives.
"Damn! He's not supposed to be there! This isn't even his habitat up this high," Stanton shook his head as he looked at the preview screen. The bushbuck looked around innocently, largely unaware of the danger it was in, for this was the hunting grounds of one of the most deadly predators.
"He wouldn't be there if it wasn't for me. I've got to get him out of there," Stanton struggled with the reasons that he shouldn't interfere and found that the reasons that he should came out to be victorious.
Then Stanton thought about every steak he'd ever eaten, and how little thought he'd given it every time he did. What made the fate of his bushbuck friend any different than one of the cows whose steaks he'd eaten?
"I didn't know them, and they weren't killed for me. They were killed to feed a lot of people, and that's the sort of thing that happens in the wild all of the time. What about the farmers who put their life into raising livestock, probably growing more attached to those animals than most, and then selling them for the food supply? We pick our friends, and we choose that for which we'll accept the responsibility. I'm not going to be responsible for this one's death, so I'm going to go and get him out of there," with those words to himself, he got up, ever so quietly, and began making his way down the steep path towards the camera traps, which in turn lead to the stream.
...
He used the flashlight, moving very cautiously as he did, knowing that he'd have to wait another two hours before things had settled down enough for him to even have a chance at at a shot of the region's most famous predator.
As he approached the end of the steep hill that descended from the overwatch, he slipped, falling over sideways and onto the rocky embankment through which the stream flowed. He felt the water seeping through his rig and wetting his back, chilling and cold. He leaned up and got onto his feet, his leg slightly sore from the fall.
"Gotta be more careful than that," he shook his head, looking around for any sign of his flashlight, his eyes not yet having adjusted to the dark.
He sat quietly on the other side of the stream, watching as his eyes naturally found the perfect balance between the incoming light of the stars above, and their effect upon the forest opening within which he was now seated. Watching. Waiting.
"That's better," he quipped to himself, standing as he was now able to make out details of his surroundings, though to a limited distance, though his peripheral vision was just as good as his forward acuity, unlike if he'd been using his flashlight.
Ironically, it didn't take him long to find it. It had bounced down the rest of the grade and collided with a bamboo tree, and now lay inclined against the trunk of the bamboo, pointed almost straight up into the sky.
He picked it up and switched it off, waiting once again for his eyes to adjust. He then made his way over to where he'd spotted the bushbuck earlier.
As soon as he rounded the rocky outcropping that separated the stream from the path down from the overwatch, he could see the bushbuck. It was no longer drinking, but appeared to be loitering, perhaps suspecting that Stanton would come to seek it if he simply waited long enough. A thought that seemed to aggravate Stanton all the more.
He slowly approached the beast, who at some point during which took notice of him. Looking to him innocently as he stepped forward.
"Now look here. You have to go. Now," the bushbuck looked back at him, and amidst the sound of the stream, and the insects of the night, it passed wind. Rather blatantly.
Stanton put his hands on his hips, and then looked down, rubbing his forehead with his right hand as he tried to figure out what to do. Despite his having avoided it thus far, he finally could no longer justify restraint.
He unclipped and pulled his pistol from its holster, and slowly raised the weapon, rounding the bushbuck until he was aiming directly at the animal's ass.
"I'm sorry friend, but this is so long," Stanton said reluctantly just as he was about to pull the trigger.
Everything happened far too quickly from that moment, but Stanton knew when he heard the sound of a twig breaking amidst the silence around them, that he was in grave danger. Before he had time to turn and face this oncoming invisible threat, it was airborne and flying directly at his upper body. Claws extended and its jaws opened in an attempt to get them around Stanton's throat. An instinctual kill move that it had been performing since its adolescence.
The leopard slammed into Stanton, throwing him against the rock face wall of the overwatch, which he rebounded from and slid sideways down to the hard basin near the stream. The leopard already had dug its claws into the muscle of his shoulders and was trying to pull itself towards his now exposed throat.
Stanton used the gun and punched at the leopards face several times, the beast still refusing to give up. It snarled and bit at his hand, trying to bit down on his fingers, possibly to devour his hand, gun and all. He screamed and pulled the trigger by some miracle, and the leopard quickly jumped away, almost like it was spring loaded, instantly in flight and landing perfectly on all four paws, and recoiling itself to jump once again and continue its onslaught.
Stanton leaned up from the ground and tried to get another shot off but once again, the leopard was upon him. This time its claws were buried in his chest, using his rib cage for leverage in getting its jaws around his throat.
He screamed in pain as the claws dug into his chest, feeling them pulling his ribs apart as the beast tried desperately to close its mouth around the most delicate part of his throat. Just before it had managed to lock its jaws near his carotid artery, the bushbuck charged into the leopard, kicking it several times with its soft hooves, but with enough weight behind them to get the leopard's attention.
The leopard leapt off of Stanton to face this newest of threats. A bushbuck, of a variety it had never seen or tasted in these parts. It had however encountered instinctively protective parents and siblings many times, often those who'd sacrifice themselves to protect another of their kind, only to become the leopard's meal in their stead.
The leopard lined itself up for the kill as Stanton got to his feet, and ran for the hill back up to the overwatch. As he fled, and just before the leopard launched itself at the bushbuck, he fired three shots with the rubber bullets, all three impacting the leopard's ass and quickly distracting its attention away from the bushbuck, and back to Stanton.
Stanton quickly bounded the hill, using both his legs and one hand to get up as quickly as possible, making it two thirds of the way up before the leopard had hold of his left leg. It used the leverage it had to climb the rest of his body with its claws, but Stanton in an insurmountable force of will, kept himself on his feet and running, the full weight of the leopard now on his shoulders.
The leopard bit down upon the top of his head, and then worked its way around towards his ear. Stanton quickly threw the gun up without aiming and fired two more shots over his shoulder, both hitting the leopard on its shoulder. It fell to the mossy covered peak of the overwatch, and cautiously backed away from Stanton as he turned to face it.
Stanton tried to recall how many rounds he'd discharged, and came up with a figure of about two remaining in the magazine.
He now knew that the leopard would instinctively fear humans, and so he stepped forward, pressuring it backwards, further and further until it was close enough to the tree line to flee. When it had the cover of the trees at its advantage, it fled within, and Stanton breathed a sigh of relief.
He then turned to face the lean-to, and began towards his sleeping bag, hoping to tend to his wounds, when he heard the paws of the leopard once again returning. He recalled that he'd broken the one rule that one should never break when facing off against a dangerous predator. Never give them your back.
By the time Stanton had reacted, the leopard was already in the air, leaping at him for the final kill. He didn't turn to face the leopard this time. Instead, he let gravity do its thing and he simply fell to the sleeping bag, and let the leopard's own momentum do the rest.
It sailed out over Stanton, past him and over the lip of the overwatch, falling thirty meters below into the stream bed, cushioned slightly be the soft muck that had accumulated in its center.
Stanton watched as the buckbuck retreated from the beast, but did not turn away from it. Instead, the bushbuck faced the leopard, who got to its paws, and limped away into the bamboo forest.
The bushbuck looked up at Stanton, who had by that time, managed to snap three shots of the leopard. Its crash landing. Its staggering to its feet, and finally its departure into the bamboo forest.
Shrunken. Defeated, and now very much fearful of humankind.
Perhaps the only place in nature where fear and respect were interchangeable, and beneficial for one's safety.
Stanton was still looking through the viewfinder lens when the bushbuck looked up to him on the overwatch from the stream below.
He lined up the camera, and took the only shot on that particular outing, where the subject looked directly at the camera.
One friend to another.
The bushbuck then leapt off into the darkness of night. Perhaps the only bushbuck in history to have ever faced off against the Aberdares Forest's most deadly predator, and to live.
But one thing was certain, and that was that the bushbuck, and Stanton both, had only lived because they had a friend in each other, and because Stanton had at that moment in time understood the importance of momentum.
Especially the momentum of a predator towards its prey.
Concrete Jungle
By the time the man had arrived at Stanton's location, he was simply walking towards him but looking past him as if he weren't the intended direction of his travel. This initially threw Stanton off, and if only for a moment, Stanton assumed that the man must have forgotten something back near the pier, for there was no other explanation for it.
It wasn't until it was too late, the Stanton realized what the man had done. He'd refrained from paying Stanton any attention in order to prevent him from putting up his guard. The man as he passed Stanton, spun with the briefcase, hitting Stanton with it's side edge, on the back of Stanton's head.
He fell forward to the sidewalk, catching his fall with his hands, finding that his sides were now under assault at the man kicked him several times, perhaps trying to wind him enough to open him up for the kill. Stanton rolled around onto his back, and realized the mistake he'd made, for he wasn't staring at a man. He was staring at another kind of Melanistic Black leopard. One whose most effective kill move would require the exposure of Stanton's throat.
When Stanton realized this, he tried rolling over onto his shoulders so he could throw himself up and onto his feet. Backwards, but still facing the man and ready. As he did so, he kicked out with one of his feet, and knocked the man off of his. Stanton then continued with his backwards momentum, rolling up and over his shoulders, his feet and knees landing behind him, making it trivial to quickly be up upon them both.
The man quickly threw himself up, flipping himself with his tight abdominal muscles and landing like a pro on his feet and ready for action. He threw the briefcase at Stanton and with both arms free, began punching at him. The third punch found its way to his forehead, as Stanton's view had been blocked by the briefcase up until that point, but it was the fourth punch that had caused the problems, for it had been aimed at the dead center of his rib cage. When the impact came, it felt to Stanton as if his chest-plate had snapped, the pain was so intense. Enough so that Stanton fell backwards against one of the columns supporting the Gardener Expressway, which thankfully had kept him on his feet.
When the fifth punch came for him, he moved quick enough to sidestep, and his assailant hit the solid cement, breaking his well trained knuckles in the process, and forcing him to use his other hand from that point forward.
Stanton tried throwing a punch, using the opening he'd created with the column, and connected with the man's jaw, hoping to land a haymaker, though it didn't quite happen that way. As it would unfold, this man had been in similar combat and quite often, for that was his tasking as a closed quarters and interception specialist. The loss of his right hand, at least to him, was irrelevant. He was just as skilled with his left, and could still use his right for blocks.
Stanton waited for any sign that the effects of his haymaker attempt had succeeded, not knowing that in the business he was now in, that you didn't wait for success. You made it. If it wasn't there yet, then one had better keep hammering away at it until it was, while obstructing the success of one's opponent towards the same end. He didn't have the training that his opponent had, but he had something that was keeping him alive and on his feet.
The left came quick and hard, hitting Stanton nearly in the same place on his jaw, as if his opponent were somehow taunting him. Even teaching him, though both men knew at that point that it would be the ultimate end for one of them that night.
It was when Stanton's eyes stopped watering from the most recent punch, that he realized that the man had dropped the briefcase. His contact on the phone, had stated that the goal wasn't to kill the man he was pursuing. It was the obtain the briefcase above all else, and so he made an opening for himself to immediately pursue that goal. The tunnel vision of a type A personality.
Stanton's lack of training did not curb his enthusiasm or creativity, for being as physically fit and able as he was, he was anything but afraid to try any approach to achieve his goal, and so he did. He feigned a punch with his left, while kicking with his knee, directly delivering a solid hit to his gut.
When the man keeled over, Stanton rammed him head first into the column and then ran for the briefcase.
The leopard man fell to the ground, groaning as if on the brink of his consciousness while Stanton managed to get the briefcase in his hand and proceeded to run with it across York Street in a westerly direction along the Bentway. When the man realized that Stanton had the goal, and was fleeing with it, he quickly got up and sprinted in Stanton's direction.
Stanton had by that time turned to check on the progress of his assailant when he spotted the man charging across York Street. Stanton watched in horror as a speeding van slammed into the man, instantly throwing him tens of meters into the air where he landed motionless on York Street south, somewhere out of his line of sight.
"I've got the briefcase..." Stanton suddenly remembered his headset, checking his ear for its presence.
"I thought we lost you. That's good news. Ok. I need you to get to this address: 300 Front Street West. Suite 2705. I've arranged for the front door to be keyed to your condo key, so you'll get in without drawing any attention. Go directly to the elevators, and up to the 27th floor and the unit number I indicated, and deposit the briefcase in the bottom drawer of the upright dresser in the master bedroom. You can use the place to get cleaned up, and then return home. If anyone asks, including your daughter or Anthony, you tell them you had an emergency call from one of your publishers and had to provide backup images for an upcoming publication. Got it?" the man told Stanton.
"Yeah. I've got it. So that's it?" asked Stanton, now coming down from his earlier adrenaline rush.
"That's it," the man responded.
"So what's going to happen with this briefcase?" asked Stanton, now curious about the entire situation that had suddenly become the center, or very much near that of his recent life.
"I'll call you again when we need you, and don't try to open or examine the contents of the briefcase," the man ordered him.
Stanton became both curious and frustrated at the man's words, but he heeded them nonetheless.
He continued along the Bentway and then up towards his final destination, north towards Front Street and then over to 300 West.
The building was relatively quiet, and just as his contact had indicated, his condominium keycard allowed him access through the front door, and into suite 2705.
He quickly deposited the briefcase in the bottom drawer of the chest of drawers in the master bedroom, and then used the bathroom to clean his face of any sweat, dirt and wounds.
He noticed a small bruise on the side of his jaw, but beyond that he was remarkably unharmed considering what he'd just faced.
When he was finished cleaning himself up, he simply left and jogged most of the way back to his own condo, entirely avoiding the location on York Street where he'd encountered the assassin. The Melanistic Black leopard, who'd much like the one Stanton had encountered in the Aberdares Forest, had ignored the rule of momentum.
Shower
Stanton's red GMC Sierra Ram pulled into the driveway of a home within the midst of an unfinished subdivision just short of the Brampton area when driving from downtown Toronto. He reached across to the passenger seat where he'd stashed his last minute shopping, consisting of a bottle of sparkling wine gift wrapped with a ribbon, and a six pack of Alexander Keith's. With the bag firmly in his grip, he opened the door and stepped down from the cab of his truck and began inspecting the property before him.
The front lawn was still in rough condition. It had not yet been leveled, nor had it been topped with the soil fill it needed as a thick layer between the base dirt and the sod. Stanton proceeded along a path that led to the side of the house, where the sod from the backyard had ended. A thick and dry piece of it bordered the construction dirt beyond and the healthy backyard lawn within. Stanton walked to the finished back gate and stepped through, taking a look at the finished backyard.
The backyard itself was large, covering an area with enough space for a second seating area far from the house, more secluded in the fact that it was surrounded by trimmed hedges and offed intimate seating for two atop a boxed in mosaic section of interlock brick. From there, the garden ran on both sides of the yard, stretching the distance between the back shed, and the finished back patio of the house.
When he emerged from behind the hedges, Jennifer, his daughter caught sight of him from within the house. She was stifling her laughter, amongst a group of people gathered in the family room (whose bay window shared the wall space with the kitchen and the sliding back doors). Soon, the rest of those gathered noticed Stanton (Anthony amongst them), and the two hosts stepped over to the sliding doors and out onto the back patio as Stanton there arrived. Jennifer was still on the brink of hysterics and doing her best to contain her laughter under the early afternoon sun.
"Whaddaya think?" Anthony asked Stanton.
"Its certainly coming along. If the frontage looks anything like the backyard when its done, you're definitely going to be living in paradise here," Stanton responded with a smile, extending his hand to Anthony, who shook it firmly.
"I just love the little hidden cozy area between the gardens. That was Anthony's idea," Jennifer spoke up, opening her arms and wrapping them both around her father.
"Well your mother definitely approves, from her vantage point in the sky. So do I," Stanton returned her hug.
"So lets get you inside and introduced you to everyone..." Jennifer started, and then surreptitiously burst out laughing as Anthony held up a pair of draw-string, catcher's glove, men's gatchies he'd just received as a gift from one of the other guests.
...
"So, how is it that the daughter of one of the most prolific nature photographers ends up as the accounts office manager for an insurance firm? Oh don't get me wrong. I'm not trying to belittle you my dear. I'm just curious, because the two occupations are obviously are very different in nature," asked Joy, Anthony's mother as she sat beside her husband on the back patio, on their newly gifted patio furniture set.
"...I just like planning and organizing. A lot. I always have," Jennifer responded as she contemplated the question, Stanton on one side of her and Anthony on the other.
Across from her was her Maid of Honour/BFF Elana, who sat beside Best Man Philip, beside whom was his own fiancé, Charlotte.
Anthony's brother, Mark, and his wife Gail sat across from them, while Stewart, Anthony's uncle, and Barbara his wife sat beside them.
"I can second that," Stanton responded to Jennifer's answer, drawing a bit of laughter from them.
"I love the out doors too, especially being in the garden, but I don't love being in the thick of it as much as I used to, when I was younger. I guess that's kind of what the garden is. My trip into the bush. I don't know, I've always loved seeing when a bit of dedication and planning comes together and keeps things running well. On that note, I'm a bit of a stickler for sticking to the plan..." Jennifer smiled as she delved further into the realization and confrontation of these aspects of herself.
"She is. The construction developers were going to alter the backyard design, by direction of the real estate developer. When Jennifer caught wind of it she went down to the construction office and 'negotiated' a diplomatic solution..." Anthony explained to them, after which he took a sip of his sparkling wine.
"Meaning that she got her way..." Stanton responded sarcastically, drawing a round of laughter from the other relatives.
"...Well dad, I mean... we put a lot of time and effort into planning this. We're paying a lot of money for this. We deserve to see our vision realized according to the terms of our agreement," Jennifer explained ever so diplomatically, while both Stanton and Anthony admired her for standing her ground.
"You sound just like your mother," Stanton smiled at her.
"Did she work in management too?" asked Joy of Stanton.
"Oddly enough, yes. She did. She was the Coordinator for Urban Development for the city, She focused on parks and recreation, " Stanton responded to Joy.
"How is it that you two met?" asked Joy, intent on getting to know their in-laws a bit better than they had.
"She was doing an internship at Allen Gardens, which is an incredibly artistic and elaborate botanical garden facility located in a downtown park of the same name. Not to be confused with Allenbury Gardens, which was low income housing in the Fairview Mall area up near Don Mills Road and Sheppard Avenue during the 1970s and 1980s. I guess you could say that both have a bit of history. I don't know much about Allenbury Gardens, but I did have a couple of close friends who grew up on Lisburn Crescent which is just around the corner. However, it was Allen Gardens where I met my wife," Stanton revealed to them.
"Care to tell us more?" Anthony became curious, backing up his mother's intent on getting to know their in-laws.
Stanton looked to Jennifer, and then smiled.
"I wasn't there to visit as a local tourist, which is the case for most people. Allen Gardens has a lot of international and local tourists, especially in the summer, buts its also open during the winter. Entirely environment controlled as well," Stanton paused long enough to take a sip of his Alexander Keith's.
"So why were you there?" asked Carl, Anthony's father.
"I had just returned to the city from a nature shoot in the outback of Myanmar, and found that one of my spent rolls of film had been contaminated during transport back home. So the top part of the background in many of the shots had been destroyed, so I needed to shoot some replacement backgrounds that I could edit into each of the photos, using the same or very similar regional vegetation as Myanmar," Stanton explained to them.
"Couldn't you just use Photoshop or Photopea to edit in a new AI generated background?" asked Philip, a digital imaging specialist himself.
"Digital photographic editing was still in its infancy back then, and very limited. For magazine print quality imaging, I had to work from photographic stock, and use a physical light table to do the kind of edits I'm talking about. Same principals, but very different hardware. I needed to get photos of the same plant variety that'd you find in Myanmar. So there was this very attractive woman in her early twenties..." Stanton explained and then paused when Jennifer interjected.
"...she was twenty-three, he was twenty-seven," Jennifer smiled as she filled in the blanks.
"She was dressed in a sort of landscaping uniform worn by the city workers. She was thin. Very fit. With the prettiest face I'd ever seen. Now don't get me wrong. I was never the kind of guy that would approach women where ever I encountered them and ask them out on a whim, but after I'd asked her where I could find the plant varieties I was looking for to fill in the gaps in my photos, that's exactly what I did..." Stanton smiled, keeping the rest of the story to himself.
"So what happened?" Joy pushed him playfully in anticipation.
Stanton took another drink of his Alexander Keith's, and then continued.
"She responded:
'Lets call it a professional visit to see how your photos turned out, and if they turn out good, we can call it a date from there.'
So I looked at her and asked her:
'And if they don't turn out good?'" Stanton paused again for effect.
There was a moment of repose, as Stanton's smile grew.
"Well!???" Steward asked anxiously.
"She replied:
'Then I guess you don't get the date. I mean, I wouldn't just date any photographer. I've got some self respect too you know'
And so I went about making certain that I'd taken the best photographs with my favourite analog old school 35mm Single Lens Reflex: the Pentax K-1000, on quality Kodak-Eastman 1200 ASA/high density/low granularity film, because I definitely wanted a date with the woman who'd given me that answer as sure as you need gravity for a good rainfall," Stanton finished his tale, as they broke out laughing around the table.
"Good thing they turned out!" Anthony added, echoing Stanton's smile, spurring more laughter and a bit of introspect when everyone realized that their gathering of families had entirely depended upon Stanton's photos that day at Allen Gardens.
...
Most of the relatives had by that point left, each of them beginning their long journeys back to the city, or east of the city towards the townships of Pickering and Oshawa. Stanton was in the kitchen helping clean up the empties and load the dishwasher as he'd promised, when Jennifer stepped in.
"Why don't you stay here tonight dad? It'll save you having to come all the way out here tomorrow to pickup your truck," Jennifer suggested top her father.
"I don't want to be in the way, but I think I'll take you up on that. Besides, it gives me a chance to spend some quality time with my kids," Stanton grabbed up the last empty bottle of wine and took it to the crate they'd set aside for empties.
"That, and we could stay up for a bit and continue the festivities," Jennifer suggested.
"The basement is finished you know? We have a pool table down there, and I'm not just talking about nine ball. I'm talking a full sized snooker table. You know, for when we get to the whiskey," Anthony added as he walked in from the patio.
"That sounds like a gentleman's plan," Stanton agreed with Anthony.
"That's great honey, but I've never even heard of those bands before..." Stanton responded, somewhat confused.
At that moment, Stanton's phone began ringing in the pocket of his pants.
"Oh crap. I totally forgot. I was supposed to call NatGeo about a doing a photo shoot of some bee hives in Alivale next week. Give me a minute honey. I'll take this outside," Stanton said as he retrieved his phone from his pocket, walking down the hall and stepping out the front door.
"Stanton here..." he said into the phone without looking at the screen.
"How are Jennifer and Anthony doing since last we spoke?" asked a familiar voice.
It was the voice of his unknown handler from the situation involving the briefcase.
"They're well, thank you for asking. I take it there's a reason that you're calling other than to send your best wishes?" confirmed Stanton.
"You certainly haven't lost your edge. As a matter of fact, there is a reason that I'm calling you, and its also convenient that you're so close to the area of operation. Interested?" his handler responded with a hint of sarcasm.
"As long as there's no driving involved, tell me more," Stanton responded without thinking it through.
"You're going to be searching for a particular lot. Its marked with a surveyor's stake, and nothing more. It'll be amongst a whole bunch of others exactly like it, except that the one you're looking for is numbered 40291," his handler informed him.
"Are they sequential?" asked Stanton.
"Absolutely. Completely undeveloped. They'll be marked as I've indicated, and have their lots staked with construction tape. The site you'll be looking for is located about two clicks from your current location, however you're going to need to visit one of the nearby construction sites, and pickup a special package I've left for you. Its three doors down from your daughter's new home," he explained to Stanton.
"What am I looking for?" Stanton asked.
"A hardshell case within which you'll find a metal detector, and a spade. Take the metal detector to lot 40291 and use it to find your target digging location. Once you've found it, dig until you hit a metal box. Obtain it. It should be about the size of a bread box. A bit hefty too. Fill in the hole and try to make it appear as if the dirt wasn't tampered with, and then take the metal box to a recently constructed home two clicks from there. Address 91a Durham Lane. Enter through the back door. A sliding door very similar to your daughter's home. Put it in the furnace room in the basement, leaving it right beside the furnace. Return the metal detector to the construction site from where you obtained it, and you're done," the handler explained carefully and in detail.
"You're making it sound trivial. What's the catch?" asked Stanton.
"Oh, there's no catch. Just get the metal detector, find the box, dig it up, and take it to the 91a Durham Lane. Return the metal detector, and you're done. I take it that your bonus for the last job was to your liking?" asked the handler.
"I don't know how you finagled it, but yes. It did come in handy. Especially with my daughter's wedding around the corner," Stanton agreed.
"You get this done for me, and most of the rest of your daughter's wedding will be covered. Simple as that. So, are you in?" asked his handler.
"I'm in. Let me tell my daughter that I'm going for a walk, and then I'll get on it," Stanton agreed, waiting for his handler's response.
"Alright. Lot 40291, and 91a Durham Lane. Both sites are north east of your current twenty. I'd bring a flashlight if I were you," his handler responded.
"Already taken care of," Stanton responded.
"Good. We'll talk again," his handler said dryly and hung up.
Stanton stepped away from his vehicle and returned to the house to tell Jennifer and Anthony that he was going for a short walk. He then left quietly, and began heading in a north east direction, following the street as long as he could before the developed area quickly became gravel roads and marked lots.
...
By the time he'd arrived at the construction site from where he was supposed to obtain the metal detector, the sun had dipped significantly in the horizon and Stanton knew that he only had about another hour and a half of daylight left.
The construction site, being so far from any urban community was left undefended. Instead, Stanton noted a security patrol in the form of a car that would drive through the development, occasionally stopping and patrolling on foot for a short bit before returning to the car. These security patrols seemed infrequent, and Stanton waited for the only remaining one he'd spotted to leave before setting foot on the construction site.
He found a covered area of the site, where perishable materials and tools were stored and after some digging, he located the crate that his handler had described. It was an oblong box. A tool chest of sorts, which he slid out from beneath the tarp and quickly opened, revealing a compact metal detector with an LED display, and a spade as his handler had indicated. He left the crate opened and in the center of the storage area, and then left with the metal detector and the spade, one in each hand.
He spent forty-five of his hour and a half locating the lot, 40291, where he needed to dig up the metal box. When he did find it, the sun hung precariously low on the horizon, causing Stanton to curse under his breath.
"Alright. Lets see how this thing works..." Stanton found the power button on the metal detector and waited for it to boot.
He quickly navigated the menu and having no idea of what type of metal the box was, he selected GENERIC as the class of metal being detected.
He then used the trigger to activate the device and began scanning the ground with the probe.
The LED imaged an area about five meters around the device, shading hot spots where the ground was the densest and most magnetic, seeing as much of the functionality of the metal detector relied upon induction and Gauss fields, though Stanton had no understanding of what was going on under the hood. He relied upon its hidden magic to reveal the location of the box for which he was searching, and that it did about ten minutes after he'd started searching for it.
The signal was close to the south central location of the lot. It was clearly rectangular, and oblong, though the device gave no accurate estimate as to its depth. It might have been a meter, or it might have six for all Stanton knew.
He grabbed the spade and began digging. Quickly at first, slowly after he'd cleared away a hole to a meter's depth. He paused a moment, already having worked up a good sweat despite his good shape, and then he continued.
By the third meter, he began cursing under his breath, for the sun was now half-way poised between the line of the horizon, and that which lay hidden beneath it. He maintained his pace for as long as he could, before stopping in exhaustion upon arriving at what appeared to be limestone.
"What the... I thought this was going to be trivial..." Stanton fell backwards against the wall of the hole he'd thus far excavated, breathing heavily as he realized that he'd consumed little water in the last few hours. He was quickly drying out, and fighting the onset of a headache spurred by dehydration.
He waited about three minutes, until his breath had returned and the tension in his throbbing muscles had subsided before resuming his dig. On his second plunge with the spade, he hit metal.
Encouraged to the sound, he began digging frantically and trying to uncover the top and find the sides of the box. It was much larger than a bread box, and more along the lines of being a trunk.
"What the hell is this?" he said, wiping sweat from his forehead.
He frantically cleared away the edges, sweat dripping down his cheeks and onto his shirt as he uncovered the remainder of the trunk. He threw to shovel topside and then grabbed the handle of the trunk, and lifted it it so that it stood vertically in the hole he'd cleared.
That's no bread box. That's at least two hundred pounds of..." something smooth and shiny caught his eyesight near the base of the trunk. He leaned over and picked up what appeared to be a discarded phone. A fairly modern one at that.
He looked at it for a moment, and then tried to power it up. He held the power button for two seconds. Nothing. Then three seconds. Nothing.
He looked at the phone and then to the trunk.
"No. Couldn't be..." he said to himself.
He pocketed the phone and climbed out of the hole and fell backwards onto the ground, catching his breath once again as the night closed in.
"Call me. He'd better call me, or else..." Stanton said to himself, his chest rising and declining.
He lay there for ten minutes, sobering more and more with each passing minute, before he stood and reached down, grabbing the handle of the trunk firmly with two hands, then hefting the chest out of the hole to let it drop down onto its base with a thud, by the side of the hole.
He then began filling in the hole with the spade, until there was no more dirt left and just a slight mound where there had once been an immense hole.
It took him ten minutes to run the metal detector and spade back to the construction site from where he'd procured the items. The return trip was much faster, as he jogged most of it, perhaps prepping himself for what would be a gargantuan task. He'd have to haul the trunk for a ways on foot (was it two kilometers?) and then deliver it into a basement. As fortune would have it, he found a two wheeler on the same construction site, and brought it with him to help with the long haul he'd need to make with the trunk.
When he got back to lot 40291, he stood the trunk up on its end, and loaded it onto the two wheeler. From there, he walked it behind himself, somewhat like a rikshaw runner, using the gravel road of the subdivision to get him to the paved road that made up the length of Durham Lane.
His mind wandered back to the phone he'd found within the same hole, and how the weight of the trunk was comparable to that of a body, he once again began to wonder about the nature of what he was delivering. As if to further his horror, from within his left pocket, he felt the vibration of an incoming phone call, except that his phone was in his right pocket, not his left.
He immediately stopped, and tipped the trunk on its side, leaving the two wheeler pinned under it and retrieved the phone from his pocket to check for a caller ID:
Incoming call from...
F. Cobbett
"Who the hell?" Stanton could see that the screen of the phone was cracked, but it appeared to be functioning perfectly and still had a significant charge of 89%, meaning that the trunk was only recently buried.
"The power button must have been broken... or a dirty connection. Seems fine now," Stanton noted.
Stanton took a moment to enter the phone number into the contact list on his phone, though letting the call fallback to the answering service, assuming the phone even had one. A moment later and the phone stopped ringing.
Once again Stanton looked at the phone, and then to the trunk, wondering what he was hauling in the trunk.
"Should I open it?" he asked himself, grabbing the handle and teetering it from side to side, trying to get an idea of the shape of whatever it was that was inside.
"Definitely tight fitting, whatever it is," he said to himself, then realizing that the phone could have been dropped by the person who did the burying.
He tipped the trunk over with the two wheeler and proceeded along his trip towards 91a Durham Lane.
During his walk, his mind wandered, wondering what his wife thought of what he was doing. If he was doing the right thing. If he was fighting the good fight. If he was hauling a dead body inside of a trunk. Carelessly packed in by someone in a hurry, or possibly dismembered by someone who'd had ample to commit such a heinous act.
He thought about it for a time, recalling that he'd been on the balcony when his mysterious handler had called him the first time. How he'd been lured into the whole affair simply by having witnessed an assassination that had occurred right in front of him, in a matter of speaking.
Stanton had heard no news about the alleged victim, though he did recall seeing a large Police detachment at the location on the Harbour Front in front of his building of residence. There had obviously been something going on, though it was something that did not make the news, and once the Police had left, nobody seemed to know why it was they were there.
He had chills that night, over the thought of just how easy it was to cease to be, and then to be forgotten. So easily. They cleaned up the body, in plain sight (they must have), and yet no record or recollection of the fact that there had even been a crime. A man had just died, and that was the end of it. Literally. Dead in body, and as much so dead in recollection of the fact that he'd even been alive in the first place.
It was much the same with regard to the assassin. He'd obviously sustained an injury, being hit by a speeding van and launched in excess of twenty or thirty meters from the point of impact. Yet, he'd heard no news of the accident on the news the next day. In fact, there was no news related to any aspect of the incident at all. It was as if it all never happened.
Was Stanton now being used to help cleanup just such a mishap? Perhaps something similar had happened nearby, and he being close, was then recruited to help assist with the task, leaving the details hidden from him on account of the fact they'd known through his profile that if they'd admitted to him that he'd be hauling a dead body, he would have refused such a task. So they'd instead opted for delivering a box. A large box that weighed enough to be the body of a human being.
The phone in his pocket started ringing again, and this time he kept going, retrieving the phone from his pocket with one hand, while pulling the two wheeler with the other, cautiously enough not to teeter the thing over. He once again checked the caller ID:
Incoming call from...
Janet Melvy
He stopped once again, and entered the number into his phone's contact list, realizing more and more just how vital a link to one's identity the smartphone had become in modern society. When the phone stopped ringing, he once again pocketed it and continued along on his journey.
His mind wandered as he walked, the two wheeler trailing behind him, and the name Janet now stuck in his head. He recalled seeing a similar name, long ago...
Birth
Stanton walked beside the gurney as a pair of medical staff wheeled her along the corridor and towards the delivery room.
"Come on honey, steady breaths. Make them small if there's a lot of pressure..." Stanton urged her, holding her hand as they wheeled her through a pair of doors and into the delivery room.
"Mrs. Stanton? We're going transfer you to the delivery table on three, two, one and go..." the medical staff lifted her over to the delivery table, helping her to get into position as the Doctor walked into the delivery room, ready for the delivery.
"Mrs. Stanton? I'm Doctor Maverly, but you can call me Janet, honey," the Doctor introduced herself as she helped the medical staff setup the fetal monitor.
"...Aurora..." Stanton's wife responded between breaths.
"Pleased to meet you, Aurora. We're going to be placing several monitors on your person. If you find there to be any discomfort..." Janet began explaining the procedure as the medical staff went about setting up two other monitors to keep watch over the baby's health.
"We discussed this already. You're alright with this honey?" Stanton asked Aurora.
"...alright... alright... lets get to the painkillers... are we there yet?" asked Aurora between breaths.
"We need to check your baby's health before we're there. Just try to rely on your breathing. Can you do that?" Janet asked Aurora as they got the baby's heart monitor, and Aurora's contraction monitor into place on the lower part of her abdomen.
"...a lot of help you are!" Aurora clenched her teeth as she spoke.
Janet didn't respond to Aurora's remark. She'd been delivering babies for nearly fifteen years and had heard a variety of much more colourful words and expressions over that time, most of them directed at her profession during the heat of child birth. Many of them quite humourous after that fact.
"Your baby is looking very healthy. Her heart rate is close to one twenty, which indicates that she's comfortable but getting anxious. She definitely knows that something is up," Janet explained to Aurora, who managed an uncomfortable smile in response, and once again, between breaths.
"...she knows... ...that if she... ...doesn't get out here... ...soon... ...that I'm going to... ...fire her out... of my uterus... ...like a cannonball..." Aurora struggled to get her words out between breaths, Stanton clasping her hand tightly and trying to stay in synch with her breaths.
"Her water just broke..." one of the medical staff reported as Janet got into position to help Aurora guide her baby's emergence into the world.
"You heard that Aurora?" asked Janet as she watched the ultrasound display.
"I heard!... I heard..." Aurora responded, breathing heavily.
"Come on honey, let's breath!" Stanton urged his wife, staying near the top of the bed as he clung to her hand.
"Where's my baby...? How are we doing here?!!!" Aurora asked Stanton, somewhat panicked.
"She's there honey. She's just waiting on the doorstep... you've got to breath. Breath, and push. Inhale. Push, and exhale!" Stanton responded, encouraging her further.
"...I can't feel my fingers or toes... I'm getting..." the presence in Aurora's voice dropped sharply as her consciousness faded.
Her hand fell limp in Stanton's as one of the nurses noticed the readings on the monitoring screens.
"She's desatting! There's no palpable radial pulse!" one of the nurses yelled as she quickly hit the emergency button.
"We need you to vacate the delivery room Mr. Stanton. Immediately!" Doctor Maverly raised her voice as she made her way to Aurora's side, checking the monitors as she pushed Stanton out of the way.
Stanton backed away towards the doors, in shock at what he was witnessing as Doctor Maverly began attending to Aurora.
"Its an AFE! Lets get the bed away from the wall!" yelled Doctor Maverly as the other nurses helped her get the bed to the center of the room.
One of the nurses grabbed a clipboard as the other set the bed flat, carefully enough for Aurora's sake, which gave Stanton a short lived sense of relief.
The nurse with the clipboard approached him, and prodded him in the direction of the door.
"We need you to leave and wait in the waiting area!" the nurse demanded of him.
"Honey... I'll be close!" Stanton raised his voice as he backed away towards the doors, keeping his eyes on her until he was pushed out of the way by a flood of the six medical staff who came pouring into the room, pushing a crash cart before them.
The door closed behind them and a fever of activity could be heard on the other side, accented by shouting voices and the sounds of metal drawers being opened and closed. By that time, another nurse had come from outside of the delivery area and urged Stanton over towards the waiting area, in order to get him out of the high traffic lane that would need to be clear during an emergency.
He sat for about two minutes, and then he stood and paced, pausing by the doorway in the hopes of hearing something. Anything that might indicate their success, where his wife lay only two rooms away.
There within the room, he heard the sounds of shouting and an accompanying hurried frenzy of activity.
Two minutes turned to five, and then to ten and then at seventeen minutes, Stanton heard the sound of an angel. It started out quietly at first, and then grew in volume until he was certain. It was the cries of a baby.
It was the crying of his little girl.
He let out a heavy sigh of relief as he realized that it was over. That whatever difficulty his wife was experiencing, they'd overcome it. That's what they did.
He wondered if it would be alright for him to step back into the delivery room, but something told him that he should wait.
"They'll come get me, right?" he smiled to himself as he waited by the door, just aside of it so as to be able to hear.
But they never came. He listened to the music of her little voice until it too went silent, and the sound of shouting voices returned once again. There he stood, leaning against the wall
Another twelve minutes passed before the doors finally opened.
...
He turned the last corner, after having passed another subdivision of half-finished homes, and found his way onto Durham Lane. It was a short street. A hidden gem as it probably would be marketed by the developers, as it was tucked away between two crescents (streets whose ends hook to the left or right towards the end of their path), hence it would never receive through way traffic as both neighbouring crescents had access to a main road. He quickly realized that this is likely why they'd chosen the house on Durham Lane for the drop.
When he arrived, he'd only known so from the stake that was driven into the ground indicating a lot number of 91a rather than the actual street address, which would be assigned to it later, after the entire subdivision had officially opened and residents were living there within.
The house itself was nearly finished, reminding Stanton of his daughter's home. Most of the interior was done, but the garage, exterior lawns and landscaping work remained.
He wheeled the cart as far as he could before it could no longer be pulled over the rough terrain. Instead, he'd be required to lift the case, or at the very least, drag it across the dirt around to the back of the house and the basement sliding door as he'd been instructed.
He checked the weight, lifting it by the handle with one hand.
"That's about the weight of a two hundred pound man..." his mind wandered again.
He grabbed the handle, and the back corner, gripping them firmly. Then in one clean action, he hefted the trunk up and onto his shoulder, stumbling as he struggled to keep his footing.
Once he was certain he was stable, he began to walk forward towards the side of the house, in the hopes of making it to the back yard.
Every step of the walk was precarious, and his footing was not nearly as solid as he'd hoped, for most of the dirt was dried soil. It was soft enough that it barely held his weight, let alone the additional two hundred pounds on his shoulder, yet he kept going and very cautiously.
By the time he'd rounded the corner into the backyard, the level of light had dipped severely, and he paused just short of falling into the hole that had been dug as the foundation for an in-ground swimming pool.
He stagged backwards and then forward, almost teetering over the edge and by the time he'd once again found his balance, he cursed under his breath.
He got a bit closer to the house, and found the north wall, a short ways down from him he saw the sliding doors. He found a path that the workmen had left, composed of large flagstones, all of which were sturdy and immoveable much to his relief and he followed that path until he arrived before the sliding doors. He then carefully lowered the trunk to the ground, dropping it gently so as not to disturb its (dead?) contents.
Much to his joy, the sliding door was open and he quickly turned and lifted the trunk over the tracks of the door and then placed it gently down again on the cement basement floor. This time he used his watch's built-in flashlight to illuminate the way, and quickly found the furnace room.
He returned to the trunk and dragged it across the floor the short distance between the sliding doors and the furnace room, where he found an empty space he could simply lay the trunk on its bottom, which he did.
"There. All done," he remarked to himself, when thanks to his flashlight, his eyes caught the reflection of a tiny key, resting on one of the 2x4" braces of the wall studs.
He picked it up and examined it, realizing quickly that it was the kind of key you'd use to lock a trunk.
"I wonder...?" he asked himself.
He took the key and leaned down towards the trunk and inserted the key. It fit, perfectly.
He took a deep breath and held it, before turning the key and unlocking the trunk. Still holding his breath, he flipped the lid opened and was greeted with-
A spreadsheet list of nearly thirty pages affixed to a three ring binder. It was laying atop of a pile of tiny high resolution CMOS night vision cameras. The trunk had been filled with them. No packaging. No instructions, as if all of them had been in operation at some point.
Stanton naturally felt compelled to check the spreadsheet, which he did, using his flashlight to guide him. Upon opening the binder, he took note of the fact that it was mostly hand written, except for the spreadsheet lines and titles themselves, which appeared like standard paperwork someone had prepared.
The first line was a record, indicating the camera's IC number, followed by a shorthand note about where it was found, and an address from where it had been pulled. Stanton estimated there to be two thousand of them. It was essentially a city-wide live camera swarm that someone had dismantled and taken the time to document the location of each and every one of the cameras.
When Stanton checked the addresses, he noted that they were from locations all across the city, meaning they'd been pulled from every district throughout the GTA.
When he got to the bottom of the list, he took note of the fact that this trunk, was one of fifty and he quickly had to wonder if all of the other trunks were similarly filled. Then he had to ask himself as to whether the man who'd called him was part of the organization that had installed them, or if they'd instead uncovered them, the more likely of the two scenarios, seeing as they'd taken the time to document the location of each and every one.
"This is definitely catalogued as material evidence..." Stanton noted to himself, realizing that these would likely become exhibits in a court case of some form.
He felt an intense sense of relief over the fact that he'd not just hauled a dead body for a kilometer, but in fact had likely helped as part of some secret transfer of large scale material evidence that might actually make a difference.
He quickly returned the spreadsheet to the trunk, and closed it, and then returned the key to the same 2x4" brace where it had been resting previously. He retrieved the phone he'd found from his pocket, and placed it beside the key. Perhaps that had been another part of the test, though either way, he wanted to make sure that its owner got it back.
He quietly thanked his contact, for he knew they'd left the key there on purpose. It was clearly a measure of Stanton's trust, and a measure they'd rewarded in the end by allowing him the ease of his conscience.
He quickly made his way back to the sliding door, closing it behind him and then up onto the front lawn, grabbing the two wheeler and walking it back to the construction site from where he'd borrowed it.
A half an hour later, he opened the front door of his daughter's home, which was silent and mostly dark. He carefully and cautiously made his way into the living room, from where he'd heard voices. When he rounded the corner, he saw that their large screen television was still on, and the news was playing the current FIFA standings.
There upon the large sectional sofa, Jennifer and Anthony lay wrapped in each other's arms, both of them fast asleep, sticking close enough to draw each other's heat.
Stanton slipped away to the linen closet and returned with a blanket. He then covered them both and returned to the dining room, pouring himself a glass of whiskey which he gently sipped before heading upstairs to the guest room and to bed.
Exit or EXFIL: Friends in Parallel Places
Stanton paced the front hall of a home not unlike that of his daughter, though it could be found in a long finished subdivision just south of Steeles Avenue and east of Don Mills on Harnsworth Drive. With each span he made of the hall, he passed a mirror, whose reflection depicted that of a man entering into the mid part of his fifties. A man who'd braved many dangerous and adventurous situations throughout the course of his life, and bore both the physique and the scars to prove it. A man who now was in the central risk zone for Prostrate Cancer and a whole host of other health risks, despite his stern appearance and enthusiastic charm. A man who was dressed to the nines, in a tuxedo he'd purchased just for the occasion as he awaited his daughter's bridal team in the minutes before the limousine was to arrive.
"The limo's going to be in here in five minutes, but I'm giving you two!" Stanton's voice broke the anxious silence of the house, making its way through the door of the room that the bride's maid had chosen to setup as the bride's dressing room.
"We're almost there! Hold your horses!" Elana yelled back at him, her voice just as piercing, though a tab bit more playful in tone.
"Be grateful that you got the easy part about getting ready. Jenny's a real star though, waiting on us to get this just right," Charlotte added.
"I promise I'll toss the bouquet right to the first person who grabs one of the baby pacifiers Anthony and I were gifted and gives it to my father," Jennifer responded to her father's impatience, causing the room to break out in laughter.
"Alright, no more of that. I almost eye-linered your cheek..." Elana urged Jennifer.
"We must be close. Are we there yet?" Jennifer spoke carefully, only moving her lips as they finished her makeup.
"How's that Elana?" asked Charlotte of the Maid of Honour.
"That's perfect. I couldn't have done it better myself. Want a job?" Elana remarked about the brush work Charlotte had done in softening their makeup application.
"I've already got one, and it takes up my whole day, thank you very much. But thanks for the offer," Charlotte replied, replacing the softening brush in Elana's makeup cart, for Elana was a professional makeup artist.
"I think we're done. Have a look Jenny," Elana stepped away from Jennifer's face, allowing her full access to the vanity mirror just as Stanton's fist came crashing down upon the door.
"Limo's here. Time's up. We're running a tight ship here!" he sounded more like a Commanding Officer than a nervous father.
When Jennifer finally approved of their makeup application, she stood from her stool, helping two of her bride's maids to hold her dress off of the floor. After Elana and Charlotte had opened the door, Jennifer slipped out awkwardly in the slippers she wore with the wedding dress, while Elana and Charlotte gathered the her heels and her veil.
Stanton stepped back from the door allowing them passage, pausing just long enough to admire his daughter.
"What do you think?" asked Jennifer.
"You look lovely, honey," Stanton caught himself before he'd kissed her cheek, pausing just short of her face.
"Good catch dad. We can't afford another fifteen minutes of touch ups you know," Jennifer responded.
"Alright. We've got a wedding to crash. Lets get with it. Elana, do you need me to carry anything?" Stanton asked the Maid of Honour.
"Just yourself to the car. I don't want to be the one who messed up your tux," Elana responded.
"Thanks, but I'd prefer it over one of you. You seem to have everything here under control here, so lets get Jennifer to the limo and to the wedding from there," Stanton responded to the Maid of Honour, who replaced her checklist in her purse and checked up on the bride's maids to make sure they were keeping Jennifer's dress off of the floor.
It took them another ten minutes before they were all comfortably in the limousine. After the driver had closed the doors for them, he got into the driver's seat and pulled away from the house and headed toward Don Mills Road, southbound towards Ellesmere.
"I have to admit that you're the least tardy bridal party I've picked up in a long time. Usually I'm waiting for at least forty-five minutes," the driver remarked to them after they'd gotten safely onto the highway.
"See? I told you that you were in good hands with Elana and team bride," Stanton quickly deflected the compliment.
"Its good to see that you've finally come to your senses, though I think you're just trying to dodge the responsibility for your anxious father behaviour from back at the house earlier," Jennifer responded.
"Guilty as charged," Stanton responded with a smile.
...
The guests were seated in the garden area outside of the banquet hall, in a lavishly decorated courtyard. The entryway doors led directly to the banquet hall itself which was being prepared for the reception, dinner, and later, the party.
Stanton had many contacts in the hospitality industry and had called in a few favours to book both the banquet hall and the garden, and to get guests of the wedding a ten percent discount on rooms and meals for their first and second day.
Many of Aurora's relatives lived abroad, and were scattered throughout Europe and Canada, with a few in the United States. Though not everyone could make it as Stanton had hoped, there was quite a turnout for the wedding, and many of those attending were from overseas. They had come to see the daughter of one of their own seal the bond between their two families. Despite Stanton's family and inner circle being quite small, his daughter and himself had ties to many people, and it was very much apparent at the wedding.
Though Jennifer and Anthony had opted for a secularly themed wedding, preferring to stick to the roots of their relationship, there was quite a show of variety in terms of representation amongst the guests, which Stanton found agreeable that his daughter had chosen to remain on neutral ground, rather than to become tied up in the extremes, especially during such a ceremony that would ultimately last them a lifetime.
They knew their teams, each and every one of them. Stanton liked his steak and would rarely go a weekend without it. A glass of whiskey on Sunday evening, to reflect upon life and enjoy the complex flavours of both. Jennifer did not inherit the dietary inclination of her father, and generally stuck to fish and chicken in terms of her dietary protein, while Anthony's tastes and attitudes were a bit more broad. They lived liberally, enjoying their life, the arts and most of all, each other. Both in their personality, their spirit and their sensuality, which they'd always made time to explore.
As a result, they'd ended up reflecting most of what their family was about in one way or another. Discarding zeal and dogma in favour of having an independent mind and informed opinion of the world around them. This seemed to be the attitude that mostly prevailed throughout their wedding guests, with a few uncomfortable over the fact that there wasn't a religious presences in authority over their ceremony, yet it somehow remained a spiritual experience nonetheless. Few were divided over that fact, and those who were stayed only for the ceremony and left rather quickly thereafter. Stanton was grateful for their showing up for the experience, and at the same time for their leaving quickly before their religious dogma overtook their restraint thereof. The world was becoming rife with those who'd polarize others if not for a battle of ideologies, or just out of pure chaotic malice. The last thing he wanted at a ceremony was for a battle of that nature to break out.
When the Bridal March started playing through the courtyard speaker system, Stanton stepped out proudly with his daughter's arm (and the rest of her in case you've an overactive imagination), the two of them walking side by side to Mendelssohn's march.
As they approached the altar, Stanton's recollection of the past overtook him. Filling his senses on that fateful day.
...
With Jennifer in his arms, Stanton followed the Nurse who led him through the reception area and over to an elevator.
"How old is your daughter?" asked the Nurse politely, unfamiliar with his case file.
"She's almost a year old. Another month and we'll be celebrating her first birthday," Stanton responded quietly, looking at his daughter's face and smiling.
The elevator opened and the two of them (and one baby) boarded and began their ascent up to the sixth floor, the Muzak playing gently in the background. A short trip later and the door opened once again, and Stanton followed the Nurse down the hall, past the High Dependency Unit and into a room next door.
"She's still unresponsive, though in her current state, we can't rule anything out. If you're going to speak to her, we suggest that you keep it light. She might be listening. The truth is that we don't know," the Nurse told him and he nodded.
"Ok. I'll leave you three. I'll be back in half an hour to check up, and let you know that your visiting time is over," the Nurse told him, and then quietly left through the door which they'd entered the room.
Stanton turned to face Aurora. She was laying on her back, a pair of electrodes on her forehead, and an intravenous line in her arm. The bags under her eyes had gotten much darker than his last visit, and he stifled an intense emotional response arising in him as such. Instead, he focused on the good things he remembered during their time together, especially those memories that were truly their own. How on their first night living together, they'd made love in four different places in his bungalow in one night. When he was eager to try a fifth location, she simply responded:
"What's the hurry? We have a whole life together," she said to him, snuggling up close, at which point the two of them fell asleep together.
It was the Zen of Aurora, his wife to be. At that time as it were. From that moment, he'd noticed a change in himself. It was like the taming of an insatiable beast, who sought the immediate pleasures, often hungry for them until they'd learned an amicable balance with one another. And their love making became less like a frantic pursuit of a fleeting moment, and the enjoyment of a lasting one.
There were the times he'd left the toilet seat, purposely so and in defiance of being trained, but whenever he'd take a shower, she'd flush the toilette, and he'd literally have to jump from there within in order to avoid being scalded. Eventually he learned to leave the toilet seat down, occasionally improvising by closing the lid as well, which at times could be just as bad as leaving the toilette seat up.
Their lives were a constant tug of war of these little gripes between them, and more often so, moments of shared serenity and intense passion. All of these things they shared that never left them, and were the glue in their bond with one another.
And so armed with those thoughts, he finally stepped over close to the bed, with little Jennifer in his arms, and he spoke to her.
"Honey, I'm here again, and thankfully this time, Jennifer was well enough for me to bring her. To see her mother once again since she first arrived..." Stanton began.
"There was a moment early on, when the Doctors weren't saying much about her chances of survival. Thankfully, two months onward from that fateful day, she was well enough for me to bring her home. And I kept telling her, that one day, she was going to meet her mommy. In person. And I guess you could say that day is today..." Stanton continued.
"I have to be honest though. I wanted it to go much differently than this. I was hoping that you'd be with us, in an entirely different way, but apparently that possibility has escaped us. So we're just going to have to wait for it to happen another day. A hope for the future... A hope..." Stanton paused.
"I can already see that she has your eyes, especially when she smiles. And sometimes my gruff forehead, whenever she's trying to frown. She's looking at you right now. Curious. Concerned definitely. Maybe she can sense it from me. I don't know. You're in there, and you can hear us. I know it. She wants to say come home. We're waiting for you, when you're ready..." Stanton's hand dropped and got hold of Aurora's.
He lifted her hand until it met with little Jennifer's left hand, and the two hands clasped. Aurora's lips opened, and her mouth fell open, but only stale air, pushed by the respirator, came out.
Jennifer hung on for as long as she could, until even her youthful strength could no longer stop the release of her mother's hand. And Aurora's arm fell lifelessly back to the bed.
"Goodbye..." Stanton leaned down and kissed Aurora, gently on the cheek, and then left the room with Jennifer, fighting his own tears.
Three weeks later, he attended the closed casket funeral of his wife, and laid her to rest. All he had of her, was the little girl in his his care, and the rest of their life together.
...
At the ceremony, as he stood before the Justice of the Peace delivering the service, he recalled that moment when Jennifer clasped her mother's hand, and Aurora's arm falling lifelessly to the bed, as he gave his daughter over to Anthony, handsomely dressed and full of vibrant youth and ready for the world.
That day, Stanton had gained a family, but at the same time, he felt like he was losing his little girl. He wondered how much longer it would be, before he was with Aurora again.
He smiled where he should, and laughed when he could, but mostly the ceremony and was a blur of memories. Of then and now. He disappeared afterwards, up to his room where he lay down at four o'clock in the afternoon, to catch up on his sleep.
That's when his phone rang, and at that moment, he knew exactly who it was, and he was right.
"What do you want?" Stanton answered the phone.
"We recovered the package you picked up for us a few months ago. Things have gone well. Remarkably well..." his handler reported to him.
"And what has that to do with me?" Stanton asked him.
"Why don't you come to room 2106 and find out for yourself?" his handler suggested to him, then hanging the phone up.
Stanton leaned up in his bed and got to his feet. He quickly went to the bathroom and splashed some water on his face, and then left through the hotel room door and made his way down the hall towards the elevator.
A few minutes later, he was knocking at the door. The door opened, revealing a man taller than Stanton by a foot, and built like a truck. He was dressed in a suit and tie, and from the bulge in the man's suit, he could tell that he was packing hardware. Not a single lens reflex camera, but a hand cannon of some form.
"Let him in," a man further in the room addressed the truck, who stepped aside and let Stanton in.
Stanton was greeted by a room full of activity. It was a hotel room for certain, actually two of them with a door between them, but it had quickly been converted into a base of operations. The beds were pushed vertically against the wall, and some extra tables were used to house numerous monitors and workstations that lined the room's boundaries.
The security camera feeds were visible on some of the screens, including the cameras in the hall leading to this room, Stanton realizing that they'd been watching him the entire time.
"We have some paperwork for you to sign. Don't even think about going forward to anyone about this. We know who you are. We know where you live. We know everything about you. It would end the best part about our relationship, and it would certainly make your life very difficult. Sign this paperwork, and we'll take it from there," another man in his forties, with a beard and moustache addressed Stanton, he too in a suit and tie, and much like the truck guarding the door, he was packing.
Stanton took a seat at the table, and quickly examined the papers he was signing.
"The first one is a non-disclosure. Its not optional, and if you don't want to see this through, don't sign it, and I'll send you on your way, and you'll never see us again, but heed the warning I gave you. Its real. If you want to know how everything ends in this little story of ours, sign it, and then sign the other two. I'll witness it for you, and you're bound from that moment forward. Silence and you're never to speak about this to another soul. Not even Jennifer," the man told him.
Stanton stared at the NDA for a long time, before finally signing it. He quickly perused the other two forms and then signed them, waiting for his witness to sign and then he got up and followed the man through door that adjoined the hotel rooms.
In the second, the door to the hotel room was barricaded with a heavy armoured fixture, that lined the walls as well.
"Its a Faraday cage. It blocks all electromagnetic fields except the ones we choose, and its bullet proof and armoured. We don't want anyone snooping this out by any means or trying to come in here by force," the man told Stanton.
"So you're not...?" Stanton began, pausing mid sentence.
"Clandestine? No. Definitely not," the man then directed Stanton's attention to a solitary table in the center of the room.
The table housed a computer workstation, with three monitors, all of the same make and brand, and all rated for military class TEMPEST protection. They led to a workstation computer which sat on the floor beneath the table. Mounted to the sides of the table were thick coils of copper, twined in a spiral and reaching for the ceiling but not quite making it there. At their peak was some form of double insulated conductor. Spherical in shape, shiny and metallic.
"We've been working with someone on a special assignment. Someone from far away. Someone who stumbled onto signals from the camera swarm whose hardware you hauled a few months ago for us for delivery to a secret facility. That trunk, and forty-nine others like it found its way into an evidence locker, and is being held there along with other material evidence to help us wrap up one of the largest cases of attempted extortion in the history of this city, if not, in the world," the man began explaining to Stanton.
"He's the reason that you're here, and as a final gift to you, we thought you might find some meaning. Some hope, in speaking with him," the man directed Stanton's attention towards the screens, the center one flashing with the words:
INCOMING COMMUNICATION REQUEST
Stanton walked over to the table and took a seat. He quickly found the mouse for the computer, though he didn't recognize the operating system. It did however look somewhat similar to the OS on his Mac.
He scrolled the mouse over to a button labeled: ACCEPT and clicked it.
The interface window on the screen was replaced by a log listing, which scrolled quickly, indicating that it was synchronizing, first vertically and then horizontally, looking for timing in the carrier. When it had reached one hundred percent, the log window vanished, and a man's face appeared. It was the face of an older man, like himself. A man who'd very obviously lived and seen much throughout the course of his life. A man whose eyes were that much more focused than Stanton's own, and for different reasons, but in every other way, the man was a mirror reflection of himself.
He was wearing a military shirt. Camouflage, and his muscular form was clearly visible beneath it. He wasn't big per se, but he was definitely hardened by life in ways that Stanton could only imagine. This hard, gruff man on the other side of the screen then spoke:
"Stanton, Alexander Bradley at your service," the man said to him, in almost the exact same voice.
"Is this some kind of joke?" Stanton turned to the man who'd brought him to this special room.
He simply nodded negatively.
"I'm Brad Stanton. Photographer. My name's all over nature publications everywhere," Stanton responded, speaking into the camera atop of the monitor.
"A photographer? I guess that kind of makes sense. Shoot to kill, but its a kill and a thrill of a different kind," the other Stanton said to him thoughtfully.
"Are you some kind of assassin?" Stanton asked him.
"No. Only kill when necessary, and that doesn't happen often, but it does happen. You didn't sign up, did you?" asked the other Stanton.
"Sign up? For what?" Stanton asked him, confused.
"For the military. You didn't sign up?" the other Stanton continued.
"I was going to, but I went out with some friends. Dan and Richard. Buddies I had. I shot my own foot. Drunk as a skunk," Stanton admitted to him.
"That explains it. I didn't go with them, hence I didn't shoot myself in the foot like you did. I made it to the recruiting office the next day, and never looked back. Two months later, I was jumping out of C-130s. A month after that, I was doing HALO jumps in north British Columbia. A year after that, and I could jump into any situation, land or sea. Higher than the atmosphere with a respirator, or a hundred meters above the water at 400 knots," the other Stanton told him.
"Are you saying that you're not from our Earth?" Stanton asked him.
"No. We're on two completely different Earths. The same kind of Earth, and everything is mostly the same, except the stuff where we come in. People I mean. The eggheads here say it has something to do with peak consciousness and the observer effect. My field of expertise is Electrical Engineering though so I don't quite get where their coming from, but I get it, if you know what I mean..." Stanton told him.
"My son in law's field," Stanton responded.
"Who? Anthony?" the other Stanton seemed shocked.
"Yeah. So we're a lot the same. That's why I'm wearing the tuxedo. They just got married today," Stanton smiled to his counterpart.
"Congratulations, and he's an Electrical Engineer on top of that? Isn't that something," the other Stanton smiled back at him.
"How'd you get by that part?" the other Stanton asked him.
"What part?" Stanton withheld what he did not want to share, even with his other self.
"Aurora. I remember the day I had to give up my daughter to my Anthony. He's an Environmentalist, a Bio-Architect. He integrates living systems into building materials. Quite an interesting fellow, though not the steak eating and whiskey drinking kind. He's a little soft for my liking, but Jennifer loves him to death," the other Stanton admitted to him, causing Stanton to laugh.
"Well my Anthony ate steak with me, and stayed up to finish a bottle of whiskey with me on our first dinner..." Stanton explained to the other Stanton.
"That was the night they silenced the whistleblower, right?" asked the other Stanton.
"You mean the guy they shot? He was a whistle blower?" confirmed Stanton.
"I picked up the login signals for the cameras on the swarm from my garage. It was a hobby of mine after work to build monitoring systems for IoT devices and cameras. I was getting concerned about the proliferation of hidden cameras and so I wanted to do my part. Moonlighting of course. That was until I detected the camera signals from your Earth. I logged in to the cameras and managed to piece together where they were located, using a sophisticated algorithm and AI. We were able to locate them all via triangulation. When I tried to communicate through the same magnetic field, I got the same department I work for, but the one on your Earth. From that point, I began to work with them in tracking down this camera network, as it turns out, it was being used by criminal network for blackmail material. They were going to use it as the means to a takeover. Insurgency of the Government. They were using your country as the testing grounds and proof of concept for the rest of the world. The whistle blower had plans to come forward and share what he knew about the camera swarm and who was operating it, with investigators. He was one of the people who helped set it up, the camera swarm I mean, so he was playing both sides, and it got him killed. The department I work for quickly figured out who I was on my Earth, and hunted you down in order to get someone else with the right stuff for the job. I honestly had no idea that you'd be so different," the other Stanton told him.
"Am I? That different I mean?" Stanton asked him.
"No. Not really in some ways. In others, yeah. You're way different. But we made a difference. Together, and that means a lot in my books. There's a whole universe out there, with other versions of everyone. All the paths we took, and all the paths we didn't. I know that Jennifer's wedding was particularly hard for you. It was hard for me. Much harder than anything I've faced on the field of battle. Its not easy giving up the only woman that connects you to the woman you've already lost. I just wanted you to know, that there's something to hope for. That there's meaning in this world. Yours. Mine, and that there's a purpose to all of this, even when it feels like its all for nothing. You did a great service for your country. For your world. I'm proud of you, even if you shot yourself in your damned foot and botched your whole career taking photos. She's always with you. With us. Now go down there and party your ass off with your daughter, but remember that its her night," the other Stanton spoke solemnly and firmly, in a voice that Stanton recognized and one that he'd used himself on occasion.
"Thanks old friend. You stay well, and remember that you've got a friend elsewhere in this universe," Stanton replied, and the screen went blank, with the words: SIGNAL LOST flashing on the screen.
...
Stanton arrived shortly before they were to start dinner, and made his way up to the table, where he was seated with some of Anthony's relatives, and a distant cousin of Aurora's, from whom he learned much about his new in-laws, and the love of his life.
Later that evening, while the music was was loud in the banquet hall, Stanton wandered out into the courtyard, and leaned over the railing to admire the Koi fish that populated the artificial pond. Jennifer stepped out of the banquet hall and found her father there standing by his lonesome by the pond, and she joined him.
"So, what are you thinking?" asked Jennifer of her father, already slurring her words slightly.
"I'm thinking, that your mother would have been damned proud of you, honey. You really turned out to be quite the gem," Stanton spoke to her softly.
"Dad, was it hard for you today?" she asked him.
"In what way?" he responded.
"I mean, during the ceremony. I couldn't help but notice that there was something wrong," Jennifer asked him, leaning on the railing with him, leaning in close to him.
"No. There was nothing wrong at all, except that your mother couldn't be here. I suppose if she were, then it would be the both of us losing you," Stanton replied.
"Losing me? I don't think so. I think you're gaining a son in-law," Jennifer responded, and he smiled.
"If you put it that way, then I guess that's the way it is, but you make sure of this, and this is something that your mother would want you to know. Make sure you toilet train him properly. Don't let him leave the seat up, and if he does and keeps forgetting, then when he's in the shower, you be sure to flush the toilet..." Stanton said to her, afterwards taking a drink of his whiskey.
"That's funny dad, but are you sure that'll work?" Jennifer smiled at him.
"It did for me," Stanton smiled, and turned and faced his daughter who was laughing profusely at the thought of her mother training him.
Then they wrapped their arms around each other, and had one last dance before finishing the party together.
Jennifer, Anthony and Stanton, and somewhere beyond, Aurora.
The End
Coming soon - Shhhh! Digital Media presents: Grand Tapestry of Moments Episode 6: Elvis And Sanata
Written by Brian Joseph Johns ♏🪄🦋🐉🍻
Credits and attribution:
Thank you to Google Search AI, which made research for this particular story much easier than it otherwise would have been.
Thank you both the Deepai.org and Photopea.com, without whom the title art would not have been possible.
The Fatal Shot image created by my own engineered prompt, and the genius artistry of Perplexity AI.
Special Thanks To Rocket Fuel Lakeshore Blvd West, perhaps the best place in history to get a coffee, circa 2001-2004. Miss you all very much.
Special Thanks To Rocket Fuel Lakeshore Blvd West, perhaps the best place in history to get a coffee, circa 2001-2004. Miss you all very much.
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, PhotoPea (a great web based Photoshop stand-in if you're on a low budget or in a pinch), Deepai.org, Google AI Studio, Borderline Obsession...
DeepSeek AI for suggestions on exercises to improve aspects of describing scene and settings with a more sensory focused grammar.
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)
Magic (performance, illusion and perhaps the real thing): Magic Week Archive (I'm currently growing this section so stay tuned)
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.
Shi Heng Yi Shaolin Training For Self Mastery
A reknowned Sifu under whose tutelage you can study the theory and practical applications of the Shaolin Arts for health, physical and mental wellbeing in every day life
Shi Heng Yi Shaolin Training For Self Mastery
A reknowned Sifu under whose tutelage you can study the theory and practical applications of the Shaolin Arts for health, physical and mental wellbeing in every day life
Jesse Enkamp: Karate Nerd
Jesse, a reknowned Sensei who runs his own dojo, explores the world of Martial Arts, traveling to many exotic locations to meet practitioners of a variety of different arts
Sensei Rokas: Martial Arts Journey
A reknowned Sensei of Aikido who in seeking to understand the roots of Aikido and its applications, seeks to stress test its effectiveness in a number of real world situations while studying its history
Seamus O'Dowd
An extensive growing archive Katas, Techniques and Waza (mostly Shotokan)
Iaido: Train For Katana Mastery Like Samurai
The original weapons focused curriculum under which Samurai became masters of their art
Tapp Brothers Exercise For Better Motion
Extensive courses for calisthenics and body strength, stamina and flexibility
Special thanks to Canva for inspiring other creators and giving them the tools
Special thanks to Captain Crunch and his wonderful sister!
Special thanks to Bandcamp for giving indie music artists a home under one roof
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.
Tools: Daz3D, Corel Painter, Adobe Photoshop, Lightwave 3D, Blender, Stable Diffusion (Easy Diffusion distribution), InstantID, Sadtalker, Google Colaboratory, Microsoft Copilot (Windows 11), Hitfilm, PhotoPea (a great web based Photoshop stand-in if you're on a low budget or in a pinch), Deepai.org, Google AI Studio, Borderline Obsession...
DeepSeek AI for suggestions on exercises to improve aspects of describing scene and settings with a more sensory focused grammar.
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)
Magic (performance, illusion and perhaps the real thing): Magic Week Archive (I'm currently growing this section so stay tuned)
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.
Shi Heng Yi Shaolin Training For Self Mastery
A reknowned Sifu under whose tutelage you can study the theory and practical applications of the Shaolin Arts for health, physical and mental wellbeing in every day life
Shi Heng Yi Shaolin Training For Self Mastery
A reknowned Sifu under whose tutelage you can study the theory and practical applications of the Shaolin Arts for health, physical and mental wellbeing in every day life
Jesse Enkamp: Karate Nerd
Jesse, a reknowned Sensei who runs his own dojo, explores the world of Martial Arts, traveling to many exotic locations to meet practitioners of a variety of different arts
Sensei Rokas: Martial Arts Journey
A reknowned Sensei of Aikido who in seeking to understand the roots of Aikido and its applications, seeks to stress test its effectiveness in a number of real world situations while studying its history
Seamus O'Dowd
An extensive growing archive Katas, Techniques and Waza (mostly Shotokan)
Iaido: Train For Katana Mastery Like Samurai
The original weapons focused curriculum under which Samurai became masters of their art
Tapp Brothers Exercise For Better Motion
Extensive courses for calisthenics and body strength, stamina and flexibility
Special thanks to Canva for inspiring other creators and giving them the tools
Special thanks to Captain Crunch and his wonderful sister!
Special thanks to Bandcamp for giving indie music artists a home under one roof
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.
This content is entirely produced in Toronto, Ontario, Canada at 200 Sherbourne Street Suite 701 under the Shhhh! Digital Media banner.
This content is entirely produced in Toronto, Ontario, Canada at 200 Sherbourne Street Suite 701 under the Shhhh! Digital Media banner.
