Podcasts about guards

The Time Riders: Part 8 A Date With Death. Based on a post by BiscuitHammer, in 16 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels. Into the pit. Domitia was brought through the streets, which were lined with huge crowds watching her somberly. She was attended by at least twenty soldiers, who walked in silence around her. Accompanying them were her former sister Vestals and the Pontifex Maximus, one of the greatest priests in Rome and head of the state religion. It was he who ultimately was in charge of the Virgins, both choosing them and stripping them of their office if the need arose. He walked ahead of her, his face grave. Domitia wore a simple white tunic now, but all other signs of her former life were gone. Her magnificent braids were undone, and her brown hair hung down her back shamefully. The colors she'd been allowed to wear were missing. In times past, disgraced Virgins had been excoriated, possibly just beaten with a rod, but now, in the height of mighty Rome's power, the punishment was death, for endangering the city. But no one was insane enough to spill the blood of a Vestal Virgin, disgraced or not, so her execution was not so direct. She would be sent underground into a small chamber, with a stock of food and supplies, and locked in there until she starved to death, or succumbed to sickness. They weren't killing her, per se; she was merely shunned until she died. Such was the way of Imperial Rome. Her condemnation and pronouncement of her fate had already been declared, at the beginning of this long walk, meant to be a show of penitence before the face of all Rome. And as humiliated and crushed as she was, her foremost thought was about Bonosus, and his magnificent cock. Even now, being led through the streets, her cunt was wet and ached to feel him buried inside her. Before she knew it, they had arrived at their destination, a small area in the north of the city, with a plot dug into the ground. Stopping at its edge, she looked down inside; the walls were lined with wood, probably to prevent a collapse, and there seemed to be a small stool and a cot within. She heard hysterical sobbing from nearby, and turned her head to see her mother, her birth mother, Pompeneia, weeping from behind the barricade of guards and calling out to her. Domitia's heart ached for a moment, but then she turned her gaze back to the den prepared for her. Her fate was sealed. She glanced over to look at her sister Vestals, but they refused to look at her, staring ahead resolutely. She could see tears in dear Silla's eyes, though; she had hurt the Sisterhood badly, and this was how she was to pay for it. So be it. With all the dignity she could muster, Domitia swallowed her fear and stepped forward, turning and climbing down the ladder, descending roughly ten feet until she reached the earthen floor. There were small candles burning on some stone surfaces, allowing for dim light. She looked upward, and the last thing she saw was the face of the Pontifex Maximus looking down at her, his expression unreadable, before a heavy door was slammed down and locked, cutting off all light and all sound from above. She shuddered at the sound, her stomach twisting in knots. She knew that there was no way out. The door would be weighted, and guards set outside for weeks, to prevent anyone from trying to rescue her. Despite her fear, she looked around, noting the small amount of food supplies left for her, and a small, narrow hole dug in one corner where she was to relieve herself. It wouldn't do to have a Vestal Virgin stinking of shit, even a disgraced one, and even in death. The silence was almost terrifying. She slumped into the small chair left for her, shivering and biting her lip as she felt that her cunt was still wet, the sticky lips parting slightly as she spread her legs. Thoughts of Bonosus returned to her, and she couldn't help but reach down beneath her tunic and begin rubbing her fingers over herself. The fear she felt melted away as she tickled her throbbing clit and teased her warm nether lips. Domitia closed her eyes and sighed in pleasure. If she was to die in this hateful place, it would be while cumming, thinking of that magnificent cock, spurting inside her one last time; The wall opposite her creaked and opened, the stout wooden boards pulling away. Domitia almost yelped in shock, but she didn't stop playing with herself. She stared in astonishment as a tall blonde woman came inside, carrying a torch. Following her was Nanu, a slave-girl that Domitia would have sworn belonged to her parents. "Well, hello, Domitia," the blonde woman said, smiling at her. "I'm Lady Aurora Horatia, Bonosus' mistress. Are you ready to get out of here?" Domitia nodded, but then paused, reconsidering as her fingers plunged in and out of her molten cunt. "Can you; give me just a moment here?" the former Virgin asked sheepishly. Into the Arena. Mark winced and squinted as the great gate opened, allowing light to flood into the dark tunnel. The grinding and heaving of the gears that moved the iron-reinforced barriers echoed loudly, and his heart pounded in anxiety. He was almost hyperventilating, and he could feel the blood racing through his veins. Maybe taking the adrenalin tab he'd finally found stashed behind a loose brick wasn't such a good idea. And no instructions, either. He reminded himself to punch himself in the face when he saw himself again. Hey, at least he knew he survived. He felt himself shoved roughly out into the arena, looking around in bewilderment as tens of thousands of people all shouted and jeered at him. Part of the huge stadium was cast into shadow because of the giant canvas awning that covered a full third of its seating and the arena in the center. He thought it was called the Velarium, but he wasn't sure. The roaring noise of the crowds hurt his ears, and he felt dizzy. The tab's effects apparently hadn't evened out in him yet. Maybe he should have taken it earlier? Wearing his itchy burlap loincloth, a rope belt, sandals and nothing else, Mark wandered slowly toward the center of the sandy field, his cudgel in hand. The echoing sounds of the crowd were maddening, and he felt almost dizzy. What was the purpose of this damn tab, anyway? Guards approached him. His urge was to run, but where would he go? Trembling, he stood his ground and waited for them. One of them grabbed him roughly and spun him about to face something, shoving him to one knee. Mark gasped, but then looked up and paused. On the other side of the giant stadium, sitting in a shaded box, was a man wearing purple, surrounded by guards and other dignitaries. It had to be the Emperor. The most powerful man in the world. If only he knew which one it was. Maybe he could've gotten an autograph. He chuckled bitterly at his joke, but the guard holding him told him to shut up and slapped him across the back of the head. Mark's eyes snapped open and fury flared through him. He surged to his feet and his shoulder-block knocked the guard backwards, to the astonishment of the audience. The guard and another one nearby drew their weapons and were about to kill him, when trumpets blared from all around the perimeter of the Colosseum. Mark looked around warily, seeing the reaction of the crowds as the two guards withdrew. Drums sounded out now, and more trumpets. He looked over at the emperor, his eyes going wide as he noticed a familiar, stunning blonde woman in a seat next to him and watching Mark with a smirk. Kneeling beside her was Nanu. "Jesus, Becky, there's a million people in Rome; how many did you fuck?" he muttered, scowling. He heard the gates clanking open again and spun to face them, his heart racing again. From the dark tunnel strode a stout, bald man wearing leather armour on his shoulder and a metal-studded skirt, carrying a shield and wielding a small axe. "What is this, fetish night at the Colosseum?" Mark complained loudly as the man began to run toward him. Mark braced himself, watching warily. His earlier anxiety was being replaced by anger, and a desire to either flee or fight. He'd just trust to his adrenalin and hope that his future self knew what the Hell he was doing. The gladiator ran up and swung at Mark, who ducked and came up behind his foe. Before the man could turn, Mark struck him across the back of the head with his cudgel. The man crashed to the ground face-first. The crowd was yelling in outrage and astonishment. Apparently, that wasn't supposed to happen. The man showed no signs of rising, merely stirring feebly and groaning, a huge goose egg rising on the back of his head. Hastily, Mark leaned down and pulled the round wooden shield off the man's arm and pried the axe from his grip. He stood up, trying to control his breathing. His heart felt like it would burst out of his chest. He looked around, making sure no one was approaching him from any other direction, but nobody seemed to be forthcoming. Where was his next foe? It dawned on him that he hadn't been expected to last beyond this first fight. They were probably scrambling to figure out what to do next. Doubtless they'd be finding another gladiator to throw at him. He chanced a glance up at Becky, but she sat still, simply watching him. He didn't blame her; she was supposed to have turned on him, after all. He did notice that she was keeping one leg crossed over the other and bouncing her thighs subtly. Maybe the hormones weren't completely out of her system yet. Or it could have just been normal horny Becky. Who knew at this point? A few seconds later, the gates on another section of the concave wall that surrounded him opened slowly, and out strode a tall man, wearing only a loincloth like himself and greaves, but carrying a weighted net in one hand, and a trident in the other. "Trident!" Mark exclaimed to himself, remembering. "That's what those fucking things are called! Now I can; Hey!" Mark had gotten distracted and only barely jumped out of the way of the retiarius, who thrust his trident, trying to skewer his foe. Mark angrily struck at the man's head with his axe, but he raised the haft of the weapon to block and Mark's axe broke on it. The crowd cheered wildly as it saw what happened. Mark stared dumbly at the splintered handle of his weapon, the iron head missing entirely, having spun off to land in the dust several inconvenient feet away. "What the shit?" Mark shouted angrily as he dodged another attack, keeping his shield between himself and his enemy. The trident's tines glanced off the face of his shield, coming perilously close to ripping open his side. "You mean I can't kill anyone? I'm timelocked from killing someone, even if they're trying to kill me?" He dodged again and scrambled for his cudgel, lying next to the first man he'd knocked unconscious. The man he was fighting was quick, though, and lunged in, jamming his weapon forward and trying to impale Mark through his stomach with it. Mark blocked with the shield, shuddering in panic as he felt the tines burst through the wood and punch out the back side, dangerously close to his belly. But the trident was caught now, and now the two men wrestled back and forth desperately, with the retiarius trying to free his weapon and Mark doing everything he could to prevent that exact thing. Suddenly he realized that he was doing exactly the wrong thing, and simply let go of his shield. The gladiator now held his trident awkwardly, weighed down as it was by the shield embedded on it, and with no safe recourse to get it back. He flailed at Mark with the weighted edges of his net, threatening to break smaller bones if he got in too close. Mark dashed for the cudgel again, and this time his opponent couldn't quickly follow him. Mark picked it up and tried putting the man on the defensive, skirting around him, looking for an opening to strike. The man glared at him balefully, swinging the net if Mark got too close. He's not armored and he can't use his weapon; Mark reminded himself. He flung his cudgel at the gladiator's face and surged in while the man was trying to block the unexpected projectile. His trident was weighted down with Mark's shield, so he was using the net frantically to avoid being struck. Mark plowed into the man and took him down to the ground, using his advantage in height and weight. His foe wheezed as he landed hard on his back, beginning to thrash as Mark straddled his chest and pummeled at him. A lucky punch got through and Mark snapped his foe's head to the side with a right across the jaw. He went to sleep. The crowds were shouting again angrily as Mark stood, recovering his stupid club and taking the man's net, since the shield was wrecked, and the trident was no use since he apparently wasn't allowed to kill anyone. How did time lock know, anyway? He bent over, trying to control his breathing and his pulse. His head was spinning again from the anxiety. What the Hell was his future self thinking, leaving that damn tab to use? What sort of advantage and futuristic superpower was panic? You're pumping adrenalin; it makes runners faster, it makes them run longer; it makes people stronger in a crisis; He opened his eyes and stood, turning around and looking at the thousands upon thousands of people who hated him. Fuck those people. He turned and looked at the emperor and held the weighted net in the air, scowling at the sovereign. "That all you got, asshole?" he shouted, feeling himself get angrier and more aggressive with every moment. Becky could barely hear what Mark was yelling over the noise of the crowds, but she shifted somewhat uncomfortably when she felt the mood of the man next to her darken. "So that's how he wants to play it, hmm?" muttered the emperor, resting his cheek against his hand. "Uppity thing, this boy of yours, Lady Horatia." "Oh, he is no longer mine, great emperor; this behavior, reprehensible as it might be, is unknown to me. Please dispose of the upstart as you see fit," Becky replied, knowing better than to be perceived as defending Mark. "You can count on that, my lady;” he replied, nodding absently as he made some vague motion to a signaler. "If you will excuse me, sire, I must depart for a moment," Becky said, trying to not sound urgent. The emperor looked at her quizzically for a moment: "You would miss his doom?" She made a show of blushing: "His life and death mean nothing to me now, but all this excitement has undone me, sire. I must go and relieve myself, because it wouldn't do to piss myself in your presence." "Very well, then," he said, nodding. "But try to be back soon." Becky stood and bowed before exiting the emperor's spectator box, taking Nanu with her, pulling her along by the wrist. "My lady, is now a good time to see to such functions?" asked the Egyptian girl as she followed the blonde woman. "Is Bonosus not in great danger? I thought you meant to rescue him." "I can't rescue him sitting next to that pompous ass, now can I?" Becky hissed as she strode down one of the hallways. "And keep your voice down; I don't want people to know what we're doing." "Sorry, mistress," Nanu replied, blushing. She allowed herself to be dragged along for several seconds before asking her next question. "What are we doing, exactly?" "You'll see soon enough," Becky said grimly, her blue eyes flashing as she pushed through the throngs of people in the hallways that ran around the length of the Colosseum. "I hope you wore your cock-sucking lips today;” The huge man lumbered towards Mark; he was well over half a foot taller than Mark, and a whole lot heavier. Beneath his layer of fat, he was obviously muscular and very strong. He carried a shield in one hand, a wicked sword in the other. His loincloth was made of tough leather, covered in metal studs. His wide belt was also braced with metal. His right arm was protected from shoulder to wrist by a cauldron and gleaming steel plates. On his head was an intimidating helmet, the face mask looking like something out of "Mad Max: Fury Road," with a peaked top that sported what looked like a curved metal blade or sail. It looked like he was wearing a can opener on his head. "Fuck;” Mark whined to himself as he stood his ground, trying to figure out how he was going to keep from getting killed. He held his cudgel and his net, trying to look threatening, but the gorilla coming at him didn't seem to care. He jumped out of the way as the Samnite slashed with his sword. He tried to move in, but was sent flying backwards when the gladiator suddenly slammed the front of his shield into him. Landing on his back, Mark only had a split second to roll out of the way as the point of his foe's sword drove down into the dirt where'd he'd only just been. He kicked at the man's leg, but it held, and he scrambled away, looking to put some distance between them. "Hey, Jason Voorhies!" he called out, waving his club in the air. "Over here, candy-ass!" The gladiator turned his head to look at him while trying to wrench his blade from the hard-packed earth. He finally did so and stood upright, rolling his shoulders and striding forward again. He slashed with his blade, but Mark dodged once again and then threw his net over his foe. The Samnite got caught in it, but didn't go down, trying angrily to remove it. Mark jumped on his back and began hammering away with his stupid little club. The giant staggered about, flailing wildly to dislodge his smaller foe. The jeering from the crowd was punctuated with increasing amounts of laughter at this ridiculous spectacle. Mark hung on for dear life with one arm wrapped around the man, his other hand whacking away at the foe's helmet. But his own net was preventing the blows from being fully effective, despite the metallic ringing of his strikes. Unable to reach the pest on his back or use his weapons, the huge man simply fell backwards, hoping to crush Mark. It wasn't graceful, and it wasn't pretty, but it did stun Mark long enough to stop him from hitting his foe with his cudgel. "Oh fuck;” Mark wheezed as the Samnite rolled off him and struggled to get up while removing the netting. Mark slowly crawled away, shaking his head to stop the world from spinning. The jellied tissue that was once his lungs was on fire, and strained to get oxygen circulating through him. He heard his foe growl in frustration, and then he felt himself getting grabbed by the scruff of the neck and the back of his loincloth before being hauled completely off the ground; The crowd went wild as the gladiator threw Bonosus bodily to the ground, as if trying to crush his bones with the impact. He picked him up again and dashed him to the hard-packed earth, having given up on removing the net. Mark protected himself from the slams as best he could, but it wasn't helping much, given the strength of the man who was mauling him. The fourth time getting slammed to the ground was about Mark's limit, and the world had become nonsense around him; everything sounded like it was being played in drunken slow motion. His vision swam, and he really just wanted to take a damn nap. He shook his head trying to clear it, remembering that Becky had bought him time, so he'd best not waste it getting rag-dolled by this shit stain. While the Samnite was reaching down for him, Mark managed to roll onto his back and kicked up, hard, between the gladiator's legs. His foot found the man's crotch, and while the force of the blow was lessened by the net's interference, his foe still groaned, and his knees bent. Mark kicked again, and then once more, having finally staggered his foe. The man sank to his knees, holding his crotch. Mark couldn't see his face, but he was obviously in a great deal of pain. Mark staggered to his feet, ignoring the crowd's jeers and screams, focusing only on his foe. The gladiator was now protecting his crotch with his hands, so Mark couldn't kick him there, so he slammed the bottom of his foot into the larger man's chest, knocking him on his back, where he lay moaning. Mark stamped on his crotch for good measure. "Stop, dammit!" wailed the man. "Quit kicking me in the cock!" "Fuck you!" Mark spat, scowling. His chest was on fire and his entire body throbbed in pain. "You were trying to kill me, fuckface! Why should I give a shit what you think?" "I'll stop, I'll stop!" the man pleaded, writhing under the net and totally at Mark's mercy. "Just don't wreck my cock, I was gonna fuck tonight!" "Yeah, right," Mark sneered. "Who were you gonna fuck?" Mark spun as he heard an ululating war cry, and his eyes widened as he saw a woman running toward him, carrying a whip in one hand and a sword in the other. Her spiked hair was wet with blue woad paste, and her eyes were mad with battle lust. "Her;” the Samnite indicated. Becky and Nanu were both on their knees, mouths bobbing back and forth on the cocks of the men they had leaning back against the wall, groaning and pumping their hips. Neither of the men could believe their luck; they thought this would be another boring day for measly pay. From up here, they couldn't even see the action down in the arena well. Sulus and Catullus, two former merchant marines, were charged with keeping the Velarium in place during the spectacles. Their extensive experience with canvas sails made them ideal for this tedious but essential work. At least, that's what they were told, despite the thirty asses a day they received proclaiming otherwise. So imagine their good fortune and delight when this patrician woman and her slave-girl happened to wander on up, espy the two men, and offer to suck their cocks, without even charging them anything! Talk about Saturnalia in Quintilis! Nanu moaned as she swirled her tongue around the head of the cock she was sucking on, holding it by the base of the shaft, her eyes closed. This seemed like an odd time to be doing something like this, but Lady Aurora had been quite firm that it was part of the plan. So be it. Besides, that strange little patch her new mistress had affixed to the skin under her arm was making her so horny right now. Kneeling beside the slave, Becky's free hand reached out and took hold of Nanu's, giving it a squeeze. They continued pushing their wet mouths along the lengths of the throbbing shafts, both girls getting wetter and more aroused with each passing moment. Nanu pulled her mouth off the cock for a moment, sucking in air and breathing heavily as she massaged it with her tiny hand. Her face was flushed as she looked over at her new mistress, her eyes glazed with desire. Becky nodded her assent. Nanu stood quickly and lifted the long trails of her garment, exposing her ass and cunt to the man she'd been servicing. She turned around and leaned back against him, squirming her ass against his cock, making him moan loudly. With great need, she grabbed hold of his tool and speared herself down on it, sighing loudly before beginning to wiggle back and forth on him, shivering as he slid in and out of her. Becky rose to her feet soon after, moving around to face Nanu and leaning forward, with her hands on the slave-girl's shoulders and looking into her eyes. The marine got behind Becky and gripped her hips, pushing inside her. Becky moaned into Nanu's mouth as she kissed her, their tongues tangling hungrily while their tits squirmed and rubbed together. The men held tight and fucked the two women as hard as they could, looking to cum as quickly as possible. Hips smacked against asses and moans grew louder. Becky and Nanu now panted through an open-mouthed kiss, their hands groping one another in need. The Egyptian girl pressed back as hard as she could on the cock she was impaled on, while Becky ground in eager circles, yearning for release. Seconds later they were wailing into one another's mouths, shuddering in ecstasy as the men groaned and began pumping cum inside their wanton pussies. Becky and Nanu were relentless, milking the men for all they were worth, until they slumped to the stone floor, almost insensate from the orgasms these strange women had given them. Straddling the marines now, and facing into one another, Becky and Nanu continued kissing and fondling, even as they moved slowly up and down on the rigid poles they'd been fucking. "Umm, mistress;” Nanu said dreamily, lost in Becky's blue eyes. "I know, my love," Becky murmured, giving Nanu many light kisses on the lips, as if she was unable to help herself. "But we must; smooch; get ready to; do our part; smooch; and rescue Mark;” Nanu pulled back from the kiss and looked up in confusion. "Mark?" "Bonosus," Becky corrected herself, waving it off. "I'll explain later. Now help me get ready;” The crowd was howling with laughter as Mark ran around the arena in a panic, chased by the gladiatrix, who cracked her whip at him, screeching for him to get his ass back there so she could kick it. Mark didn't need oppositional defiance disorder to ignore her demands. The tip of that whip was cracking awfully close behind him. The Samnite he'd downed earlier grunted and flopped down again as Mark stamped on his back while running over him. "Don't try to get up, asshole, you promised!" Mark shouted angrily. "If you do, I don't care if she's trying to kill me, I'll come over there and kick you in the balls so hard you'll be spitting them out!" "Okay! Okay!" the man shouted back, lying on his stomach and waiting. "But I hope she catches you and rips your skin off to wear as a cloak!" "Oh, go sit on a Doric column!" Mark grumbled, deking to the left to try to throw her off. At this point, the crowd was chanting something, what he could only Assume Was Her Name "Achilleia! Achilleia!" "What is that, Latin for Psycho Hose-Beast?" Mark complained loudly, noticing that he had not gained any ground on his foe. He only had the stupid cudgel, whereas she had a wicked sword and a goddam whip. He had the distinct impression he couldn't tire her; she had the look of a woman on a murder mission; her eyes were wild with bloodlust, the scream escaping her lips singing of his gory doom. "She's the greatest female gladiator in Rome!" called out the Samnite, still watching from his confines beneath the net. "She's been more than a match for many men who have fought her!" "Singing my praises doesn't get you more cunt than normal, Rullus!" Achilleia snapped, still chasing her quarry. Gods, this slave could run! Pity she had to kill him, he was well-built and had a great ass! She pressed harder, now swiping with her sword, since using her whip slowed her down some. Like most gladiators, she was wearing little armour, only leather greaves, a leather loincloth, an abbreviated leather cuirass that exposed her midriff but held her tits in place, and a leather cauldron and brace on one arm. A steel fillet around her forehead glittered with glass beads, off-setting her wild blue death-hawk hair. She whooped in triumph as the tip of her sword tore open the back of his loincloth and it fell away, leaving Mark completely exposed as he fled for his life. The crowd was laughing hysterically again. "Dammit, I hate freeballing when I'm running!" he shouted angrily, grimacing as his balls slapped around his thighs. "You have no idea how uncomfortable this is!" "Stop running then, coward!" Achilleia taunted, enjoying the view even as she tried to kill him. "I only offer the bliss of death! One red kiss of my blade across your throat, slave, and you; Off!" Done with running, Mark stopped very suddenly and braced himself, hunkering down so that Achilleia plowed into him, completely unprepared. She staggered backward and Mark whirled and grappled onto her, preventing her from using her weapons. The gladiatrix snarled and tried to knee him in the crotch, but he kept his legs judiciously in the way. They tottered and staggered about, vying for control, until they tripped over the Samnite, who was helpless to avoid them. "Oh Fuck!" he wheezed as they landed on him and then rolled off, still tussling. "Welcome to my world, dickface!" Mark shouted back at him, still wrestling with Achilleia, who meant to murder him repeatedly. Out of desperation, and with the effects of the tab still coursing through his blood, he picked her up bodily and threw her to the ground, her sword clattering away. He dropped to his knees instantly, smacking her in the face with his scrotum. "Teabag!" he shouted before whirling around and grappling onto her, trying to subdue her. He hated the thought of punching a woman, but she was trying to eviscerate him, so an exception might be in order. Achilleia was a veteran of the gladiator pits, however, and not so easily dealt with. She recovered and thrashed around, screeching and trying to claw her foe's eyes out. He swatted the whip from her hands before she could strike him with it. Mark found her increasingly difficult to manage, using his weight on top of her body to keep her in place. That plan went south, however, when she wrapped her legs around his waist and began rocking back and forth, until she was on top. They rolled around in the dust while the crowd went insane. Mark had her arms gripped tightly, out to the sides, which forced her body down closer to his. The wild look in her eyes chilled his blood, and she tried to bite his neck repeatedly, to tear his throat out. He countered frantically by using his head to shove hers away from his tender skin, and the result must have looked ridiculous, the two of them pushing and sparring with their heads. "Gurr, let; me; kill; you!" Achilleia hissed, struggling to maintain her balance over her stronger foe. "I'll make it quick, I promise!" "It'll feel good, I promise!" Mark sneered, butting the side of her head to knock it away. "Why would I make this easy for you?" "Gonna; rip you; a new;” Achilleia strained, pushing down harder. She then paused, her eyes going wide with shock. "What; gods, do you have a hard-on?" Mark used the momentary pause to roll her over, her arms pinned beside her head. Achilleia's eyes were still wide as she goggled up at him. Unfortunately, yes, he was hard again. Either he was developing some sort of danger fetish, or the hormones weren't quite as out of his system as he thought. They struggled and thrashed, with the look of shock on Achilleia's face becoming one of irritation, then a weird determination. She wasn't fighting about so much, and she seemed to be pushing with her hips, almost pumping with them. She glared and bit her lip. The roaring of the crowds was slowly abating as they watched the proceedings on the arena floor. What was happening? Seconds ago, the gladiatrix had been trying to kill the slave, now they were; what were they doing? Mark kept her pinned beneath him, and couldn't help but join her in squirming as they glared into one another's eyes. Achilleia was undulating her hips now, her upper body virtually motionless. Mark grimaced at the feel of the toughened leather around her middle grinding on his hard-on. "Dammit;” Achilleia growled. "Let go of my god-rotting hand so I can move my loincloth!" Mark took a chance and let go of one of her hands. It flashed down and pulled aside the leather garment before taking hold of his hard cock and guiding it to her entrance. Without another thought, Mark pushed down, deep inside her. Achilleia wailed loudly and wrapped her legs around his waist again, pulling him in deeper still. The entire Colosseum throng had gone silent as the spectators stared, stunned by what they were witnessing. All that could be heard, echoing through the giant stadium, was Achilleia's cries of pleasure. Was this really happening? "Achilleia? What the Hell?" the Samnite yelled in outrage, his girlfriend getting fucked by Rome's most hated slave mere feet away from him. "Shut up, Rullus, he's fucking huge!" Achilleia shouted back, pumping her hips wildly against Mark. The gladiator did as he was told and simply sulked, turning his head to look elsewhere. The emperor watched out stonily, not at all impressed with the turn of events his grand spectacle for the people had taken. He'd heard of the blasphemy this upstart slave had committed, and this was supposed to be a damnation of a great sin. Now it was another blasphemy. And where the Hell was Lady Aurora? He napped his fingers and one of his servants leaned in close, to see what his master wanted. "Have them all killed;” growled the emperor, determined to save face somehow. Mark thrust harder and harder, while Achilleia yelped and bucked beneath him, holding onto his back and with her legs still wrapped around his back. Nearby, Rullus was resting his helmeted head on his hand and rapping his fingers against the packed earth, trying to look bored. Not difficult for a man tangled inside a net. "Any time, you two;” he grumbled. "Oh, cram it, Linzer-head," Mark spat. "Say one more thing and I'll fuck her ass next!" "Oh!" Achilleia wailed, grinding and thrusting against Mark desperately. "I'm gonna; I ‘ Then she seized up and pushed up with all her strength, clenching her teeth so hard they might have cracked. As Rome watched on in stunned silence, the gladiatrix shrieked to the gods and came, hard. Mark shuddered and groaned, pumping profuse amounts of cum deep inside her clenching cunt. He thrust madly, emptying himself into her. Finally, they were both spent. Achilleia lay still beneath him, her chest rising and falling, skin glistening with sweat. Mark, exhausted, rested his forehead against her shoulder, too tired to defend himself if she tried to kill him now. Fortunately, his death was the farthest thing from her mind. Seconds of silence passed, before the thousands of spectators in the stands erupted into a wave of cheers and catcalls. Mark smiled and chuckled tiredly. "That can't be good;” he mused. "Nope," she agreed, sighing and biting on a knuckle as the last of the orgasm pulsed through her. "After that, they're certainly going to kill us. All of us. It doesn't matter; I would have died in the arena eventually. At least this way, I died with a cock in me and cumming hard." "Don't be so certain about that;” Mark replied, finally looking up and seeing all the gates opening and dozens of legionaries rushing toward them, spears at the ready. "Ah, I don't like this!" Nanu whined as she shimmied out along one of the corbels that held the vast awning in place. She held on like grim death as she edged forward, a small but sharp knife in one hand. "You can do it, my love," Becky said encouragingly, watching from their original position where they'd fucked the two marines. Both men were still snoozing, but she had tied their hands and feet for extra security. She would have done Nanu's job herself, but she was taller and heavier than the Egyptian girl, who stood a much better chance of succeeding than she did without snapping the braces or corbels. "Look straight ahead and ignore the sounds below." So of course, Nanu looked down. "He's fucking!" she hissed, her eyes narrowing. "He's fucking the gladiatrix that's supposed to be killing him! I may kill him! He doesn't need saving, I do!" "Nanu, focus!" Becky insisted. "Get to your position and await my signal." "Yes, mistress;” sighed the slave-girl sullenly. Once in position, Nanu held on tight, trying not to think about the dizzying heights she was suspended from. Everyone seemed like ants far below her. Except for Bonosus and his whore of a gladiator; she could see them very clearly, to the place where she could make out his throbbing cock as it thrust in and out of her unworthy cunt. He had a lot of explaining to do when this was over. The crowd was watching in stunned silence, unable to believe what they were seeing. But then Becky and Nanu heard the gladiatrix wailing as she came. Bonosus' groans of pleasure burned in Nanu's ears, while Becky just rolled her eyes, sighed and tapped her foot impatiently. Thunderous cheers erupted from the crowd; they'd come for blood and been rewarded with live pornography! Nanu was scowling still, when she noticed the gates opening and legionaries pouring out of them, converging on the five figures in the center of the arena. "Mistress;” Nanu said nervously, her anxiety for Bonosus' well-being overcoming her jealousy. "Now, Nanu!" Becky yelled, making sure her slave could hear her. She was already working frantically to cut through the thick ropes in one of the giant pulleys that moved the Velarium into position. Nanu, meanwhile, was sawing at the edge of the rope that held the corbel she was on in place. She gritted her teeth as she watched the steel knife bite through the thick fiber cable until finally it snapped free. The rope whipped about as it unraveled, causing a cascade of loosening canvas across the broad length of the famed awning. Becky, meanwhile, finished cutting through the rope in the giant pulley she'd selected, dodging hastily as it snapped and flailed about before spinning away. The giant canvas sheets comprising the Velarium buckled and gave way, while the corbels and rope masts retracted rapidly. "Mistress!" Nanu keened, holding on like grim death as the corbel she was on, no longer held in place by the giant ropes, snapped back toward the solid stone walls of the Colosseum. "Jump, Nanu!" Becky called out, standing on the edge of the wall and holding her arms out. "I'll catch you! Trust mistress!" Nanu squeezed her eyes shut and jumped; Becky wheezed as she caught the flying girl, tumbling to the floor with her and holding her tight. Nanu was shivering in her grasp, so Becky just held her for a few seconds and caressed her raven hair. The slave-girl looked up at her savior and nodded, so Becky stood them up, listening to the shrieks of panic as the Velarium floated down relentlessly. "Teamwork, Nanu!" she said excitedly as they stood. "Let's see what happens next!" In the Arena. Mark faced one direction warily, while Rullus and Achilleia stood behind him, squaring off against other legionaries who were closing in. The original gladiator and the retiarius were also conscious and now stood with them, brandishing what weapons they could. Mark felt silly sporting only his cudgel, but it seemed dumb to not let the gladiators have the weapons they were trained with. His cock was still hard, and leaking cum from the tip. He saw Achilleia slowly turning her head to look down at it longingly. "Eyes front, Achilleia!" he snapped, not in the mood to die. She returned to glaring balefully at the encroaching soldiers. There must have been a hundred of the legionaries. That was twenty-to-one odds. He decided to not mention that to his enemies-turned-allies, since he wasn't sure if they understood ratios in any event. If their math was as poor as their hygiene, why bother? "When I thought I'd die in the emperor's sight, this isn't how I pictured it," Rullus growled, brandishing his sword. "I hadn't envisioned dying for that cocksucker at all," Achilleia replied, spitting in contempt at the foes in front of her. "Damned if I'm gonna give him the satisfaction of a clean kill. People will remember this day, to his embarrassment!" The legionaries advanced, the circle tightening. They were protected by their large scutum body shields, and their spears pointed threateningly at the little rebel group. Mark wasn't sure what good he would do here, since he was armed with a club smaller than his dick, and he was the only untrained gladiator. But then he noticed rippling movement above, looked up and grinned. The velarium became dislodged from its moorings and like a vast sail or flag, began floating down over the stadium. People noticed, began screeching in panic, and stampeding. "Right on, Becks;” he said with satisfaction as his day began to look up. The emperor looked up, scowling as he saw the giant canvas sheet descending, fluttering menacingly as it enveloped the upper levels of seating. Panic ensued, with people scampering around pell-mell, trying to escape. "I really hate the gods;” he thought darkly as the canvas touched down around him and everything went to shit. Becky, standing on the edge of the wall and looking down over the chaos and mayhem she had caused, with tens of thousands thrown into panic, cackled gaily and clapped her hands before yanking down her top to expose her tits and holding her arms wide and yelling loudly across her kingdom of madness. "Are you not entertained?" she shouted, reveling in her triumph. God, she'd always wanted to use that line. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!" Mark shouted as he and his new allies raced down the hallway, shooing everyone in front of him. "Faster, if you wanna live!" The legionaries had forgotten all about the little group of rebels once the madness ensued, racing toward the emperor to rescue him. Mark used the opportunity to escape, bringing his former foes with him. He wasn't terribly interested in seeing them die, and they might prove very useful in getting out of here in one piece. Rullus had led them through a small, little-known door in the wall of the arena, one used generally only by pit masters to monitor the proceedings. His titan frame barely fit in it, but he led the way dutifully. "Where are we going?" Achillea asked, happy to be escaping, but at least wanting to know what the plan was. She had her whip and her sword in hand again. "The most convenient, flat and open space you know of beneath the Colosseum," Mark replied, hurrying along behind her. "A place almost no one knows about or uses." "One of the old training spaces," grunted Rullus. "It hasn't been used in years. Follow me!" Their course took them deeper beneath the stadium, through winding halls and narrow corridors and staircases. They finally reached a wide chamber, in the middle of which stood Becky, Nanu and Domitia. The former Vestal and the slave-girl seemed stunned to see the small party approaching, and the gladiators gaped as Lady Aurora and her slave ran into one another's arms, kissing deeply and feverishly, speaking in some unknown tongue. "Right!" Mark said, finally disengaging from Becky's tongue as he looked around, eyes flashing with determination. "I know this is going to sound weird, but I need you all to trust me. We're going to get you out of here, as quickly as we can." "How?" asked the Retiarius, looking about warily. "They'll find us eventually!" "I know, and what I'm going to say will sound like magic, but just run with it, okay?" Mark replied, walking over to the Holmes Field Device, which Becky had been kind enough to retrieve. He wasn't sure how, but she was better with this temporal shit than he was. And they trusted one another by now. "This contraption will get us out of here, but it's not big enough for all of us at once. I'm gonna take Lady Aurora and Domitia first, then come back for a few more, then the last load." Rullus nodded: "You spared my life, and I entrust you with it. Achilleia and I will go last, holding the room if the enemy comes." "Oh, Rullus;” Achilleia sighed, looking up at the hulking gladiator, her expression a dreamy one, before she suddenly scowled and smacked him on the back of his helmeted head. "You romantic asshole." Mark left them to argue while he hustled Becky and Domitia onto the platform, which was already switched on, lights and readings blinking around the surface. Becky swatted Domitia's hand as she tried to touch a dial. "You know where we're going?" he asked, hoping she had a better handle on this than he did. She nodded, smiling. "Leave it to me, Mark. I think you'll like this solution;” The climate was certainly a change from that of Rome, but it was also a pleasant experience in its own right. The city around them, built of red brick, sandy-colored stone, and studded with stately palm trees, reminded Mark of eastern cities in every movie he'd ever seen. Beyond the walls stretched endless expanses of desert, in which the city stood as a shining jewel in a vast sea of scorching sand. He didn't know why Becky knew to park the machine where she did, but he also knew she had figured out how to use his Holmes Field Device on her own, so he wasn't questioning it. Safe from prying eyes, and after two more trips back to the Colosseum to gather the other rebels, Mark now found himself in an ancient temple in the shape of a ziggurat, with priestesses standing in front of them and bowing. Unlike the Vestals, the white garments of these priestesses were delightfully spare, exposing more than it covered. "Lady Aurora Horatia," one of them said humbly. "Your timing is fortuitous, and we gladly accept your offer. Domitia will be given a new life as a priestess of Nanaya, or as she is known in your tongue, Suadela." The priestesses all walked up to Domitia and kissed her, welcoming her into their sisterhood. The former Vestal shed tears, not in sorrow, but because she had a new beginning. Nanaya, as the goddess was known in this far-flung province, was an ancient Sumerian goddess of sensuality and lust. When the Romans had conquered the land, they readily identified her with Suadela, to keep the peace. The priestess smiled at Mark and Becky again. "And for your generous donation of gold, we will take on your four friends here, to guard our temple, as the garrison makes no effort to do so. They are now, in their own way, lifelong servants and devotees of the goddess." The four gladiators beamed proudly. Since serving Nanaya, even as guardians of her temple, meant food, lodging and getting laid by her harlot-priestesses, they were more than amenable to the idea. "Lady Aurora," Domitia intoned, taking Becky's hands in hers and smiling slyly. "Will you consent to Bonosus and yourself being the first to receive my blessings as a priestess of Nanaya?" "I wouldn't have it any other way, my dear;” Becky purred, pulling Domitia into her arms and kissing her deeply. A small villa in Roman Italy; Mark sipped wine from a goblet while Becky lay nearby on a couch, wearing nothing while Nanu sat on a small stool and massaged her feet. The sultry afternoon suited everyone, and they were finally at peace. "Helluva trip, Becks," Mark mused, draining his glass and then pouring more for himself. "You've gotten really good with the Holmes Field Device now. I seriously thought it was me who left the adrenalin tab for my discovery under the Colosseum, but it was actually you." "Sorry to scare you there," Becky sighed, as Nanu worked on her toes individually, sometimes even kissing them as she rubbed oil into them. "I found them in our tab supply, and thought it was our best bet. I just jumped behind a few hours when no one was around and stashed them in that cell for you." "So it wasn't even me coming back from the future to save myself," Mark chuckled. "Here I was so confident that I'd lived, that I couldn't be killed because future-self was looking out for me, but no, it was current you. So I could've been killed at any point, even if time lock kept me from killing anyone else." "It was a little bit messy, but you did survive, and that's what counts." Becky pointed out, caressing one of her tits lazily while enjoying Nanu's exquisite touch. "So what're we gonna do with her?" Mark asked, referencing the Egyptian slave-girl. Nanu had gotten used to her mistress and her manservant speaking in this weird, harsh language, and thought nothing of it anymore; when they needed her, they spoke Latin or her own tongue to her. Becky sighed contentedly and puddled further into the couch. Nanu's foot massages were utter bliss. "I was considering letting her stay here, and simply look after this little villa I bought for me. Whenever we visited, we'd just come back as close to the time we left as possible, but I have no idea if we could guarantee time snarls not getting in the way. So I'm bringing her home with me." Mark raised an eyebrow. "That a good idea? Or even possible?" Becky shrugged. "If she can't be brought with us, the Holmes Field Device won't work, right? So we care for her here. If it does allow it, I'll keep her with me in my house and teach her about her new world. I'll just say she's a foreign student bunking with me." "Literally, I might add." Mark quipped, holding up his goblet and winking. "Oh, you," Becky giggled while Nanu shed her clothes and crawled over Becky, straddling her hips and beginning to squirm their pussies together slowly. "I don't think she's gonna give up on the notion of being my slave-girl any time soon; it seems to make her feel safe. If she asks about you as a slave, I'll say I freed you." "Well, I was pretty enslaved to you for a while there," Mark chuckled. "Funny, I remember being so in love with you while those tabs were in effect, and I remember it fondly. But at this point, I'm just back to feeling like you're my dear friend, and I love you, just not in love any more, ya' know?" Becky sighed and nodded as she placed her hands gently on Nanu's tits and caressed them while undulating beneath the slave-girl. "I know what you mean. Talk about exhilarating, right? We should do that again at some point, just for funsies." "I'm in," Mark agreed, as his cock hardened from watching the two girls make love. He put down his wine, stood up and moved in behind them, kneeling at the bottom of the couch and sinking his cock deep inside Becky, making her moan as he started to slide in and out of her. "And what about our other acquisitions?" he asked, caressing and squeezing Nanu's ass while he fucked his Physics teacher. "Uh, the clothes we'll keep at my place, for future use," she breathed, loving the feel of Nanu's moist cunt on hers while Mark fucked deeply. She felt Nanu shiver and gasp as Mark pulled out of her and pushed into the slave-girl. "And I bought those big amphorae of Falernian wine, there's twenty-six liters in each. We'll bury them where we know nature has never been disturbed back in our time, and then retrieve them. Voila, Roman wine for dinner every night." "I'm gonna have fun explaining that to my parents;” Mark chuckled as he slid back into Becky, making her cry out. Dinner with Family. Dhallyla stared at the liquid in her glass in wonder while her family sat at the table for dinner. It was quite unlike anything she'd ever tasted before. "Mark, what; what did you say this was called again?" she asked. He shrugged as he ate. "It's a Roman-style wine, called Falernian. Lots of people are recreating ancient alcohol recipes now, so I thought we'd give this a shot. Pretty nice, hmm?" "Very strong," his sister Roxy rasped as she put down her wine glass and made a bit of a face. "Very, very strong." "That's why the Romans and Greeks mixed their wine with water," he chuckled. "Some Roman talked about not being able to bring an open flame near wine because it could catch fire. So I mixed it with water, like the instructions said. Sorry if it's still strong." "Where did you get this again?" his father asked. "Ren Faire," he said easily. "All sorts of brewers and people showing off their wine and beer skills these days at them, so I thought I'd give it a shot, ya' know? Bought a couple of bottles." "It's certainly different, but I can grow to like it," his mother mused. "Make sure you get more before we run out." "I can do that," Mark replied cheerfully. Later that night, he was sitting at his desk in his room, surfing for eras to visit during their next adventure, when the door to his room clicked shut. He turned his head to see his sister leaning back against the door, looking at him pointedly. "Something I can do for you, Rox?" he asked plainly, keeping his eyes on his research. "Now that you mention it, yeah," she said, folding her arms and wearing that insufferable smirk of hers. She never stopped reminding him who the elder sibling was. "So I did some looking around online, and there hasn't been a Ren Faire within five hundred miles of us in the last six months." Mark paused in his surfing and slowly turned to look at his sister. "So," she said, walking slowly toward him. "I figure it's about time you told me what the Hell is really going on;” Loose ends, scores to settle, a moral quandaries abound! It's Your Own Fault You Snooped! Mark didn't speak for several seconds, trying his best to not gape at Roxy. She'd always been somewhat suspicious of him when he did just about anything, but the fact that she'd done actual research this time was something new. She had played her hand, and he was cornered. But still, he found himself not sure what to say. "Well, c'mon, you little trouser snake," moving away from the door and sauntering toward him. She could tell she'd caught him dead to rights about something, but now she needed to find out what it was. "Ya' might as well 'fess up, because I somehow doubt you want mom and dad to know what you're up to." The mere thought brought a shiver to Mark and left a cold sweat on his brow. He swallowed, trying not to panic. Roxy had less mercy in a sibling confrontation than Mike Tyson had in the ring. He thought of the number of times she'd beaten his ass for tattling on her when they were younger, and how she'd always get some brutal form of revenge he was unlikely to forget. And he dreaded the thought of how she could screw this up for him. "I'm almost not wanting to find out, at least for a while, because watching your mind flop around in panic is kinda fun," she said, smirking as she stopped in front of him and leaned forward. "But I need to make a decision about whether the 'rents oughta know, so let's speed this up, okay?" She then turned and sat on the edge of his bed, leaning back on her hands, one leg crossed over the other as she looked at him pointedly. "Spill it, little brother." His mind raced. What could he tell her? She'd caught him in a flat-out lie that he had acquired his Falernian wine from a Ren Faire, and had no doubt pieced together that his other recent exotic acquisitions were likewise not from where he'd claimed. So what were her suspicions? She no doubt was assuming, quite reasonably, that he was involved in some illicit activity that

Rosey goes one on one with Gold Glover Steven Kwan who won the award this week for a remarkable fourth consecutive year. Plus, a look back to an incredible end to the regular season for the Guards in our Game of the Week. That's all on this edition of Guardians Weekly with Jim Rosenhaus on the Cleveland Guardians Radio Network.  Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Katie Larson's answers God's call to teach and disciple children through the "In View of Literacy" learning pod. https://inviewofliteracy.com

AP correspondent Haya Panjwani reports on how crossing guard safety can be improved.

In part 2 of DisreGUARDed, AP correspondent Haya Panjwani reports on how crossing guards sometimes have a deadly job.

The Time Riders: Part 5 A Labyrinth Palace. Based on a post by BiscuitHammer, in 16 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels. The non-descript carriage had indeed made its way through Paris' winding streets, taking well over an hour to finally stop in front of the palace and allowing Mark to get out of the cramped cab before it rattled off. The sun had set some time ago, and night hung over the city heavily, the cloying air of Paris carrying the city's growing pains to his ears. Even at night, the city was not silent. Mark adjusted his outfit and marched toward the outermost gate of the vast palace, its arms spread wide and encompassing a massive courtyard. Two men wearing ornate red uniforms and holding pikes crossed their weapons at his approach, barring his entry. One of them gruffly asked him to state his business. Trusting to the plan, Mark said nothing, but merely held out one of his sealed letters, this one bearing the emblem of Richelieu. The guard examined it for several seconds, consulting with the other guard before handing it back and then opening the gate. Mark shot them both a dirty look for holding him up in his errand and then swept inside, doing his best to look haughty and full of bravado, which is what the Musketeers were apparently renowned for. He couldn't help but reflect that they seemed a lot less heroic than history let on and were more dickbags than anything else. Oh well. Faking being a dickbag was probably significantly easier than pretending to be a hero. He passed through another gate that got him closer to the palace, this one also manned by the Swiss Guard. He arrogantly presented them with the Richelieu missive, which once again satisfied their scrutiny and he was allowed to pass. He forced himself to not look around in wonder at his surroundings, instead heading straight to the great doors that would give him admittance to the palace. Alex once again presented his letter, but this time the guards squinted at him suspiciously. "Qui es tou?" demanded one of them. His throat was dry, but he answered as readily as he could, trying to sound authoritative and even haughty. "J'mappelle Benat de Ferres, of Soule, Second Company of the King's Musketeers under Monsieur de Treville. Let me through." "Fucking Basques and Gascons," muttered one of the guards in irritation. "Why would a musketeer be bringing a missive to his excellency, the Cardinal?" he demanded to know. Mark concealed his anxiety by looking pissed and rattling off one of the phrases Alexandra had given him, hoping it had the desired effect. "I have an idea, why don't we all go ask the Cardinal and you can fucking explain to him why you held up his envoy on an important errand? Does that sound good to you?" The two men looked at one another warily; the visitor was certainly obnoxious enough to be a Musketeer and a Gascon. Sighing and shaking his head in defeat, the one man handed the sealed letter back to Mark and they opened the doors, allowing him entrance. He swept by them, calling them shitheads in Spanish before the doors closed behind him. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help Gawking as he stared at the palace around him; its splendor was beyond anything he had imagined. Walls of white plaster, carved in exquisite shapes and edged in royal purple, along with gold filigree, and incredible paintings and artifacts lined the walls. Endless numbers of servants scurried by, hardly noticing him. He shut his eyes for a moment and composed himself, remembering the details Alexandra had shown him, the way through the palace. He turned and began his search for his teacher. Lisette walked primly through the halls of the palace, bowing her head deferentially to just about everyone who passed her. Wearing an elegant gown, she seemed to almost glide along the hallway, walking with a practiced ease that her mistress had taught her. She had, in three years, only been in the royal presence twice before, in attendance to Lady Alexandra. The king had barely noticed her, but Lisette didn't mind one bit, because this was far more of a life than she ever could have hoped for. She had, of course, spent much more time in the presence of the queen, because her mistress served Anne directly. Anne of Austria seemed mostly amused by Lady Alexandra's quirky servant, but she was kind to Lisette, often sending her home with gifts of chocolate. Her devotion to the queen, while not equal to her fanatic love for Lady Alexandra, meant she would die in Anne's name if necessary. She hoped it wouldn't come to that tonight, but she had made her peace with God and the Lady Mary all the same. Alexandra had set her with the task of removing or distracting every guard she could from the route Mark would take through the palace. She was not to kill anyone, nor was she to be seen in the mayhem, if at all possible. If things went wrong, she was to retreat to the queen's quarters and be seen protecting her. It was the best alibi she could hope for. A guard up ahead. He was a sullen-looking brute, not carrying the long pikes of the gate guards, but a much more practical halberd, along with a short rapier on his belt. She knew he'd be trouble. She ducked into an alcove and pulled a small phial out of her cleavage, drinking the strong red wine from it and sloshing it around in her mouth, to make sure the aroma was on her breath. Replacing the phial, she lurched back out into the hallway and sauntered toward him lazily. "Hello, beautiful," she said drunkenly, giving him a lopsided smile. "You must' be off-duty by now." "No, I am not," he grunted, not looking at her. "Go away, slut." "C'mon," Lisette persisted, leering at him as she leaned against the wall to his left. "We could be having fun. Don' you like fun?" "Duty is not meant to be fun." "But these are fun," she drawled, as she stepped in front of him and leaned forward, using her hands to pull down the front of her bodice and exposing her perky tits to the man, whose eyes went wide at the sight. "These are all the fun you'll need;” He didn't stop her as she sidled up to him, stood on her tip-toes and put her arms around his neck. Her breath was sweet with wine, her dark eyes glassy with the lack of inhibition it brought on. Her tits pressed to his chest, her hips flat to his crotch. "Take me into that room and fuck me;” she breathed huskily, her lips no more than an inch from his. "I want to feel you inside me;” The man was rather pale at her suggestion, but nodded readily and turned around to open the door. The parlor behind was empty, the perfect place for a rendezvous with this slattern. She took him by the hand and led him inside, closing the door behind them. Mark walked down the hallway, trying to not look like he was hurrying, and staying alert. He was entering a difficult part of the operation, because he was no longer in an area of the palace that led to either the king's quarters or those of Cardinal Richelieu. If anyone stopped him now, he would probably be redirected rather forcefully, and he had precious little time to waste. He walked by a door, from which he heard a moaning noise. Then he heard a familiar woman's voice, gasping and urging someone on. His translator bud wasn't close enough to hear what was being said, but he was fairly certain he knew what was happening. He subtly pushed the door open and peered inside. Mark gaped as he watched Lisette, leaning over a small table, panting while a member of the House Guard fucked her from behind, her layered skirt bunched over her ass as he pushed in and out of her. The guard remained oblivious, but she noticed the door open and flicked a glance his way. She gave him an annoyed look and jerked her head, indicating that she had this covered and he needed to keep moving. He nodded and pulled the door shut quietly before heading down the hall again. He turned a corner and then headed up some stairs, leading up to the next floor, which was apparently where Becky was being kept. He was so busy thinking about what he needed to do next that he blundered right into two guards, who grunted and then glared at him angrily. "Stupid shit!" the one man he had smacked into spat. "Watch where you are; who are you?" Mark went wide-eyed, not having expected them. His mouth seemed to work, but no sounds came forth. They blocked his ascent and continued to glare at him. "Who; are; you?" the man demanded again. Mark regained control of his voice and tried to speak. "My name is; my name is Benat;” Fuck, he'd forgotten his last name. "My name is Benat DeFlepard," he managed to say. "I am from Sully and I have' "What sort of name is DeFlepard?" snarled the one guard. "I have sealed orders," Mark interrupted, not liking where this was going. "From the Cardinal!" "Is that so?" sneered the man. "Let's see them!" Mark handed him the sealed missive scroll. The man examined it and frowned. "This is the king's seal," he growled. "What is the meaning of this?” Before the man could finish his query, Mark punched him in the face and then pulled his crème-colored tabard over his head and threw him down the stairs. The guard cursed loudly as he rolled at least two floors. Mark was too late to stop the other man from drawing his short rapier, but managed to grapple onto him, keeping himself from being run through. Mark might have been taller, but the guard was a veteran of many wars, strong and cunning. It wasn't long before he had Mark's back pressed against the wall, both men fighting for balance on the stairs. "Little shit!" he shouted, trying to press the edge of his blade against Mark's throat and slit it. They tussled, and Mark managed to wedge his arm between his neck and the rapier, feeling the sickening cold pain of the keen edge creasing his forearm. His free hand, however, snaked down to the pistol on his belt, twisting the leather until the muzzle pointed down; The stairwell echoed with a thunderous crack as Mark pulled the trigger and discharged the weapon, the iron ball punching a hole in the guard's boot and then his foot. The man groaned and staggered, releasing Mark. His ears ringing, Mark managed to shove the man down the stairs, following his comrade. He shook his head and began sprinting up the stairs, knowing the whole palace would be coming down on his head any second now. Alexandra was concealed in a secret closet in a parlor not far from the queen's quarters, listening carefully. She was wearing the red uniform of the Cardinal's personal guard, her impressive bust flattened and pulled tight with linen straps. Her golden hair was held in a ponytail while a black mask concealed her facial features. Her rapier sat on her hip and three customized pistols were concealed around her person, along with several knives balanced for throwing. She heard the discharge of a firearm, followed by shouts of alarm and fright. She hung her head and sighed. She'd been hoping it wouldn't come to this, but there seemed to be nothing for it. She would see her obligation met. Alexandra crossed herself and exited the hidden space, heading toward the Cardinal's quarters, determined to cause a distraction for Mark as he went in the opposite direction to rescue Rebecca. It was all in God's hands now. All she could hope was that Mark had remembered what his name was. Mark raced down the hallway, ignoring people who poked their heads out of various rooms and parlors to see what all the commotion was, before closing their doors and locking them in panic at the sight of him. He had his sword in one hand, his pistol in the other. Having discharged his shot already and having no idea how to readily and safely reload the damn thing, the pistol was mostly for intimidation purposes at this point. Thankfully, if he pointed it at people, they tended to make themselves scarce. A guard rushed around the corner, his halberd in hand, but Mark smashed the ornate swept hilt of his rapier into his mouth, which dissolved in a welter of blood, lips and gum before he burbled and fell over. Mark kept running. He shoulder-blocked his way past another guard, but then found himself confronted by a small group of angry servant girls, who kept swearing in French and throwing bread rolls and potatoes at him. Covering his head, he sprinted past them, resisting the urge to take a swipe at the uppity wenches. There was the room! He raced up to it and tried to open the door, but it was locked. Given the amount of noise and commotion he was causing, he shouldn't have been surprised. He stepped back and then slammed the heel of his sturdy boot into the door with all his might, knocking it out of its frame and falling to the floor. He rushed inside, looking around for his teacher, but she was nowhere in sight. That's when the heavy vase smashed into the back of his head. He was on his face on the floor, reality swimming around him. He heard someone hissing at him as he was handled roughly by his neck and his tunic. He was turned onto his back and someone was straddling him now, their supple legs on either side of his throat and their heavy skirt bunched up between their legs, allowing him to goggle up at his assaulter. "Becky! Stop! Stop, I; Ow! Jesus! Quit Hitting Me! It's Me, Mark!" The flurry of fists halted and then there was a pause thick with confusion. He felt his cheeks being gripped tightly, immobilizing his face and then his neck pulled up so that whoever was sitting on him could look at him. "Mark?" Becky exclaimed in disbelief. "Mark! Oh my God!" She began smothering him with feverish kisses, still straddling him. Still dizzy, he was in no particular shape to stop her, in spite of the fact the whole palace was on its way to kill him. His eyes finally managed to focus, and he looked up at her. "I've missed you too, Becks, but can you let me up, please?" Becky blinked and then jumped off him hastily, helping him to his feet. She still seemed stunned to see him, not that he blamed her. "How?" she asked, her eyes wide with disbelief and wet with emotion. "You; you were." "Dead? Yeah, kinda." "The how are you here?" she asked, trembling. He shrugged. "To quote Neil De Grasse-Tyson, science, bitches." "Oh, it doesn't matter," she exhaled, crushing herself to him and hugging tight, her body shaking with raw emotion. "You're back, Mark. You came back for me;” He smiled and hugged her back, his hand on the back of her head. "Well sure I did. You're my time-travelling partner, aren't you? Can't leave you here with these smelly savages." She laugh-choked back a sob and look up at him, her eyes leaking tears onto her scarlet cheeks. "And we're gonna get out of here and; Becks, are you, like, really drunk?" Her expression of delight warped into a scowl at his query and she pushed herself away from him. "Well what do you expect? I only spent the past month trying to kill myself with alcohol while you were taking your unscheduled nap, you jerk!" "I'm sorry," he faltered, knowing that this couldn't possibly be the right time to make her angry, on so many levels. "Let me get you out of here and then I'll explain everything." "Hang on;” she huffed, stomping over to a table and grabbing her bottle of wine, tilting her head back and taking a stiff pull from it gulping loudly. Mark made a wan face and fidgeted, acutely aware of the time they were losing. "Becks, no offense, but I'm pretty sure every guard in Paris is looking for me right now, and I' "Sounds like more of a you problem than a me problem," she grunted, attempting to drain the bottle with several loud glucks. "Nobody was trying to kill me while I was here." "No, you seem to have that covered;” he said dryly. She shot him a nasty look, but didn't stop drinking. "Look, we need to go," he insisted. "Pretty sure Alexandra's risking her neck to make sure I can' "Alexandra?" Becky interrupted, stopping drinking to look at him pointedly. "The gorgeous blonde I want to fuck?" "I; sure," Mark replied, trying to keep up. "Pretty sure she and Lisette are' "Who's Lisette?" Becky asked suspiciously, lurching toward him. She was quite a bit drunker than he'd initially thought. "It doesn't matter," he declared, determined to get moving before Richelieu arrested and shot his ass again. "We need to get' Mark winced in fear as she surged toward him, the bottle raised over her head. She flew by him and smashed the bottle down on the head of a guard who had barged into the room. His eyes rolled up into his head and he went to sleep. "Weren't you drunk moments ago?" Mark asked in disbelief. "Looks like you're the one who need rescuing." Becky shot back. "You were half a second away from having an exit wound the size of an airport runway in your chest just now." Another guard sprang around the corner. Becky, who was closest to the door, kicked him savagely between the legs. The man staggered to a stop and stiffened, but didn't fall over, the impact of her foot cushioned by the many layers of baroque skirt she was wearing, not to mention the dainty, padded slipper. As the man gaped at her, she kicked him between the legs again, but her skirt interfered, softening the blow to the place where he merely doubled over from the ache. Becky snarled angrily, lunged in, grabbed him by the neck and DDT him, almost as smoothly as ‘Jake the Snake' did to fellow pro wrestlers. This time he stayed down. "Jerk!" she muttered, glaring at the man. Without a second thought, she used a knife on the man's belt to tear layers of skirt away, leaving herself clad only in the bodice and skimpy underwear, with garters holding up the silk stockings she wore. She knelt on the unconscious man's back and pulled his boots off, replacing her slippers with the sturdier footwear. She then stripped his rapier and pistol from his person before turning to look at Mark. "You ready now?" she asked pointedly, standing there in what basically amounted to negligee and musketeer boots, while holding a rapier and a wheellock pistol. He gaped at her for a moment, unable to say anything. "You have no idea how stupidly sexy you look right now, Becks." Mark managed to say. "I'll believe it when Alexandra says it to me," she sniffed, turning and heading out the door. "Let's go, hero." Mark sighed and trotted after her, leaving the two men lying on the floor in a spreading pool of wine and broken shards of glass. Lisette made sure the guard was arranged comfortably in the plush chair, snoring, his breeches still around his ankles, his soft cock oozing cum all over his balls. She shook her head in exasperation as she rearranged her skirts; no sooner had the man cum than he yawned and began to fall asleep. She'd been nowhere close to climaxing when he'd finished. Typical male. At least the boy from the future liked to make sure she came first, even if he was a naïve school boy. She left the door open, to make sure his shame was on display and then hurried down the hallway, holding her skirt up and allowing herself to run. The palace was ringing with shouts of alarm, anger and panic. Everything seemed to be going as planned, whatever that entailed. She just trusted that Mistress knew what she was doing. Guards from various regiments were racing around now, getting one another's way and shouting orders angrily. She passed through them virtually unnoticed, merely a servant girl looking for shelter. She made a beeline right for the queen's royal apartments, and she was stopped by no one, since she was known to the guards and stuff. She nodded hastily as she passed two guards outside the ornate doors and headed inside the boudoir. Anne of Austria looked up from a book to see Lisette scurry in, closing the door behind herself and then pressing her ear to the door, ignoring everyone else in the room. She then saw the queen, blinked, curtseyed hastily, and went back to eavesdropping on the frenzy of activity outside. The monarch shook her head wearily and went back to reading her book. "You may not pass through here!" shouted the house guard, blocking Alexandra's passage forward. She had identified herself as a member of the Cardinal's guard, using her well-practiced man's voice to give credit to her guise. Thought he believed her, the man remained unmoved, barring her way. "I told you, I need to reach the Cardinal!" she insisted, knowing full well he would not let her through. "That is no concern of mine," he said coldly, glaring at her, his hand on his sword, ready to draw it. "Find another way to reach your Cardinal, because if you come another step closer, I will run you through." "So be it!" she growled as she lunged in, her own rapier flashing in her hand. The man drew his weapon and thrust at her, but she parried and then drove the point of her blade through the shoulder of his sword arm, pinning him against the wall. He groaned as his sword fell to the ground, but then her foot slammed into his face while she pulled her rapier from his shoulder. He was unconscious, but he would live. She had no cause to kill these men. She ran down the hallway, listening all the while to the commotion that echoed through the Louvre. A young guard barred her progress at a juncture in the hallways, and before he was even ready, she struck him across the head with the basket of her rapier, knocking him out. Alexandra continued along the corridor, but then saw several guards rushing into the other end of the hall, outside of an ornate door that led to the king's royal apartments. Upon seeing her, the six men pointed their muskets at her, three kneeling while the other three stood behind. A series of barks shook the area as she ducked around a corner hastily, avoiding their barrage. She could hear them shouting orders to reload. She leaned her head back against the wall and sighed. Idiots. Before they had reloaded, she had pulled a small device made of two pieces of flint out of her pocket, along with a tiny clay pot out of the other. From the hole in the top of the pot hung a thin strip of rigid paper. She held the pot by its flat bottom and snapped the flint pieces against one another, producing sparks that caught on the paper and began to burn. As the flame made its way down the paper wick, she counted slowly and calmly before leaning around the corner, tossing the pot, which skated on its flat bottom along the floor toward the guards who opposed her. She then ducked back, waiting grimly. There were shouts and the sound of boots stampeding, but then an unreal hissing shriek and a bright, flaring white light as the magnesium powder inside the container ignited. Cries of pain followed. Ten seconds later, the light died, and she rounded the corner and strode down the hallway. Four of the six guards had fled before the grenade went off, while two were writhing on the ground, clutching at their eyes from the flash blindness. She stepped between them and kicked in the door toward the king's apartments before turning around and walking away, knowing that this would create additional confusion as they sought to find the assassin in the red tabard who sought to slay the Sun King. There was more chaos to sow. Mark and Becky sprinted down the hall, ignoring the pell-mell going on around them. Inevitably, though, they were confronted by a soldier of the Cardinal, one that Mark recognized. It was the captain who had shot him. Marks teeth clenched as he rushed forward, ready to run the sonofabitch through, but Becky was faster. She threw herself into a skid, sliding along the polished floor, hurtling straight toward the man. He gaped at her in disbelief, but by then, she had slammed her foot into his crotch, doubling him over with a grunt of unreal pain. With a roar, she surged to her feet, grabbed the man around the middle from behind and yanked him over backwards, suplexing his family jewels with zest. Mark had by now skidded to a halt and watched in disbelief while his teacher stood over the supine officer and kicked him in the ribs. "Bastard!" she raged. "Teach you to kill my students!" She knelt and yanked his head up, making sure his eyes were open as she pointed at Mark, her voice dripping with vitriol. "See that? He's alive! You can't even kill something right! Your life means nothing! Nothing!" She smacked his head off the tile floor and gathered up her weapons before looking at Mark, composing herself now. "Sorry," she said with a flush of embarrassment. "You probably wanted him, didn't you? I thought you were dead, so if I ever saw him again, I'd have to avenge you." Mark shrugged. "No harm done. Except to him, and I don't really' Mark stopped talking and stared down the hallway behind Becky. Three men in flamboyant uniforms, trimmed in blue and white like himself were now approaching them. One had a grim, patrician air and about him, the second a handsome boyish charm, while the third towered over the others by a head and shoulders, a contemptuous smirk on his face. "That can't be good;” he thought. Becky didn't even blink. Without turning around, she pointed her pistol backwards over her shoulder and pulled the trigger. The bark of the shot echoed around the palace and the giant staggered backward, eyes wide in shock, before he fell over like a redwood. The other two gaped at her in astonishment as she turned around to glower at them. They hastily took hold of their downed friend and hauled him out of sight, their duty to the king forgotten. "That's right, ladies, run!" Becky called out, her chest heaving. "How's it feel to get beat up by a girl?" "You are so sexy right now, Becks." Mark chuckled, approaching her. She turned back to face him; covered with gunpowder smudges, scratches and the occasional bruise, she'd never looked more attractive to him. Heedless of their surroundings, she threw herself against him and kissed him shamelessly. His hands found her ass and squeezed as he returned the kiss and she moaned into his mouth. If there'd been a rhino horn on his crotch, he'd have been impaled on it. She broke the kiss and looked at him hungrily, her eyes shouldering with desire. "I'm so glad you're not dead, Mark," she breathed. "I can't wait to prove it to you when we get the fuck out of here." Mark took her hand and pulled her down the hallway, breaking into a run. They weren't out of danger yet. "What're you laughing about?" she asked, scowling while she allowed him to lead her through the palace. "I think that was Porthos you shot," he said almost cheerfully. "Becks, you ganked Porthos." "Oh, I did not," she hissed, trying to not feel disgust at her student's lack of historical knowledge and basic temporal mechanics. "Porthos doesn't die until 1670. So if that guy dies, it wasn't Porthos. If it was Porthos, he isn't dead. Read a book, Mark." "Ha, you said bookmark!" he laughed as he pulled her around a corner and down another hallway, trying to reach the point Alexandra had designated. "Uh!" Becky groused. "Why was I so damn happy that you lived? I swear, Mark, I; Ack!" They both whirled in panic and threw themselves back around the corner as a withering hail of musket fire peppered the plaster of the walls where they'd been standing mere seconds before. They scrambled to their feet and began running back the way they'd come, determined to not die in some baroque version of Bullet Hell from the Matrix. "Fucking shit!" Mark yelped, yanking her around another corner as more soldiers appeared and filled the hall with musket balls. "This sucks!" "Ya' think?" she hissed as they kept running, their options becoming increasingly limited. "I'm in this too, Mister Spotlight!" "Yeah, well at least you don't have the Goblin City Battle music from the Labyrinth soundtrack stuck in your head while they chase us around and try to kill us!" "I do now, you fucker! Thanks a lot!" Becky raged. A lone house guard skidded to a stop near them and prepared to fire. Mark flung his pistol at the man, striking him in the head before knocking him aside as they continued down the corridor. "What did you throw your gun away for, dumbass?" she exclaimed, wondering if blood loss after getting shot had permanently damaged Mark's brain. She hoped he could still get it up, if they made it out of here. "It had no ammo in it." Mark grunted, trying to get his bearings, thinking back to the plans of the palace Alexandra had shown him. "Why were you carrying around an empty pistol?" Becky asked in disbelief. "Intimidation purposes? Were you gonna hold it sideways when you pointed it at people, hope you looked all gangster?" "I plugged a guy on my way to find you, okay?" he sighed as they kept running. "The first shot fired that started this whole mess, it was me shooting some jackoff in the foot as I tried to find you." Becky skidded to a stop, halting Mark's flight as well. She looked into his eyes and then hugged him in relief. "Thank you, Mark," she said quietly. "You came for me, after you nearly died, and we both could today. You're very brave." When she ended the hug, Mark found she had put her own pistol in his hands. He frowned in confusion. "Why'd you give me your pistol?" he asked. "Because let's face it, I'm a lot more likely to snag another one than you are," she sighed. "Let's go, I'm done with the Sun King's France." Out of breath, they settled for trotting down a hallway, surrounded by the echoing sounds of chaos. Things had gotten so confused that the guards were all fighting one another now, thinking the enemy in their midst. Panting, the pair stopped suddenly as they came to a major intersection of hallways. Not far away, a confused brawl consisting of house guard and the Cardinal's guard blocked their passage. Upon their appearance, though, both sides paused in their fight and stared at them. Then a captain raised a call to kill them. Without even thinking, Mark pointed his pistol at the huge iron chandelier over the soldier's heads and fired. The plaster ceiling broke as the iron ball struck at and the chandelier plummeted, crashing into the dozens of men before while clouds of plaster dust filled the hall. "I can't believe that worked!" Mark laughed as they ran down another venue. "Yes, it was very impressive, Gene Kelly," Becky sighed, shaking her head. "Next, you'll be swinging from the damn chandeliers or using your knife to ride down tapestries." Soldiers surged around the corner, charging into the couple. Mark shouted in fury as they tried to skewer him while they attempted to wrestle Becky to the ground. He dodged a blade and slashed his foe across the arm before leaping back to try and give himself room. He looked around in a panic and saw Becky kicking a soldier in the nuts before punching another in the face, her eyes flashing with fury. Someone slammed into him from behind and he tumbled forward, scrambling to gain his feet. More bodies joined the fracas and he realized that they were not only trying to kill him but fighting one another as well. It was difficult to breathe. There were too many bodies smothering him. He gasped in panic and strained to find room for himself. His shaking hand gripped a sword and she shoved it forward indiscriminately, feeling something soft give before him. He focused all his effort on crawling forward, finally emerging from the churning pile of men, locked in combat. He dragged himself along the floor but then grunted in pain as something speared into his thigh from above and behind. He turned to look, his eyes watering in pain, seeing a man in red, glaring at him, raising his rapier for another strike. Then a sword point burst through the man's chest from behind. His eyes widened, and he dropped his sword and crumpled to the ground. The man who had killed him was already moving on to another target. Exhausted and dull with pain, Mark dragged himself to a wall and slumped against it, looking around for Becky, but she was nowhere to be seen. No. Not again. He ignored the maelstrom of violence and pushed himself to his feet, limping down a hallway, sword held loosely in his hand as he went to find his teacher. Alexandra strode down the hall with purpose, her senses keen for trouble. She had caused as much trouble as she could, all the while keeping the fray well away from the queen's quarters. She regretted that men would die today, due to their poor judgement, but she understood that the girl Rebecca could not remain here in Paris. A deep foreboding warned her that almost any price was worth paying to see her safely away. Sparring with D'Artagnan. She stopped as a lone figure came into view, blocking her way down the corridor. He wore the blue of the king's mousquetaires, his young face etched with determination. His hand rested on the hilt of his rapier while he observed her. "So," he began, tilting his head. "You must be the cause of all this mayhem, oui?" "I am not who you seek." Alexandra said plainly. "I do not truck with liars and I do not appreciate being lied to!" the young man snapped. "I would have your name before I run you through in the king's. Are you an agent of Buckingham?" "No." "Charles of Spain?" "I have no time for this," Alexandra said testily, putting her hand on the hilt of her blade. "Move aside and let me complete my task, musketeer!" "Then it is death you crave!" he hissed, his rapier flashing in his hand now. "I shall happily give it to you in the queen's honor!" Alexandra drew her blade as her foe rushed forward. She parried his initial thrust and then counter-thrust, which he swatted aside. A flurry of thrusts and ripostes followed, the two warriors measuring one another, vying for advantage in the narrow hallway. Steel rang and flashed. Alexandra's sword point tore a vent in one of her foe's sleeves, and she followed up with a swipe at his eyes, but he dodged away nimbly. He lunged in with the speed of a striking serpent and she caught his blade on hers before it pierced her stomach, turning it aside. They pressed blade-to-blade, moving around one another in a slow, deadly circle, their eyes locked. He danced away again as a main-gauche flashed in her hand, nearly shearing his throat open. He spun around her next attack, and when he was facing her again, a pistol had appeared in his free hand. At point blank range, he pulled the trigger. The thunderous bark of the firearm rattled her teeth as she bent backwards, the bullet passing harmlessly overhead. Alexandra somersaulted backward gracefully, coming to her feet with her rapier guarding against a follow-up attack. A lot of bemusement crossed his face. "Very pretty, good sir," he said. "But it will not save you." He darted in again and another furious exchange of swordplay followed. His blade kissed the top of her thigh, leaving a shining crimson thread on her skin. She paid him in kind with a nick across his cheek, followed by cutting the red plume from his hat. He was nearly as fast as she was, and his recklessness made him dangerously unpredictable, even to one as skilled and experienced as Alexandra. Their blades grated as they strained against one another, teeth clenched and eyes flashing in fury. With a cry of effort, she shoved with all her might and threw him back. He kept his feet and remained on guard, irritated by his foe's grit and skill. "D'Artagnan!" shouted Athos as he and Aramis dragged the unconscious Porthos across the hallway behind the combatants, disappearing from sight. This distracted the Musketeer, who turned to look behind himself in confusion and then disbelief. He glanced back at his foe and then sighed, sheathing his blade. "Until next time, enemy mine;” he said, before darting around the corner to catch up with his comrades. Alexandra waited some seconds after he was gone and then sagged against the wall, sighing heavily. She rubbed her face for a moment before returning her rapier to its sheathe and continuing on. She had to find Mark and Rebecca. The door to the room swung open and Mark staggered inside, panting in pain. His entire leg felt like it was on fire, and it was maddeningly sticky. He had lost his sword while searching for Becky, but it mattered little if he couldn't find her. He tumbled into a sitting position, propping himself up on his hands and trying to breathe. Everything hurt now, and it was getting to the place where he couldn't move. His head throbbed and he was getting dizzy. With extreme effort, he managed to tear one of his sleeves off, and tied it around his leg, hoping it would act as a tourniquet and perhaps staunch the bleeding. It stung like fucking Hell and to his distress did nothing ease his pain. He sat there panting, when a solemn figure in red moved slowly by the door. There was a pause and then the person came back into view, peering at Mark quizzically. Clad in red robes and a little red skull cap, his tight, lemony features creased in recognition and then disbelief. "I know you," the Cardinal murmured, his eyes never leaving Mark. "Yes, you are the boy from the field, the one who claimed to be a Spanish noble and had the pretty girl with him." He stepped closer, still scrutinizing Mark, who tried to move backwards, his body screaming in protest. "But you died," the elderly man stated. "My captain shot you. You died in that field. What witchcraft is this?" Annoyance flashed in the Cardinal's eyes now. "So, you are the cause of all this tumult. The girl I was to give to the queen, she is missing and now I know why." He pulled a pistol from within the voluminous folds of his red robes and cocked it before pointing the muzzle down at Mark's face. "I think it is time I dealt with this problem myself, once and for all." Too hurt and exhausted to fight back, Mark squeezed his eyes shut; "I Kick You In The Nuts, Richelieu!" shrilled a voice from the doorway behind the Cardinal, the shout followed by a sickening thump as a musketeer's boot appeared beneath Richelieu's groin. The man stiffened for a moment in confusion, but then his eyes crossed, and he bit his lower lip as his skin turned a sickly shade of green. While Richelieu slumped forward and then fell on his side, trembling and holding the family jewels, Mark goggled up at Becky, who stood indignantly in the doorway with her hands on her hips, glaring down at His Eminence. "Asshole;” she muttered as she stepped over the Cardinal and came over to Mark, who was shaking with the effort of holding himself up. Her eyes welled with emotion as she knelt next to him. "Oh, Mark," she said in a gentle voice. "Look at you, you got stabbed, baby. I'm so sorry;” "I'll be alright," he managed to say as she hugged him to her. "At least you still look amazing, no matter how badly your ass has been kicked." Becky's laugh choked back her sob and she smiled at him, tears in her eyes. "Smart-ass," she murmured. "C'mon, let me bind your boo-boo properly and then we'll get out of here, before everyone in Paris is dead." She fixed his makeshift tourniquet and then helped him stand. Once he was upright, he took a deep breath and smiled at her. "I think I can walk, I was just in need of a breather, ya' know?" She giggled. "How the Hell are we gonna explain a rapier wound through your thigh when you get home?" "With any luck, Chester will have a little something' to fix me right up." Mark replied. "Let's go. If we are where I think we are, then our ride isn't that far away." They walked cautiously down several smaller hallways, avoiding any and all encounters. They chaos seemed to have abated, at least for now. Alexandra had predicted that if fighting broke out, there was be lots of confused violence, followed by the various guard companies withdrawing to their assigned wings of the palace, to directly protect their charges, such as the king, queen and cardinal. "Bet the Cardinal's guards are gonna be upset," Mark chuckled. "He's nowhere near his quarters, and they let him get kicked in the freaking balls." Becky giggled as she walked alongside him, her arm through his. "You have no idea how good that felt, Mark. A girl could get used to that. Maybe we should visit Berlin, see if I can kick Hitler in the nuts." "One grand adventure at a time, teach;” he said wearily, causing her to laugh. But her mirth was brought up short when a solitary figure appeared in front of them, wearing red and clad in a black mask, a rapier and several pistols on their belt. Becky scowled, getting ready to step in front of her student, when Mark seemed to sigh in relief. "I am glad to see you are both well," said the person, walking forward, pulling their golden hair out of its ponytail and removing the mask. Becky's heart leapt as she came face-to-face with Lady Alexandra once more. "Thank the Lord." She stepped in and embraced them both, all three of them trembling at being reunited. Alexandra finally smiled at her friends and nodded. "We must still get you out of here, before the guards return to some sense of normalcy. Mark, do you still have the place name I gave to you?" Mark smiled wearily. "I; it's in the little pocket in my pants here, but it's probably pretty red and unreadable by now." "It's a good thing, then, that I wrote a copy, non?" Alexandra lilted, pulling a small piece of vellum out from beneath the sash she wore and handing it to Becky. "Go to this place," the noblewoman instructed. "By carriage, it should not take more than three days. It is a sanctum I use on occasion and it will be safe. Lisette and I will find you there a day or two after you arrive." She then handed two small, round jars into Becky's palm as well. "Use these to salve your wounds, until I arrive. I promise you, they will work." "How can we thank you?" Becky asked, staring at Alexandra, enchanted. The French woman smiled and then pulled Becky to her, kissing her deeply and passionately. Becky shuddered and moaned, her arms wrapping around Alexandra and returning the kiss passionately. Mark smiled as he watched the blondes make out for almost a minute before Alexandra reluctantly pulled away. "We need to stop, or we will be fucking right here in the halls of the palace," she breathed, wiping at the corner of her mouth with a finger. "We will see one another soon, and celebrate then." She turned to Mark and smiled before leaning in and kissing him gently. "You are a brave man, my friend. Never doubt it, no matter what travails Heaven provides." She walked them through several secret passages now, until they emerged into a small courtyard, under the cover of night. Standing nearby, a non-descript carriage awaited them. Alexandra wrapped Becky in a cloak and then spoke to the driver while the clambered inside. His instructions were clear, and he would not deviate from them. Becky and Mark looked out a small window, smiling and waving at Alexandra, who held up her hand to bid them farewell. The carriage exited the Louvre via a small gate where the guards asked no questions, and then they were on their way through Paris. Mark sank back into the surprisingly plush seat and sighed heavily. "Try not to get kidnapped again, Becks," he said lazily. "I'm not sure how much more of this my body can take." "But being rescued by you is one of my favorite reasons to use tawdry sex as a thank you," she protested, turning to smile at him and tracing a fingernail up and down his chest. "You wouldn't deprive me of that joy, would you, hero?" "Perish the thought, teach;” he chuckled tiredly. A time to recuperate. Mark had Lisette pinned beneath him and rocked back and forth on top of her, his cock plunging in and out of her molten cunt, while she groaned in pleasure. It felt so good to have this boy's tool inside her again. Her legs were wrapped around his strong waist and her hips moved in time with his, taking him in as deep as she could. Lisette rarely kissed anyone who wasn't her mistress, but in this case, she was making a willing exception. Their tongues tangled wetly as they fucked, exploring one another. The tingling heat was overtaking her, and she knew it would not be long now. She crossed her ankles behind him and she bit at the skin of his chest, shuddering in delight. Mark arched his back, pushing as deep inside her as he could, before shaking and allowing himself release. Her wanton cunt gripped his cock while he came deep inside her, his whole being awash with unreal pleasure. They moaned through a frenzied kiss and then sagged together, spent and sated, at least for now. Moans, pants and sighs of bliss attracted Mark and Lisette's attention and they looked off their side; also on the huge bed with them, Becky and Alexandra were sitting together, with their arms and legs wrapped around one another, kissing hungrily as they squirmed their slick pussies together. Their matching golden hair was damp with the sweat of their exertions, skin slick and shining. The greedy smacking and sucking sounds their slits made as they mingled made the four lovers shiver in delight. Alexandra and Becky were groping and fondling one another with unreal need, their nails leaving red marks and their fingers gripping tight enough to leave welts. Neither relented, though, desperate to cum together. The moans became groans and they were panting as they gyrated their hips, churning rhythmically in a sensual dance of bliss. They pulled tighter against one another, clenching their teeth and craning their necks as they peaked, then crying out and pressing their molten, gooey pussies as they came. More feverish kissing punctuated the climax and the finally both collapsed backward, chests heaving, their legs still scissored together. Steam seemed to be rising from their bodies, skin flushed pink. The four lovers lay silent for some minutes, just basking in their shared bliss. Mark finally pulled himself out of Lisette and then knelt over her face, allowing the dark-haired girl to slide his cock into her mouth, cleaning their mingled cum from his cock, which she did with great delight. Becky and Alexandra finally clasped wrists and pulled themselves up into a sitting position, hugging tiredly, but not willing to relinquish their most intimate contact. They kissed deeply and contentedly, fondling one another's tits. Lisette looked over at them and giggled. Alexandra looked over at her servant, her eyebrow raised. "What is so funny, girl?" Lisette turned on her side and rested her head on her hand while Mark spooned in behind her. "I was just thinking, Mistress; you and Miss Rebecca look so much alike. What if you are her ancestor?" Becky and Alexandra both thought about that, looked at one another for a moment, shrugged and began kissing again, their tongues tangling loudly. "And if that was the case, think about what we discussed the other day," she continued, smirking mischievously. "You said you had wondered what it would be like to Monsieur Mark's child, yes? Wouldn't that also make him Miss Rebecca's ancestor?" Mark burst out laughing while Becky choked on her shock, interrupting the kiss she had been so enjoying. She looked at Lisette in disbelief. Alexandra just sighed and shook her head, used to her servant's twisted humor. The moment of metaphysical terror passed for Becky and they all cuddled together in the center of the bed, kissing tenderly and caressing. Alexandra had told Becky all about Mark's efforts to find her and reach her, what he had undergone and risked. Becky's eyes shone as she looked at Mark at promised to make sure he was properly thanked until the end of time. "I wish you could stay," Alexandra almost moped, regretting that she had to give her new friends up. "I enjoy your company, and I am not ashamed to say I love you both." "Feeling's mutual, Alexa," Becky lilted, tracing a fingernail across her generous tit. "But maybe we needn't end our association. If we designate a consistent place, when you know you are available, you can leave a message there. Mark and I will check for messages, and when we see one, we can visit you at the appointed time. No conflicts or dangers presented, as long as we're all certain of the clear lines of communication." "I like that idea," Alexandra said, grinning. "And I have a gift for you both." She climbed off the bed and went to retrieve something. She returned shortly with two bottles, which she presented to them. "A new type of wine, invented in my native region of Champagne," she said, kneeling on the bed as they examined the bottles. "Twice fermented and sweet on the tongue, not unlike my darling Rebecca." Becky blushed and Mark grinned. "You'll be glad to know that in our time, champagne is one of the most expensive and sought-after drinks in the world, used in every important celebration." "That does please me, Mark." Alexandra said, nodding her head and deciding to not chide him this time about telling her the future. "And now that I think of it, literally, I've got a present for you, Alexa." Mark mused, getting off the bed. The three women watched as he walked into a large closet, rummaging around loudly. When he returned, he was holding what appeared to be several unusual books, which he handed to Alexandra. "What are these?" she asked, puzzled. "Well, the graphic novel is a pictorial history of Wonder Woman, who you may recall I told you a little bit about," he explained, sitting on the bed again. "And the other three books are all written by a man named Alexander Dumas and are fictional works about the Three Musketeers. I figured they'd be humorous reading for you." She looked up at him incredulously. "But; why were they in my closet here in my chalet?" He grinned again. "Well, just a moment ago, I decided to give them to you. So in a few days, I'm gonna gather them up, bring them here to just before Becky and I arrive, and bury 'em in your closet, where I know they are. That way, I don't run into any of us. And clearly it worked." Becky made a wry face. "Ya' know, I'd say you're getting the hang of this whole temporal travel thing, but I'm pretty sure you're only getting the hang of abusing it." Mark smirked at her and pinched her nipple, making her shiver and bite her lip. He then looked back at Alexandra. "And when you're done with 'em, you can just leave 'em in our drop-off spot and Becks and I'll pick them up. That way, there's no anachronistic copies of nineteenth-century novels or twentieth-century comic books lying around to be discovered by archaeologists." "I take back what I said just now, you're gonna get us all clock-hammered right out of existence." Becky sighed, causing her lovers to laugh. Mark and Becky lay side-by-side in her bed and holdings hands, back in their own time and generally none the worse for wear. They'd learned some valuable lessons and had made some important contacts along the way. "Do' you really think Alexandra's my ancestor?" Becky mused, looking at her bedroom ceiling. Mark shrugged. "You sure look a lot alike, and you're both Hell on wheels. I'm still amused by the notion of me being your great-great-great-whatever grandfather." She sighed and shook her head. "I can handle the notion of fucking and falling in love with my great-whatever grandmother, but the notion of you as my whatever grandfather gives me the jibblies. Just promise me you won't impregnate Alexa and make that come true, Mark." He chuckled. "I promise. I have no idea how trans-temporal alimony or visitation rights even work." Becky giggled and turned in to face him, cuddling close. "So, who're you gonna save me from next, hero?" she purred, nipping at his earlobe and making him shiver. "Oh, God, Becks, can we start out with some really ferocious kindergartners from the Roaring Twenties taking you hostage? I can probably handle that right about now." She giggled again and crawled on top of him, staring down into his eyes and kissing his nose while she squirmed her tits against him. "Take me to New York in the Twenties and I'll show you how liberated a flapper girl I can be," she whispered. "Deal?" "Deal." Mark replied, pulling her down and kissing her soulfully. Count Mark and Becky in! I Think I'm Getting The Hang Of This! Finally home. Mark sat at his dining room table, eating dutifully. His mom had prepared short ribs and mashed potatoes for dinner, one of his favorites. What she didn't know was that Mark had substituted several herbs and spices into her collection, items he'd brought back from his temporal travels. At the very least, this meant they were technically several hundred years old, or sometimes that they didn't exist in the modern era at all. "I'm enjoying this particular batch of thyme that I put in the braise," Dhallyla Pritchard remarked as she gently stabbed some green beans with her fork. "Mark, where did you say you got it for me? The flavor is so; special." Mark shrugged. "Another shop I thought I'd try out," he replied. "Nowhere near our usual places." "Well, keep it up, son," his father said, sitting at the other end of the table. "No offence to your mother's cooking, but the spices we were getting before weren't helping the cause. Now this is flavor." "Such a good little minion," his mom said sweetly, reaching over and pinching his cheek. "First, you did amazingly well on your Physics exam and boosted your overall grade to the place where the university accepted you, and now you're an herbs and spices guru. Talk about an unexpected change." "Yeah," his sister Roxy said, sitting across from him, and trying to keep the suspicion out of her voice. "Unexpected is right." "Now Roxy, be nice," their mom chided. "You should be happy for your little brother, he'll be going to university with you." "As long as she pulls her grades up," grunted dad, pausing in eating to waggle his fork in her general direction. "You promised us you'd keep your grades up and we'd let you live here rent-free as a result, Rox. We're living up to our end of the bargain, what's so difficult about yours?" "Maybe I should study more and party less," she grumbled, scowling at her food. She hated to admit it, but her mom was right, the spices were great. Where had the little trouser-snake bought them? "Ya' know, open my mind more and my legs less?" "Dear!" Dhallyla gasped, looking at her daughter in shock. "Nobody said you were behaving licentiously! There's no need to use language like that!" "Sorry," the dark-haired girl sighed, putting down her fork. "Just been on edge lately. Seems to have been The Mark Show around here recently,

Inspired by his mother's cancer survival, Billy arrives in Mitchelstown where even the Guards came out to greet him! See also here Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

We have weapons with which to fight worry and anxiety. But as with anything, we have to learn how to use them. We have to engage the disciplines of dealing with anxiety. Especially in the days when things are more normal, and the pressure is not so great. Habits of prayer. Habits of rejoicing, thanking, and trusting that God is near. Resolutely offering all our worries to the heavenly Father who loves us so.

Games journalist and PC Gamer editor Jody Macgregor joins Liz and Ben to take control of an oddly Pythonesque Rincewind and discuss the 1995 graphic adventure game Discworld from Teeny Weeny Games and Perfect 10 Productions. A nefarious secret society has summoned a dragon in Ankh-Morpork! It's a suspiciously familiar plot, and of course the only one who can save the city is...Rincewind? This wizard might not know any spells, but he's decidedly snarky and cunning - and accompanied by an inventory window on legs. Together, they'll use petty theft, time travel and logic that would put Rube Goldberg to shame to rid the city of this scaly threat forever...twice! Terry Pratchett was famously an early adopter of computers, and a devoted video game player, so its no surprise that there were other Discworld videogames before...er...Discworld. But this 1995 point-and-click graphic adventure game is by far the most well known and beloved of the lot - despite also being infamous for its difficulty, in a genre known for obscure puzzles with illogical solutions! The player controls a version of Rincewind voiced by Eric Idle, who must travel back and forth all over Ankh-Morpork (and to the edge of the Disc) to collect a variety of random objects to save the city. The plot is loosely based on Guards! Guards!, with some flavour from Moving Pictures and a cast drawn from the early wizards novels. It was followed by two more games from the same team: Discworld II: Missing, Presumed...?!, and Discworld Noir, each with quite different visual styles, and the latter with a brand new protagonist. Sadly, all three are “abandonware” - not only unavailable, but languishing in copyright limbo, with no-one sure enough who currently has the rights to get them published again. Have you had a chance to play Discworld? What do you think of this version of Rincewind, Ankh-Morpork and the Disc? Would you like to hear us do episodes about the two other adventure games? And what other adventure games would you recommend for folks looking for a similar vibe? What other kinds of Discworld videogame would you like to see? Click on Pratchat and choose the question mark icon to join our online conversation, using the hashtag #Pratchat89. Guest Jody Macgregor (he/him) is a journalist who started out writing about music, but now writes mostly about videogames. He's been writing for PC Gamer for about a decade, and is currently the magazine's weekend and Australian editor. You can find out more about him, and read his most recent reviews and articles, by looking up his profile at pcgamer.com. You can find episode notes and errata on our web site. Next month we're catching a train - the Ankh-Morpork Scenic Railway, that is - as we read Terry Pratchett's penultimate Discworld novel, Raising Steam! Send us your questions via email (chat@pratchatpodcast.com), or get on board via your local social media platform using the hashtag #Pratchat90.

AP correspondent Haya Panjwani reports that an investigation found crossing guards sometimes have a deadly job.

Opinion Line Producer Paul Byrne updates PJ on a very busy overnight for both the Guards and the Army. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

In the final weeks before his death, Jeffrey Epstein's state of mind was a chaotic blend of despair, denial, and defiance. Jail records show he was restless, sleepless, and visibly agitated — crouching in his cell with his hands over his ears to drown out noise, pacing aimlessly, and struggling to adjust from luxury to confinement. Guards noted his anxiety and mood swings, describing him as alternately withdrawn and frustrated. He reportedly called himself a “coward” and told staff he couldn't bear the isolation, yet insisted to psychologists that he wasn't suicidal, saying it would be “crazy” to kill himself and that he still had a “wonderful life.” The collapse of his empire — from private jets and palatial homes to a concrete cell — shattered the narcissistic image he'd built over decades. Psychologists later concluded that Epstein's entire sense of self was tied to control, power, and prestige — all of which had been stripped away, leaving him psychologically cornered and destabilized.However, his attorney David Schoen told a starkly different story. In a five-hour meeting just days before Epstein's death, Schoen said his client was “animated and energized,” focused on his legal defense, and adamant about fighting the charges in court. Epstein had reportedly asked Schoen to take over as lead counsel and appeared optimistic about his chances. That interaction led Schoen to firmly reject the idea of suicide, arguing that Epstein's mindset was far from hopeless. He cited forensic pathologist Michael Baden's findings that Epstein's neck fractures were “more consistent with homicidal strangulation than suicidal hanging.” Between the prison records describing agitation and the lawyer's insistence on Epstein's resolve, the truth of Epstein's final state of mind remains contested — split between the image of a crumbling man at the edge of despair and that of a calculating manipulator who still believed he could talk his way out of hell.to contact me:bobbycapucci@protonmail.com

Coming off the Sixers first loss of the season on Friday and a fun win on Sunday, the Sixers Talk crew is back to break down a fun win against the Nets, the guards leading the way, and Joel Embiid being fined.

A short sharp shock of games and fun for your consideration and enjoyment. We chat about some game, oh yes we do. BEEES INNNN SPAAAAAAACE 0:00 Guards of Traitors Toll  https://greyfornow.com/collections/guards-of-traitors-toll 04:10  zero 200 hours https://greyfornow.com/collections/02-hundred-hours 09:20 Carnivales 10:00 Golden Demon Winner https://www.warhammer-community.com/en-gb/articles/n4tadgwz/golden-demon-2025-winners-at-spiel-essen-revealed/ 20:00 Airecon Telford 22:45 Strange World above the clouds / Castle Combo 25:00 Battle of Hoth 26:00 Gwent, Leaders 33:00 Apiary https://stonemaiergames.com/games/apiary/  44:00 Ironwood and on the Fence 47:00 The Old Kings Crown Our Links of Note If you would like to support us then please visit and interact with the links below.  Please give us a rating or review on your podcast catcher of choice.  Also, please let someone else know about our show, as recommendations are wonderful things. OUR LINKS OF NOTES (⁠⁠https://linktr.ee/werenotwizards⁠⁠) ⁠⁠RATE US ON SPOTIFY⁠⁠ ⁠⁠Apple Podcasts⁠⁠   | ⁠⁠Website ⁠⁠ | ⁠⁠Our Blog⁠⁠ | ⁠⁠Our YouTube Channel⁠⁠ ⁠⁠Our BGG Guild⁠⁠ | ⁠⁠Board Game Geek Page⁠⁠ | ⁠⁠Facebook ⁠⁠| ⁠⁠Instagram⁠⁠ Stay Safe, Roll Sixes, Make Something Awful. Stay Spicy.   

Garda Padraig Harrington of the GRA tells PJ it's not simple intervening in a dangerous situation Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Monday Headlines: Sussan Ley under pressure after Nationals formally scrap Net Zero, mass UK train stabbing ‘not a terror attack’ police say, former Prince, Andrew, to be stripped of final military title, Optus 000 failure senate inquiry begins today, and security to ramp up for Rugby Ashes final after serial pitch invader joins anthem. Deep Dive: Private security guards on patrols across a capital city in Australia could soon be armed with guns following a rise in crime and youth offending in some suburbs. In this episode of The Briefing, Chris Spyrou speaks with security expert and former Victoria Police detective, Graeme Simpfendorfer about what’s really driving the calls to arm guards in Melbourne, how serious the threat really is, and whether adding guns to suburban streets will make people safer. Follow The Briefing: TikTok: @thebriefingpodInstagram: @thebriefingpodcast YouTube: @TheBriefingPodcastFacebook: @LiSTNR Newsroom See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Four people murdered in cold blood. A baby left sitting in a car seat in a stranger's yard, alone. And somehow, the man accused of doing it — Austin Drummond — is still trying to control the narrative from behind bars. This is what happens when evil gets too comfortable with itself. Drummond isn't some unhinged mystery; he's a career predator who's been testing limits since the day the system let him out early. Robbery. Attempted murder. Released in 2024. On bond when he wiped out nearly an entire family in Lake County, Tennessee. He killed the people closest to him — his girlfriend's family — and then abandoned their baby forty miles away like an afterthought. Now he's behind bars, and still performing. Guards say he's been caught with narcotics, covering his cell door in paper and feces, causing chaos every way he can. He's not losing his mind — he's working the room. This is how narcissistic psychopaths survive: they create chaos, force the world to orbit around them, and call it control. You can take away the gun. You can lock the cell. But you can't cage the ego. Drummond has turned his cell into a stage. Every disgusting act, every tantrum, every outburst is another move in his game. Because if you're talking about him, he's still winning. The same control he exercised with a trigger, he now wields through manipulation. You can see it in every report, every court motion, every moment he refuses to act human. He's not insane. He's addicted — not to drugs, but to dominance. This is the man who's learned that if he can't rule the outside world, he'll rule the one inside his cell. He'll make guards disgusted, psychologists confused, and the public fascinated. Because to him, that's oxygen. That's relevance. And the system? It keeps giving him what he wants. The headlines. The coverage. The spotlight. The endless “what went wrong?” debates. What went wrong is simple: we keep mistaking performance for psychosis. We call it mental illness when it's just manipulation with better lighting. Austin Drummond isn't broken. He's hollow. He's the kind of human shell that feeds off outrage and fear. He's the same man who once looked at a baby and saw disposable evidence. That's not insanity — that's the pure absence of empathy. This isn't a story about one killer. It's about how a system so obsessed with “second chances” keeps handing them to people who only use them to destroy. He was already on bond for attempted murder. He should've been locked away. Instead, four lives were wiped out, and a child will grow up knowing the only reason they're still alive is because the killer got bored of holding them. And now, that killer sits in a state prison cell, convinced he's still in control. This is what narcissistic collapse looks like — a man whose only identity is the chaos he can still create. Every time we give him airtime, every time a headline drops, he gets what he wants. But what he'll never get again is freedom. And that's the one thing his ego can't perform its way out of. Four people are gone. A baby grows up without a family. And the monster who did it still thinks he's writing the script. He's not. He's the ending. #AustinDrummond #HiddenKillers #TrueCrime #TonyBrueski #Murder #Psychopath #CriminalMind #JusticeSystem #Control #PrisonPsychology #Narcissism #Manipulation #Ego #DeathPenalty #LakeCounty #TrueCrimePodcast Want to comment and watch this podcast as a video? Check out our YouTube Channel. https://www.youtube.com/@hiddenkillerspod Instagram https://www.instagram.com/hiddenkillerspod/ Facebook https://www.facebook.com/hiddenkillerspod/ Tik-Tok https://www.tiktok.com/@hiddenkillerspod X Twitter https://x.com/tonybpod Listen Ad-Free On Apple Podcasts Here: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/true-crime-today-premium-plus-ad-free-advance-episode/id1705422872

Four people murdered in cold blood. A baby left sitting in a car seat in a stranger's yard, alone. And somehow, the man accused of doing it — Austin Drummond — is still trying to control the narrative from behind bars. This is what happens when evil gets too comfortable with itself. Drummond isn't some unhinged mystery; he's a career predator who's been testing limits since the day the system let him out early. Robbery. Attempted murder. Released in 2024. On bond when he wiped out nearly an entire family in Lake County, Tennessee. He killed the people closest to him — his girlfriend's family — and then abandoned their baby forty miles away like an afterthought. Now he's behind bars, and still performing. Guards say he's been caught with narcotics, covering his cell door in paper and feces, causing chaos every way he can. He's not losing his mind — he's working the room. This is how narcissistic psychopaths survive: they create chaos, force the world to orbit around them, and call it control. You can take away the gun. You can lock the cell. But you can't cage the ego. Drummond has turned his cell into a stage. Every disgusting act, every tantrum, every outburst is another move in his game. Because if you're talking about him, he's still winning. The same control he exercised with a trigger, he now wields through manipulation. You can see it in every report, every court motion, every moment he refuses to act human. He's not insane. He's addicted — not to drugs, but to dominance. This is the man who's learned that if he can't rule the outside world, he'll rule the one inside his cell. He'll make guards disgusted, psychologists confused, and the public fascinated. Because to him, that's oxygen. That's relevance. And the system? It keeps giving him what he wants. The headlines. The coverage. The spotlight. The endless “what went wrong?” debates. What went wrong is simple: we keep mistaking performance for psychosis. We call it mental illness when it's just manipulation with better lighting. Austin Drummond isn't broken. He's hollow. He's the kind of human shell that feeds off outrage and fear. He's the same man who once looked at a baby and saw disposable evidence. That's not insanity — that's the pure absence of empathy. This isn't a story about one killer. It's about how a system so obsessed with “second chances” keeps handing them to people who only use them to destroy. He was already on bond for attempted murder. He should've been locked away. Instead, four lives were wiped out, and a child will grow up knowing the only reason they're still alive is because the killer got bored of holding them. And now, that killer sits in a state prison cell, convinced he's still in control. This is what narcissistic collapse looks like — a man whose only identity is the chaos he can still create. Every time we give him airtime, every time a headline drops, he gets what he wants. But what he'll never get again is freedom. And that's the one thing his ego can't perform its way out of. Four people are gone. A baby grows up without a family. And the monster who did it still thinks he's writing the script. He's not. He's the ending. #AustinDrummond #HiddenKillers #TrueCrime #TonyBrueski #Murder #Psychopath #CriminalMind #JusticeSystem #Control #PrisonPsychology #Narcissism #Manipulation #Ego #DeathPenalty #LakeCounty #TrueCrimePodcast Want to comment and watch this podcast as a video? Check out our YouTube Channel. https://www.youtube.com/@hiddenkillerspod Instagram https://www.instagram.com/hiddenkillerspod/ Facebook https://www.facebook.com/hiddenkillerspod/ Tik-Tok https://www.tiktok.com/@hiddenkillerspod X Twitter https://x.com/tonybpod Listen Ad-Free On Apple Podcasts Here: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/true-crime-today-premium-plus-ad-free-advance-episode/id1705422872

AP correspondent Haya Panjwani reports on the dangers crossing guards face on the job.

In part 1 of DisreGUARDED, AP correspondent Haya Panjwani reports on the dangers crossing guards face on a daily basis when they put themselves in dangers way.

(No Brian this week—that was planned—and I overslept) Things Discussed: THE CRAIG ROSS HOUR Rudoph Verchow, most likely, I dunno. I wasn't there. Bredeson had a game—Sam explains what's going on with the blocking scheme. He's not reading on the fly; he's reading whether there's someone in the B gap, come get him! Run game cooking: MSU slanted into them but they had Bredeson to answer. Bryce: Concerned, not panicked. What's going on? RPOs are a comfort zone for him, but on 16 RPOs he only threw one and they were there for him. Coaches didn't have him prepared for nickel pressures. Gotta notice when the DBs are lined up over each other in the slot. THE PART I WAS THERE FOR MSU was pretty bad. Aidan Chiles has regressed badly. Guards easy to push around or just get out of the way. Jimmy Rolder had a GAME, though some of those events were just MSU bad. Jyaire Hill played great, shut down Nick Marsh and that was the end of what MSU can do. He had the one failed chuck on a long throw late. Okay, –2, but didn't offset a great night. Young guys make mistakes. Good gameplan from Rossi against a true freshman QB, Bryce is going to have to learn to trust his pockets and see the rush. TJ Guy: back to TJ Dude. Important because Cam Brandt isn't playing well, Nate Marshall is Not Ready. DTs are fine. They rotate so much it's hard for anyone to get traction. Benny and Pierce are much better than the others, but they were able to run their defense in a way that everybody just had to hold up to doubles and let the LBs make plays. Payne is fine. Williams is fine and gets one big play a game. Pierce is hurt or else they could play him more—warrior. LBs if Rolder and Sullivan are out: Move Barham back? I guess you have to. Bowles didn't have a good game; the 2nd & 19 one of the things you need is for him to drop back in a "V". Purdue: Old USC OC, don't Wink out.

This week the Late Crew talks about where Airmen and Guardians can turn for help during the Government shutdown (07:58), the Navy launches reviews of Marines' and sailors' personal social media posts (20:53), gate guards fire on truck at Coast Guard base where federal agents had arrived (32:40), and our Unheralded History featuring the FP-45 Liberator (43:49) and Edgewater Arsenal (51:07). https://lateforchangeover.com/

In the final weeks before his death, Jeffrey Epstein's state of mind was a chaotic blend of despair, denial, and defiance. Jail records show he was restless, sleepless, and visibly agitated — crouching in his cell with his hands over his ears to drown out noise, pacing aimlessly, and struggling to adjust from luxury to confinement. Guards noted his anxiety and mood swings, describing him as alternately withdrawn and frustrated. He reportedly called himself a “coward” and told staff he couldn't bear the isolation, yet insisted to psychologists that he wasn't suicidal, saying it would be “crazy” to kill himself and that he still had a “wonderful life.” The collapse of his empire — from private jets and palatial homes to a concrete cell — shattered the narcissistic image he'd built over decades. Psychologists later concluded that Epstein's entire sense of self was tied to control, power, and prestige — all of which had been stripped away, leaving him psychologically cornered and destabilized.However, his attorney David Schoen told a starkly different story. In a five-hour meeting just days before Epstein's death, Schoen said his client was “animated and energized,” focused on his legal defense, and adamant about fighting the charges in court. Epstein had reportedly asked Schoen to take over as lead counsel and appeared optimistic about his chances. That interaction led Schoen to firmly reject the idea of suicide, arguing that Epstein's mindset was far from hopeless. He cited forensic pathologist Michael Baden's findings that Epstein's neck fractures were “more consistent with homicidal strangulation than suicidal hanging.” Between the prison records describing agitation and the lawyer's insistence on Epstein's resolve, the truth of Epstein's final state of mind remains contested — split between the image of a crumbling man at the edge of despair and that of a calculating manipulator who still believed he could talk his way out of hell.to contact me:bobbycapucci@protonmail.comBecome a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/the-epstein-chronicles--5003294/support.

October 29, 2025Today's Reading: 2 Timothy 4:6-8, 16-18Daily Lectionary: Deuteronomy 31:1-29; Matthew 19:16-30“No one came to stand by me, but all deserted me… But the Lord stood by me and strengthened me, so that through me the message might be fully proclaimed.” (2 Timothy 4:16,17)In the Name + of Jesus. Amen. Even St. Paul felt isolated at times. While standing in court, defending the faith, where were his friends, other pastors, and Christians whom the Holy Spirit brought to faith through his preaching? Anyone who could have been supporting was scattered like the apostles on Holy Thursday. Satan and his minions wanted Paul to feel alone, overwhelmed, cut off from Christ and His Church. Then maybe Paul would lose his strength and will to preach Christ crucified.The devil also wants you to feel isolated. All alone. “Divide and conquer,” the saying goes, and that tends to be the demonic method.Maybe it feels like your friends have deserted you, that they are all having a good time without you while you are stuck home that weekend. Or you are the only one in your class who actually respected the teacher and did the work she assigned. Maybe you are the only one around who is actually remaining chaste and not giving in to the constant daily sexual temptations. You feel alone. No one came to stand by me, but all deserted me.St. Paul reminds you here that all is not lost. Even though he had no other human comfort at that time, he was not alone. But the Lord stood by me and strengthened me. Christ comforted him throughout this trial and hardship. The Lord gave him peace throughout the persecution, with the sure and certain hope of the resurrection that got him through it all.You are not alone either. The Lord blesses you with His comforting and encouraging presence. You are His beyond the shadow of a doubt through Holy Baptism, which bound you to Christ in a way that He will never abandon you. He speaks His Word to you by reading and proclaiming His Scriptures to you. And He nourishes you with His own Body and Blood, so that He dwells inside you!So let the devil rage all he wants. He can taunt and criticize, and suggest doubts to you. But he cannot cut you off from God. Christ will never desert you. You belong to the Lord! The Lord stands by you and strengthens you!  In the Name + of Jesus. Amen.Satan, I defy thee; Death I now decry thee; Fear, I bid thee cease. World, thou shalt not harm me Nor thy threats alarm me While I sing of peace. God's great power Guards every hour; Earth and all its depths adore Him, Silent bow before Him. (LSB 743:3)Rev. Richard Heinz, pastor of Trinity Lutheran Church, Lowell, IN.Audio Reflections Speaker: Pastor Harrison Goodman is the Executive Director of Mission and Theology for Higher Things.Step back in time to the late Reformation and learn about a divisive yet inspirational figure: Matthias Flacius Illyricus. His contributions to Lutheranism still echo in our teachings today, from the Magdeburg Confession to parts of the Lutheran Confessions. Learning about Flacius's life will help you understand more intricacies of the Reformation than ever before.

Hargrave Military Academy head coach Ben Veshi joins Cory to give a straight, inside look at prep school basketball, player development, and college placement in 2025. Veshi explains Hargrave's structured, military-style environment, why it accelerates maturity and on-court performance, and how the program's two-a-days, weight room cadence, and ~50-game schedule prepare athletes for college intensity. He breaks down today's recruiting reality—why the summer evaluation period and a program's reputation/relationships now drive offers more than fall open gyms, how the transfer portal and NIL changed timelines, and when a D2 full ride can be the smartest path to a future D1. Finally, Veshi details what it actually takes to be a Division I guard right now: tight handle, credible shooting, physical defense, and floor leadership. If you're a parent, player, or coach weighing NEPSAC vs Elite Prep League, post-grad options, or the best route to college basketball, this conversation cuts through the noise and gives you a clear plan to follow.

“What's Buggin' You” segment for Tuesday 10-28-25

Welcome to The Times of Israel's Daily Briefing, your 20-minute audio update on what's happening in Israel, the Middle East and the Jewish world. Diplomatic correspondent Lazar Berman joins host Amanda Borschel-Dan for today's episode. Israel does not know the location of four of the remaining 13 bodies of hostages held in Gaza, even as Egypt is reportedly bringing 12 additional heavy vehicles into the enclave this morning to clear roads and assist in efforts to locate the deceased. Berman weighs in on the stability of the ceasefire as the US increases its rhetoric, pushing Hamas to release the bodies to begin the transition to phase two of the 20-point Trump peace plan. A transnational terror network run by Iran's Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps Quds Force is behind a string of recent attacks on Jewish sites in Western countries, the Mossad intelligence agency said on Sunday. We learn about senior IRGC-Quds Force commander Sardar Ammar, who heads a network of some 11,000 operatives carrying out covert operations and strikes on Jewish sites. Catherine Connolly, a veteran lawmaker on the far left of the Irish political spectrum, was elected president by a landslide margin on Saturday. She has drawn criticism for her views on the Hamas terror group, which she said in September was “part of the fabric of the Palestinian people,” as well as claims that Israel is carrying out a genocide in Gaza. Does Berman see an even rockier relationship with Israel on the horizon? Check out The Times of Israel's ongoing liveblog for more updates. For further reading: Israel reported to know location of 9 out of 13 deceased hostages still held in Gaza Israel reveals Iran’s Guards leader behind attacks on Jewish sites in Europe, Australia Far-left candidate who called Israel ‘terrorist state’ elected president of Ireland Subscribe to The Times of Israel Daily Briefing on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, YouTube, or wherever you get your podcasts. This episode was produced by Podwaves. IMAGE: Illustrative: Members of the Hamas terrorist group search for bodies of the slain hostages in an area in Hamad City, Khan Younis, in the southern Gaza Strip, October 17, 2025. (AP Photo/Abdel Kareem Hana)See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Send us a text"Uncle Andrew" is back!  From Come Follow Me:         "As difficult as the last six years had been for the Saints, things started to look up in the spring of 1839: The refugee Saints had found compassion among the citizens of Quincy, Illinois. Guards had allowed the Prophet Joseph Smith and other Church leaders to escape captivity in Missouri. And the Church had just purchased land in Illinois where the Saints could gather again. Yes, it was swampy, mosquito-infested land, but compared to the challenges the Saints had already faced, this probably seemed manageable. So they drained the swamp and drafted a charter for a new city, which they named Nauvoo. It means “beautiful” in Hebrew, though it was more an expression of faith than an accurate description, at least at first. Meanwhile, the Lord was impressing His Prophet with a sense of urgency. He had more truths and ordinances to restore, and He needed a holy temple where the Saints could receive them. In many ways, these same feelings of faith and urgency are important in the Lord's work today.        While Nauvoo did become a beautiful city with a beautiful temple, both were eventually abandoned. But the Lord's truly beautiful work, all along, has been to “crown you with honor, immortality, and eternal life” (Doctrine and Covenants 124:55), and that work never ends."Support the Show!Become a "Patron Saint"! 

In this episode, we review Lucas Kanard's recent instructional on attacking outside and finishing inside. Hope you enjoy! Download Sherpa, the free AI-powered journaling app for athletes. Join the convo with Josh on Discord here. Use the code "BJJHELP" for 50% off your first month on Jake's Outlier Database to study match footage, get links to resources, and more.Use code “BJJHELP” at submeta.io to try your first month for only $8!

Join T, Father Fortenberry, DW, Gary and Marty Mar the Bourbon Nerd as they discuss headlines of the day!Check out our Website:https://lifefromthepatio.com/merchBecome a Legend today:https://thebourbonlegends.comfollow us on TikTok: https://tiktok.com/lifefromthepatio2 @Fatherfortenberry@LFTP@BourbonNerd-LFTP@BrotherFortenberry#bourbon #whiskey #fye #KnobCreek#Jack Daniels#comedy #podcast#funnyvideo #buffalotrace #distillery#buffalo #LFTP#oldforester #jimbeam #heavenhill#Bluenote#Shortbarrel#rye #ark #arknights#arkansas #nba #nfl #razorbacks #newyears #resolutions#LFTP #Fred Minnick#bourbonlive#live#livenews

A serene Sunday morning at the Louvre turned chaotic in just seven minutes. Four thieves, using construction vests and a mechanized lift, cut through reinforced glass and stole eight priceless pieces of the French Crown Jewels—some linked to Napoleon Bonaparte. Guards prioritized visitor safety, while a 60-officer manhunt began. What does this heist reveal about museum security, cultural heritage and the lengths organized criminals will go to target history's treasures? Guest: Christopher Marinello, founder of Art Recovery International, art crime investigator Host: Anupama Chandrasekaran Edited and produced by Sharmada Venkatasubramanian Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Text the Bookcast and say "hi"!It's the October edition of YNGR! This month we are celebrating spooky season with our forever October guest - author Stacey Kade (AKA S.A. Barnes)! Plenty of horror and thriller reads at a variety of scare levels to finish out your October TBR. We also get a quick rundown of Stacey's new book, Death's Daughter (preorder here)!Connect with Stacey: Instagram | websiteConnect with Hannah: website | Twitter | Instagram | TikTokHuge thanks to Self Publish Me for sponsoring this episode! Books discussed on the show:StaceyThe Familiar - Leigh BardugoExiles - Mason CoilePlay Nice - Rachel HarrisonThe Hollow Places - T. KingfisherHannahThe God of the Woods - Liz MooreSuch Quiet Girls - Noelle West IhliSuffer the Children - Craig DeLouieIn the Tall Grass - Stephen King and Joe HillJParanoia - James Patterson and James O. BornFantasticland - Mike BockovenGuards! Guards! - Terry PratchettThe Only Good Indians - Stephen Graham JonesConnect with J: website | TikTok | Twitter | Instagram | FacebookShop the Bookcast on Bookshop.orgMusic by JuliusH

(Oct 21, 2025)

Ghislaine Maxwell's transfer to Federal Prison Camp Bryan has disrupted what was once one of the Bureau of Prisons' quietest, most orderly minimum-security facilities. Camp Bryan, known for housing low-risk white-collar offenders and women nearing the end of their sentences, suddenly found itself dealing with a high-profile inmate convicted of sex trafficking. Her arrival reportedly triggered new restrictions on inmate movement, increased staff oversight, and a visible security presence that contradicted the camp's “open” environment. Guards now monitor recreation and visitation more closely, and staff members have described the change as “an atmosphere of tension and special handling.” The placement itself sparked criticism, as Maxwell's crimes and sentence length make her an unusual fit for such a lenient environment, raising questions about whether her influence or notoriety played a role in her transfer.Inside the camp, resentment among inmates has been growing. Many see Maxwell as getting star treatment—reports claim she's received preferential accommodations, such as private meeting times, extended phone privileges, and even occasional exceptions to standard procedures. This favoritism has fueled hostility, with some inmates mocking or harassing her, while others complain that the facility's routines have become stricter for everyone else because of her presence. Staff have reportedly held meetings to warn inmates against threats or spreading stories to the media, showing just how much her mere existence there has upended normal prison life. In short, Maxwell's presence at Camp Bryan has exposed class divisions even within the prison system—turning what used to be a quiet minimum-security camp into a mini public-relations nightmare for the Bureau of Prisons.to contact me:bobbycapucci@protonmail.com

Illustrator, game designer and educator Brendan Barnett joins Ben to discuss art, ideas, inspiration, creative process, dragons, wizards and goblins (oh my!) as we leaf through Paul Kidby's 2024 gorgeous coffee table book, Designing Terry Pratchett's Discworld. Paul Kidby started bringing Terry Pratchett's Discworld to life when, on the third attempt, he showed off his skill to the author by drawing his own versions of Discworld characters who had so captured his imagination. After several successful collaborations on art books, diaries, maps and the epic The Last Hero, he took over as the cover artist for the series after the death of Josh Kirby in 2001. His illustrations of the characters have become iconic, and Pratchett himself referred to him as his ‘artist of choice'. In this book, Paul discusses his pre-Discworld career, his long collaboration with Terry, and even shows us a glimpse of what might have been by sketching drafts of covers for the books that never were. Do you have a favourite illustration from the book? What was most interesting to you about Paul's process as an artist - and what's it like to read if you don't consider yourself one? How many of originals that Kidby parodies or does an homage to did you know? And who are your other favourite artists? Illustrate your point by sending us your answers (or questions) via a comment, or on the back of a social media post using the hashtag #Pratchat88. Guest Brendan Barnett (he/him) has spend around 15 years working with young people to foster their creativity, including for most of the last decade with Ben at their previous workplace, the creative writing centre 100 Story Building. Trained as an animator and an actor, he is also a keen lover of fantasy roleplaying, and has designed some very well-received adventures for Dungeons & Dragons and similar games. You can find out more about his work at brendanbarnett.com, and find his latest adventure, Grotto of the Golden Gargoyle, on itch.io - as well as his recent collaboration with Ben, the one-page adventure Flee the Flying Saucer! You can find episode notes and errata on our web site. Next month we're surfing the wave of Melbourne International Games Week (which happened just as this episode was being edited) to discuss the 1995 graphic adventure videogame Discworld! A slightly odd adaptation of the plot of Guards! Guards!, Discworld stars Eric Idle as the voice of Rincewind, alongside a small but equally impressive cast of UK comedy talent. It's not currently commercially available, but you can find play-through videos of it on YouTube. Get your questions in via email to chat@pratchatpodcast.com, or send them via social media using the hashtag #Pratchat89. Then, for December, #Pratchat90 will return us to the Discworld novels for nearly the final time, as we read the final Moist von Lipwig book, Raising Steam! We'll remind you about it next month, but if you want to get your questions in early, the hashtag for that episode is #Pratchat90. And don't worry - we have plans to discuss Tiffany Aching's Guide to Being a Witch in the new year. Watch this space!

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Mercersburg Academy head coach Sean Crocker brings two decades across college hoops, Hoop Group, and the MAPL to this no-fluff episode. Sean breaks down exactly what college coaches need from a Division I guard—defend multiple positions, handle pressure, and make open threes—then shows how he develops those habits: 1,000–1,500 made shots per week, “500 threes on Saturdays,” fall strength and conditioning three to four days a week, and film-driven footwork (“the eye in the sky doesn't lie”). He's candid on MAPL vs NEPSAC exposure—why relationships still get phones picked up—and how Mercersburg's location opens doors beyond New England. Families get real recruiting strategy: honest evaluations, stubborn advocacy, and proof points (a Ghanaian PG to a D2 full ride; Eric Oliver-Bush from NE10 Rookie of the Year to Manhattan). We also unpack the two-postgrad rule, when a two-year reclass beats a PG year, and why transfer-era decisions can cost kids the college experience. If you want straight talk on development, exposure, and fit, this is it. 

A six-part investigative series uncovers a disturbing pattern of sexual abuse by prison guards against women inmates in Idaho. 

Ghislaine Maxwell's transfer to Federal Prison Camp Bryan has disrupted what was once one of the Bureau of Prisons' quietest, most orderly minimum-security facilities. Camp Bryan, known for housing low-risk white-collar offenders and women nearing the end of their sentences, suddenly found itself dealing with a high-profile inmate convicted of sex trafficking. Her arrival reportedly triggered new restrictions on inmate movement, increased staff oversight, and a visible security presence that contradicted the camp's “open” environment. Guards now monitor recreation and visitation more closely, and staff members have described the change as “an atmosphere of tension and special handling.” The placement itself sparked criticism, as Maxwell's crimes and sentence length make her an unusual fit for such a lenient environment, raising questions about whether her influence or notoriety played a role in her transfer.Inside the camp, resentment among inmates has been growing. Many see Maxwell as getting star treatment—reports claim she's received preferential accommodations, such as private meeting times, extended phone privileges, and even occasional exceptions to standard procedures. This favoritism has fueled hostility, with some inmates mocking or harassing her, while others complain that the facility's routines have become stricter for everyone else because of her presence. Staff have reportedly held meetings to warn inmates against threats or spreading stories to the media, showing just how much her mere existence there has upended normal prison life. In short, Maxwell's presence at Camp Bryan has exposed class divisions even within the prison system—turning what used to be a quiet minimum-security camp into a mini public-relations nightmare for the Bureau of Prisons.to contact me:bobbycapucci@protonmail.comBecome a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/the-epstein-chronicles--5003294/support.

“What color uniform does that cattle guard have on?” That question—posed by a confused Connecticut visitor—perfectly captures the wit, charm, and Texas-sized storytelling that defines Kent Hance. In this Greatest Hits edition of Kent Hance: The Best Storyteller in Texas Podcast, we've curated some of the most unforgettable moments from past episodes. From political camaraderie across party lines to the invention of the drive-thru window, Kent's stories are as insightful as they are hilarious. You'll hear about: Babe Schwartz, the liberal senator who was friends with Kent despite their political differences—and the time he rushed to buy a gun after receiving a death threat. The origin of the drive-thru window, thanks to a clever McDonald's manager in Arizona solving a military base dilemma. Kent's campaign trail tale involving President George W. Bush, a Mercedes with Connecticut plates, and a cattle guard that made it all the way to the front page of The New York Times. A cautionary lesson on alcohol and the send button, and why Kent always slept on angry letters before mailing them. This episode is a masterclass in storytelling, Texas history, and the kind of humor that sticks with you long after the credits roll.

Joe Vardon of The Athletic joins Afternoon Drive in-studio. He talks about the Cavs offseason moves, if toughness is still a concern ahead of the 2025-26 season, the impact of 'Project B' in the NBA, and more.

Ken Carman and Anthony Lima take you through what you may have missed About Last Night!

Fantasy Baseball Live – October 5, 2025 – 3 pm – 1:15 to 1:30 timeMicrosoft TeamsSegments 1 and 2 – Review the playoffsThe wild card games were quite exciting.•Yankees beat the Red Sox – 2-1oCam Schlitter was dominant in the closing game. 8.0 IP, 5 hits, 0 ER, 12K/0BBHe was one of my targets last week. I'm not going to get him, am I?oDuran hit .091. He was good during the regular season, but did he return 2nd round value?•Tigers beat the Guards – 2-1oI was pulling for the Guards, but it wasn't meant to be. Skubal WOW!•Cubs beat the Padres – 2-1oThe Padres keep throwing everything at it to win, but they are just not good enough. Thoughts on the direction of the team?•Dodgers beat the Reds – 2-0oHunter Greene didn't have it on Tuesday, but Shoehi certainly did.Divisional Series – Predictions, and we'll talk about each series•The Blue Jays blew out the Yankees – 10-1•The Brewers blew out the Cubs – 9-3•The Dodgers beat the Phillies – 5-3•The close game with the Mariners vs. TigersSegment 3 and 4 – Draft 2nd round•Last week, we drafted the first round. Let's continue. Let's do round 2, and if we're a little into round 3First Round – from 9/28 Podcast1.Shohei Ohtani - Tim2.Aaron Judge - Rich3.Juan Soto - Tim4.Bobby Witt Jr. – Rich5.Jose Ramirez – Tim6.J-Rod – Rich7.Elly De La Rosa – Tim8.Francisco Lindor – Rich9.Corbin Carroll – Tim10.Tarik Skubal – Rich11.Fernando Tatis Jr – Tim12.Kyle Schwarber – Rich13.Gunnar Henderson – Tim14.Kyle Tucker – Rich15.Paul Skenes – TimSecond Round1.Jackson Chourio - Rich2.Junior Caminero – Tim3.Garrett Crochet – Rich4.Jazz Chisholm – Tim5.Ronald Acuna – Rich6.Vlad Jr – Tim7.Yamamoto – Rich8.Pete Alonso – Tim9.James Wood – Rich10.Cal Raliegh – Tim11. Hunter Brown – Rich12. Freddy Peralta - Tim13. Zach Neto – Rich14. Nick Kurtz – Tim15. Ketel Marte - RichClose

The best conversations about the Guardians' season-ending defeat in the AL Wild Card Series at the hands of the Tigers from The Ken Carman Show with Anthony Lima, Baskin & Phelps, and The Afternoon Drive. Nick and Jonathan reacted to Game 3 in real time. Lima and Daryl Ruiter say the Guards 'ran out of gas' and relay stinging comments from Tigers slugger Kerry Carpenter. Baskin and Phelps discuss whether this season was a success, and what the offseason approach should be.

Matt Dery (Dery Bros. GuardiansCast on Audacy) joins Anthony Lima and Jason Lloyd to talk about the Cleveland Guardians' Game 2 win over the Detroit Tigers, and how he's feeling about the Guards going into an all-or-nothing Game 3 of the Wild Card series.

Anthony Lima and Jason Lloyd discuss the Cleveland Guardians' offense finally breaking out in their Game 2 win, along with whether the Detroit Tigers' strategy cost them a series-clinching victory.

#10MinuteswithJesus ** Put yourself in the presence of God. Try talking to Him. ** 10 minutes are 10 minutes. Even if you can get distracted, reach the end. ** Be constant. The Holy Spirit acts "on low heat" and requires perseverance. 10-Minute audio to help you pray. Daily sparks to ignite prayer: a passage from the gospel, an idea, an anecdote and a priest who speaks with you and the Lord, inviting you to share your intimacy with God. Find your moment, consider you are in His presence and click play.

We hope you'll consider joining our exclusive Guardians community of fans in our Discord, you'll get an ADDITIONAL episode per week, all for supporting the show for $5 per month at Patreon.com/SelbyIsGodcastListeners get $20 off their first ticket purchase at SEATGEEK with the promo code: SELBY.The playoffs are here. Zack and T.J. talk about the Guardians finishing off their historic comeback to catch the Tigers for the AL Central and their first-round matchup against Detroit, Stephen Vogt's role in steering the Guards to this point and the latest playoff projections.

Fantasy Baseball Live – September 28, 2025 – 5 pmSegment 1 – Review the Weekend Games and Playoff situationAdditional Questions:1.One playoff spot is left – Mets or Reds2.Both the Guards and Tigers make it, but for the first time in years, the Astros are out of the playoff race.a.Zach Cole looked really good to end the season. Hit his fourth home run yesterday and stole his third base. Thoughts?3.The Brewers and Phillies get byes in the NL and in the AL it's the Mariners and either the Yankees or Blue Jays that get the bye4.Give me the ALCS and NLCS finalist and ultimate WS opponents?Segment 1.5 – My Team Top 20s drop on Friday with the Cubs1.Two per week after that until we are done2.I've modified my approach and will be discussing.Segment 2 and 3 – Let's draft the first round1.Shohei Ohtani - Tim2.Aaron Judge - Rich3.Juan Soto - Tim4.Bobby Witt Jr. – Rich5.Jose Ramirez – Tim6.J-Rod – Rich7.Elly De La Rosa – Tim8.Francisco Lindor – Rich9.Corbin Carroll – Tim10.Tarik Skubal – Rich11.Fernando Tatis Jr – Tim12.Kyle Schwarber – Rich13.Gunnar Henderson – Tim14.Kyle Tucker – Rich15.Paul Skenes – Tim16.Junior Caminero - TimSegment 4 – 3 to 5 sleepers entering next season – Here are mineSleepers (5)1.Emmet Sheehan – ERA of 2.82, xERA of 3.01. Three plus pitches of a fastball with a huge whiff rate, signature pitch in his slider (43.6% whiff rate) and a good enough change-up. Above average control.2. Ranger Suarez – Will continue to be underrated because he's not an elite strikeout guy, but ground ball machine 3.04 xERA on a 3.20 ERA3.Eury Perez – Had a rough spot that drove his ERA up, but xERA is 3.24 with nearly a 10 K/9 strikeout rate. Fastball is back to averaging 98 MPH and his change-up is still ridiculous (60% whiff rate).4.Jac Cag – I'm hoping a .158 batting average surpresses his value. Had a 89 MPH exit velo, which is not elite (more average), but huge bat speed metric and I believe he's going to hit the ball hard. xBA is .249, reasonable strikeout rate of 22% (just below league average).5.Dylan Crews – Call me crazy, but speed is at 90th percentile, average exit velo is at 89.7 mph, bat speed ranks in upper third of the league, xBA is .248 on his .210 BA. Strikeout rate is a bit high (23%) and walk rate a bit low (7.5%), but nothing too alarming. Failed sleeper1.Coby Mayo – I got intrigued a few weeks ago, and now he's continued to hit and now has become a bit of Darling going into next season. That said, the data doesn't not support a breakout. He's not hitting the ball hard and striking out too much. Oh, he's been great over the last month, but the exit velos are worse with a .228 xBA. All his power is derived from pull and loft. This might be a sucker a pick, so I'm backing off.Close