Interference

usatoday.com
FBI's Comey says Obama did not order wiretapping of Trump's New York office
In much anticipated public remarks, FBI Director James Comey is expected to offer the most definitive repudiation yet of President Trump's claims that the Obama administration wiretapped the president's New York offices.

FBI Director James Comey Monday offered the most definitive repudiation yet that the Obama administration wiretapped President Trump’s New York offices in advance of the 2016 elections.

“The FBI and the Justice Department have no information to support’’ Trump’s wiretap assertions, Comey said.

Comey, appearing before the House Intelligence Committee along with National Security Agency Director Mike Rogers, also confirmed for the first time publicly that the FBI was investigating Russian interference, including communications between Trump associates and Russian officials.

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🇫🇷 President Barack Obama endorsed the intelligent & inclusive Centrist, pro-E.U. candidate Emmanuel Macron last week. However on the eve of the French Presidential election we learned of similar Russian interference and hacking of the anti-Putin candidate just as they did of the Hillary Clinton campaign in the US. Let’s hope the French electorate isn’t fooled towards the bigoted & fascist candidate preferred and openly endorsed by Putin.

Vive-la-france🇫🇷

Interference (pt 1)

Originally posted by sugutie

pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 | pt 4 | pt 5 | pt 6 | pt 7 | pt 8 | pt 9 | pt 10 | pt 11 | pt 12 | pt 13 | pt 14 | pt 15 | pt 16 | pt 17 |

Officer!Jimin x Reader~  

*big thanks to @namjeune for helping me proofread and more shit~

Your day started in darkness. There’s voices, hushed and muffled, speaking way too close, as if someone were beside you. If you could shiver in this dream-like state, you would at the eerie, almost ghostly whispers in your ear.

Your body is heavy and numb of feeling with your mind blank, just as blank as the dark world surrounding you. It doesn’t register in your mind that maybe your eyes were sealed tight until little of your senses begin to function and your fingers twitched, bright lights filtering through the darkness. It’s blinding but you force yourself to grab a hold of reality and pull yourself out of the tempting arms of unconsciousness.

Cracking open your heavy eyes, the first thing you register is the pure white ceiling directly above you. Upon awaking, you inhale sharply, your lungs eagerly welcoming your first breath since coming to, the oxygen mask attached to your face fogging up with evaporation when you exhale. Without much strength in your body with a peculiar throb in your head, your eyes flit around without twisting your neck.

The room you’re in is purely white with beeping machines and organized counters pushed towards the walls furnishing it. You could fairly guess that you were in the hospital, but for what reason were you here?

It takes a lot of whatever energy you had to attempt to recall the events prior to your awakening, but your mind is blank and it only causes the throbbing in your head to worsen. Your eyebrows furrow at the pain, finding the will to raise your hand and grip your forehead, the limb suddenly the weight of an anvil.

Your fingers brush over the top layer of gauze wrapped around your forehead, a sting forcing your jaw to clench when you press down on a certain spot above your temple. Glancing up, you spot the needle fixed into your arm, connected to an IV drip.

“Oh! You’re awake, perfect, I should call Dr. Nam right now!”

It’s only a few silent minutes before a feminine face peers over you, her body clad in baby blue scrubs and her hair pulled back and out of her face in a tight bun. Her doe-like brown eyes are wide with relief as she smiles down reassuringly at you.

“Wh… who are y-you?” you manage to croak out, your voice hoarse and filled with uncertainty as she helps you sit up, fixing a pillow to support your head and carefully pulling the oxygen mask off your mouth.

“I’m Nurse Oh, you’re at the hospital… Miss… are you alright? Does your head hurt?”

Oh no it feels fucking amazing, you think bitterly when your head throbs. However, you can’t help but notice the hesitant pause after Miss. Did she not know your name?

Your eyes widen when you realize you also didn’t even know your own name. Hell, it suddenly occurs to you, you have no idea who you are, and what you were doing in the hospital in the first place.

“You don’t know.. my name?” you ask hesitantly, gauging her reaction carefully as she goes through a state of shock. Her mouth opens and closes for a brief second, and just when she finally utters a noise, the door opens and who you assume is Dr. Nam walks in.

You size him up as a fairly tall man, his elongated body showing off a white lab coat with the same baby blue scrubs underneath, his hair is nicely styled off his forehead, and in his hands is a clipboard of papers you can barely care for when you’re having an identity crisis blowing up inside of you.

“No evidence of identification was found on you or at the crime scene, Miss,” Nurse Oh sighs as the doctor checks your vitals.

“Crime scene..?” you ask, your brain straining to figure out the blanks. You found yourself in the middle of a complex word search, with nothing but blanks and no answers to fill them. Whatever they said kept drawing more blanks, memories you had no idea of. It frustrated you, anger blooming across your chest the longer the nurse and doctor continued to ask you whether a limb hurt or if you could move it.

Doctor Nam stopped, and looked up at you, his eyes narrow as they intimidate your own into averting elsewhere, “Your body was found.. you were shot in the head when we found you, thankfully you hadn’t bled out.. you’ve been in a comatose for the past two months.”

“You’re lucky the bullet didn’t pierce through any crucial areas, only one side of your brain was damaged, I assume only your memories have been affected and nothing physical like moving or speaking.”

It’s on cue that images flash through your mind, images of an alley, the muzzle of a gun aimed right at your head when you turn. There’s blood, too much blood that you can’t recognize the color of the ground when your body shuts down and makes contact with the floor.

“Hey, are you okay?”

You jolt from your initial shock from the sudden onslaught of memories, but it leaves you empty when nothing else returns to you. The memories are there, you conclude, compiled in a sturdy box inside your brain, something restraining you from reminiscing them.

What could have happened that your brain completely blocked out all of your memories, leaving you with no recollection of who you were? Who would shoot you in the head in the first place? What connections did you have prior to the shooting that caused you to get stuck in this place?

“I’m fine,” you say as reassuringly as you can, managing a small bitter smile that is enough to make the doctor lay off and leave you alone to yourself and your thoughts.

Before the nurse leaves you, she turns on the television for you, leaving you as well after reassuring you that after you find the strength to move around again you’ll get discharged and maybe find a detective to help your crisis.

And that’s what you’re determined to do. You force yourself to forget the fact that you have retrograde amnesia, and push yourself to recover your regular motor skills.

It takes you a few days to be able to feed yourself without the need of a nurse to spoon food like a child.

It takes you a week to be able to push yourself into an upright position in bed without a nurse doing it for you.

It takes a few more weeks to be able to stand up without having to hold the hand of a nurse to balance yourself, however your strength only lasting to an extent before you seek the help of her to get you back in bed.

It takes you a month to begin to make baby steps, using a crutch as your support. With being able to walk, you’re no longer wearing those damned diapers that make you feel like a toddler. For the past month you’ve been nothing but an infant learning how to crawl and eventually walk, it’s a hit to your dignity when they have to change your diaper due to your inability to walk. However, you’re relieved to be able to carry yourself to and from your bed to the restroom.

It’s days after when you’re able to roam the hospital, your legs beginning to function how they would if you hadn’t been in a coma.

During the span of a month, you’re disappointed when no one claims to know you. There’s no family visits, friends, a boyfriend maybe, nothing. There’s no leads to anymore memories, just the knowledge that you were shot in an alley, and even then you had no idea where that alley could be.

When you’re finally able to ditch the crutches and walk on your own, your discharge from the hospital in the near distance, you’re suddenly hit with the realization that you had nowhere to go from there on. What were you going to do when you knew no one, you didn’t even know yourself? You had no name, no background, no home as far as you knew, there was nothing for you outside of those glass doors as you signed the forms for your discharge.

“Um Miss..?”

You’re jolted out of your thoughts by the receptionist, she carefully slides you a piece of parchment that you realize is the bill for your stay at the hospital. The price wasn’t as scary as the fact that you basically had nothing, there was no way you were going to be able to pay at this rate.

“You have to cut me some slack,” you try reasoning, desperate and beyond frustrated with your horrible luck, “I’m unable to pay for this, I have no idea who I am and what world I’m about to step into outside those doors, I have nothing…”

She shakes her head with a pitiful look her eyes, it almost makes you want to slap her for looking down on you like some abandoned puppy, even if that was what you were. Just an abandoned animal, no family, no home, nothing.

“I’m sorry Miss there’s nothing we can do about it, you can pay in increments but until then you-” the receptionist is interrupted by another voice, more masculine but not deep. When you look up, you’re not expecting the first thing you see to be a head of fluffy-looking orange locks.

“I’ll pay for her, partial now and in increments until it’s fully paid for.”