— "According to our survey across various platforms, it was revealed that certain modders are actively developing a means to transform Yasuke, originally depicted as a Black man in the latest Assassin's Creed installment set in Japan, into an authentic Japanese character."
[Trivial: Success] — The run-on chaff breezes past you, leaving only the core conceit. "Depicted as". Changing him "into an authentic Japanese character."
— Certainly takes far less imagination to view a Black samurai as a Black samurai than the tone of this article would suggest.
[Challenging: Success] — I need you to not listen to what your instincts are about to tell you. Ignore them and walk away from this. Close the tab, close the article. It isn't worth your time.
— Pull your gun.
— Camp shirts are short-sleeve, button-up (or button-down, depending on dialect) tops that are unique almost exclusively in the design of the collar. The collar is designed chiefly to lay flat, rather than something like a polo collar, which usually sticks up a bit regardless of whether or not the wearer has "popped" it.
— I knew a regular button-up wouldn't work as a replacement.
[Trivial: Success] — A regular button-up works fine as a replacement. Nobody's going to notice the type of collar on your shirt. If you really are that desperate for the camp collar, you can just get a long-sleeve camp collar shirt. They make those.
[Hard: Success] — Chinese fast fashion. Temu and Shein, places like that. Not AliExpress, though. They make shit. In fact, you're wearing a shirt dropshipped from Temu right now. You paid $34.99 on one of the discount websites to get clothes you could have bought for a third of that direct from the source.
— Time to get some disco-ass clothes, baby!
— If it causes more harm than it does provide others with important quotes and context they can use elsewhere, it isn't worth keeping up. The audience makes that call, not me.
— If a DDOS were launched on this website right now — if the feds came crashing down and an emote of a DPRK soldier took the entire server with it — this woman would hurl herself in death's way to post for you. You are sure of this —but why?
— The Union leader raises an eyebrow. "Oh, do you, Harry? Excellent! Truly wonderful. I'm certain you'll find many men in the Union who would share your moral position on drugs. Not that they use them, of course! It would be both illegal and extremely unprofessional to be under the influence of drugs at the worksite."
[Hard: Success] — Nobody tells you what to do, least of all a civvie. It's time to show him what happens when someone refuses the request of a uniformed officer. You'll have to wait until he clocks out before you can strike, but he'll come back in the morning to the skunk-scent of a message.
— It's the Houthis, sire. They've warned all of those ships heading down the Suez Canal that they're going to blow them to bits if they enter their sea-space. The captains haven't been listening, so they've been getting shot at. And the United States! Oh! The United States have started giving the companies military escorts! It's a dreadful, dreadful situation! Everyone needs to know how you feel about this!
[Legendary: Success] — The weight of a world is lifted off of a dozen others. In Vietnam, in Bangladesh, in Timor, in Cambodia, in Chile, in Cyprus; the undercurrent breathes a collective sigh. One more piece is off of the board. The empire is running out of material.
— For you, Detective? Or the world?
[SIGHT] — Right there. That blotch of blue stapled to the end of the username. The suspiciously low follower count. The community notes calling them out for misinformation. This Twitter poster bears a sort of digital aposematism; all the hallmarks of someone who vastly overestimates their own importance.
— "That would appear to be so. Does this have something to do with the investigation?"
[Impossible: Failure] — You are submerged deep within the milieu of news cycles and chauvinism, and you are drowning. Air. You need air. It burns at the corners of your eyes and claws at your throat. Everything hurts. If this is the way it's going to be, you don't know if you can keep going.
[Challenging: Success] — A world away, further than any place you'll ever go, a young boy sits outside a crumbling, concrete apartment block. Sea spray and smoke swirl through the air together, salty and acrid, coating the world in a shade grayer than usual. He sits and stares up at the sky, at the planes carrying missiles overhead, and he listens for the sounds of catching powders and marching footsteps. He sits with two million siblings. None of them may make it to tomorrow. The sufficiently old and sufficiently able take to the streets. The shelters and tunnels curling beneath them like veins tremble against the tension.