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**WILLEMSTAD, Curaçao, April 22nd, 2024, Chainwire/--**BC.GAME is thrilled to announce the acquisition of a new gaming license, fully compliant with Curacao’s National Ordinance for Games of Chance (LOK) regulatory framework. This achievement reaffirms BC.GAME’s unwavering commitment to providing a secure and legally compliant gambling environment for its global user base. Jack Dorsey, the CEO of BC.GAME, said: "We are immensely grateful for Curacao's robust regulatory framework, which has been pivotal in the gambling industry. Obtaining this license is a vital milestone in BC.GAME's ongoing development and our commitment to providing a trustworthy and secure gambling experience." The introduction of the LOK legislation, designed to replace the previous National Ordinance on Offshore Games of Hazard (NOOGH) framework, has set a new precedent in the gambling license domain. Under the NOOGH regime, BC.GAME is operated under a sub-license issued by Curacao Interactive Licensing NV (CIL). The new LOK framework, however, brings about significant changes, including the discontinuation of new sub-license issuance and stringent requirements for existing licensees seeking renewal. Curacao was one of the pioneering nations in establishing regulations for gaming activities. Consequently, this small Caribbean island nation has become a hub for gaming businesses worldwide aiming to adhere to the country's comprehensive gaming legal framework. BC.GAME has set up a local office to ensure compliance with regulations and to offer support to fulfill the requirements of the local gaming ecosystem. Acquisition of the license, specifically designed for LOK services, coincides with BC.GAME's efforts to enhance user trust, forge new partnerships, and broaden the accessibility of its comprehensive gaming services. Obtaining licenses and ensuring compliance are crucial steps in solidifying BC.GAME's position as a dependable and well-regulated global online gaming platform. Through this new license, BC.Game has seven years of experience in the online gaming sector, creating various popular and original games. "Curacao is an essential first step in our broader global strategy. As we continue to accelerate our expansion, expect more exciting developments and good news in the near future." said Jack Dorsey. About BC.GAME BC.GAME® is an innovative online casino platform continually redefining industry standards. Committed to providing innovative solutions, BC.GAME creates a secure, fair, and professional service environment. Utilizing cutting-edge blockchain technology, BC.GAME ensures the highest standards of security and fairness for its users. Contact PR Manager Olivia Dixon BC.GAME oliviadi@bcgame.com This story was distributed as a release by Chainwire under HackerNoon’s Business Blogging Program. Learn more about the program here. **WILLEMSTAD, Curaçao, April 22nd, 2024, Chainwire/--**BC.GAME is thrilled to announce the acquisition of a new gaming license, fully compliant with Curacao’s National Ordinance for Games of Chance (LOK) regulatory framework. This achievement reaffirms BC.GAME’s unwavering commitment to providing a secure and legally compliant gambling environment for its global user base. Jack Dorsey, the CEO of BC.GAME, said: "We are immensely grateful for Curacao's robust regulatory framework, which has been pivotal in the gambling industry. Obtaining this license is a vital milestone in BC.GAME's ongoing development and our commitment to providing a trustworthy and secure gambling experience." "We are immensely grateful for Curacao's robust regulatory framework, which has been pivotal in the gambling industry. Obtaining this license is a vital milestone in BC.GAME's ongoing development and our commitment to providing a trustworthy and secure gambling experience." The introduction of the LOK legislation, designed to replace the previous National Ordinance on Offshore Games of Hazard (NOOGH) framework, has set a new precedent in the gambling license domain. Under the NOOGH regime, BC.GAME is operated under a sub-license issued by Curacao Interactive Licensing NV (CIL). The new LOK framework, however, brings about significant changes, including the discontinuation of new sub-license issuance and stringent requirements for existing licensees seeking renewal. Curacao was one of the pioneering nations in establishing regulations for gaming activities. Consequently, this small Caribbean island nation has become a hub for gaming businesses worldwide aiming to adhere to the country's comprehensive gaming legal framework. BC.GAME has set up a local office to ensure compliance with regulations and to offer support to fulfill the requirements of the local gaming ecosystem. Acquisition of the license, specifically designed for LOK services, coincides with BC.GAME's efforts to enhance user trust, forge new partnerships, and broaden the accessibility of its comprehensive gaming services. Obtaining licenses and ensuring compliance are crucial steps in solidifying BC.GAME's position as a dependable and well-regulated global online gaming platform. Through this new license, BC.Game has seven years of experience in the online gaming sector, creating various popular and original games. "Curacao is an essential first step in our broader global strategy. As we continue to accelerate our expansion, expect more exciting developments and good news in the near future." said Jack Dorsey. "Curacao is an essential first step in our broader global strategy. As we continue to accelerate our expansion, expect more exciting developments and good news in the near future." said Jack Dorsey. About BC.GAME BC.GAME® is an innovative online casino platform continually redefining industry standards. Committed to providing innovative solutions, BC.GAME creates a secure, fair, and professional service environment. Utilizing cutting-edge blockchain technology, BC.GAME ensures the highest standards of security and fairness for its users. BC.GAME® BC.GAME® Contact PR Manager Olivia Dixon BC.GAME oliviadi@bcgame.com This story was distributed as a release by Chainwire under HackerNoon’s Business Blogging Program. Learn more about the program here. This story was distributed as a release by Chainwire under HackerNoon’s Business Blogging Program. Learn more about the program here. here. here.

BC.GAME Secures New Curacao LOK License, Enhancing Legal Compliance And Global Reach

I recently caught up with Bezalel Eithan Raviv, Founder and CEO of . In our discussion, we delved into the evolving cybersecurity threats in Web3, addressed victim challenges in combating fraud, and explored the need for enhanced security, awareness, and collaboration for a safer Web3 ecosystem. Lionsgate Network Welcome, Bezalel. Let’s kick off with your origin story and how you got here. Sure. Thanks for having me. After leaving college, I served in Unit 8200 of the Israel Defence Forces from 1998 to 2001. It’s considered the elite division specializing in cybersecurity and intelligence—two main focal points for Lionsgate Network. My time there played a big role in shaping how I see security and technology for a safer world for everyone living in it. From 2001 to 2013, I pursued a full-time career in music, busy following my passion and making music. It was everything I had hoped it would be. I signed a contract with EMI Music and took part in Eurovision, the European Broadcasting Union’s international songwriting contest that discovered Celine Dion and ABBA. It was an amazing ride, but at some point, I couldn’t make the money I needed to support myself. The numbers just never added up. When Universal Records presented me with the opportunity to hand over 50% of my publishing catalog to them solely to secure a signing deal, I realized that this path didn't resonate with my values, as asset ownership is fundamental to my core principles. In 2007, I decided to found my first company, TMG Music Publishing. That’s when I realized the trickle-down model in the industry and how musicians are the last to get paid for products they create with such hard work. Realizing that Spotify paid me and every other artist only 0.003 USD per stream hit me hard. To earn a dollar, I needed 333 streams, plus a 30% tax. To cover monthly bills, you would need over 0.5 million streams every month. Decentralized tech-enabled viable solutions to this problem. So I founded Halleluiah, introducing smart contracts to music copyrights the Fort Knox of the music industry. All was well, except I couldn’t ignore the security lapses facing Web3 and blockchain-based environments. With hacks and scams on the rise, robust intelligence solutions have become a must. Thus, Lionsgate Network. It’s the culmination of everything I’ve learned since Unit 8200, but now, I’m learning a lot more from it—a virtuous cycle, I’d say. Can you touch on why security remains a key concern for Web3? Of course. I can talk about it all day. Security has two aspects. One is preventive, where you want to stop attacks before or while they occur. This includes real-time monitoring and threat detection systems, on-chain encryption, etc. Most Web3 security discussions revolve around preventive measures. The innovations are likewise. And this is important as more money flows into the industry and stakes get higher. We’ve even seen significant success on the preventive security front. Around 96% less money was lost to hacks and scams in 2023 compared to 2022. But the other, mostly underserved, aspect of security is curative. Things you can do to minimize the harm after the attack has occurred. Let’s face it. Web3 hackers are smart, and they’re getting smarter. No matter how robust our preventive systems are, they’ll find ways to exploit platforms and protocols. The question is, how do we recover funds lost in such attacks, breaches, and collapses? Recovering lost funds is 1000 times more complicated in Web3 than in Web2. It requires special tools and intelligence frameworks—you must respect the industry’s core principles like anonymity while tracing attackers to get your money back. That’s what we do at Lionsgate. A common perception is that funds lost in the crypto "wild west" are irrecoverable. Lionsgate Network challenges this notion to alter the prevailing narrative. Correct? Yes, absolutely. Awareness is one of the biggest hurdles when it comes to solving crypto crimes and recovering lost funds. Most people don’t realize they’ve been in a scam until it’s too late. Or, they believe the lost-for-good narrative. What’s worse, they’ve had negative experiences in the past when trying to get their lost crypto back. Scammy or futile services from so-called ‘crypto recovery’ companies is a key example. And even if the services aren’t altogether worthless, they involve much hassle for victims and take a lot of time—the majority of Mt. Gox victims still haven’t got their money back for instance. At Lionsgate Network, we’re solving these problems end-to-end. First, we have an expert team and use cutting-edge technology to literally do everything in our capacity to resolve thefts. Secondly, and more importantly, we make the process seamless and risk-minimized for our customers. Overall, we begin by helping victims become problem-aware. They’re invited to a safe space where they can report the incident through a friendly, non-judgemental questionnaire. Then, our in-house analyst gets on a call with them to discuss the issue further. Over 2000 entities from the US, UK, Australia, and elsewhere have requested our services in 2023 alone. We’ve helped most of them who were eligible, thanks to our team’s prowess in data analytics and cyber intelligence. Web3 security is improving, but as you said, attackers are also becoming smarter. Did you notice any novel attack types recently? Yes. They aren’t entirely novel, but romance scams have been very prevalent. Especially since 2021, when people increasingly sought companionship during the pandemic. Pig Butchering scams, as they’re commonly known, drained over $53.5 billion in 2023, though over 70% of attacks went unreported. Victims were emotionally manipulated and exploited in the name of love and romance—mostly men and women in the 48-60 age group. We call these attackers Financial Predators. They scrap the victim’s personal data from social media and online dating apps. They precisely analyze such data sets using advanced AI algorithms to discover and exploit emotional vulnerabilities. What’s worse is that these models work in real-time, so it becomes very difficult for victims to call the bluff and free themselves from the attacker’s grip. Romance scam victims are susceptible to rampant gaslighting and brainwashing to the point where they question their sanity and become emotionally dependent on the predator. When they realize the situation, if at all, it’s usually too late. Unlike ordinary hacks or scams, the love and relationship angle involved in these attacks means victims go through severe psychological trauma. Suicides, marital breakdowns, intense guilt, and shame are the most common outcomes here. Long story short, Web3 attacks have expanded way beyond financial loss. It’s time we approach the matter accordingly, especially when innovating solutions. Looking at romance scams in particular, what challenges do these victims face when seeking respite? Is there a proper way out for them? Yes, we’ve built a solution. But the challenges first—they’re based on the notion that crypto lost to scams is irrecoverable. For context, less than 0.1% of romance scam victims could recover their stolen digital assets. Lionsgate helped with over 95% of these recoveries. It’s like this because enforcement agencies still don’t consider crypto as “real money,” and they strongly believe there’s no way to get funds back. It’s true, in fact, from their point of view, given the lack of proper infrastructure and tools. For example, they don’t have the specialized knowledge to trace funds, perform on-chain analysis, etc. Besides low awareness, legacy enforcement frameworks are mired in bureaucracy, which leads to delays and gives attackers the chance to liquidate funds and hide their tracks. Ironically, this actually makes stolen funds irrecoverable. One way to solve this is to improve enforcement frameworks and capabilities. But that’s time-consuming as well. We’ve thus built a solution to bypass traditional enforcement. Instead, we work directly with exchanges and wallet platforms to ensure proactive action. For example, the custodial or non-custodial platform can swiftly freeze funds and stop Financial Predators in their tracks. Coupled with sophisticated on-chain analytics and attack tracing methods, we aim to provide holistic means to tackle threats and risks at multiple levels. It’s literally only the beginning. There’s a long way to go for Web3 to reach the maturity and security levels necessary for sustained long-term adoption. Why is fraud so prevalent in the US, Canada, Australia, and the UK right now? What is the biggest problem crypto victims in these territories have to face? Well, fraud appears to be on the rise in regions like the US, Canada, Australia, and the UK due to a multitude of factors. The increasing reliance on digital platforms and online transactions has expanded the playing field for cybercriminals, who can exploit vulnerabilities with greater ease. Moreover, the sophistication of modern scams poses challenges even for the most cautious individuals. Additionally, the global nature of technology enables fraudsters to operate across borders, complicating efforts to track them down. Economic pressures, particularly during uncertain times marked by inflation, can drive individuals to seek higher returns, thereby increasing susceptibility to overpromised investments and scams. Just like how hungry fish are drawn to bait, financial difficulties can make people more vulnerable to scams. The promise of a quick meal can cloud their judgment. To fight fraud effectively, we must stay alert and take proactive steps to avoid falling for deceptive schemes. Quick returns, zero risk, free bonuses, etc. are all huge red flags. As for the biggest problem victims face, law enforcement is often two steps behind crypto crooks. That means that law-abiding citizens can no longer rely on law enforcement to protect their most critical assets, that is their money. Virtual or not, any crypto token is an exchange from a fiat currency, and we’re talking about 1.8 trillion dollars that are outside the protective hands of the police, and that’s very alarming.

Discussing Curative Web3 Security With Bezalel Eithan Raviv - Lionsgate Network Founder & CEO

HackerNoon is big on curation and personalization, and the is no different. With just a click of a button, you can quickly move to the “Curated Stories” section of the app to stay on top of stories that interest you. HackerNoon mobile app https://www.youtube.com/shorts/klPj5gLFxkQ?embedable=true Haven’t downloaded the app? No problem! Click to download for iOS or for Android. Download the HackerNoon App on your favorite App Store. here here Once you log in, look for the floppy disk icon in the bottom right to access the “Curated Stories” section. Once there, you can tell the app the kind of topics you’re interested in and watch as the app takes care of the curation part for you. 😉 On the curation page, you have the option to choose from a range of topics from a total of__ __. 20 tags Choose the ones that are of the most interest to you! In this example, we’re going to choose “Finance”, “Machine Learning”, and “Tech Stories”. Once you tell the app the kind of topics you’re interested in, the app will do the rest for you. Simply close the app and restart it. The next time you open the “Curated Stories” section, you’ll be greeted with stories relevant to you. Happy searching! Haven’t downloaded the app? No problem! Click to download for iOS or for Android. Download the HackerNoon App on your favorite App Store. here here

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Hey Hackers! On April 13th, Canon, the camera and photography giant, announced that they will be launching an NFT Marketplace, called , offering tokenized photographs. Cadabra Cadabra is described as a curated photography marketplace that offers NFTs from a variety of innovative creators. Canon states that the goal of the Cadabra marketplace is “to empower creators by connecting them to enthusiastic collectors who celebrate the art of photography through a shared appreciation for these digital artworks”. Decrypt has that the NFT marketplace will be launched on the Ethereum network. reported “The digital art will range from landscape, wildlife, lifestyle, sports, abstract, and other categories to spotlight the stunning work of the invited creators.” - Canon USA Canon also took to to announce the exciting news to it’s customers and followers. Twitter On Cadabra, the NFT photos will be minted by Creator drops, and there will reportedly be a secondary marketplace for NFT collectors to trade their minted NFTs. Canon has stated that Cadabra creators will have the choice of offering “purchasers prints” with their initial drops, which entitles NFT purchasers to also receive a physical print of the NFT image. Based off the small amount of information we have about Cadabra, it does sound like there will be intuitive options for creators to present their work and possibly even earn a good amount. There is no official word on when Cadbara will be launched, but Canon did allude that it will be later this year. Canon has also stated that the Cadbara marketplace will only be available in the United States at launch, but they will be expanding the project internationally in the future. Last but not least, Canon has confirmed that both cryptocurrency, as well as debit and credit cards, will be accepted as payment options on Cadabra. Here is the direct link to sign up for Cadabra news and updates: https://shortstack.usa.canon.com/cadabra What are your thoughts on this news? Do you think this NFT Marketplace could be a big player? Are you interested in Photography? Will you be signing up for Cadabra when it launches? Check out my Socials: https://linktr.ee/zerorequiem0x See ya! :) Also published . here

Canon Throws Hat in the NFT Ring With Cadabra: a Curated Marketplace for Tokenized Photography

The Wonderful Visit by H. G. Wells, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . The Curate. The Curate. XV. The Vicar opened the door half mechanically to let out Crump, and saw Mendham, his curate, coming up the pathway by the hedge of purple vetch and meadowsweet. At that his hand went up to his chin and his eyes grew perplexed. Suppose he was deceived. The Doctor passed the Curate with a sweep of his hand from his hat brim. Crump was an extraordinarily clever fellow, the Vicar thought, and knew far more of anyone's brain than one did oneself. The Vicar felt that so acutely. It made the coming explanation difficult. Suppose he were to go back into the drawing-room, and find just a tramp asleep on the hearthrug. Mendham was a cadaverous man with a magnificent beard. He looked, indeed, as though he had run to beard as a mustard plant does to seed. But when he spoke you found he had a voice as well. "My wife came home in a dreadful state," he brayed out at long range. "Come in," said the Vicar; "come in. Most remarkable occurrence. Please come in. Come into the study. I'm really dreadfully sorry. But when I explain...." "And apologise, I hope," brayed the Curate. "And apologise. No, not that way. This way. The study." "Now what was that woman?" said the Curate, turning on the Vicar as the latter closed the study door. "What woman?" "Pah!" "But really!" "The painted creature in light attire—disgustingly light attire, to speak freely—with whom you were promenading the garden." "My dear Mendham—that was an Angel!" "A  v e r y  p r e t t y  Angel?" "The world is getting so matter-of-fact," said the Vicar. "The world," roared the Curate, "grows blacker every day. But to find a man in your position, shamelessly, openly...." "Bother!" said the Vicar aside. He rarely swore. "Look here, Mendham, you really misunderstand. I can assure you...." "Very well," said the Curate. "Explain!" He stood with his lank legs apart, his arms folded, scowling at his Vicar over his big beard. (Explanations, I repeat, I have always considered the peculiar fallacy of this scientific age.) The Vicar looked about him helplessly. The world had all gone dull and dead. Had he been dreaming all the afternoon? Was there really an angel in the drawing-room? Or was he the sport of a complicated hallucination? "Well?" said Mendham, at the end of a minute. The Vicar's hand fluttered about his chin. "It's such a round-about story," he said. "No doubt it will be," said Mendham harshly. The Vicar restrained a movement of impatience. "I went out to look for a strange bird this afternoon.... Do you believe in angels, Mendham, real angels?" "I'm not here to discuss theology. I am the husband of an insulted woman." "But I tell you it's not a figure of speech; this is an angel, a real angel with wings. He's in the next room now. You do misunderstand me, so...." "Really, Hilyer—" "It is true I tell you, Mendham. I swear it is true." The Vicar's voice grew impassioned. "What sin I have done that I should entertain and clothe angelic visitants, I don't know. I only know that—inconvenient as it undoubtedly will be—I have an angel now in the drawing-room, wearing my new suit and finishing his tea. And he's stopping with me, indefinitely, at my invitation. No doubt it was rash of me. But I can't turn him out, you know, because Mrs Mendham——I may be a weakling, but I am still a gentleman." "Really, Hilyer—" "I can assure you it is true." There was a note of hysterical desperation in the Vicar's voice. "I fired at him, taking him for a flamingo, and hit him in the wing." "I thought this was a case for the Bishop. I find it is a case for the Lunacy Commissioners." "Come and see him, Mendham!" "But there are no angels." "We teach the people differently," said the Vicar. "Not as material bodies," said the Curate. "Anyhow, come and see him." "I don't want to see your hallucinations," began the Curate. "I can't explain anything unless you come and see him," said the Vicar. "A man who's more like an angel than anything else in heaven or earth. You simply must see if you wish to understand." "I don't wish to understand," said the Curate. "I don't wish to lend myself to any imposture. Surely, Hilyer, if this is not an imposition, you can tell me yourself.... Flamingo, indeed!" XVI. The Angel had finished his tea and was standing looking pensively out of the window. He thought the old church down the valley lit by the light of the setting sun was very beautiful, but he could not understand the serried ranks of tombstones that lay up the hillside beyond. He turned as Mendham and the Vicar came in. Now Mendham could bully his Vicar cheerfully enough, just as he could bully his congregation; but he was not the sort of man to bully a stranger. He looked at the Angel, and the "strange woman" theory was disposed of. The Angel's beauty was too clearly the beauty of the youth. "Mr Hilyer tells me," Mendham began, in an almost apologetic tone, "that you—ah—it's so curious—claim to be an Angel." "Are an Angel," said the Vicar. The Angel bowed. "Naturally," said Mendham, "we are curious." "Very," said the Angel. "The blackness and the shape." "I beg your pardon?" said Mendham. "The blackness and the flaps," repeated the Angel; "and no wings." "Precisely," said Mendham, who was altogether at a loss. "We are, of course, curious to know something of how you came into the village in such a peculiar costume." The Angel looked at the Vicar. The Vicar touched his chin. "You see," began the Vicar. "Let him explain," said Mendham; "I beg." "I wanted to suggest," began the Vicar. "And I don't want you to suggest." "Bother!" said the Vicar. The Angel looked from one to the other. "Such rugose expressions flit across your faces!" he said. "You see, Mr—Mr—I don't know your name," said Mendham, with a certain diminution of suavity. "The case stands thus: My wife—four ladies, I might say—are playing lawn tennis, when you suddenly rush out on them, sir; you rush out on them from among the rhododendra in a very defective costume. You and Mr Hilyer." "But I—" said the Vicar. "I know. It was this gentleman's costume was defective. Naturally—it is my place in fact—to demand an explanation." His voice was growing in volume. "And I must demand an explanation." The Angel smiled faintly at his note of anger and his sudden attitude of determination—arms tightly folded. "I am rather new to the world," the Angel began. "Nineteen at least," said Mendham. "Old enough to know better. That's a poor excuse." "May I ask one question first?" said the Angel. "Well?" "Do you think I am a Man—like yourself? As the chequered man did." "If you are not a man—" "One other question. Have you never heard of an Angel?" "I warn you not to try that story upon me," said Mendham, now back at his familiar crescendo. The Vicar interrupted: "But Mendham—he has wings!" "Please let me talk to him," said Mendham. "You are so quaint," said the Angel; "you interrupt everything I have to say." "But what have you to say?" said Mendham. "That I really am an Angel...." "Pshaw!" "There you go!" "But tell me, honestly, how you came to be in the shrubbery of Siddermorton Vicarage—in the state in which you were. And in the Vicar's company. Cannot you abandon this ridiculous story of yours?..." The Angel shrugged his wings. "What is the matter with this man?" he said to the Vicar. "My dear Mendham," said the Vicar, "a few words from me...." "Surely my question is straightforward enough!" "But you won't tell me the answer you want, and it's no good my telling you any other." "Pshaw!" said the Curate again. And then turning suddenly on the Vicar, "Where does he come from?" The Vicar was in a dreadful state of doubt by this time. "He says he is an Angel!" said the Vicar. "Why don't you listen to him?" "No angel would alarm four ladies...." "Is that what it is all about?" said the Angel. "Enough cause too, I should think!" said the Curate. "But I really did not know," said the Angel. "This is altogether too much!" "I am sincerely sorry I alarmed these ladies." "You ought to be. But I see I shall get nothing out of you two." Mendham went towards the door. "I am convinced there is something discreditable at the bottom of this business. Or why not tell a simple straightforward story? I will confess you puzzle me. Why, in this enlightened age, you should tell this fantastic, this far-fetched story of an Angel, altogether beats me. What good can it do?..." "But stop and look at his wings!" said the Vicar. "I can assure you he has wings!" Mendham had his fingers on the door-handle. "I have seen quite enough," he said. "It may be this is simply a foolish attempt at a hoax, Hilyer." "But Mendham!" said the Vicar. The Curate halted in the doorway and looked at the Vicar over his shoulder. The accumulating judgment of months found vent. "I cannot understand, Hilyer, why you are in the Church. For the life of me I cannot. The air is full of Social Movements, of Economic change, the Woman Movement, Rational Dress, The Reunion of Christendom, Socialism, Individualism—all the great and moving Questions of the Hour! Surely, we who follow the Great Reformer.... And here you are stuffing birds, and startling ladies with your callous disregard...." "But Mendham," began the Vicar. The Curate would not hear him. "You shame the Apostles with your levity.... But this is only a preliminary enquiry," he said, with a threatening note in his sonorous voice, and so vanished abruptly (with a violent slam) from the room. XVII. "Are all men so odd as this?" said the Angel. "I'm in such a difficult position," said the Vicar. "You see," he said, and stopped, searching his chin for an idea. "I'm beginning to see," said the Angel. "They won't believe it." "I see that." "They will think I tell lies." "And?" "That will be extremely painful to me." "Painful!... Pain," said the Angel. "I hope not." The Vicar shook his head. The good report of the village had been the breath of his life, so far. "You see," he said, "it would look so much more plausible if you said you were just a man." "But I'm not," said the Angel. "No, you're not," said the Vicar. "So that's no good." "Nobody here, you know, has ever seen an Angel, or heard of one—except in church. If you had made your debut in the chancel—on Sunday—it might have been different. But that's too late now.... (Bother!) Nobody, absolutely nobody, will believe in you." "I hope I am not inconveniencing you?" "Not at all," said the Vicar; "not at all. Only——. Naturally it may be inconvenient if you tell a too incredible story. If I might suggest (ahem)——." "Well?" "You see, people in the world, being men themselves, will almost certainly regard you as a man. If you say you are not, they will simply say you do not tell the truth. Only exceptional people appreciate the exceptional. When in Rome one must—well, respect Roman prejudices a little—talk Latin. You will find it better——" "You propose I should feign to become a man?" "You have my meaning at once." The Angel stared at the Vicar's hollyhocks and thought. "Possibly, after all," he said slowly, "I shall become a man. I may have been too hasty in saying I was not. You say there are no angels in this world. Who am I to set myself up against your experience? A mere thing of a day—so far as this world goes. If you say there are no angels—clearly I must be something else. I eat—angels do not eat. I may be a man already." "A convenient view, at any rate," said the Vicar. "If it is convenient to you——" "It is. And then to account for your presence here." "If," said the Vicar, after a hesitating moment of reflection, "if, for instance, you had been an ordinary man with a weakness for wading, and you had gone wading in the Sidder, and your clothes had been stolen, for instance, and I had come upon you in that position of inconvenience; the explanation I shall have to make to Mrs Mendham——would be shorn at least of the supernatural element. There is such a feeling against the supernatural element nowadays —even in the pulpit. You would hardly believe——" "It's a pity that was not the case," said the Angel. "Of course," said the Vicar. "It is a great pity that was not the case. But at anyrate you will oblige me if you do not obtrude your angelic nature. You will oblige everyone, in fact. There is a settled opinion that angels do not do this kind of thing. And nothing is more painful—as I can testify—than a decaying settled opinion.... Settled opinions are mental teeth in more ways than one. For my own part,"—the Vicar's hand passed over his eyes for a moment—"I cannot but believe you are an angel.... Surely I can believe my own eyes." "We always do ours," said the Angel. "And so do we, within limits." Then the clock upon the mantel chimed seven, and almost simultaneously Mrs Hinijer announced dinner. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. H. G. Wells (2010). The Wonderful Visit. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022, from https://www.gutenberg.org/files/33913/33913-h/33913-h.htm This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html .

The Curate

The War of the Worlds, by H. G. Wells, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . IV. THE DEATH OF THE CURATE. IV. THE DEATH OF THE CURATE. It was on the sixth day of our imprisonment that I peeped for the last time, and presently found myself alone. Instead of keeping close to me and trying to oust me from the slit, the curate had gone back into the scullery. I was struck by a sudden thought. I went back quickly and quietly into the scullery. In the darkness I heard the curate drinking. I snatched in the darkness, and my fingers caught a bottle of burgundy. For a few minutes there was a tussle. The bottle struck the floor and broke, and I desisted and rose. We stood panting and threatening each other. In the end I planted myself between him and the food, and told him of my determination to begin a discipline. I divided the food in the pantry, into rations to last us ten days. I would not let him eat any more that day. In the afternoon he made a feeble effort to get at the food. I had been dozing, but in an instant I was awake. All day and all night we sat face to face, I weary but resolute, and he weeping and complaining of his immediate hunger. It was, I know, a night and a day, but to me it seemed—it seems now—an interminable length of time. And so our widened incompatibility ended at last in open conflict. For two vast days we struggled in undertones and wrestling contests. There were times when I beat and kicked him madly, times when I cajoled and persuaded him, and once I tried to bribe him with the last bottle of burgundy, for there was a rain-water pump from which I could get water. But neither force nor kindness availed; he was indeed beyond reason. He would neither desist from his attacks on the food nor from his noisy babbling to himself. The rudimentary precautions to keep our imprisonment endurable he would not observe. Slowly I began to realise the complete overthrow of his intelligence, to perceive that my sole companion in this close and sickly darkness was a man insane. From certain vague memories I am inclined to think my own mind wandered at times. I had strange and hideous dreams whenever I slept. It sounds paradoxical, but I am inclined to think that the weakness and insanity of the curate warned me, braced me, and kept me a sane man. On the eighth day he began to talk aloud instead of whispering, and nothing I could do would moderate his speech. “It is just, O God!” he would say, over and over again. “It is just. On me and mine be the punishment laid. We have sinned, we have fallen short. There was poverty, sorrow; the poor were trodden in the dust, and I held my peace. I preached acceptable folly—my God, what folly!—when I should have stood up, though I died for it, and called upon them to repent—repent! . . . Oppressors of the poor and needy . . . ! The wine press of God!” Then he would suddenly revert to the matter of the food I withheld from him, praying, begging, weeping, at last threatening. He began to raise his voice—I prayed him not to. He perceived a hold on me—he threatened he would shout and bring the Martians upon us. For a time that scared me; but any concession would have shortened our chance of escape beyond estimating. I defied him, although I felt no assurance that he might not do this thing. But that day, at any rate, he did not. He talked with his voice rising slowly, through the greater part of the eighth and ninth days—threats, entreaties, mingled with a torrent of half-sane and always frothy repentance for his vacant sham of God’s service, such as made me pity him. Then he slept awhile, and began again with renewed strength, so loudly that I must needs make him desist. “Be still!” I implored. He rose to his knees, for he had been sitting in the darkness near the copper. “I have been still too long,” he said, in a tone that must have reached the pit, “and now I must bear my witness. Woe unto this unfaithful city! Woe! Woe! Woe! Woe! Woe! To the inhabitants of the earth by reason of the other voices of the trumpet——” “Shut up!” I said, rising to my feet, and in a terror lest the Martians should hear us. “For God’s sake——” “Nay,” shouted the curate, at the top of his voice, standing likewise and extending his arms. “Speak! The word of the Lord is upon me!” In three strides he was at the door leading into the kitchen. “I must bear my witness! I go! It has already been too long delayed.” I put out my hand and felt the meat chopper hanging to the wall. In a flash I was after him. I was fierce with fear. Before he was halfway across the kitchen I had overtaken him. With one last touch of humanity I turned the blade back and struck him with the butt. He went headlong forward and lay stretched on the ground. I stumbled over him and stood panting. He lay still. Suddenly I heard a noise without, the run and smash of slipping plaster, and the triangular aperture in the wall was darkened. I looked up and saw the lower surface of a handling-machine coming slowly across the hole. One of its gripping limbs curled amid the debris; another limb appeared, feeling its way over the fallen beams. I stood petrified, staring. Then I saw through a sort of glass plate near the edge of the body the face, as we may call it, and the large dark eyes of a Martian, peering, and then a long metallic snake of tentacle came feeling slowly through the hole. I turned by an effort, stumbled over the curate, and stopped at the scullery door. The tentacle was now some way, two yards or more, in the room, and twisting and turning, with queer sudden movements, this way and that. For a while I stood fascinated by that slow, fitful advance. Then, with a faint, hoarse cry, I forced myself across the scullery. I trembled violently; I could scarcely stand upright. I opened the door of the coal cellar, and stood there in the darkness staring at the faintly lit doorway into the kitchen, and listening. Had the Martian seen me? What was it doing now? Something was moving to and fro there, very quietly; every now and then it tapped against the wall, or started on its movements with a faint metallic ringing, like the movements of keys on a split-ring. Then a heavy body—I knew too well what—was dragged across the floor of the kitchen towards the opening. Irresistibly attracted, I crept to the door and peeped into the kitchen. In the triangle of bright outer sunlight I saw the Martian, in its Briareus of a handling-machine, scrutinizing the curate’s head. I thought at once that it would infer my presence from the mark of the blow I had given him. I crept back to the coal cellar, shut the door, and began to cover myself up as much as I could, and as noiselessly as possible in the darkness, among the firewood and coal therein. Every now and then I paused, rigid, to hear if the Martian had thrust its tentacles through the opening again. Then the faint metallic jingle returned. I traced it slowly feeling over the kitchen. Presently I heard it nearer—in the scullery, as I judged. I thought that its length might be insufficient to reach me. I prayed copiously. It passed, scraping faintly across the cellar door. An age of almost intolerable suspense intervened; then I heard it fumbling at the latch! It had found the door! The Martians understood doors! It worried at the catch for a minute, perhaps, and then the door opened. In the darkness I could just see the thing—like an elephant’s trunk more than anything else—waving towards me and touching and examining the wall, coals, wood and ceiling. It was like a black worm swaying its blind head to and fro. Once, even, it touched the heel of my boot. I was on the verge of screaming; I bit my hand. For a time the tentacle was silent. I could have fancied it had been withdrawn. Presently, with an abrupt click, it gripped something—I thought it had me!—and seemed to go out of the cellar again. For a minute I was not sure. Apparently it had taken a lump of coal to examine. I seized the opportunity of slightly shifting my position, which had become cramped, and then listened. I whispered passionate prayers for safety. Then I heard the slow, deliberate sound creeping towards me again. Slowly, slowly it drew near, scratching against the walls and tapping the furniture. While I was still doubtful, it rapped smartly against the cellar door and closed it. I heard it go into the pantry, and the biscuit-tins rattled and a bottle smashed, and then came a heavy bump against the cellar door. Then silence that passed into an infinity of suspense. Had it gone? At last I decided that it had. It came into the scullery no more; but I lay all the tenth day in the close darkness, buried among coals and firewood, not daring even to crawl out for the drink for which I craved. It was the eleventh day before I ventured so far from my security. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. H. G. Wells (1992). The War of the Worlds. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022, from https://www.gutenberg.org/files/36/36-h/36-h.htm This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

The War of the Worlds: Chapter IV. THE DEATH OF THE CURATE

The War of the Worlds, by H. G. Wells, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . XIII. HOW I FELL IN WITH THE CURATE XIII. HOW I FELL IN WITH THE CURATE After getting this sudden lesson in the power of terrestrial weapons, the Martians retreated to their original position upon Horsell Common; and in their haste, and encumbered with the debris of their smashed companion, they no doubt overlooked many such a stray and negligible victim as myself. Had they left their comrade and pushed on forthwith, there was nothing at that time between them and London but batteries of twelve-pounder guns, and they would certainly have reached the capital in advance of the tidings of their approach; as sudden, dreadful, and destructive their advent would have been as the earthquake that destroyed Lisbon a century ago. But they were in no hurry. Cylinder followed cylinder on its interplanetary flight; every twenty-four hours brought them reinforcement. And meanwhile the military and naval authorities, now fully alive to the tremendous power of their antagonists, worked with furious energy. Every minute a fresh gun came into position until, before twilight, every copse, every row of suburban villas on the hilly slopes about Kingston and Richmond, masked an expectant black muzzle. And through the charred and desolated area—perhaps twenty square miles altogether—that encircled the Martian encampment on Horsell Common, through charred and ruined villages among the green trees, through the blackened and smoking arcades that had been but a day ago pine spinneys, crawled the devoted scouts with the heliographs that were presently to warn the gunners of the Martian approach. But the Martians now understood our command of artillery and the danger of human proximity, and not a man ventured within a mile of either cylinder, save at the price of his life. It would seem that these giants spent the earlier part of the afternoon in going to and fro, transferring everything from the second and third cylinders—the second in Addlestone Golf Links and the third at Pyrford—to their original pit on Horsell Common. Over that, above the blackened heather and ruined buildings that stretched far and wide, stood one as sentinel, while the rest abandoned their vast fighting-machines and descended into the pit. They were hard at work there far into the night, and the towering pillar of dense green smoke that rose therefrom could be seen from the hills about Merrow, and even, it is said, from Banstead and Epsom Downs. And while the Martians behind me were thus preparing for their next sally, and in front of me Humanity gathered for the battle, I made my way with infinite pains and labour from the fire and smoke of burning Weybridge towards London. I saw an abandoned boat, very small and remote, drifting down-stream; and throwing off the most of my sodden clothes, I went after it, gained it, and so escaped out of that destruction. There were no oars in the boat, but I contrived to paddle, as well as my parboiled hands would allow, down the river towards Halliford and Walton, going very tediously and continually looking behind me, as you may well understand. I followed the river, because I considered that the water gave me my best chance of escape should these giants return. The hot water from the Martian’s overthrow drifted downstream with me, so that for the best part of a mile I could see little of either bank. Once, however, I made out a string of black figures hurrying across the meadows from the direction of Weybridge. Halliford, it seemed, was deserted, and several of the houses facing the river were on fire. It was strange to see the place quite tranquil, quite desolate under the hot blue sky, with the smoke and little threads of flame going straight up into the heat of the afternoon. Never before had I seen houses burning without the accompaniment of an obstructive crowd. A little farther on the dry reeds up the bank were smoking and glowing, and a line of fire inland was marching steadily across a late field of hay. For a long time I drifted, so painful and weary was I after the violence I had been through, and so intense the heat upon the water. Then my fears got the better of me again, and I resumed my paddling. The sun scorched my bare back. At last, as the bridge at Walton was coming into sight round the bend, my fever and faintness overcame my fears, and I landed on the Middlesex bank and lay down, deadly sick, amid the long grass. I suppose the time was then about four or five o’clock. I got up presently, walked perhaps half a mile without meeting a soul, and then lay down again in the shadow of a hedge. I seem to remember talking, wanderingly, to myself during that last spurt. I was also very thirsty, and bitterly regretful I had drunk no more water. It is a curious thing that I felt angry with my wife; I cannot account for it, but my impotent desire to reach Leatherhead worried me excessively. I do not clearly remember the arrival of the curate, so that probably I dozed. I became aware of him as a seated figure in soot-smudged shirt sleeves, and with his upturned, clean-shaven face staring at a faint flickering that danced over the sky. The sky was what is called a mackerel sky—rows and rows of faint down-plumes of cloud, just tinted with the midsummer sunset. I sat up, and at the rustle of my motion he looked at me quickly. “Have you any water?” I asked abruptly. He shook his head. “You have been asking for water for the last hour,” he said. For a moment we were silent, taking stock of each other. I dare say he found me a strange enough figure, naked, save for my water-soaked trousers and socks, scalded, and my face and shoulders blackened by the smoke. His face was a fair weakness, his chin retreated, and his hair lay in crisp, almost flaxen curls on his low forehead; his eyes were rather large, pale blue, and blankly staring. He spoke abruptly, looking vacantly away from me. “What does it mean?” he said. “What do these things mean?” I stared at him and made no answer. He extended a thin white hand and spoke in almost a complaining tone. “Why are these things permitted? What sins have we done? The morning service was over, I was walking through the roads to clear my brain for the afternoon, and then—fire, earthquake, death! As if it were Sodom and Gomorrah! All our work undone, all the work—— What are these Martians?” “What are we?” I answered, clearing my throat. He gripped his knees and turned to look at me again. For half a minute, perhaps, he stared silently. “I was walking through the roads to clear my brain,” he said. “And suddenly—fire, earthquake, death!” He relapsed into silence, with his chin now sunken almost to his knees. Presently he began waving his hand. “All the work—all the Sunday schools—What have we done—what has Weybridge done? Everything gone—everything destroyed. The church! We rebuilt it only three years ago. Gone! Swept out of existence! Why?” Another pause, and he broke out again like one demented. “The smoke of her burning goeth up for ever and ever!” he shouted. His eyes flamed, and he pointed a lean finger in the direction of Weybridge. By this time I was beginning to take his measure. The tremendous tragedy in which he had been involved—it was evident he was a fugitive from Weybridge—had driven him to the very verge of his reason. “Are we far from Sunbury?” I said, in a matter-of-fact tone. “What are we to do?” he asked. “Are these creatures everywhere? Has the earth been given over to them?” “Are we far from Sunbury?” “Only this morning I officiated at early celebration——” “Things have changed,” I said, quietly. “You must keep your head. There is still hope.” “Hope!” “Yes. Plentiful hope—for all this destruction!” I began to explain my view of our position. He listened at first, but as I went on the interest dawning in his eyes gave place to their former stare, and his regard wandered from me. “This must be the beginning of the end,” he said, interrupting me. “The end! The great and terrible day of the Lord! When men shall call upon the mountains and the rocks to fall upon them and hide them—hide them from the face of Him that sitteth upon the throne!” I began to understand the position. I ceased my laboured reasoning, struggled to my feet, and, standing over him, laid my hand on his shoulder. “Be a man!” said I. “You are scared out of your wits! What good is religion if it collapses under calamity? Think of what earthquakes and floods, wars and volcanoes, have done before to men! Did you think God had exempted Weybridge? He is not an insurance agent.” For a time he sat in blank silence. “But how can we escape?” he asked, suddenly. “They are invulnerable, they are pitiless.” “Neither the one nor, perhaps, the other,” I answered. “And the mightier they are the more sane and wary should we be. One of them was killed yonder not three hours ago.” “Killed!” he said, staring about him. “How can God’s ministers be killed?” “I saw it happen.” I proceeded to tell him. “We have chanced to come in for the thick of it,” said I, “and that is all.” “What is that flicker in the sky?” he asked abruptly. I told him it was the heliograph signalling—that it was the sign of human help and effort in the sky. “We are in the midst of it,” I said, “quiet as it is. That flicker in the sky tells of the gathering storm. Yonder, I take it are the Martians, and Londonward, where those hills rise about Richmond and Kingston and the trees give cover, earthworks are being thrown up and guns are being placed. Presently the Martians will be coming this way again.” And even as I spoke he sprang to his feet and stopped me by a gesture. “Listen!” he said. From beyond the low hills across the water came the dull resonance of distant guns and a remote weird crying. Then everything was still. A cockchafer came droning over the hedge and past us. High in the west the crescent moon hung faint and pale above the smoke of Weybridge and Shepperton and the hot, still splendour of the sunset. “We had better follow this path,” I said, “northward.” About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. H. G. Wells (1992). The War of the Worlds. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022, from https://www.gutenberg.org/files/36/36-h/36-h.htm This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html.

The War of the Worlds: Chapter XIII. HOW I FELL IN WITH THE CURATE

Hey Hackers! I’m Marvin Kweyu and I’m a software engineer, nominated for the 2022 Noonies Award. A huge thanks to the HackerNoon community and staff for considering me worthy of this opportunity. I’ve been nominated in the following categories and if you like my writing, please do check out these award pages and vote for me: : HackerNoon Contributor of the Year- PROJECT-MANAGEMENT Leaderboard : HackerNoon Contributor of the Year- SOFTWARE-ARCHITECTURE Leaderboard As a tech writer, I believe that the most exciting technology of the present is 1 + 1 because we all need the fundamentals. Learn more about my thoughts and opinions on software engineering and my journey in the tech industry via the interview below 1. Tell us about your journey. What do you do and what do you love about it? Well, I guess it’s obvious at this point; I write code and stay weird. Hahaha. I’m kidding. Or am I? I curate experiences for the web. Whether it’s an experience from a black shell, or from your favourite browser. What I like about my career in software engineering are the paces I walk before a random bulb pops up in my head. Another side project you might say? Well, yes, but also no. I might just have a different way of solving something that has been bugging me or might as well have come up with an automation script for my personal use, or yes indeed, added something to my product hunt page. Most of it  comes as a side effect of a lot of daydreaming. 2. Tell us more about your work. What do you make/write/manage/build? Other than the endless stream of side projects and careful accidents, I am a lover of the open source community. While some of my projects are still closed-source, I may join a team of developers randomly online all because a guy was strange enough to create a site for his own wedding invitation. A whole project with tests and all. Hi Adrian! I may even go back and work on my development community organisation and or make a review. I am following a number of these and mostly go there to read code. 3. How did you start writing? What made you choose HackerNoon for publishing your work? It boils down to the community in the end; the opportunity to interact with like-minded individuals with a goal in mind. After a while of reading from some of these incredible contributors, I realised I had more to say than the comment sections had to hold. You can say I took a dive. Building, writing, learning and engaging with these very people I looked up to and sat beside. Yes, I would do it all over again. 4. What excites you in tech? Tell us about your favorite technology and why you are passionate about it. The most exciting thing for me is evolution. I’m a techie, but I am more grounded in the fundamental principles than I am about the up and new. In the end, I have found that they form a firm footing upon which anything else can follow. To echo a wise sage in my circle: ‘Treat it  like an art‘; evolve and grow with it. 5. What were some of the challenges you faced being a tech writer and how did you overcome them? Research my fellow readers. Research. I do not go bland. I come back after escapades of reading through, experimenting and making sure that it is feasible. Because this is a process, I have found that it takes time. To anyone out there, I might suggest that you start off small, start with a simple project, product or implementation based on what angle or direction you want to head in with your writing. 6. What are you learning/reading currently? Any recommendations for our readers? I’m reading about sand. Who would have thought? It’s all soil for now. Well, that and a little algorithm and architecture here and there. 7. What is your biggest achievement so far? I’d say, looking at software engineering with different limelight. Building for me is fine and all but what really counts is what societal impact my creation goes on to enable.  Listening to how someone uses a product I created a while back to solve a rather unique problem for them is my win. Sometimes, you, the creator had not even realized you could have done that. Strange, huh? To add to this, I have had really interesting conversations with my readers over time. They span from curious inquiries that lead to more inquiries to project collaborations. Now those, are nice. 8. If we gave you 10 million dollars to invest in something today, what would you invest in and why? Uhhh, do you have it right now? I want it. No. I’m not going t mention NFT or web3. I would channel it to a merger of mental health and technology; This is for my own cause. Another avenue I would go for is agritech. No matter how advanced a civilization is, you will always need food. The only way this happens is if it actually exists and our advancements actually make the process more seamless. 9. What advice would you give to someone just starting in this field? It takes time. Anyone who has done it knows this. Not only will it be time-consuming, but also energy-consuming as well. Remember to have a firm foundation with your algorithms if you are into software development. Give it not only the hours but also the intensity it deserves; consistent, undivided attention. x As a plus to this, remember that things fail every time. Things break. Be kind to yourself on this path. Remember that this is a marathon. Have enough breaks in order to get there and see the creations you make come to light. 10. What’s the best advice you’ve ever received? Go sleep. I’m not even kidding. Rather than expending your energy feeling miserable on a challenging item that does not seem to budge, you would rather use that time to sleep. Let your neurons recover. Like any muscle, they get tired. The same way your brawny arm muscles need time to recover after 3 hours of boxing is the same way your neurons need time to relax and connect the new nodes. Any final comments? Watch out for the next publication on Software architecture. This series is going to take us into a dive. And ohh, yeah, go forth and vote! Project Management Software Architecture

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