Showing posts with label Scenarios. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Scenarios. Show all posts
Saturday, August 20, 2016
Shopping List....
Everyone is on a budget these days, especially preppers. It's hard enough when you are just trying to deal with today's needs, but when you are trying to set aside for the future, it's that much more difficult. One way to prioritize is to buy things which are relatively inexpensive now but which will become much more expensive later on; Urban Survival Site has a list of 40 of these. It's mostly common sense, but it's nice to have a list to make sure you are missing any.
Saturday, August 6, 2016
The Time Tunnel: Part 1: Crash Landing
The day was peaceful and sunny. It had been a long winter, and people had happily shed their heavy winter clothes to enjoy the rare April warm spell. A few of the younger, braver souls were laying on blankets in their bikinis, soaking up the sun. The traffic was moderate, normal for a weekday afternoon, and no one paid much attention to it.
Until the crash.
A bright red Honda Civic had veered out of its lane into an empty parking space and then plowed into the back of white Ford Windstar minivan.
"Oh My God! He killed that poor man!," screamed a young woman on the sidewalk.
A body lay in the street. He appeared to have a lab coat on, though it was enough badly tattered that is was hard to be sure. It even had an odd, singed appearance.
Traffic quickly stopped, and a man ran out to check on the body. "He's still breathing! We need an ambulance!" He pointed at one of the sunbathers who had sat up and was looking at him and yelled, "Run in your house and call 9-1-1", which she promptly did.
The driver of the Civic got out his car. "I didn't touch him. It wasn't my fault. He was just suddenly standing there in the middle of the road, and I swerved to avoid him."
"Yeah, right," said the man by the body. "Have you been drinking?"
"I swear! Not a drop."
"He's telling the truth," a little boy chimed in from the sidewalk. "The man just appeared out of thin air."
"Billy, stop it!" scolded his mother. "Really, this boy has such a vivid imagination," she said to the men in the street. She turned back to her son: "Men do NOT appear out of thin air."
"But I saw it..."
"ENOUGH! I don't want to hear anymore of this nonsense."
The fire hall was just a few blocks away, so the ambulance arrived just a few minutes later. They quickly immobilized his neck in case his spine was injured and quickly got him onto a stretcher. By this point the police had arrived; one officer was directing traffic while another was taking witnesses' statements.
As they got the man into the ambulance, he briefly opened his eyes. Wanting to quickly ascertain if he suffered any brain injury, the paramedic asked, "What's your name?"
"Perry Duncan"
"What year is it?"
"I have no idea. What year IS it?"
"2003," the paramedic replied.
The two last words Perry said before he dropped off into unconsciousness again: "It worked."
Until the crash.
A bright red Honda Civic had veered out of its lane into an empty parking space and then plowed into the back of white Ford Windstar minivan.
"Oh My God! He killed that poor man!," screamed a young woman on the sidewalk.
A body lay in the street. He appeared to have a lab coat on, though it was enough badly tattered that is was hard to be sure. It even had an odd, singed appearance.
Traffic quickly stopped, and a man ran out to check on the body. "He's still breathing! We need an ambulance!" He pointed at one of the sunbathers who had sat up and was looking at him and yelled, "Run in your house and call 9-1-1", which she promptly did.
The driver of the Civic got out his car. "I didn't touch him. It wasn't my fault. He was just suddenly standing there in the middle of the road, and I swerved to avoid him."
"Yeah, right," said the man by the body. "Have you been drinking?"
"I swear! Not a drop."
"He's telling the truth," a little boy chimed in from the sidewalk. "The man just appeared out of thin air."
"Billy, stop it!" scolded his mother. "Really, this boy has such a vivid imagination," she said to the men in the street. She turned back to her son: "Men do NOT appear out of thin air."
"But I saw it..."
"ENOUGH! I don't want to hear anymore of this nonsense."
The fire hall was just a few blocks away, so the ambulance arrived just a few minutes later. They quickly immobilized his neck in case his spine was injured and quickly got him onto a stretcher. By this point the police had arrived; one officer was directing traffic while another was taking witnesses' statements.
As they got the man into the ambulance, he briefly opened his eyes. Wanting to quickly ascertain if he suffered any brain injury, the paramedic asked, "What's your name?"
"Perry Duncan"
"What year is it?"
"I have no idea. What year IS it?"
"2003," the paramedic replied.
The two last words Perry said before he dropped off into unconsciousness again: "It worked."
Sunday, June 28, 2015
B.O.M.B. Making 101
No, this isn't a recipe from The Anarchist's Cookbook, it's a variation on the Bug Out Bag: the Bug Out Medical Bag. A souped-up version of a first-aid kit, these are more commonly known as gunshot wound or gunshot trauma kits. Survivopedia has instructions on how to assemble your own for less than $100. The main components:
- Tourniquet
- Compression Bandages
- Suture Kit
- Splint/Sprain Wrap
- Blood Clotting Agents
- Miscellaneous
Thursday, June 25, 2015
3 Steps To Survival
- Accept
- Plan
- Act
Sunday, June 21, 2015
Dome Sweet Dome
Michael Matthews is offering plans for what he calls the "Ultimate Survival Fortress". I haven't bought it (yet), but it seems to be a fairly standard earth-bag type of dome home. That said, the price he is asking seems quite reasonable for the knowledge he seems to be providing (and I am not an affiliate, so I am not getting any commissions). While $1 a square foot is literally a dirt-cheap price for living space, I certainly would not want to make a mistake after putting in dozens or maybe hundreds of hours of heavy labor.
Tuesday, June 9, 2015
Preparing for Storms
While this article at Planning and Foresight is focused on winter storms, we're having some stormy weather this week. Except for not needing so desperately to keep warm, there isn't that much difference between summer and winter storms.
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
Future Story: Alas Zion Part 3
Beginning of Story
Previous Part
"Israel was the homeland of the Jews."
"Don't you mean Zion?"
"No, Israel was completely different. To begin with, it was on the Eastern shore of the Mediterranean, not in the Caucasus Mountains. The Israelis believed it was their ancestral homeland, given to them by God. And maybe most importantly, Jews went to live there of their own free will."
"Wow, yeah, that is quite different."
"Not only that, they had to constantly fight the people who had been living there before, the Palestinians. Both men and women served in the army."
"Wait! Are you telling me that Jews were allowed to carry guns?"
"Hang on, an Overseer is coming."
The boy works quickly down the row to put a little distance between himself and the old man. A nine-foot tall robot rolls into view over the crops. One arm is a machine gun, the other a claw large enough to wrap around a man's throat. Both arms have swastikas by the shoulders. The robot stops at the old man for a minute, looking him over carefully before moving on to the boy.
"Arbeit macht frei" it bellows at each of them in turn before rolling away.
Previous Part
"Israel was the homeland of the Jews."
"Don't you mean Zion?"
"No, Israel was completely different. To begin with, it was on the Eastern shore of the Mediterranean, not in the Caucasus Mountains. The Israelis believed it was their ancestral homeland, given to them by God. And maybe most importantly, Jews went to live there of their own free will."
"Wow, yeah, that is quite different."
"Not only that, they had to constantly fight the people who had been living there before, the Palestinians. Both men and women served in the army."
"Wait! Are you telling me that Jews were allowed to carry guns?"
"Hang on, an Overseer is coming."
The boy works quickly down the row to put a little distance between himself and the old man. A nine-foot tall robot rolls into view over the crops. One arm is a machine gun, the other a claw large enough to wrap around a man's throat. Both arms have swastikas by the shoulders. The robot stops at the old man for a minute, looking him over carefully before moving on to the boy.
"Arbeit macht frei" it bellows at each of them in turn before rolling away.
Monday, June 9, 2014
Tales of an Exiled Citizen #3: Outside
Beginning of story
Previous part
Walking through the exit door closest to the Hall of Justice was surreal. It was the only exit door that was ever used, and then only by the Exiled. Even though I had been Outside hundreds of times before, it was different, having all those people watching, instead of doing it in secret, and knowing that I would never be coming back in. At least that first time I went Outside, I was able to do it with a sense of wonderment. I can't imagine the sense of terror and bewilderment other Exiles felt when confronting the Outside for the first time.
I was feeling something else, though, too, as the Exile door shut behind me. Despite their love of spectacle, no Citizen would want to follow an Exile Outside, and there was just too much area to be monitored. So, I was truly free. Finally I no longer had to worry about who was watching me. Okay, technically that was not true, but I didn't know it at the time. But as far as my fellow Citizens were concerned, I was already dead. My friends and family were mourning and my enemies rejoicing.
Suddenly I did feel a sense of bewilderment come over me. I finally had my freedom to do anything I wanted -- but I had to decide exactly what I wanted to do. From now on, every decision was mine to make. It was no longer a question of what I could get away with or what I had time to fit in. My schedule for the rest of my life was one giant blank.
Finally a bit of panic set in. While I was far better prepared than most for Exile, it still was a death sentence, so I walked out that door with nothing but the clothes I was wearing. It was better than nothing -- I suppose they could have gone for the humiliation of Exiling people naked -- but thankfully they had that much decency. Still, while my clothes were perfectly adequate for the controlled climate of the City, they were not up to keeping me comfortable Outside. My luck was with me though, for my exile began in early spring; the unbearably cool nights of winter were over, and the blistering heat of summer was still several months away.
Logically, I knew my next move was futile, but in my state of mild panic, I had to try. I made my way over to the secret entrance. I'm not exactly sure what I was hoping to do, had they caught me sneaking back in I almost certainly would have been executed. I guess I thought maybe I could sneak through the ventilation system and gather up some supplies to help me with my Exile. When the air vent finally came into view, all my hopes were dashed. The tree had been cut down, and there was a pile of ash and char where the base of the trunk had been. Not that that mattered much, I barely could have gotten my arm through the freshly welded grate over the vent. No one would ever be using that as an entrance again. I truly was never going to see the inside of the City again.
I sat there on the burned out stump for about an hour in a stupor. My mind wandered back over my life. My family had had such high hopes for me, and here after two short decades, when I still should have had a little more than half my life ahead of me, I was looking Death in the face.
The amber glow of the setting sun roused me from my reverie. There was one logical place for me to go for the night, the source of my criminal activity: the shelter.
Part 4: The Shelter
Previous part
Walking through the exit door closest to the Hall of Justice was surreal. It was the only exit door that was ever used, and then only by the Exiled. Even though I had been Outside hundreds of times before, it was different, having all those people watching, instead of doing it in secret, and knowing that I would never be coming back in. At least that first time I went Outside, I was able to do it with a sense of wonderment. I can't imagine the sense of terror and bewilderment other Exiles felt when confronting the Outside for the first time.
I was feeling something else, though, too, as the Exile door shut behind me. Despite their love of spectacle, no Citizen would want to follow an Exile Outside, and there was just too much area to be monitored. So, I was truly free. Finally I no longer had to worry about who was watching me. Okay, technically that was not true, but I didn't know it at the time. But as far as my fellow Citizens were concerned, I was already dead. My friends and family were mourning and my enemies rejoicing.
Suddenly I did feel a sense of bewilderment come over me. I finally had my freedom to do anything I wanted -- but I had to decide exactly what I wanted to do. From now on, every decision was mine to make. It was no longer a question of what I could get away with or what I had time to fit in. My schedule for the rest of my life was one giant blank.
Finally a bit of panic set in. While I was far better prepared than most for Exile, it still was a death sentence, so I walked out that door with nothing but the clothes I was wearing. It was better than nothing -- I suppose they could have gone for the humiliation of Exiling people naked -- but thankfully they had that much decency. Still, while my clothes were perfectly adequate for the controlled climate of the City, they were not up to keeping me comfortable Outside. My luck was with me though, for my exile began in early spring; the unbearably cool nights of winter were over, and the blistering heat of summer was still several months away.
Logically, I knew my next move was futile, but in my state of mild panic, I had to try. I made my way over to the secret entrance. I'm not exactly sure what I was hoping to do, had they caught me sneaking back in I almost certainly would have been executed. I guess I thought maybe I could sneak through the ventilation system and gather up some supplies to help me with my Exile. When the air vent finally came into view, all my hopes were dashed. The tree had been cut down, and there was a pile of ash and char where the base of the trunk had been. Not that that mattered much, I barely could have gotten my arm through the freshly welded grate over the vent. No one would ever be using that as an entrance again. I truly was never going to see the inside of the City again.
I sat there on the burned out stump for about an hour in a stupor. My mind wandered back over my life. My family had had such high hopes for me, and here after two short decades, when I still should have had a little more than half my life ahead of me, I was looking Death in the face.
The amber glow of the setting sun roused me from my reverie. There was one logical place for me to go for the night, the source of my criminal activity: the shelter.
Part 4: The Shelter
Tales of an Exiled Citizen #1: The Sentence
Exile.
No word is more frightening to a Citizen.
It is more than a death sentence. For someone who has never been outside the safety of the Dome, it is the cruelest form of death possible. In reality, only the worst offenders actually have the sentence carried out. Most convicted Citizens, upon hearing that sentence, completely break down and beg for a quick, merciful death, and as long as the crime was not too heinous, it is usually granted. Indeed, I think jurists tend to give the sentence of Exile quite a bit more often than they mean to, just because they enjoy seeing the spectacle.
I like to think my crimes were minor enough that had I given them that, they would commuted my sentence, too. But maybe that is just my pride. I certainly have struggled with that all my life. Maybe had I been less arrogant, I would never have been caught. No, even that's too boastful - I guess what I mean is they wouldn't have felt the need to make an example of me. No, even as my blood ran cold upon hearing the word "Exile", I steeled myself and refused to give them the satisfaction of breaking down and begging for mercy.
Of course, that was not the only factor. Unlike the vast majority of Citizens whose every breath from their first to their last was taken inside the City walls, I had experienced the outside. I had found a secret way in and out. Then again, I wouldn't have been able to commit my crimes had I stayed inside the city. Not that it really matters, I probably would have run into trouble eventually -- after all in school I was voted "too smart for his own good".
That's why everyone was surprised when I chose maintenance as a career path. Everyone expected I would go into research. I finally convinced them that I enjoyed tinkering with things, and naturally my competence scores were near perfect, so they were happy to have me. Very few people actually choose maintenance as a career; usually it is the only one they have passable competency.
Of course, they were right to be suspicious, because while I do enjoy working with my hands, that wasn't my primary motivation. Maintenance represented freedom. Most people are only authorized to go between their home and their work and the few public venues. Maintenance workers have access to every part of the City -- even those places that aren't monitored. Of course, you need to have a reason to be where you are, but as a maintenance worker, you get to see the entire City. That is how I stumbled upon the way out.
All maintenance workers enjoyed that same freedom of place, though I'm not sure all of them appreciated it. For me, though, there was an additional freedom: time. Since maintenance workers were all over the place, including areas that were unmonitored because no one else went there, security didn't even bother trying to keep track of us in real time. We just had to clock in and out, and long as we did the job we were supposed to in a reasonable amount of time, nobody bothered us. Of course, we did have supervisors who inspected our work after it was completed to make sure it was satisfactory. But as I said, maintenance generally didn't attract the best and the brightest, so I could get the jobs done in half what was considered a reasonable time, if not faster. Of course, when I was in an area that was monitored, I took my time. When no one was looking, I had time to explore.
Part 2: The Discovery
No word is more frightening to a Citizen.
It is more than a death sentence. For someone who has never been outside the safety of the Dome, it is the cruelest form of death possible. In reality, only the worst offenders actually have the sentence carried out. Most convicted Citizens, upon hearing that sentence, completely break down and beg for a quick, merciful death, and as long as the crime was not too heinous, it is usually granted. Indeed, I think jurists tend to give the sentence of Exile quite a bit more often than they mean to, just because they enjoy seeing the spectacle.
I like to think my crimes were minor enough that had I given them that, they would commuted my sentence, too. But maybe that is just my pride. I certainly have struggled with that all my life. Maybe had I been less arrogant, I would never have been caught. No, even that's too boastful - I guess what I mean is they wouldn't have felt the need to make an example of me. No, even as my blood ran cold upon hearing the word "Exile", I steeled myself and refused to give them the satisfaction of breaking down and begging for mercy.
Of course, that was not the only factor. Unlike the vast majority of Citizens whose every breath from their first to their last was taken inside the City walls, I had experienced the outside. I had found a secret way in and out. Then again, I wouldn't have been able to commit my crimes had I stayed inside the city. Not that it really matters, I probably would have run into trouble eventually -- after all in school I was voted "too smart for his own good".
That's why everyone was surprised when I chose maintenance as a career path. Everyone expected I would go into research. I finally convinced them that I enjoyed tinkering with things, and naturally my competence scores were near perfect, so they were happy to have me. Very few people actually choose maintenance as a career; usually it is the only one they have passable competency.
Of course, they were right to be suspicious, because while I do enjoy working with my hands, that wasn't my primary motivation. Maintenance represented freedom. Most people are only authorized to go between their home and their work and the few public venues. Maintenance workers have access to every part of the City -- even those places that aren't monitored. Of course, you need to have a reason to be where you are, but as a maintenance worker, you get to see the entire City. That is how I stumbled upon the way out.
All maintenance workers enjoyed that same freedom of place, though I'm not sure all of them appreciated it. For me, though, there was an additional freedom: time. Since maintenance workers were all over the place, including areas that were unmonitored because no one else went there, security didn't even bother trying to keep track of us in real time. We just had to clock in and out, and long as we did the job we were supposed to in a reasonable amount of time, nobody bothered us. Of course, we did have supervisors who inspected our work after it was completed to make sure it was satisfactory. But as I said, maintenance generally didn't attract the best and the brightest, so I could get the jobs done in half what was considered a reasonable time, if not faster. Of course, when I was in an area that was monitored, I took my time. When no one was looking, I had time to explore.
Part 2: The Discovery
Monday, December 10, 2012
The Importance of Scenarios
"Scott G" wrote an excellent guest post on TheSurvivalistBlog.net on "Mental Preparedness". I highly recommend that everyone read it.
I would like to quote one paragraph from the article on the importance of scenarios, as I have had a commentater on this blog who seemed to think one scenario was sufficient:
I would like to quote one paragraph from the article on the importance of scenarios, as I have had a commentater on this blog who seemed to think one scenario was sufficient:
"In the police academy, I was taught to prepare myself ahead of time by playing the “What If” game. Any good cop plays this game every chance he gets. He thinks up a possible scenario that could go wrong then comes up with some specific solutions. He comes up with as many scenarios as he can imagine along with the proper reaction, then goes over them time and time and time again."This is why I will highlight as many different possible future scenarios as I can think of.
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