phone messages 2 | Quizalize

🛡️ Be Smart, Stay Safe! – True or False Quiz 🧠 Instructions: Read each statement. Decide if it's TRUE ✅ or FALSE ❌. Tick the correct box. After each answer, discuss WHY it's true or false! # Statement ✅ True ❌ False 1 During an air raid siren, it is safe to go outside to see what is happening. ☐ ☐ 2 It's a good idea to ignore warning messages on your phone about danger. ☐ ☐ 3 In a shelter, it's important to stay calm and quiet. ☐ ☐ 4 You should always touch or pick up strange or unfamiliar things on the street. ☐ ☐ 5 Having water and snacks in your home for emergencies is a good idea. ☐ ☐ 6 It's okay to post where Ukrainian soldiers are online. ☐ ☐ 7 If you hear explosions far away, you don’t need to worry. ☐ ☐ 8 Knowing the nearest shelter to your home or school is important. ☐ ☐ 9 It's safe to play near damaged buildings after fighting stops. ☐ ☐ 10 Helping your family and neighbors during hard times is important. ☐ ☐

How is personal data collected? There are several ways that an unauthorised person can try and collect your data. These include: •phishing •smishing •vishing •pharming. Phishing Phishing is when a person sends a legitimate looking email to a user. The email contains a link to a website that also looks legitimate. The user is encouraged to click the link and to input personal data into a form on the website. The email could also simply ask the user to reply to the email with their personal data. The user is tricked into giving their personal data to a source that they believe is legitimate. However, both the email and the linked website are from a fake unauthorised source. The personal data that is input is then collected by an unauthorised person. This person can then use this data for criminal acts, for example, to commit fraud or steal the person's identity. Intimidation has become a common feature of phishing emails, threatening the user that they must click the link and rectify a situation immediately, or there will be a further issue. The aim of a phishing attack is to steal the user's personal data. Figure 5.1: Phishing. A real-life example of phishing PayPal have been the subject of several different phishing emails. Users receive an email that looks as though it has been sent from PayPal, as it has the PayPal branding. The email normally warns of an issue such as unexpected activity on their account, or that some kind of verification of their account is required. The user is then asked to click a link to log into their account and resolve the issue. The link takes them to a webpage that looks like the PayPal login page. If the user inputs their login details into this page, they will not be taken to their account. It is often at this stage that the user may realise that the email and webpage are fake. However, they have already given the unauthorised person their PayPal login details. Figure 5.2: An example of a phishing email claiming to be from PayPal. How to recognise phishing There are several guidelines to be aware of regarding emails to avoid being subjected to phishing. These include: •Don't even open an email that is not from a sender that you recognise or a trusted source. •Legitimate companies will never ask you for your personal data using email. Be immediately suspicious of any email that requests your personal data. •Legitimate companies will normally address you by your name. Be suspicious of any email that addresses you as ‘Dear Member' or ‘Dear Customer'. •Legitimate companies will send an email that uses their domain name. If you hover your mouse over the sender's name, it will show the email address that the email is sent from. If this does not look legitimate, for example, does not contain the correct domain name, then it is probably fake. For example, if the sender's email is user@paypal1.com rather than user@paypal.com, this is from an incorrect domain name. •Legitimate companies are protective of their professional reputation and thoroughly check any communications. They will make sure that all information given is grammatically and correctly spelt. Be suspicious of any email that contains bad grammar or spelling mistakes. •A link in an email from a legitimate company will also normally contain the domain name of the company. You can sometimes hover over the link, or right click and inspect the link, to see the address of the URL that is attached. If the URL does not contain the domain name, or also contains typical errors such as spelling mistakes, then be suspicious of this. PRACTICAL ACTIVITY 5.02 Ask a friend or a member of your family if they have ever received an email that they believed was a phishing email. Ask them how they identified it was phishing. Ask them if they know all of the given guidelines for identifying phishing emails. Smishing Smishing (or SMS phishing) is a variant of phishing that uses SMS text messages to lure the user into providing their personal details. The user is sent an SMS text message that either contains a link to a website, in the same way that phishing does, or it will ask the user to call a telephone number to resolve an urgent issue. The same advice can be followed for smishing as given for phishing. The user must question at all times any links that are sent from an unknown or suspicious user. It is advisable that if a user believes the message may be legitimate, to type in the domain name for the legitimate company website into their web browser, rather than following the link in the message. Users should block any numbers that they believe are suspicious to prevent any further risk of smishing from that number. Figure 5.3: Smishing. Vishing Vishing (or voice phishing) has the same aim as phishing, to obtain a user's personal details. The user receives a telephone call that could either be an automated system or could be a real person. An automated voice could speak to the user and advise them that an issue has occurred, such as there has been suspicious activity regarding their bank account. The user may then be asked to call another number, or just to simply press a digit and be directed to another automated system. This system will ask them to provide their bank account details to resolve the issue. The bank account details have then been obtained by the unauthorised user and can be used to commit a crime against the user. The automated system could be replaced by a real person who will try to do the same thing. They will try to convince the user that there has been an issue with an account they have and to provide the log-in details or PIN for the account to verify who they are so the issue can be resolved. The precaution to take for vishing is that no company will ever call you and ask you to provide any log-in details or PIN details over the telephone. They may ask you to provide other personal information, and if you are in doubt that the person on the other end of the phone is legitimate, it is always advisable to put the phone down and call the company back on a legitimate number that you may already know or can obtain. Figure 5.4: Vishing. Pharming Pharming is when an unauthorised user installs malicious code on a person's hard drive or server. The malicious code is designed to redirect a user to a fake website when they type in the address of a legitimate one. The fake website is designed to look like the legitimate one, to trick the user and make sure they are not aware that their request has been redirected. The user will then enter their personal details into the fake website, believing it is the legitimate one, and the unauthorised person will now have their personal data. A common technique used in pharming is called domain name server (DNS) cache poisoning. This technique exploits vulnerabilities in the DNS and diverts the internet traffic intended for a legitimate server toward a fake one instead. The unauthorised user needs to find a way to install the malicious code on the computer. They often hide the malicious code in an email attachment or link. When the user opens the email attachment or clicks the link, the malicious code is downloaded also. Figure 5.5: Pharming. The aim of a pharming attack is also to steal a user's personal data. A real-life example of pharming In 2007 50 different companies all over the world were subject to a pharming attack, these included PayPal, eBay, Barclays bank and American Express. Over a three-day period, hackers managed to infect over 1000 PCs a day with a malicious pharming code. When users who had been infected visited the websites of the different companies, they were redirected to a legitimate-looking version of the site that was designed to steal their personal data. The original email, containing the malicious code, was set up to look like a shocking news story. Users were encouraged to click a link in the email to find out more information. The code was downloaded when the user clicked the link. This was quite a sophisticated attack that required legitimate looking websites to be set up for a large number of companies. It is not known how much money the hackers were able to retrieve as a result. How to prevent pharming All of the guidelines to avoid being subjected to phishing are also relevant for recognising pharming. There are also several other precautions that can be taken to check for pharming attacks. These include: •Have a firewall installed and operational. A firewall monitors incoming and outgoing traffic from your computer. It checks this traffic against set criteria and will flag and stop any traffic that does not meet the criteria. A firewall could detect and block suspicious traffic, such as a malicious code trying to enter your system. •Have an anti-virus program installed that is designed to detect malicious pharming code. You need to scan your computer on a regular basis to check for any malicious code. It is advisable to set up an automatic scan on a daily basis at a time when your computer will normally be switched on. •Be aware when using public Wi-Fi connections. A hacker could look to directly access your computer and install the malicious code if you are connected to a public Wi-Fi connection. It is often advisable to use a VPN when using public Wi-Fi. This will help shield your internet activity and personal details from a hacker, making it more difficult for them to access your computer. Smishing can also be used as a form of pharming. A user is sent a link, that when they click is designed to download malware onto their mobile device. Therefore, it is advisable to have security software installed on your mobile and also scan it regularly to detect any presence of malware.

“On this night, we share a roof protecting us from fleets of inequity. Our unification promises a better tomorrow. Those larger than myself, sitting on their marble thrones, sipping blood from cups composed of human skin and singing songs of so-called virtue, grow weaker each moment. Their caravans are revolting. There is hope yet. There is progress! Though tonight may mark a countdown, it is still a celebration. Look at all we have done, not just for Trials but for Palatium Infra as a whole. In four years, when I’m no longer Sovereignty, the Spoiled Purity and his people will continue to strive. So drink! Smoke! Crush up those exotic plants and snort them! We will not falter, weaken, or wane. Our influence is expanding, and somebody new opens their eyes every day. Even the Silbys of Aculeus have reached alarming potentials despite their embittered minds. So long as you relish in tonight, dance, and pray to your “dead” Gods, our revolution shall rise beyond the bounds of class, and when I’m only a commoner, we shall rise again beyond our brainwashed adversaries! Cheers, my people. Cheers!” Followers raised their cups. Some clinked theirs together. Others stood still and screamed breathlessly in agreement. I smiled with courtesy, then stepped off my platform. My voice still rang across the cellar. Speeches before were grander. Those displays were supposed to be emptying, and yet this one left me bloated, swollen tight. I watched as they popped the corks of their bottles and chanted in the name of Purity. Maybe the quality of my words wasn’t what mattered to them anyway, so long as I screamed loud enough. There’s no merit in attacking your people, a voice corrected me. “That’s right,” I said aloud. “Knox, my-my Sovereign!” squealed a nearby devotee, jittering as he stuffed his face with catered pastries. He was one I’d never seen before or had failed to remember. “Look what I’ve found! It’s wine, and not the shoddy Infran kind, either. Earth-made with good fruit! I don’t know how anyone managed to get their hands on this. Maybe some space travel mischief.” He giggled and held up a small glass bottle. “How neat.” “I want you to have it, Sir.” I nodded my head. “Yes, of course. Thank you.” Backing off into the midst of rowdy disciples, I clutched the bottle. What a waste of grapes. It could have been jam instead. Earthly food had a superior taste, ripe with delicate intricacies and nostalgia, but Palatium Infra had mastered the art of alcohol. Why waste your time with a drunkenness so sad and sickening? The booze of trash. Not many more followers approached me. The barren peroration must have upset them. My hands itched to submerge into my suit pockets, and my legs stood suddenly numb, wobbling. Four more years until I’m nothing. But tonight, you are nothing. “Shut up,” I told myself. Tightly packed together in the corner of the dwelling sat the Sibyls. A mound of writhing fabric and tones of skin made up their unified silhouette. I snapped the strap of the nearest gown, balancing on my hands and knees, waving the bottle before them. In their almost rodent nature, narrow noses prodded my way. Their dresses wrinkled and fell to their ankles. Knees dropped, and eyes widened. Many grumbled at me like hungry she-beasts. Those newer ones with faded curtains for hair, sunken eyes, and dirtied nails looked, hid their face, then sobbed. I imagined them in a pack together, fighting wildly against the Spoiled Purity in their rat decorum–biting down with square teeth laced with rabies. “I’ve got you all something,” I said. “Go back off to your pedestal and yap some more. We don’t want it.” A woman rose from the pile and spat. “You don’t even know what it is yet. It's Earth hooch, or more likely a near-flawless replica. I figured you girls would also like a chance to enjoy yourselves tonight.” “Your playmates have been harassing us since the moment you hung the banners and opened the cellar door.” The youngest, with a striking cyan mop upon her head, uncoiled from the mass. What was she now? 20, 21? We celebrated a birthday recently, I thought as she spun around me. “I remember something about a promise. Multiple promises, actually. Are you trying to bribe us into just shutting up and taking it? Because if another sticky, 40-year-old, Earth-born virgin gropes my shoulder, I’m going to have an aneurysm!” the girl continued. “Why not an Infran follower? Do you like it when they touch you?” I returned her accusing tone. “I’m sorry, sweet prophets, that you feel I’ve neglected my duties. I’ll keep a better eye out. Remember, you can always just holler if somebody is bothering you. And Anwen, friend, if I’ve ever tried to bribe you with anything, it was certainly the hair dye. I mean, look at you! Such handsomeness!” I exclaimed. The other Siblys began to encircle her, uttering compliments or even announcements of their envy. Anwen disappeared in a wink with flushed cheeks back into the mound. “I’ll just leave this here.” Smiling, I set down the bottle. ** “141, 143. . .” I counted each step as I trekked the staircase. There was no doubt I lost track somewhere. The ledges kept spawning under my feet, infinitely multiplying until I wasn’t moving at all–swallowing me up in a whirlpool of stone. My tie still hung around my neck, and my blazer remained tied around my hips as a skirt. Streaks of red dribbled off from the cavity in my chest. It was a gorgeous marking, sensual to my fingertips as I traced its edges. Purity, oh, Purity. Purity and his wings of burnt skin. Purity and his many faces. Purity the spoiled. Purity the mutilated. The Silbys did not bother waiting for me. On bare feet, they stormed up the stairs to their room. A trail of red, though in paint unlike mine, streamed after them. None looked remotely near me as they squeaked and gossiped intangibly. I saved them, those Infran broads, enlightened them. As much as they liked to deny it, spit at me, and bask in the thought of their victimhood, in this home, they stood empowered. You’ve done well, my thoughts affirmed, though in the manner of an insincere commentator rather than a hype man. Teeth grace in tile violin goes laundry paper when. It dissolved into an intruding drivel. I rubbed my head and sniveled. “Do you need help, Knox?” called a Silby. Fattened by my coddling, her shadow fell upon me from the doorway steps ahead. I attempted counting again. There must’ve been at least another hundred between me and her. “I’m hallucinating some,” I said, breathing deeply to suppress a burp as I struggled to recall her name. Two syllables. Typically Latin, though sometimes English. Drops of slobber leaked from my mouth. “I’m hallucinating some, Tybal. Do you like your name, Tybal? I would have named you something better. Ty-Tyballinia. No, we’d have to eliminate the ‘ball’ aspect. It sounds too crude.” “One foot in front of the other,” she said. So I walked. Mess greeted me at the doorway. Dirtied culinary obscured the dark wooden countertops, and the sink lay running. I approached the kitchen table, sat, and set my face down upon its cool wooden surface. Assaulting my nose was the smell of neglected flowers, like soil mixed with the kind of sweet cough medicine that would have left me gagging as a child. Open windows whispered songs of the twilight hour through the vessels of busy trolleys and shooting guns. My mouth strained to vomit, but there was nothing in my stomach to regurgitate except the petals of Stulto’s bloom, which came out effortlessly in little sputters. Teetering, I stood up and brushed disgorged plant parts off the tabletop. “Love,” I said as I slogged up yet another staircase. “Are you awake?” She said she’d wait. Somebody’s gotten her. No, she always misses movie night. That sleepyhead, I assured myself. There was a stirring amidst the manor’s cloak of dusk. Portraits of myself, my wife, and my daughter turned to face me as the hallway lights flickered, escaping their quartz frames to penetrate my ears with nonsense. The taxidermied heads of Infran creatures bared their teeth. I stopped to stare at my favorite, an adabactor with daunting spiked tusks poking out from its forehead. Its nose remained black and sharp, and its eyes wide with malice. “Where is my Spes, Adaba-boy? Is she sleepy?” There’s someone in the house. The sounds of the stirring rose along with my blood pressure. Footsteps orbited around me, drawing near and far and then near again, little dancers in the dark. The carpet immersed me in its mass of purples and blues, leaving my skin stained indigo and my vision abstracted. I toiled to reach the master bedroom across the aisle as it stretched out to me with bright lights and celestial howling, like a dove struggling in a pool of oil. Never again with Stulto’s bloom. Never again on what was already a bad night. My hand brushed the doorknob, and the high abruptly faded into only a persistent hum-buzz twirling around my brain. The portraits returned to their typical depression–Spes posing with her ax, Ari’s school photo, and myself in the cap I wore when addressing the military with the Verbis emblem embroidered in its center. All lifeless shots. Who were they for when they captured not the subject’s essence but only some fragment of their identity? They used to feel personal, not advertisements of some supposed characters. Servants, babysitters, and likewise civilian guests, I reminded myself, mustn’t forget whose home they’re in. Yet my body moved independently, taking Ari’s from its hook and laying it backward against the wall to hide her distant grin and tamed posture. It was time for new pictures. Sweet ones, real ones; time was ticking. I approached my own when the stirring began again. Groans and squeals erupted from the vents as if someone had set a pen of pigs loose in my crawlspace. No, not the crawlspace, my bedroom door. I turned the ruby knob. Underneath a blanket wrestled my two squealing piglets, their skins melting together beneath the layer of duvet. Fishnet leggings and manicured nails outstretched and scraped at the sheet beneath them. One raised its head, a salmon-colored man with sweat running down his forehead. Through the crack in the door, we met eyes, his Infran Dr. Sesuss nose flaring its narrow nostrils. No mark of the Spoiled Purity existed carved onto his naked body. My chest felt tight. I stepped back. I was suffocating. Spes emerged from the linens, her hair flowing down her back and her dark skin glistening in front of the bedroom window. She giggled and held the man, the blanket falling and revealing inches of her body I had not seen in months. “Darling,” whispered the rosy-faced man, “look.” He was unfathomably ugly and grotesquely young, with beady, lifeless pupils that dilated when he faced me. The excess flesh on his face sagged while he bit down on his thin lips. My wife faced me, gasped, and strained to cover herself. Suddenly, I was a stranger. A small child who had walked into his parents having sex. I unfurled the door completely. “Get out of my house,” I said. The man stayed in place. “Get out of my house,” I repeated. “Knox,” Spes began. Tears ran down her round cheeks. “Shut up!” I turned to the man, picking up a marble trophy from on top of my dresser. “Get out of my house! I’ll kill you!” “Knox!” Spes sobbed. “God damn it! I hate you! You barely look at me. Every day, there’s less passion. God, God, God, I don’t want to fuck a dead man!” she screamed, “You get out! Get! Get!” My hands wrapped tighter around the statue. That pig of a man was attached to her at the side, his face equipped with a scowl that challenged mine. He thought I was weak; frail like a decaying dementia-ridden senior. I imagined his skull bashed in, his scowl gone, and the feist and confidence in his face beaten into numbness. A new portrait was in order of such brutality, him as a splintered slab of wood, rashed and beaten, a carcass licking my boot. The churning in my brain had come back. Every wall shook. Clock faces came to life and rang in alarm. Indescribable noises caressed my eardrum before breaking into sorrowful weeps. Was it my own? I stared at Spes in motionless frenzy, clenched my teeth, and screamed like a siren. Passionless. What a lie! An excuse, more like. One that erased all my ventures, reducing me to a nobody. But I was not a nobody. I thought of my sect, my campaigns, my endurance through the political brutality of my empty hive-mind world–even my collection of literature, maps, and artifacts. I thought of daring nights alone with Spes when we were young, ravaging each other, two sardonic eggheads suddenly overcome with desire. The veins in my neck throbbed as I gasped for air. It was all I had. I threw the figurine at the man’s head. Eye shut, I heard the thud. A million singing voices of victory flooded out of the cracks in the floorboard. Proving myself a man to the woman I loved in a display of fervent violence was passion. I strained my ears for his cries, though I did not look yet. There had to be a pause, a moment of relief, where I stood tall as a skyscraper and seemingly fought to stay contained in front of my wife and her wounded, quivering paramour. Frantic footsteps rushed off the bed and past my side. I turned and grappled against myself to seize my wife’s shoulder. “Spes!” My eyelids lifted. Escaping was the man with that same numb expression in which I had imagined him. “You’re insane,” he said. I swiveled back towards the bed. With her curly locks flowing over her breasts and her limbs bent at her sides, Spes sat limp pressed against the headboard, her forehead bludgeoned and the statue resting on her stomach. Lips pursed and sweet, my Renaissance beauty reclined there in the guise of a squashed bug. But she was not dead. The desk ornament I flung was only the size of my shoe. Spes, that dramatist, may have been slightly hurt but was far from dead. She only wanted me to think she was to observe me at my most distraught, like a leech feeding on misery. “Get up.” Staggering toward the bed, I said. “You wanted passion? I showed you passion. ‘Shoved it right into your head. Of course, we both know who that gesture was meant for. . .” I fumbled to find my wit. Cold skin met my hands as I stroked her face, unable to resist checking her pulse, even though she was not dead. “I love you, Spes,” I said. Rain pelted against a nearby window. “Spes, please. Please.” No vibration answered my plea. I lifted my hand, sitting next to her now. Tears did not come. There was not any blood on the trophy, but when I picked it up, it felt to be now only a cruel instrument. It depicted a younger me in white marble, with my glasses and collared shirt being the only things painted. Both were in pink. It was a favorable color. I scrambled from the bed to vomit pure digestive bile on the rug. My stomach heaved. I ran my nails along every piece of myself I saw, a dog chasing my tail. As I slammed myself against walls and convulsed, my own heart grew ever louder in my chest. “Dad? I heard–” Ari’s slippered feet hammered across the floor. “Mom? Mom?” I kept my eyes on the storm. Silence fell. “She-She isn’t—your—.” Gasps interrupted every syllable she spoke. “You’re a murderer. Bad. Like they said,” she breathed, “ You beat her!” The words became mush, alphabet soup. Ari ran back down the hall. “My-My mom is dead. . . .Yes. . . Manor of the Trials Sovereignty. . .Ari Sorkin. . . I’m afraid he’s going to hurt me,” she said, presumably over the phone. It was all too fast. I crawled onto the windowsill, opened the glass, and let myself plummet into the alley below. Gusts of wind howled. The lack of motion or sensation informed me I had passed and again lived. Another Palatium Infra, another strange planet in which the celestial endowed rotting men with the opportunity to inhabit. Was this it? Was it all just an impossible limbo of galactic traveling? My surroundings were overwhelmingly gray, an abyss of clouds. Perhaps I had now met the real coming world, and my family and old friends lived here, ready to rush to my sides, lift me up, and jump for joy. Spes would be there. She would be enraged, but at least she’d be there. You are a bad man. You are a bad man. My eyelashes fluttered. There was a tugging sensation in my leg. The fog was wavering along with my ascendance. “No,” I yearned, trying to grip the clouds and stick them in place. “Stay with me.” But the peace was fleeting. I felt the cement under me and the moist garments clinging to my figure. My leg burned. Carefully, I craned my neck, only to observe the promenade as my surroundings. The most underwhelming of filth and danger, individually Infran. Forever my coming world. What a fool I was, having forgotten my blessing. Those idiot Gods could not tell the difference between assassination and self-infliction; a faulty insurance plan. The urge to cry at last set over me, and so I sat and wailed hot salvia into my palm, shielding my mouth to muffle the noise. Thunder echoed my hushed howling. Raindrops turned to pebbles. Under the ambiance of the stormy night, I could have sworn I heard troops stomping, guns cocking, and the chanting of my name. They had all been waiting for this. Billboards came to life, and I could only sit and spectate as the scenery flashed red. I inhaled fear and sobriety through runny nostrils. “Trials Sovereign Vsevolod “Knox” Sorkin is currently at large for the suspected homicide of Spes Sorkin, breaking the first term of the Sovereignty Charter. We now instruct you to report any sightings of the Earth-born, caucasian, roughly 195 centimeters tall, brown-haired, and brown-eyed man to your local Guard post. One can identify the suspected convict specifically by an occult tattoo of Purity’s Coronet on his lower back. No attempted execution or elongated punishment will take place until our Guards conduct an autopsy proving his guilt, per Life’s 1238 commandment. We cannot be sure when or if the Gods will revoke his blessing. Remember, when Gods frown upon strife, opt for a peaceful life. We permit all grieving festivities until Cagidus 4th. Good year!” towering buildings sang out in broadcast, repeating that same convoluted message quicker the instant it ended. Sometimes, the announcer spoke in Latin for the Infran children, other times in Chinese, Hindi, or Spanish to cater to those of irrelevant tongues. You aren’t a bad man. You are a stupid boy. Puddles sloshed. Somebody was approaching. I didn’t dare waste any remaining energy avoiding the Guards and their prodding blades. How did that phrase go? You dug your grave. Now lie in it. And so I embraced the cement. “Knox?” said the Guard. No, her tone was too sincere, and no authority would proceed in such a manner. There wasn’t confirmation on whether or not I was armed, and it wasn’t as if she could shoot me first. She was a partygoer, having just left from the cellar’s backdoor. I shooed her away with my hand. She hovered, and I discerned her shadow hesitating over my body. A man could not rot in peace. “Come on, get up! They’re after you!” Hands reached around my torso, struggling to handle my weight as they urged me onto my feet. That leg, the burning one, my right, trembled and bent unnaturally upon impact with the ground. The partygoer slung my arm over her shoulder, balancing me. My eyes caught a glimpse of a cyan mop. “Anwen?” I rasped, “hu-who let you out?” Keys jangled in her hands–my keys. “I escaped,” she said casually, coercing me to walk beside her. “Quicken your pace. I just heard somebody on your front porch. ‘You see that compost bin down the alley? We’re gonna burrow right down into the depth of that. If they open it and uncover us, I’ll be on top, and I can hide you and act like I’m just a homeless amica trying to take a nap.” With a tightening grip, she led me like livestock to the stinking crate. “I don’t understand, Anwen,” I said. “They’re going to torture and kill you, stupid. You know they’ve been wanting to, and you just handed the opportunity to them!” “I understand that.” It was becoming increasingly challenging to hide the fragility emerging in my voice. “You said you were escaping. Why stop and help your captor?” “What else could I do? Leave you there?” Attempts to shove my wounded body inside its mass of discarded fruits and vegetables began. She yanked down upon my head and submerged me in the fertilizer sea. The evidence grows indisputable, I thought as I stared at the abruptly humane Infran girl, diving in after me, that I belong here. “Damn me to hell! I’ve killed her! My love is dead!” an uncontrollable cry leaped from my mouth. “Shut up! Soon you’ll be, too, if you don’t quiet down.” The actual noise of the Guards darted past us: disorientated marching, guns clanking against each other, cluttered belts rattling, the Latin squawking. One paused to open the bin’s lid, though only rummaged through the surface layer of peat before carrying on. “What are they talking about? I struggle with my Latin,” I whispered. “The search, mainly.” Aggression remained firey in Anwen’s clenched jaw. Though she sat on top of me, there was a monumental distance between our rain-soaked forms. I curled up into a ball, ducked my head between my knees, and dreamt of Spes, ignoring the stench of spoiled food rising from every crevice of my dwelling. The next coming world was due to adopt me again as I forced sleep. I prayed for a canyon of fluffy haze, where I waltzed with pale memories but found nothing but the petrifying stillness of my mind. Killed and ran. Violent as a Guard just to prove a point and watch it backfire. Why would any heaven want to welcome me? I clung to the picture of Spes in my head like it was the last ember of an extinguished flame. “Did you mean to kill her?” Anwen interrogated. “Someone like you would immutably believe yes.” “And who is someone like me? You can’t even treat me like a person for a moment, can you?” grating drama decorated her words. “You know my opinions. I have not seen much of your or your breed’s faces besides that of cruelty and ignorance.” I retorted. “I just saved you! Does that make me cruel and ignorant?” “It makes you an idiot, which is another word for somebody ignorant.” “And why am I an idiot?” She asked. “Because you helping me does no good. Thank you anyhow. Now, do yourself a favor and scram.” As she bent her leg in anticipation, preparing to strike me on the forehead, I sensed an invisible withdrawal widening the gap between us. “You never answered my question,” Anwen took me by the end of my tattered tie suddenly and started her game of shepherd and sheep over again, pulling me back up to the crate’s exit. It appeared as a shining light at the end of a maze of rubbish and mold. “No. Of course not. Spes was my everything,” I sniffled. “I knew it. You couldn’t even bring yourself to hit us, let alone murder your wife. The girls and I always figured you were sensitive.” My heart rate quickened. Today was one of humbling and misery–one to pray a hail spike would fall from the sky as sharp as a needle, pierce into my eyelid, and lobotomize me. I wished I could have merely died or hit my head hard enough not to have to deal with it all. No, I wished I was Anwen with her snarky, careless glow and lack of depth in her eyes. As we emerged from the compost bin together, I fantasized about strangling her until her face turned purple, her weakening spirit no longer categorizing me as “sensitive”, but the thought could only remind me of wielding that trophy and the microscopic traces of my wife’s tender skin tainting it, which turned my guts inside out. “That’s why I think you could use a little help,” Anwen said, “It seems like you can’t walk, either. Your leg is all twisted up.” She undid one of her trim pigtails and handed me the band. “Take off your tie and put up your hair. ‘Will make you less recognizable. Then swallow your pride and stick with me.”

Phone messages 1

TECH FREE! by Sam Winton Have you ever wondered what it would be like to give up technology? I'm a TV journalist and I spend a lot of my working life in front of a computer or a TV. I decided to conduct my own private experiment: I would spend a day trying to manage without technological devices. What a scary thought! The first thing I usually do every day is reach for my smartphone to check the time and read any messages or emails. But I'd locked it away in a drawer the night before. Already I was feeling very cut off from the world, and it was only... actually, I had no idea what time it was! After breakfast, I needed to get some cash. Inevitably, this meant a trip to the bank because cash points are technological devices. I had to queue, but I had a very nice conversation with a woman whilst I was waiting. Not surprisingly, the bank teller thought I was a bit strange withdrawing money this way. I think she thought I was a robber! Then it was on to the supermarket. You may be wondering what's technological about that. Well, I had to make sure I avoided the self-service check-out and joined the queue for a normal one - with a real person. Naturally, it took longer, but I had a great chat with the guy who served me, and he told me about a new club that is opening up nearby. Would I have found out about that if I'd gone to the self- service check-out? No. Afterwards, I came home to have a go at writing a news story by hand. Strangely, I found it easier to concentrate on my writing. But my hand and fingers got really sore! And I have to confess - by this stage, I was having to make a real effort not to get my phone out and check my messages. I was starting to wonder what my friends were doing. Maybe they were making plans to go to that new club, and I would never know! All in all, I wouldn't say I could live without technology. Predictably, I really missed my phone all day. The worst part was not being able to check updates in the news or from my friends. I felt very out of touch. However, I kept to my promise of a tech-free day and I did have more face-to-face interaction. Undoubtedly, it made me realise just how addicted to technology we all are.

A digital footprint is the information we leave behind when we use the internet. It's like the footprints you leave in the sand at the beach—everywhere you go online, you leave a mark. These footprints can include things like visiting websites, posting videos, sending messages, or liking posts on social media. Every time we do something online, we create a digital footprint, even if we don’t always notice it. Sometimes, we give information on purpose, like when we shop online. Other times, it happens without us thinking about it, like when we click on links or watch videos. It's important to be careful about what information we share. You shouldn’t give out personal details like your full name, address, or phone number online. Before sharing anything, ask yourself if you'd be okay with your family or teachers seeing it. What you post online can affect how people think about you, even in the future when you’re applying for a job. To stay safe, always check with an adult if you’re unsure, and try to clean up any information you don’t want online. Remember to be kind and respectful in everything you do online—your digital footprint should be one you’re proud of.

Listening-Phone Message

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