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I’m writing this at a Denny’s in Japan. :)
Even after writing for 5 hours, it feels like just 60 minutes. ^^
iPhone 13 Pro shot :)
My new novel:
B♭ (Be Flat)
Dropping more content! 😃
(Still not finalized yet.)
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Scene: Madison Square Garden 2
A low murmur swept down the avenue in front of the Garden as a black lead sedan and a fleet of white motorcycle escorts slowly rolled in. Four armored limousines followed, flanked by NYPD and state police SUVs. Behind them trailed a line of communication trucks, ambulances, and news vans—no more than fifty vehicles in all, but the weight of their presence was overwhelming.
The motorcade moved as if traffic signals held no meaning. The street had been completely shut down, and the convoy advanced in perfect synchrony. Police radio chatter leaked from the vehicles, while the blocked-off sidewalks were crowded with reporters clutching cameras and riot police standing firm. Near the center, three jet-black SUVs carried CAT operatives, their eyes scanning the street like silent sentinels from behind suppressor-equipped rifles.
On top of the limousines, state-of-the-art jamming devices disrupted all outside signals. Trailing them was a “Roadrunner” communications command vehicle bristling with antennas, maintaining real-time encrypted communication with the command center beneath the Garden.
At the tail end were fire department rapid response units, a hazmat vehicle, and two ambulances. The arrival of a presidential candidate was no longer a mere movement—it was a military operation. The city responded like a living neural network, absorbing and adjusting to the convoy’s every move.
Onlookers lined the barricades—civilians raising smartphones overhead, and journalists with grim faces behind their lenses. No one spoke. The crowd stood in solemn silence, bathed in the red and blue pulses of rotating lights, watching as the procession swept past like a scene from a film. But this wasn’t a movie. The silence was real. No one dared crack a joke.
Sniper teams were stationed on rooftops around the Garden. Occasionally, the word “clear” crackled over the comms. Inside the building, only those who had passed facial recognition were permitted to take position. In the chilled surveillance room where Jack sat, hundreds of camera feeds rotated every few seconds across the screens.
Inside the presumed presidential limousine, darkness cloaked everything—no figures visible behind the glass. Yet everyone on-site knew those clear windows hid layers of invisible defense. That silence, designed to preserve life, carried with it a deadly order that blanketed the entire convoy.
Overhead, two Black Hawk helicopters glided in low and began to hover above the Garden. They were escape vessels, should the worst occur—but more than that, they were a reminder that this place was, for tonight, a battlefield.
In the command room on the Garden’s B3 level, Jack sat under the blue glow of the monitors, listening intently to the radio in his ear.
“Eagle has arrived. Parking complete on B3. Zebra point passed. T-minus 45 seconds to approach.”
The voice in his earpiece made him bite his lip unconsciously. The coffee in his cup had long gone cold.
Onscreen, the divided camera feeds displayed the barricades on Seventh Avenue, snipers in standby, and now—the black limousine sliding into the underground garage.
The air tightened. Time became tangible. The tick of the second hand grew louder in everyone’s ears. Jack’s fingers trembled slightly as they reached for the radio button.
Scene: Madison Square Garden 1
Jack shifted the donut box in his hand and pressed the button for B3. The air in the elevator was cold, and he wiped the sweat from his brow as he watched the lights descend. The contrast with the heat above made his vision blur slightly.
Stepping out, he turned right. Immediately on the left was the briefing room door, where a security man in a rumpled suit greeted him.
“Everyone’s already waiting.”
Jack stood before the sensor and calmly turned his face toward it. A few seconds later, a mechanical chime signaled access approval, and the heavy fireproof doors slid open.
Once inside, Jack offered a small smile.
“I brought donuts. Make sure everyone gets some later.”
The security man grinned behind his sunglasses.
Beyond the thick soundproof door, 32 monitors glowed blue in the dim room. Staff members moved briskly and silently between the machines. The hum of servers filled the space, punctuated only by the occasional alert. In the center was the commander’s seat, surrounded in a ring by workstations. The wall-sized screen displayed rapid live cuts from over 400 arena cameras—spectator stands, lobby, corridors, VIP lounge, loading dock, backstage, utility room, underground passages…
If a single rat appeared in those tunnels, they’d be able to track it straight to the sewers.
Jack sat in the commander’s chair and flipped the switch on the gooseneck mic in front of him. Its flexible neck trembled as the red indicator light came on.
“I’ve got donuts. Sorry, no glazed. There’s Boston Cream, Chocolate Frosted, Strawberry Frosted, and Old-Fashioned. No coffee, so grab your own.”
“Old-Fashioned for me,” came Ben’s voice from the loading dock. He adjusted the transparent tube of his earpiece and muttered into his collar.
Jack gave a faint smile, then grew serious again as he leaned toward the mic.
“Eagle is about to arrive. Entering through Ben’s loading dock. Three minutes to VIP room. Fifteen-minute briefing. Then onstage. Let me remind you—tonight marks the official nomination of the presidential candidate at the National Convention. First Republican convention held here in over twenty years. Also, his fiancée, Eleanor Blake, is with him. Stunning and brilliant. Try not to fall for her. The only ones you’re allowed to admire are bulky bruisers in tactical gear. And don’t forget, VP candidate Cole Harrison is here too—he’s the leash on our foul-mouthed Justin. No matter what he says, don’t punch back. I’ll be the one getting punched later.”
Jack checked his watch.
“One minute out. When Justin’s team heads home, dig into the donuts. Over and out.”
From the monitor showing the VIP lounge, Daryl spoke up behind him.
“Jack, better check in with Elijah at the hospital. Make sure he’s on standby.”
Without turning, Jack raised his hand and called out.
“Elijah, you copy? Daryl thinks you’re chilling at Starbucks.”
Laughter came through the speaker, followed by the chaotic background noise of Bellevue Hospital.
“Daryl, how’d you know? I was just thinking of getting Jack fired.”
Swiveling in his chair, Daryl laughed back at the screen.
“Let’s hope Justin doesn’t end up in your ER.”
Jack cut in.
“All stations, go. Justin’s here. Stick to the plan. Let’s move.”
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Scene: Madison Square Garden 3 — Justin, Eleanor, Cole
The door of the limousine opened from within, and Justin Bradford stepped out with a short sigh.
“Damn. It’s suffocating down here. Even a stray dog would turn up its nose at this parking garage.”
He brushed off the hem of his suit jacket with one hand, casting a grimace toward the concrete gloom.
Vice presidential candidate Cole Harrison followed quietly behind. Eight years older than Justin, Cole had once stood by Justin’s father, Lysus Bradford—through every rally and protest, until the day Lysus, still registered as a Democrat, was gunned down by a sniper. Cole had admired Lysus deeply for his commitment to voicing the will of the unheard.
Justin yawned, wide and unfiltered. Cole spoke gently beside him.
“This was the safest option. Too many unknowns outside. It’s dangerous.”
“Cole, you’re the biggest unknown we’ve got.”
“And that makes two of us, Justin,” Cole replied with a small, knowing smile.
The click of white heels echoed faintly as Eleanor Blake stepped onto the stained concrete. She wore a pale beige coat over her dress and moved with quiet elegance. Though her brow creased slightly at the stagnant air, she quickly replaced it with a smile and walked toward Justin.
“Justin,” she said, her voice gentle yet firm, “no more jokes at the staff’s expense. These people would lay down their lives for you.”
Justin gave a small, lopsided smile and brushed a kiss against her cheek.
“For their sake, I better live up to it.”
Flanked by security, the three of them began walking down the dim corridor. Faint LED lights flickered overhead. Dirty walls, cold silence, and a chill that crept under their skin accompanied them.
“These hallways always get to me,” Justin muttered.
“I understand,” Eleanor said softly. “But this is the safest route.”
“That’s exactly why we should be grateful,” Cole added. “It’s this kind of space that protects us.”
Eventually, they reached the elevator reserved for dignitaries. The face recognition system chirped quietly as it confirmed their identities.
“Just a few more steps to the VIP lounge,” said one of the agents.
Justin glanced back at Eleanor and shrugged.
“Let’s shake the Garden tonight.”
She touched his arm lightly and smiled.
“I’m counting on you, Justin.”
The three of them stepped into the elevator, the doors closing quietly behind them as it carried them upward.
Scene: Totto Ramen — Ana, Mika, Motorcade
— Red, Yellow, Blue —
It was just after 7 p.m. when a light rain began to fall on East 52nd Street.
Ana leaned against the wall of an old building next to Totto Ramen, absently watching the changing traffic light at the intersection to her right. The air was heavy with humid heat clinging to the concrete, making even the pedestrians seem to move slower than usual.
The signal turned green. As she dabbed her forehead with a handkerchief and squinted into the distance, she spotted Kana on the far side of the crosswalk, waving and running toward her with a smile.
Then, suddenly, the air shifted.
From the far side of the intersection, a fleet of black SUVs glided in, soundless and ghostlike. In the few dozen seconds between the lead vehicle’s arrival and the armored limousine at the rear disappearing, the entire intersection was sealed off—no one passed.
As the convoy disappeared down the avenue, the signal changed again. Foot traffic resumed. The city inhaled.
Kana reemerged from the crowd and waved once more.
After wrapping up their exhibit, Ana and Mika had packed their gear into Mika’s car and headed into Manhattan. Ana’s husband, Arjun, worked at LuminaTech Innovations—a hybrid company based in Williamsburg specializing in AI, cloud services, and cybersecurity. Though it was his day off, he’d had a meeting in Hudson Yards and was on a separate schedule from Ana.
Totto Ramen was nearby, and ever since Mika had first brought her there, it had become a favorite for Ana and Arjun alike.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. It’s been such a lovely day,” Mika said, slightly out of breath.
By “lovely,” she meant the two sharply dressed men from that morning, still lingering in their thoughts.
Ana answered with mild disinterest.
“Was it? That your type, Mika?”
Mika shrugged and smiled.
“Mm, I like someone close enough that I can run home to my parents if I need to.”
They laughed as they slid open the ramen shop’s wooden door and took seats at the counter. The place was bustling with Asian families enjoying their weekend. Familiar Japanese drifted from the far end of the counter.
Ana’s iPhone buzzed. It was a video call from Arjun.
She tapped the screen. His apologetic face appeared.
“The meeting’s running long. Go ahead and eat without me.”
Ana smiled gently.
“Be careful. A whole swarm of black cars just swept through here.”
Arjun responded immediately.
“They’re probably heading to the Garden. There’s supposed to be a Republican convention tonight. The candidate’s making his appearance.”
Mika, having caught the gist, nodded deeply.
“Yeah, it’s felt weird all day. The city’s tense—not your usual weekend.”
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Scene: Red Hook 1 — Amir and Rafi
Red Hook stood apart, even within Brooklyn.
Shielded by the shadows of skyscrapers, the red-brick warehouses, worn by wind and rain, groaned softly in the breeze. Each gust from the sea layered fresh salt onto the air, leaving streaks of rust blooming along the warehouse doors.
Beyond a broken fence, a long-unused warehouse door creaked open.
Amir stepped inside, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The smell of oil soaked into the concrete filled his nostrils.
“Let’s start here,” he said.
Rafi nodded without a word.
They had first come to this place five winters ago.
Having lost everything in Gaza at the hands of Israel, the two had fled legally through Egypt and Turkey, eventually arriving in Tapachula in southern Mexico. There, they made contact with a smuggler known as a coyote.
Rafi paid $12,000 per person to the traffickers—using cryptocurrency hacked through North Korean channels. The coins had been stolen through a North Korea–linked hacking syndicate. Amir wrote the code himself and erased all trace of the transaction. They had crossed borders not with blood, but with digits.
Later, under cover of night, they slipped beneath a border fence and entered the United States by land.
The night sky over Texas was a shade of dark blue they had never seen before. Low and clear, the deep blue held a fleeting kind of hope. But that hope was far outweighed by the hatred that had taken root in their hearts.
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Set in New York City.
1
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
2
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
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Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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日本のデニーズで書いています。:)
５時間書いていても、60分ぐらいに感じています。^^;
僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
さらに投下します。😃
(まだ決定ではありません。)
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場面 マディソンスクエアガーデン２
ガーデン正面の通りがわずかにざわめき、先導の黒いセダンと白バイク隊がゆっくりと進入してきた。次いで装甲に覆われたリムジンが４台つづき、市警と州警のSUVがその脇を固め、後方には通信車両、救急車、そして報道バンの列…… 全部でざっと５０台にも満たないが、その重厚感は圧倒的だった――。
車列は信号すら意味をなさず、完全に遮断された通りを、隊列の呼吸に従って前進していく。警察無線の交信が車外に漏れ、通行止めの歩道にはカメラを構えた記者と機動隊員が混じり合っていた。中腹には「CAT」と呼ばれる武装部隊が乗る漆黒のSUVが３台並び、サプレッサー付きライフルを持った隊員が、まるで車内から通りをスキャンするように視線を動かしている。
リムジンの天井には、最新の妨害電波装置が搭載され、外部通信を一時的に遮断する。さらにその後方を、アンテナが林立した“ロードランナー”と呼ばれる通信司令車が追走し、ガーデン地下の指揮室とリアルタイムで暗号通信を続けている。
車列の最後尾には消防局の緊急対応車、化学物質対応車、そして２台の救急車が控えていた。大統領候補がこの都市に足を踏み入れるというのは、もはや“移動”ではなく、“軍事行動”のようだった。街全体が、ひとつの生きた神経網のように、その動線を受け止めていた。
歩道の柵沿いには、スマートフォンを高く掲げる市民と、顔を強張らせた報道カメラマンたちが入り混じっていた。群衆は押し黙り、ただエンジンのうなりと回転灯の光に照らされながら、目の前を通り過ぎる車列を見守っていた。まるで映画のワンシーンのようだが、空気は静まり返り、誰一人として軽口を叩く者はいない。
ガーデン周辺の屋上には狙撃班が配備され、時折、無線越しに「クリア」の声が交錯した。建物内の全階層には顔認証を通過した要員だけが配置され、冷房の効いたジャックのいる監視室では、数百台のカメラ映像が数秒ごとに切り替わっている。
大統領候補が乗ると目されるリムジンの車内は暗く、ガラス越しに人影すら映らない。だが、その曇りのない窓には、目に見えない幾重もの防御層が仕込まれていることを、現場の誰もが理解していた。命を守るために設計された沈黙と、殺気を孕んだ秩序が、車列全体を覆っている。
背後から、２機のブラックホークが上空をなめるように飛来し、ガーデンの屋上でホバリングを始めた。万が一の脱出手段であり、また、この場が“戦場”であることを暗に示す存在だった。
ジャックは、ガーデン地下三階の指令室で、モニターの青白い光に顔を照らされながら、無線に耳を傾けていた。
「イーグル、地下駐車場レベルB3にて停車完了。ポイント・ゼブラ通過。接近までTマイナス45秒」
耳元のイヤーピースから流れるその声に、彼は無意識に唇を噛んだ。手元のカップに入ったコーヒーは、すでにぬるくなっていた。
モニターには分割されたカメラ映像がずらりと並んでいる。第七通りのバリケード、スタンバイ中の狙撃手、そして今、地下駐車場の入口に黒いリムジンが滑り込む様子が映し出されていた。
空気が一気に張り詰めた。誰もが秒針の音を意識し始め、静寂の中に微かな緊張が走った。ジャックの指が、わずかに震えながらも無線の送信ボタンに触れた。
場面 マディソンスクエアガーデン１
エレベーターに乗ったジャックは、手にしたドーナツの箱を持ち替えると、地下三階へのボタンを押した。冷房の効いたエレベーター内で下っていくランプを見上げたまま、額の汗を拭った。熱した地上からの温度差で多少視界が滲んでいた。
降りて、右手に行くと、すぐ左側にブリーフィングルームの扉があり、よれたスーツを着たセキュリティーの男性がジャックに挨拶した。
「みなさん、もうお待ちですよ」
ジャックはセンサーの前に立ち、静かに顔を向けた。数秒後、「アクセス承認」の電子音とともに、重たい防火扉が左右に開いた。
クリアするとジャックは、口元を緩めていった。
「ドーナツ買ってきたよ。あとでみんなで食べてくれ」
セキュリティーの男性は、白い歯を見せ、サングラス越しに微笑んだ。
厚い防音扉を越えると、薄暗い空間に32面のモニターが青白く光っていた。スタッフが機器の合間を縫って、言葉少なに忙しなく行き交っていく。室内には低く唸るサーバーの音と、時折アラート音だけが響いている。部屋の中央には指揮官席、その周囲に円を描くように並んだワークステーション。壁面いっぱいの巨大スクリーンには、アリーナ内400台以上のカメラがライブ映像を忙しなく切り替え、流し続けている。客席、ロビー、通路、VIPラウンジ、搬入口、ステージ裏、電気設備室、地下通路….
もしも地下通路にねずみが一匹現れたら、下水溝まで追跡できるはずだ。
ジャックは指揮官席に腰を下ろし、前方に据え付けられたグースネックマイクのスイッチを押した。しなる首元がわずかに揺れ、赤いインジケーターが点灯した。
「みんな、ドーナツを買ってきた。残念ながらグレーズドは売り切れだった。ボストンクリーム、チョコフロステッド、ストロベリーフロステッド、オールドファッション、以上だ。コーヒーもないからな。勝手に飲むように」
「ジャック、俺はオールドファッションな」
搬入口にいるベンが、耳に伸びたセキュリティイヤピースの透明なチューブを整えながら、襟元に指を添え、モニター越しに呟いた。
ジャックは軽く微笑み返してから、声を整え、目の前のマイクに向かって、真剣に伝えた。
「まもなく、イーグルがやってくる。ベンのいる搬入口から入り、３分でVIPルームへ。１５分の打ち合わせ後、アリーナへ登壇する。もう一度確認するが、今夜は大統領候補の指名が正式に確定する全国党大会だ。共和党は、２０年以上振りにここで開催するらしい。それから、フィアンセのエリノア・ブレイクもいっしょだ。容姿端麗な才女だ。見惚れるなよ。お前らが見惚れていいのは筋肉隆々の荒くれものだけだ。さらに副大統領候補のコール・ハリソンもいっしょだ。口の悪いジャスティンのお目付役だ。何を言われても決して殴り返すな。俺があとで殴られるからな」
ジャックは腕時計を見た。
「あと１分で到着だ。ジャスティン一行が帰宅したら、ドーナツをたらふく食べてくれ。以上だ」
画面左側に映ったVIPラウンジに見入っていたダリルが、ジャックの背中にいった。
「ジャック、病院のイライジャにも確認したほうがいい。ちゃんと待機しているようにってね」
ジャックは背を向けたまま、腕を上げて返答するとイライジャに問いかけた。
「聞こえるか、イライジャ。お前がスタバでくつろいでると疑われてるぞ、ダリルに」
イライジャは、笑いながら即答した。背後に、ベルビュー病院内の忙しないアナウンスが走っている。のんびりしたイライジャの声とは正反対だ。
「ダリル、なんでばれた？ そろそろジャックの首を飛ばそうと思ってさ」
椅子を回転させたダリルは、右手のモニターに目を落としながら、イライジャに笑いながらいった。
「お前のところに、ジャスティンが運ばれないことを祈るよ」
ジャックは、二人の会話を遮った。
「全員、スタートだ。ジャスティンが到着した。打ち合わせどおりに。頼んだぞ」
場面 マディソンスクエアガーデン３ ジャスティン、エリノア、コール
リムジンのドアが内側から開き、ジャスティン・ブラッドフォードは短くため息をついて足を踏み出した。
「まったく、息が詰まるな。地下駐車場なんて、野良犬でも嫌がる」
スーツの裾を片手で乱暴に払いつつ、顔をしかめて辺りを見回した。その後ろから、副大統領候補のコール・ハリソンが静かに車を降りた。彼はジャスティンより8歳年上だったが、かつてはその父、ライサス・ブラッドフォードのもとで行動を共にし、彼が民主党に籍を置き、狙撃により命を落とすその時まで、傍らで支え続けていた。ライサスが声なき国民の想いを代弁しようとする姿に、コールは深い感銘を受けていた。
大きなあくびをこぼしたジャスティンに、コールは穏やかに言った。
「セキュリティ上の最善策だ。外は、あまりにも不確定要素が多い。危険だ」
「コールの言動の方がよほど先が読めないけどね」
「ジャスティン、そのままお前に返すよ」
ジャスティンの皮肉に、コールは軽く微笑みながら冷静に返した。
エリノア・ブレイクの白いハイヒールが、駐車場の暗いコンクリートに静かに降りた。淡いベージュのコートを羽織った彼女は、ヒールの音も控えめに、優雅に車外へ降り立った。地下の濁った空気に微かに眉を寄せながらも、すぐに笑みを浮かべ直し、ジャスティンに歩み寄った。
「ジャスティン、スタッフにつまらない冗談はやめてね。みんな、あなたのために命を投げ出す人たちよ」
彼女の声は柔らかいが、芯のあるものだった。
ジャスティンは少し顔をほころばせ、エリノアの頬に軽いキスをした。
「命か…なら、俺もその期待に応えないとな」
セキュリティーに囲われた三人は地下駐車場の薄暗い通路へと歩みを進めた。所々薄汚れた壁と天井のLEDライトが冷たく落ちている。冷たさと静寂が辺りを覆っている。
「この手の通路は、いつ見ても気が滅入るな」
ジャスティンが呟いた。
「気持ちはわかるけど、ここが最も安全なルートよ」エリノアが柔らかく返す。コールが間を埋めるように言った。
「こうした環境だからこそ、私たちが守られている。感謝するべきだ」
しばらく歩くと、要人専用エレベーターの前に到着した。壁の顔認証システムが稼働し、認証音が静かに鳴った。
「VIPルームまであと少しです」
セキュリティーのひとりがジャスティンらに告げた。
ジャスティンは背後のエリノアをちらりと見て、肩をすくめていった。
「今夜、ガーデンを震わそう」
エリノアが彼の腕に軽く触れ、優しく笑いかけた。
「期待してるわ、ジャスティン」
三人は静かにエレベーターに乗り込み、VIPルームへと向かった。
場面 トットラーメン アナ、ミカ、車列
—— 赤、黄色、青 ——
イースト52丁目に小雨が舞い始めたのは、午後七時を少し過ぎた頃だった。
アナは、トットラーメンの隣にある古いビルの壁面にもたれ、右手に見える十字路の信号をぼんやりと眺めていた。蒸し返すような湿気がコンクリートにまとわりつき、行き交う人々の足取りもどこか重たかった。
信号が青に変わった。額の汗をハンカチで拭いながら、アナが目を細めると、十字路の向こうにミカの姿が見えた。彼女は手を振りながら、笑顔でこちらに駆け出してくる。
そのとき、空気がふいに変わった。十字路の向こうから、黒いSUVの車列が音もなく滑り込んできた。先頭車両の到着から、最後尾の装甲リムジンが去るまでの数十秒間、交差点は完全に封鎖され、誰も通ることができなかった。
車列が去ると、信号が切り替わり、ふたたび人の流れが戻り、動き出した。
ミカがその人波の中からふたたび現れ、手を振った。
展示を終えたアナたちは、ミカの車に荷物を積み終えたあと、マンハッタンへ移動していた。
アナの夫アルジュンは、ウィリアムズバーグにあるAI・クラウド・サイバーセキュリティを手がける複合企業「ルミナテック・イノベーションズ」に勤めている。今日は休日だったが、彼だけハドソンヤードで会議があり、アナらとは別行動だった。
トットラーメンはその近くにあり、以前ミカに連れてきてもらってから、アナたち夫婦のお気に入りになっていた。
「おまたせ。今日は朝から素敵だったね」
息を切らせながら駆け寄ったミカが、そう言った。
“素敵”というのは、今朝の高級スーツをまとった二人の男のことだ。
アナは興味なさそうに答えた。
「そうね。ミカはああいう男性が好み？」
ミカは首をすくめ、笑って言った。
「うーん、かなり遠い存在かな。私は、すぐ実家に帰れるくらいの距離感が好き」
二人は笑い合いながら、ラーメン店の引き戸を開け、カウンターに並んで腰掛けた。店内は週末のため、アジア系の家族で賑わっていた。ミカの聞き慣れた日本語が遠くのカウンターから聞こえてくる。
アナのiPhoneが震えた。アルジュンからのビデオ通話だった。
画面をタッチすると、アルジュンが申し訳なさそうな表情で映った。
「会議が延びてる。少し遅れるから、先に食べててくれ」
アナは、静かに答えた。
「気をつけて来てね。さっきすごい車の軍団が流れていったわよ」
アルジュンは、即答した。
「今日はガーデンで、共和党の大会があるらしい。次期大統領候補が立つらしいよ」
傍で聞いていたミカが深々と頷きながら、同意した。
「なんか朝から物々しいのよね。いつもの週末と違うわ」
ーーーーーーーーー
場面 レッドフック１ アミール、ラフィ
レッドフックは、ブルックリンの中でも異質だった。
高層ビルの影に守られ、風雨に洗われた赤レンガの倉庫と錆びた港湾クレーンが、風に軋んでいる街だ。やってくる潮の匂いが重なるたびに上塗りされ、倉庫の鉄の扉に赤錆を浮かせていく。
鍵の壊れたフェンスの向こう、何年も使われていなかった倉庫の扉が静かに開いた。
アミールは一歩踏み入れ、光のない空間に目を慣らした。コンクリートに染み込んだ油の臭いが鼻をついた。
「ここから始めよう」
その声に、ラフィが黙って頷いた。
ふたりが初めてここにやってきたのは５年前の冬だ。イスラエルによってガザ地区ですべてを失った二人は、合法的にエジプトからトルコを経由し、メキシコの南部タパチュラへ行き、コヨーテと呼ばれる密入国請負人と接触した。ラフィは密入国業者へ一人あたり１２，０００ドルを支払った。すべて、北朝鮮経由でハッキングした仮想通貨での支払いだ。金の出どころは、北朝鮮系ハッカー集団を通じて奪ったコインだった。アミールの手でコードが組まれ、記録は消された。彼らは、血を流さずに数字を流して国境を超えたのだ。その後、国境のフェンスを夜に潜り、陸路でアメリカに入った。
テキサスの夜空は、彼らが見たことのないほど青黒かった。低く、澄んだ深い青の美しさは、彼らの胸にいくらかの希望を与えていたが、それ以上に憎しみの強さが上回っていた。
ーーーー
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これまでのメモ
1
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
2
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...
舞台はニューヨークです。
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
追記 この小説を多少説明しました。
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
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メモ
1
「Bombay型（ボンベイ型、hh型）」
•特徴：通常のABO血液型を持たない（A、B、Oに分類されない）特殊な型。
•発見地：1952年、インド・ムンバイ（旧ボンベイ）で初めて確認。
•発生頻度：インドでは1万人に1人程度だが、世界的には約250万人に1人とも。
•輸血制限：同じBombay型しか輸血できない。
2
2024年ハーバード大学首席の卒業式スピーチ『知らないことの力』
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3
Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
At the edge of the world, where dreams lace with daylight, a mystical cottage rests beneath an ancient, spellwoven tree. Lantern-glow pours from the arched windows like memory made fire. In the meadow beyond, bioluminescent flora hum with unseen magic, and a radiant fox with gossamer wings treads softly through glowing blooms. The air is alive with whispering lights and floating wonder, as if time itself has paused to admire the view. A realm untouched by sorrow — where every leaf holds a spell, and every breeze carries a secret.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop and Photoscape X.
Bathed in the golden breath of the cosmos, Solenyra Virellae stands as the living will of the Aether Flame — the divine force that birthed light itself. Her skin is like sculpted ivory moonstone, but it is her eyes that arrest all who behold her: not eyes, but portals of burning blue fire, swirling with stardust and the weight of forgotten prophecy.
At the center of her forehead gleams the Emberstar, a radiant gem of pure flame bound in sacred solar gold — a relic said to be the crystallized heart of the First Sun. It pulses in harmony with her soul, its energy flowing through the ornate golden filigree etched across her temples and brow. These glowing veins of power shimmer like constellations come to life.
Her lips, soft and pale rose, are rarely moved; she speaks not in words, but in vision and light, weaving futures into the minds of those deemed worthy. Her golden crown curves like solar flares, anointing her as more than monarch — as a celestial constant.
She is both ruler and relic, flame and form. Some call her a goddess, others a weapon of the cosmos. But all who kneel before her feel the truth: Solenyra is not the end of darkness — she is the beginning of light.
The finalized forms of Wild West steam locomotives 1 and 2 are built in real life... minus a couple parts (two blue 1x4 tiles are missing) on Two's tender. They've been WIP's for a while, and I needed to get them done.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by ✴.·´¯`·.·★ HELLSCAIT ★·.·`¯´·.✴ : Cait
Bathed in ethereal light and cloaked in tendrils of enchanted mist, the celestial forest holds its breath as an ancient bond rekindles. The elven enchantress, crowned in blooming crimson roses and clad in vines of twilight, communes with the Stardust Serpent — a mystical dragon woven from the cosmos itself. Its shimmering fur blazes with hues of violet, sapphire, and flame, eyes alight with otherworldly wisdom and mischief. Golden starlight drifts between them like secrets unspoken. This is a meeting of myth and magic, where beauty and power intertwine at the edge of dream and reality. A moment that defies time, echoing through the realms unseen.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
In the heart of Gearsmoke Hollow, where towering brass spires pierce the sky and airships drift between clockwork citadels, a colossal black cat prowls silently through the fog. Known only in whispers as The Watcher, this otherworldly feline bears a golden pocket watch pendant, suspended over its chest like an ancient relic of forgotten time. Its amber eyes shimmer with intelligence beyond comprehension, said to measure not just minutes, but destinies.
No one knows from where it came—only that its presence is always followed by strange shifts in time, lost hours, and dreams of impossible futures. The Watcher is neither menace nor savior, but a cosmic sentinel—its body half-flesh, half-mist, fading into the clockwork haze of the eternal city. In the ticking silence of the Hollow, its breath is the only sound that dares to defy the rhythm of the gears.
I'm intensively rabbit-proofing today... Lots of cable (and hay) hiding stuff has been obtained for the purpose.
The finalized 23rd Annual Arizona Renaissance Festival 2011 poster, news paper add and discount card design.
The Festival starts this weekend Feb 12th!!! time to see all your favorites including Twig the Fairy and Zinnia the Fairy
Click on the link to see the photos in their original form www.flickr.com/photos/grantbrummett/sets/72157624958400210
Credit Notes:
Thank you Twig and all who posed so patiently for me!
Thank you Cathy Beard of BobCat Studios who merged my photos and created the poster and thanks to the AZ Ren Fest.
on finalizing.
after moths I refused to take an order , cake order . One of friend insisted me to make her favorite cake. And a quick shot I made for fun :)
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop and Photoscape X
Inspired by a image of: Pooka Onyx - Pooka morphs
Behold the Hollow Grove, where the breath of the old forest is thick with forgotten whispers and the earth sleeps beneath a crimson spell.
As the bloodmoon rises behind skeletal trees, its unholy light pierces the mist, igniting the woods with eerie luminance.
Ashen embers float like fallen stars, and the ground pulses faintly with a forgotten magic.
This is my reimagined vision—a gothic-fantasy dreamscape steeped in black, crimson, and violet, transformed from a quiet scene into a haunting myth.
A place where the veil is thin, and shadows walk freely.
Inspired by the original mood but reshaped through my spectral lens.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by: ღ Moonshadow ღ
Bathed in golden sunlight, the Flower Queen lies amidst a bed of ivory blossoms and trailing greenery, her copper-red hair cascading like molten fire through the petals. A crown of fresh cream roses adorns her head, woven with delicate sprigs of baby’s breath and golden vines, as if nature itself bowed to her presence. Her closed eyes and serene expression suggest she is in a deep, divine communion with the earth — a goddess at peace in her sacred bloom. Subtle butterflies flicker around her like living jewels, glowing softly in the warm afternoon light. The moment captures not just a queen, but a living spirit of spring: timeless, tranquil, and eternally in bloom.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by and Reimagined
Shrouded in a cloak of midnight and snow, the Frostborne Queen stands as an eternal sentinel of the frozen wilds. Her presence commands silence — not through fear, but reverence. Etched with runes of ancient power, her jet-black ceremonial robes glimmer with emerald and amber jewels, each one pulsing faintly with imprisoned souls or bound oaths.
Crowned with gnarled, branching antlers adorned with bone charms and deathstones, her headdress is a relic of war and ritual — carved with symbols that whisper in the cold wind. The central skull gazes outward like a grim totem, warding off trespassers and beckoning spirits alike.
Her obsidian-painted lips are set in quiet defiance, and beneath frost-pale skin, her gaze radiates with molten amber — not warmth, but an inner flame of unrelenting purpose. Intricate black tears streak from her eyes like a bleeding sigil, telling of sorrow bound in duty, of countless winters borne in silence.
She is no mere sorceress. She is a curse given form. A monarch of the lost woods. A warden of forgotten gods. And those who dare approach her with lies on their tongue find the forest silent... forevermore.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
A lone spaceship drifts silently through a cosmic nebula near a distant planet, bathing the scene in glowing galactic fire. As the space fades, a knight in full armor stands defiantly before a mighty dragon, the embodiment of strength and legacy. The final scene flows into a moonlit gothic castle, where a mysterious vampire queen watches over her ancient domain, bathed in shadows and secrets.
💫 From stars to swords to shadows, this is everything I love to see.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired and Reimagined by a image of: ★ HELLSCAIT ★Cait
“Between the lightning and the lava, only its gaze decides your fate.”
In the heart of a world where the mountains bleed fire and the skies split with wrath, a shadow moves — vast, primal, eternal. Known in whispers as the Scourge of the Magma Spires, it is both guardian and executioner of the Ashen Peaks. Its obsidian fur, torn with rivers of molten light, radiates the heat of a thousand forges. Eyes like burning coals pierce the storm, casting judgment on all who dare approach.
Behind it, the Ember Fortress burns against the horizon, its spires wreathed in fire and smoke. Lightning tears the heavens apart, each strike echoing the creature’s heartbeat. Ash and ember dance through the scorched air, carried on winds that taste of ruin.
No army has bested it. No hero has slain it. Those who stand before the Warden’s gaze are faced with one truth — you are not entering a fortress… you are entering its domain.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
inspired by the second life dinkies
Among the ruins veiled in moonmist, where candlelight flickers over forgotten glyphs and silent stones, walks Eirith Voidpaw — small in size, vast in power.
Once thought a mere familiar to greater mages, this black-furred enigma now carries the Obsidian Sigil, a relic of immense arcane weight bound to the fading echo of the Eldergloom. His violet eyes shimmer with ancient memory, his steps disturb neither dust nor shadow. He speaks rarely, but when he does, even spirits listen.
Clad in silver-woven leather and starlit armor, Eirith guards the forgotten paths between realms — a sentinel of secrets, a whisperer of soft endings.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Beneath the light of a full, enchanted moon, the last Dragonbound prince and his ethereal bride gaze across a vast and otherworldly kingdom, sculpted from starlight and flame. The colossal black dragon looms protectively behind them, its molten eyes watching as ancient towers rise like fangs from the glowing earth, where rivers shimmer with arcane energy. The air is thick with magic, fireflies of emberlight dancing around them in reverence. This is the eve of an ancient union—where love, prophecy, and power converge to shape the fate of a realm born from both dream and fire.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
inspired by the bbc headliner: 'Punk rock' dinosaur with metre-long spikes discovered, reimagined into my world of Ai.
From the haze of smoke, neon, and sweat, he crashes onto the stage — a prehistoric nightmare reborn in leather, spikes, and fire. Punkasaurus Rex, his mohawk spines blazing with radioactive neon, clutches a battered guitar like a weapon of chaos. His roar shakes the amps, his claws shred harder than steel strings, and every stomp sends bottles, sparks, and punks flying across the pit.
Around him, the crowd is feral: mohawks clash, fists rise, chains rattle, and graffiti-covered walls tremble under the sound. This is not just a concert — it is the apocalypse in four chords, the extinction event you can dance to.
💀 Creative Transformation — the dinosaur mosh pit nobody survived, but everyone remembers.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by V the Series (1983) and Reimagined
“Even among the stars, every vessel seeks its harbor.”
Through the golden haze of the upper atmosphere, the shuttle glides with precision — its forward docking lights casting a steady blue glow across the clouds, signaling its path. The hull glistens in sunlight, panels etched with wear, catching streaks of violet and amber as the world rolls endlessly below.
The hangar looms ahead like a colossal steel cathedral, its guidance beacons pulsing in sequence, leading the craft home. Within its vast interior, illuminated struts and gantries stretch like ribcages of iron, docking clamps glowing faintly as they await the vessel. Shadows dance across rows of maintenance drones and suspended scaffolds, the heartbeat of a living machine preparing to receive its child.
Shadows stretch across the vessel as it aligns, each motion graceful, calculated — the choreography of machine and pilot against the endless sky.
Not a departure, but a return: the moment of silence before bay doors seal, and the stars are left outside once more.
One of the rarest Mk1 Ford Capris, and one that is greatly coveted, is the RS3100 - a homologation special available late 1973 - just months before the advent of the MkII Capri.
The Capri, Ford's scaled-down European Mustang, had been popular since it's introduction in 1969 and like the Mustang, it was available in flavors from mild to wild. Eventually, this led to special models intended to homologate the car for European Touring Car racing.
Early competition Capris focused on the 2300 variant, but within a year Ford had begun building the RS2600. Very early RS2600s were modified quite a bit from stock vehicles - with extensive use of replacement fiberglass panels and other weight saving materials. At the heart of the car was a modified version of the 2.6 liter "Cologne" V6, with a long throw crank. There were also extensive modifications to the suspension and, to make customers feel more like they were piloting a race car, the interior.
The RS2600 did well in competition and this translated to good sales. In 1972 Jochen Mass won the European Touring Car Championship in an RS2600; Hans Stuck won the German TCC; Claude Bourgoignie the Belgian TCC - among other big wins. That same year, however, Capri racing engineer Martin Braungart and Ford team manager Jochen Neerpasch departed for BMW, where they engineered the 3.0CSL "Batmobile" with the express intention of beating the Fords.
The next step for Ford was to respond for the 1974 season with the RS3100.
While the RS2600 had been engineered by Ford of Germany and built in true mass production numbers there, the RS3100 would be a low-volume car built in Halewood in the U.K. and be available in right hand drive.
Much of the the RS2600's engineering was carried over to the RS3100, but the new car received an over-bored version of the 3-liter "Essex" engine - the actual capacity being 3091 cc. Competition Capris ran Cosworth engines, but the increase in displacement in the production version allowed Ford to match BMW on power.
Just 250 RS3100s were built, the minimum number for homologation. They existed only to help Ford win races.
At that time, with the restyled MkII Capri essentially finalized, there wasn't much point to emphasizing the RS3100 in marketing - and the small production run made the cars expensive. Ford still made an effort to make the cars special, however, with the big spoiler, custom interior, and gold accent striping. These gold accents were standard no matter the color - Daytona Yellow, Diamond White, Marine Blue, Modena Green, Olympic Blue, Sebring Red, or Stardust Silver.
The RS3100 proved hard enough to sell, relative to regular 3.0 Capri GTs, that a big chunk of the production was shipped to Australia during the summer of 1974, some months after production had stopped.
This RS3100 was imported from the UK in the early 2010s and accompanies the owner's other car - the RS3100's old rival, the BMW CSL.
©2015 A. Kwanten
Continuation of the 250 series. :) The SdKfz 250/7 81mm mortar, SdKfz 250/8 Stummel, SdKfz 250/9 Recon, and the SdKfz 250/11 with sPzB 41 heavy anti-tank rifle. I have the 250/10 Platoon Ldr variant with Pak36, but have not finalized it.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop.
Based on a Dinkie friend in Second Life
With her enormous teal eyes and delicate lace gown, Lady Whiskerly stands proudly in the drawing room of her ancestral home. The floral upholstery, polished wood, and soft amber lighting of the parlor wrap around her like a warm memory. Her Victorian-style dress is adorned with ruffles and pearls, and a dainty golden ribbon crowns her neatly coiffed fur. In the background, a stately portrait suggests a lineage of elegance and mystery. Whether she’s hosting tea or solving parlour-room mysteries, Lady Whiskerly is the very definition of grace, wit, and whiskered nobility.
Otherworld Island Simwide Set:
CONTENTS:
A) REZ ANCHORS>
To properly rez the anchhors poston them at for a ground level rez. Otherwise rez at 135.0, 125.0, Desired Height. It is recommended you keep the edit menu open and the rez anchor selected before clicking the "Rez" button so you can easily find and then delete the rez anchor once you have finalized t rezing.
[CC] OtherWorld Plateau Only: Has only the Basaltic Plateau, no Water Features, Crystals or Basaltic Columns.
Total Land Impact 464
[CC] OtherWorld P&B: Rezzes the Plateau and Columnar Basalt formations, no Crystals or Water Features:
Land Impact:
464 Plateau
637 Columnar Basalt Formations
Total: 1101 Land Impact
[CC] OtherWorld P&B&C: Rezzes the Plateau and Columnar Basalt formations and Crystals. No Water Features:
Land Impact:
464 Plateau
637 Columnar Basalt Formations
144 Crystals
Total: 1245 Land Impact
[CC] OtherWorld Full Geology: Rezzes the Plateau and Columnar Basalt formations and Crystals and Water Features:
Land Impact:
464 Plateau
637 Columnar Basalt Formations
144 Crystals
142 Water Features
Total: 1387
[CC] OtherWorld Architecture: Rezzes ONLY the architecture designed for the Otherworld region. Does not include positioned furniture.
Does not include Fantasy Faire specific structures like the access paths or the FaireChyde dock.
Does not include any of the geological elements like the cliffs or basaltic columns. The paths and architecture
were created for a sim wide prim budget and are high in detail and thus have a larger LI. All detail and parts
are independent though, so you can cut out in detail as needed and LI budget allows.
Land Impact:
101 Arches
155 Emerald Lounge
67 Hanging Lounge
323 Paths
86 Pier
204 Plateau Pavilion
129 Tree Lounge
Total> 1065
B) INCLUDED SETS>
The following sets were used on the landscaping and thus are included as part of this bundle. Please refer to each set for its specific list of contents and instructions. If you arleady own any of these sets you can request a rebate by writing the ones you already own down on a notecard, along with your name. I will research your purchase history and send issue you the rebate.
[CC] Cerridwen's Island Paths and Structure Set 1.1
[CC] Nayad v2 Water Set
[CC] Basaltic Columns Set
C) OTHERWORLD ISLAND TEXTURES
The island set contains a box with 14 full perm textures (including diffuse/color, normal/bumpiness and specular/shininess) used on the rock faces, moss, pebbles and
terrain, for you to use on your island customization. These textures are for your personal use only and they are not to be sold, gifted or redistributed in any way.
D) TERRAIN RAW FILE
You can request me personally for the Otherworld Island .raw terrain file after purchase at hlokenende12@gmail.com and I will mail you a copy of the current .raw file, for you to use on your own sim.
Note: Does not include the Fae Tree nor the flora used in the landscaping. All landscaping (besides the Nayad Water Set, Columnar Basalt Set and Cerridwen's Island P&S Set) and plant sets are sold separately.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by a text from: ✴.·´¯`·.·★ HELLSCAIT ★·.·`¯´·.✴ - Cait
🚀👽 Need to get off this planet fast? This charming extraterrestrial has just the ride for you—no probing (allegedly), no memory wipes (unless requested), and only a slight risk of interdimensional side effects. Step aboard the Mothership for an experience that’s totally out of this world—and legally can’t be discussed afterward.
✨ It’s free, it’s shady, and it definitely doesn’t involve being dissected in zero gravity.
Remember: What happens on the Mothership, stays on the Mothership.
Done in AI, Finalized in Photoshop
"They were fresh… until they turned."
💥 This summer, breakfast fights back! 💥
In the quiet village of Crumblewood, the Oat Emporium was known for its peace, its charm, and its perfectly crunchy cereals. But one fateful morning, the milk went bad. And not just “smells funny” bad… no — really bad.
Led by the fearsome Captain Cream, the notorious Half-Pint Gang stormed the oat store with foam dart blasters, fierce glares, and a taste for trouble. From the oat barrels to the honey jars, nothing was safe.
Will the townsfolk rise to the challenge and stop the dairy desperados? Or will breakfast be forever changed?
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Her gaze holds the memory of the first fire—and the promise of the last. Eyes like molten prophecy, burning through shadow and silence. She is the final spark in a dying world, a queen crowned not by gold, but by fury and flame.
Runes crawl across her skin like living embers, pulsing with the power of forgotten gods. Adorned in blackened gold and bloodstone, she does not speak—because her eyes have already told you your fate.
She is the last flame. And she does not flicker.
After six months of building I finalized my first large scale US truck. As the K100 is one of my favorite trucks I wanted to have such in my collection. I disassembled my old Scania 141 tow trucks and used the bodywork and Holmes 750 for the KW. Fitted with an underlift it make the truck even more versatile. Quite some parts of the model are chrome which my mate Bricksonwheels supplied me. I had to use a lot of unconventional building techniques to get the cab into the right shape. Turning pieces upside down, building things off set etc. and without glueing anything. I already typed the full story for this model on my website. If you would like to see and read more about it, please take a visit: www.dennisbosman.nl/lego/no59.html
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
"They sent it back to stop a rebellion. It became a myth."
Clad in obsidian armor forged from centuries yet to come, the assassin moves like prophecy. A machine of chrome sinew and corrupted code, wrapped in engraved blacksteel, adorned with silver filigree and the skulls of those who saw too much. His eyes burn like hellfire behind a knight’s helm — but no man breathes beneath it.
The villagers call it a demon. A revenant.
But it is none of those.
It is a T-series Chrono Unit, dispatched not to change the war…
…but to erase its origin.
In its core, the directive is simple:
"Eliminate Edward of Conworth. Ancestor of John Connor. Zero deviation."
Designation: T-800M “Warden Class”
Era Displacement: Medieval 1287 A.D.
Armor Interface: Arcane-Mimetic Infiltration Protocol
Directive: Geneline Extinction – Connor Thread | Status: In Progress
AI-generated via Mystic 2.5 / Forbidden Histories Codex
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Bathed in the golden blaze of a dying sun, a lone warrior queen stands at the edge of a shattered world. Clad in obsidian armor etched with glowing runes, she faces the colossal presence of a fire-breathing dragon—her ancient companion, forged in blood and legend. Around them, molten embers swirl like celestial fireflies, igniting the cliffs in a soft cascade of light. In the distance, jagged mountains slice the sky while a river of pure arcane energy winds through the scorched earth, illuminating the remnants of a realm forgotten by time. This is a final moment of unity before the storm of destiny—where myth meets mortality in the heart of flame and shadow.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
In the ruins of a forgotten cathedral, beneath the ghost-lit gaze of a fractured moon, she stands — a spirit suspended between time and sorrow. Her translucent form, cloaked in spectral threads of light, radiates an eerie elegance as she faces the remnants of a world that no longer remembers her name. Once a dreamer bound by hope, now a wraith bound by memory, she searches for the echoes of lost truths whispered through shattered stained glass. This haunting vision is not of death, but of yearning — a soul defying oblivion, standing alone in a sanctuary of broken faith and silent stars.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by and Reimagined
“He does not rule a kingdom — he devours eternity.”
From the endless void he watches, his gaze burning brighter than dying suns. Scales forged from the marrow of collapsed stars, veins pulsing with the fire of creation itself. Neither beast nor god, but something older, something eternal — a sovereign of silence and storm. Where his eyes fall, worlds tremble, and in his breath lies the memory of the first thunder.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by and Reimagined
In the heart of the storm, the demon roars — not in rage, but in awakening. Its molten eyes glow like twin suns through black smoke, jaws split wide in a scream that shakes the void itself. Charred horns curl like weapons of war, and from its throat pours not sound, but flame. Red embers spiral like dying stars, pulled into its hunger. This is not a creature of nightmares — this is the nightmare's creator.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop.
Zor’Mezzar is not merely undead — he is cosmic ruin given form. Once a celestial warlord forged in the heart of a dying star, he was cast down during the Celestial Sundering — his soul fused with the heart of a supernova and buried in the hollow space between dimensions. But stars do not sleep forever… and neither does he.
When Zor'Mezzar rose, the sky cracked.
His visage is terrifying and godlike: a towering skeletal demon with obsidian armor etched in galactic runes and glowing violet starstones embedded in his chest and crown. His red eyes blaze like binary suns, and from his back spread immense, tattered voidwings — wings that eclipse entire battlefields in shadow and silence.
His horned headdress, crowned by a glowing amethyst core, resembles a collapsing constellation — chaotic, radiant, and impossible to behold without madness. His mantle of shadowfeathers stirs not in wind, but in gravitational tremors, as if each movement disrupts the laws of the universe around him.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by and Reimagined
“From the darkness, it watches with the light of a star.”
Bathed in the light of a star forged within its own gaze, the Watcher drifts across the void as an eternal sentinel. Its form is sculpted from obsidian-like ridges veined with cosmic fire, each fissure pulsing with ancient power. Against the swirling nebulae, it appears not as flesh nor machine, but as an incarnation of the universe itself — silent, patient, and unyielding. A single blazing eye pierces infinity, bearing witness to creation, destruction, and everything in between.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by and Reimagined
Clad in tattered layers of midnight-black linen and charcoal-dyed wool, the Hollow Inquisitor emerges from the storm-lashed moor like a shadow torn from the pages of a cursed tome. His skeletal visage—worn and yellowed like ancient bone—glows with malevolent amber fire, eyes smoldering beneath the brim of a weather-beaten witch hunter’s hat. Chain-linked medallions inscribed with protective sigils dangle from his vestments, brushing against his ashen fingers as he stalks the cobbled paths of a forgotten village, where flickering lanterns tremble against the encroaching dark. Behind him, the sky fractures in violent purple lightning, illuminating bare winter trees and the silhouette of timber-framed homes—echoes of a time when hysteria ruled and whispers of witchcraft spelled doom. He is both relic and revenant—an eternal seeker of the wicked, lost to the ages, but never to silence.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Deep within the ghost-lit halls of The Haunting at the Mississippi, behind a warped wooden door sealed by silence and salt air, sits the last remnant of the ship’s soul — the captain.
His cabin is a shrine of sorrow, untouched by time. Maps marked in blood still lie open beneath his pale, spectral hands. A rusted compass spins endlessly beside a broken spyglass. Bottles gather dust, clocks hang frozen, and lanterns flicker in rhythm with the river’s secrets. Outside the cracked window, lightning tears across a storm-wracked sky as the cursed Mississippi churns endlessly beneath.
The captain himself is a ghost of command — seated upright, gloved hands steady, his face lost to shadow, but his eyes burning with unnatural blue fire. Mist coils around him like breath long exhaled. Some say he still charts a course no living soul can read. Others say he’s waiting for one final passenger.
He does not speak. He does not sleep.
He steers the dead.
And so the riverboat drifts, its cursed wheel turning through eternity — because the captain never left his post.
Right after I finalized shooting with Yo Akalu she took advantage of the few minutes that remained of sunlight to layback and unwind on the beach while I made my way over to the one lone fisherman who I had spotted earlier from my periphery and who I hoped didn't trail off too far from where we were.
Initially it became difficult to grab his attention over the heavy wind and pounding of the waves but when I did, we chatted a bit and he was more than willing to stand in for a few portraits with the requisite that I email a few of the best ones. It sounded like a more than a fair deal and quite honestly the least I can do for his time.
Thank you Victor!
After six months of building I finalized my first large scale US truck. As the K100 is one of my favorite trucks I wanted to have such in my collection. I disassembled my old Scania 141 tow trucks and used the bodywork and Holmes 750 for the KW. Fitted with an underlift it make the truck even more versatile. Quite some parts of the model are chrome which my mate Bricksonwheels supplied me. I had to use a lot of unconventional building techniques to get the cab into the right shape. Turning pieces upside down, building things off set etc. and without glueing anything. I already typed the full story for this model on my website. If you would like to see and read more about it, please take a visit: www.dennisbosman.nl/lego/no59.html
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop.
Legendary Item: The Mirror of Fusion
Essence:A legendary relic from the Hollow Veil, the Mirror of Fusion stands as the only surviving bridge between mirrored memory and broken echo. It does not merely reflect — it confronts. Those who gaze into it from both sides may become whole again, or lose themselves entirely.
Item Type: Legendary Wondrous Object (Sentient Mirror)
Appearance:A towering, oval mirror with an ornate frame split down the center: one side floral and silvered, the other blackened and overgrown with twisted roots. Its glass glows faintly, never fully still.
Powers:
Echo Reconciliation: Once per moon, a character may attempt to fuse with a denied aspect of self (mechanical benefit: remove 1 major flaw, regain lost memories, or awaken a sealed power).
Twin Reflection: When standing between enemies, the mirror can reflect their most feared version of themselves (Illusion/Fear effect).
Mistwalk Portal: Can open a one-way path to the boundary between the Mirror Crossing and the Mire of Mirrors.
Soul Split/Unite: In a ritual, the mirror can divide a person into two selves — or rebind them under great cost.
Drawbacks:
Cannot be moved from the Veil.
Once every use, it reflects something even the bearer has forgotten — which becomes real.
Lore:
Legends say the mirror was forged from the moment the Crossing broke — a single shard that remembered both peace and ruin, and refused to choose.
Quote:
“You are neither who you were, nor what you fear to become. You are what stands between.”
Boeing and Xiamen Airlines have finalized an order for six 787-8s. Originally announced by Xiamen Airlines in May 2011, the order is valued at $1.3 billion at list prices.
This image shows a 787 in Xiamen livery.
Boeing provides this photo for the public to share. Media interested in high-resolution images for publication should email boeingmedia@boeing.com or visit boeing.mediaroom.com. Users may not manipulate or use this photo in commercial materials, advertisements, emails, products, or promotions without licensed permission from Boeing. If you are interested in using Boeing imagery for commercial purposes, email imagelicensing@boeing.com or visit www.boeingimages.com.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Bathed in the light of a swollen moon, Noctara stands where the veil between realms thins. Her violet eyes burn with eldritch flame, a power drawn not from stars, but from the darkness between them. Cursed tattoos trace her skin like living runes, whispering forgotten names of power. Her presence is a paradox—mesmerizing, yet terrifying; divine, yet drenched in shadow.
She is the stillness before the storm, the breath before the incantation. When her gaze finds you, there is no place left to run—only surrender to the ancient magic that binds the night to her will.
A haunting embodiment of beauty and ruin.
Done in Ai, Refined in Bloom, Finalized in Photoshop.
“Her heart is a forge of runes, her gaze the verdict of forgotten gods.”
Amidst the crumbling vaults of a forsaken citadel, she emerges — a sovereign bound not by crown or throne, but by the searing fire of runes carved into her very flesh and steel. Her skin, obsidian-blue and cold as voidlight, glows with veins of crimson energy that pulse like living lightning. The curved horns upon her helm are not adornments but conduits, drawing in whispers from forgotten realms and channeling them into power.
The armor she bears is no mere plate — it is a living scripture, etched with glyphs that shift and shimmer as though aware of their own dark prophecy. At her chest burns the Crimson Sigil, a heart of light encased in shadows, radiating an energy that bends stone, silence, and spirit alike. Behind her, a circle of ancient symbols ignites the air, a halo of damnation that crowns her eternal dominion.
She is not a queen to be served, but an Empress to be feared — the architect of oaths broken, the judge of worlds undone. In the glow of her runes, hope falters, and the strong remember what it means to kneel.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by a SL Picture of: ★ HELLSCAIT ★ - Cait
Bathed in the crackling glow of violet sorcery, the High Arcanist stands at the heart of a storm-wracked sanctum, her obsidian armor etched with sigils that pulse like a living language. Her skin, a spectral blue-green, shimmers beneath arcane circuitry threaded with magic, while her glowing lavender eyes mirror the storm she commands. Horns crowned in runes curl from her brow like a diadem of power. With every motion, her crystalline staff radiates fractal lightning, tearing the air asunder. Behind her, ancient pillars tremble, and the sky churns with unnatural force — for where she treads, the fabric of realms frays. She is not merely a wielder of power, but its architect. The Violet Dominion is her throne, and magic, her law.