end of gsgw part 2 spoilers, and part 3 speculation
A lot of people focus on how the cast might feel towards Soleum when its revealed that he is Ireum, but I'm mainly worried on how the Bureau or gov will act.
I'm worried they're gonna try putting him in a contract similar to Director Cheong's. Where he can still use his ability and suffer the loss of self that comes from it, but still be "functional" in the sense that they can direct him with commands into doing what they want.
We know the Bureau, despite the fact it is one, if not the best, organization that tackles ghost stories, its still fairly unethical, and will do ANYTHING to save as many lives as possible, we've seen that they:
-Aren't above torture, seen in the interrogation methods and the fact they have a nightmare Labyrinth to get information from those in glass prisons.
-Aren't above killing (possibly innocent) people, like I get most people in the murder lodge was a criminal in some way, and would likely get the death sentence somewhere, but BSE was given his tape by a relative, and KSE just got in by accident, so there could very easily be innocent people regularly getting caught up in that one and getting killed.
And even if it's not the Bureau themselves, we know the Gov there is absolutely corrupt, and wouldn't be against using him for whatever, since they:
-Prevented deep research into Jisan village, a Luminous cult ghost story, so they couldn't end the disaster. and the fact the happy ending sect was able to settle down there half a year later?? Like c'mon, that seems suspicious as hell
-Buys potions from Daydream, y'know, the corrupt business which seems to send at least hundreds to their deaths every year? Well to be specific, it said "Important people" buy em, but the gov falls under that. Plus there's no way in hell they haven't noticed something off about daydream, like the fact people who get jobs there seem to go missing or die pretty often?
Theres a lot more I think I could list, but the long story short is, I'm worried they're gonna try using him just as Director Cheong did, and even worse is that I'm also slightly worried that some of the people KSE has grown close to might not be 100% against it.
Another GSGW rant, till the end of part 2 spoilers
Decided to make this one it's own post otherwise it'd be too long.
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The more I think about it, the worse my opinion of the SDMB becomes.
Like in the Sekwang disaster, they used the scales of evil to determine people's rescue value. Which wouldn't doing so waste time? Like you need these likely panicking people to line up in an orderly fashion, and stab their hearts!
No way in hell was that going calmly during the actual disaster!
And even if it worked by using the fate and name, like Bronze said the scales used (which theres a chance only started happening not too long before he joined the Bureau), to judge and then rank people on their conscious probably wasted so much time they could have used to actually get people out of there.
Plus, how the hell did they have such a horrible response to the disaster? The cheerful research institute labs were in the subway, right under the Bureau's nose, and they didn't find notice ANYTHING off?
During the disaster there was a massive egg growing on the roof of a building! Eun Haje saw it, how the hell did no agents see it and come to the conclusion that it could be what was causing the disaster? Did none of them report it?
They're gov agency, so they should have been able to easily drop a small explosive like a grenade, or at least something onto it! But they didn't even try that!
They needed THREE days to do the ritual to seal the city, so they had three days to fly a drone or use something to get a birds eye view of the situation! there should be zero excuse for the fact they didn't notice or just didn't try to do anything to the egg
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And honestly I think I need to retract my opinion that it was only the higher ups; and not the individual agents, that are corrupt, here is a little from chapter 224:
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"The usual procedure would be to confine her in the Glass Prison to prevent false testimony and proceed with the interrogation, but…
'…Should I just send her?'
To the Nightmare Maze.
Her attitude would change once she experienced it."
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What the hell Bronze???? and this was even before Agent Choi asked about Kim Soleum.
and Bronze is supposed to be the one who follows the SDMB by the book the most (aside from when it comes to KSE). If he was so willing to do this, then what about other agents when they get somewhat emotional with a prisoner? Do they just send them in the Nightmare maze willy-nilly?????
Theres also when Go youngeun's superior seemed to be reckless and not really caring of consequences when they just opened the door to the 4th floor in lookymart, causing both their own death, and Go Youngeun's contamination.
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I hope part 3, aside from being mainly focused on the cult, also explores how corrupt the SDMB truly is. We do have some crumbs of it already, but I hope they go into it more.
Something from way back that has stuck with me - not wanting to claim credit by any means, just really want to be sure it does not go unremembered, I give you this tale from Scylla of the Straight Dope Message Board circa 2001:
I once read a story about an Irish Wolfhound. These are the largest of all dog breeds, and the reason there are no wolves left in Ireland.
Another Dog Story
I once read a story about an Irish Wolfhound.
These are the largest of all dog breeds, and the reason there are no wolves left in Ireland.
There was a Prince, and he had a wolfhound that he loved.
The dog was named Gledden.
Every morning the Prince would go hunting with the dog.
The Prince felt bad when his wife gave birth and he didn't hunt with Gledden for a whole week tending to his wife and daughter. Gledden didn't seem to mind though.
Finally, the Prince felt that his duties would allow him a morning off, and he took off, eager for the hunt. He was a bit miffed that Gledden seemd nowhere about. He hunted by himself, and after a fruitless morning, returned to his castle.
Upstairs though, he had cause for alarm. The nursery was disheveled. The bassinet was empty, and there was blood everywhere. Fearing the worst, the Prince called loudly for aid.
Hearing the cry Gledden came bounding to his master from the adjoining room. His mouth and chest were covered with blood, as he leaped onto his master with greeting.
Putting two and two together, the Prince concluded his prized dog had become jealous of his son, and killed him to secure his affections. In a murderous rage, he plunges his sword into Gledden's chest.
Gledden's death howl wakes up the Prince's son, and the the Prince hears his son's wail from the adjoining room Gledden had just appeared from.
In that room the Prince finds his son, unhurt, and still wrapped in his swaddling clothes. His son lies next to the corpse of the giant wolf that had pulled him from his bassinet.
It was that wolf's blood that covered Gledden.
The Prince buried Gledden on top of the highest hill, and changed the town's name to Gleddenfeld, meaning
"Gledden's Bed." That is what it is called today.
It is said the Prince never smiled again.
Gelert by Charles Burton Barber (c.1894)
I was intrigued by that legend, and I read up on the dogs.
When we bought this property, I wanted a large and fierce appearing dog.
Everything I'd read about Wolfhounds said they were gentle giants, and I spent $750 for a pup from a breeder. I figured such a large and loyal dog would be excellent around the farm. My wife would be spending a lot of time here alone while I worked, and the presence of such an animal might be a strong persuader to anybody who thought of messing with her.
The pup grew awkwardly. His front legs would grow, but the rest of him would stay the same for a few weeks, and he'd look funny. Then his ears would get left behind, and he'd look funny.
When fully grown, Corwin was 130 pounds. He'd jump up and greet me, and when he did so, he'd place both paws on my shoulder and look down at me.
The Irish Wolfhound- Get to know the Legendary Gentle Giant
When we wrestled he did something I've not known another dog to do. He'd give you a foot sweep. He'd walk up and club you in the lower leg with his big baseball bat of a paw and knock you down. Then he'd slobber you to death.
Sometimes he did look fierce, but then he would move and spoil the illusion. The fact of the matter was that he was obviously a big goof.
He'd run full speed through a field, and suddenly trip. He'd go cartwheeling and sliding fifty yards before coming to a stop, and there'd be a big trail of dust marking his crash. It was like watching a bus wreck.
Little kids loved him, and would actually ride him. He was polite, always friendly, and a good companion. He'd go wherever you went, and love it.
He was a terror inside the house though. He had that hound smell, and he'd render furniture unfit for human use just by being near it. If he sat on the couch, it'd be all dented and covered with coarse white hairs. There'd be a huge trail of drool soaking the side of it and puddled on the floor.
He'd wag his tail and it was like slinging a baseball bat.
Chairs would get knocked over and lamps thrown from tables.
My wife and I worked a deal to preserve the marriage. I built him a home in the barn to sleep in. He could spend evenings in the house, but in the Great room only, so that the damage could be contained.
Corwin, being rather agreeable towards anything, was fine with this.
The other problem was I got no respect. People around here are serious about their dogs, and nobody took big goofy Corwin very seriously. People have Rotweillers, Shepherds, Jack Russells, Retrievers, but I had the only Wolfhound, and there weren't any wolves.
Then, one day, at my nieghbors house, Corwin and my neighbor's Rottweiler hooch were messing around. They were in the back of my neighbor's pickup truck. I called Corwin to go, and he jumped out of the truck.
He didn't quite make it.
Corwin's balls landed on the trailer hitch.
H0000000000wwwwww000000000000! He cried, curled up pitifully.
It cost me two hundred dollars to get his balls treated.
What little respect I had received from my neighbors for Corwin was due to his considerable size. Now he was the laughingstock.
People would ask me how my dog's balls were as a form of greeting, their deadpan delivery giving way to a sly grin.
In spite of his clumsy good-natured klutziness and the ridicule it got me, I loved that dog. When he sighed contededly, it was a titanic emotion. You could lay down on the floor with your head on his chest and hear his mighty heart pulse. When he played with little kids or smaller dogs you beheld an infinite and epic goodwill and kindness, and a careful gentleness.
Later we got another dog, and it was the height of comedy to watch the little puppy "pin" Corwin to the ground.
He had a great soul, and I came to think of him as "Great-Souled Corwin," and admire his humanity (for lack of a better word.)
But, I thought of him as a lovable, but ultimately inept goof. A comic figure.
Corwin though, showed me differently, and we shared a defining moment.
I was walking around the property. Corwin was off galumphing about somewhere ahead.
There's a wild dog problem in this area. People buy a dog, decide they don't like it and set it free in the gamelands a mile away. Every late fall these dogs get hungry, lean, and mean, and they cause trouble with livestock and scare people. I've had five or six encounters in my time here, and I now do what my neighbors do when they encounter one.
They shoot it.
This was my first fall though, and my first encounter. I was unarmed, and merely out for a walk.
It was a Doberman, and it had been shot in the side of the head at some point. It had a big infected wound, and it was pissed off and seemed inclined to take it out on me. I knew better than to run, but this dog had me scared. It would charge forward silently a few paces, stop and back up. It wasn't barking, just growling quietly, and it felt like it was testing me out prior to a serious attack.
I was trying to make my way to a tree when Corwin showed up.
He came bounding over, toungue hanging out of his mouth, tripping over his own feet, and stopped dead when he and the Doberman simultaneously spied each other.
And then the dog I knew was gone. For the first and only time in my knowledge, Corwin became all business.
His goofy ears flattened against his shovel of a skull. His great long neck angled low to the ground, leaving his huge head parallel and a few inches above the dirt. The tounge withdrew into the mouth whose lips curled, revealing teeth and jaws more befitting a T-rex than a dog. The front legs and paws splayed widely and his huge shoulder muscles bunched. His tail whipped slowly from side to side like an angry and venomous snake.
The Doberman growled dangerously.
Corwin did not growl. I swear it. I know a growl. A growl is a threat. This was not a threat. It wasn't even a promise. This was a fact that issued from his throat. It was the eager fact of death both imminent and inevitable. It was the sound of murder.
I had never heard a sound like that before, and it's difficult to describe. It's a sound like an IRS audit, or the last tortured cry of the turbine engine on a jumbo jet before the plane crashes. It's the sound of a bill due and payable when you're already overdrawn.
It literally gave me goose bumps and loose bowels as I stood there. I knew if he had ever made that sound to a human being he would have had to have been destroyed.
Suddenly I understood his epic good nature and careful clumsiness. Equipped as he was, a perfect machine for murder, Corwin could not afford to pose or play it tough. Any overture in that direction would have been overkill.
Later I figured out that he shared something in common with every legitimate badass I’d ever known. He didn’t give a shit about his image. He knew he was deadly, and saw no reason to adertise the fact.
The other dog saw it too, and tried to back off without turning tail. It didn’t work. Corwin slid in low and fast. His front paw shot out and swept the front legs of the Doberman, knocking it off balance. Then the Corwin’s huge jaws were around the throat of the Doberman. His neck came off the ground, taking the Doberman with it. The muscles clenched and you could hear bones snapping like crunching Broccoli.
All the while the same low yet insistent sound of murder continued.
It ended quickly, but Corwin held on for a long minute, unmoving.
Then he dropped the dog, and turned to me.
The ears popped up in their airheaded way, and he bounded comically over to me
“Duhhhhh, how ya doin?” his look said.
Wolfhounds don’t live long. 10 Years is a rarity. They are too big. Bloat gets them a lot, as does cancer, but most die of a heart attack.
Corwin made it to three years old. One night he seemed tired. He’d jogged with me that day, so that wasn’t unusual. He was mighty but he never had especially good endurance. The next morning he was dead.
I buried him, and planted a Maple. My brother, never a sentimentalist, loved that dog, and drove 4 hours to say goodbye.
I’ll never get another. The heartbreak was too much, and three years is far too short a time to spend in the company of such a magnificent animal.
That dog taught me a lot about manhood. I had just gotten married when I got him. Just bought this farm. I was pretty caught up in my image and felt very self-important at my relative success in business. I was proud, and thought dignity was something you wore like a piece of fine clothing. I thought it was a thing like a museum piece.
I’d like to think I know better now. I’d like to think that manhood and dignity are a compassionate fool who moves like a living Chevy Chase pratfall, that the greatest and stongest of us all, hide as clowns.
And, I hope that I learned enough from that dog that my daughter knows him, though they have never met. I hope that I’m man enough to reflect enough of that animal onto my daughter.
Fight for the old Maroon (and Gold)! For it’s hail, hail, the gang’s all here And it’s onward to victory! #ASU #SDMB #ThreeStripeNation https://www.instagram.com/p/CS95hs7Ps5U/?utm_medium=tumblr
