Ayn Rand's Ideal was a very bad play. It is an even worse novel. In his introduction to the book, which was released posthumously earlier this month (the play version of Ideal was published decades earlier and first performed in 1989), Ayn Rand estate heir Leonard Peikoff writes, "Ideal in either version has a story but not, in AR's definition, a plot."

That is only partially true: Ideal lacks a plot but it doesn't have much of a story, either. There are things that happen, and characters who say words, but even the term "character" feels generous for what are essentially names on a page, each followed by a perfunctory two-sentence description. It's difficult to characterize the book as "literature," since it seems to have been written outside of any tradition in which words are carefully selected and artfully threaded together to form an interesting and compelling narrative.

Like much of Rand's work, Ideal exists primarily as a mechanism through which to present a set of simplistic and self-serving philosophical statements. It's less of a novel than it is a list of ideas, the kind a stoner freshman who just sat through his first political philosophy lecture might doodle out: People are hypocrites. Religion is bad. Socialism sucks. Although one would hope even the stoner freshman would avoid sentences like, "He felt as if there was something—deep in his brain, behind everything he thought and everything he was—which he did not know, but she knew, and he wished he did, and wondered whether he could ever know it, and should he, if he could, and why he wished it."

To be fair to Rand, she knew the book was bad—so bad she never published it, instead reworking it for the stage, a form in which it was only marginally less bad. But there is a large and rabid modern Ayn Rand fan base eager to snap up a "new" title, and so despite Peikoff's own description of the book as "juvenilia," it is now publicly available to anyone who may want to read its (blessedly brief) 125 pages.

Ayn Rand devotees may not be great intellectuals, but their reading lists are slightly more sophisticated than, say, Adios America: The Left's Plan to Turn Our Country Into a Third World Hellhole (Ann Coulter's latest) or 'Don't Make the Black Kids Angry': The hoax of black victimization and those who enable it (Colin Flaherty's). They want fiction, but the Fox News version—shallow, digestible bits that confirm their worldview and verify their own superiority. For Rand acolytes, Ideal may not be Atlas Shrugged, but it's a good-enough ancillary—like reading Ted Cruz's Twitter feed when you can't make the full Tea Party rally.

Ideal is the story—"story"—of Kay Gonda, a waifish blonde actress accused of killing her lover. Fleeing from the police, she pays a visit to six different men in one night, each of whom has written her fan letters. One by one, the men promise to protect her, and then systematically betray both Gonda and, Rand ham-fistedly implies, their own ideals. There's no narrative or emotional complexity here. It's not clear what Gonda offers any of these men other than a beautiful, blue-eyed blank canvas onto which men can paint their desires (in typical Randian subtlety, one man is an artist who literally paints images of Kay Gonda over and over).

It's not clear why the men write to Gonda, except that they are all sad-sack caricatures seeking some sort of meaning—there's the suburbanite with the nagging wife and badgering mother-in-law, the illiterate hick, the fancy-pants artist, the down-on-his-luck preacher, the bankrupt playboy, and the just-fired young man teetering on the edge of vagrancy (in the play, Rand swaps out the hick for a union-loving leftist). The conclusion's big reveal and Rand's half-hearted attempt at a plot twist fails. The book ends. The reader feels nothing—not even relief or satisfaction at completing a project. The strongest emotion one can muster at the end of Ideal is, "I just read a thing."

But what makes Rand interesting has never been her work, which is universally middling. Instead, it's the reactions her work inspires, especially from the kind of socially awkward white men who seem disproportionately drawn to libertarianism and for whom Rand is a mascot of sorts. The Randian view of the world is pitiless, cruel—"Whenever there's a sneer of disgust at the disadvantaged, the ghost of Rand is hovering near," Elizabeth Stoker Bruenig writes in The New Republic.

See also: the sneer of disgust at women, embodied neatly in Milo Yiannopoulos's review of Ideal for VICE. Yiannopoulos pays scant attention to the actual book, beginning instead by complaining that the same liberals who beg for more female writers and female lead characters don't give Rand her due. He manages to work in references to Beyoncé, E.L. James, and, in a particularly odd aside, GamerGate, the purpose of which seems to be little more than an opportunity to label the barrage of death threats received by videogame writer Anita Sarkeesian simply "criticism" and to make the point that people were mean to Ayn Rand about her sex life, too.

One of the few Ideal plot—"plot"—points Yiannopoulos is careful to include is the rape scene, which he describes as a "pseudo-rape," a "consensually ambiguous" encounter that "the sex-negative, authoritarian modern feminist movement" refuses to believe "might be thrilling for both parties." Here's how the "pseudo-rape" goes down: Our main character Kay Gonda is in bed trying to sleep; the fan whose home she's at is drunk and even though he has already agreed to sleep on the couch, he decides, "Why should he care what would happen then, afterward? Why should he care what she'd think of him?" and he walks into the bedroom.

"She lay dressed, on his bed, and her one hand hung over the edge, white in the darkness. She jerked her head up and he could guess her eyes on the pale blot of her face. She felt his teeth sinking into her hand.
She struggled ferociously, her muscles tense, hard, sharp as an animal's.
'Keep still,' he whispered hoarsely into her throat. 'You can't call for help!'
She did not call for help..."

Rand may not be the most skillful writer, but nothing about that passage is ambiguous. It's certainly not an example of an "ideal intimate encounter," unless your ideal intimate encounter is rape—and not a "pseudo-rape," but a rape-rape. How people read the scene tells us less about Rand herself and more about the reader, which also seems to explain the outsized cultural importance of Rand's oeuvre.

Perhaps Rand's largest talent lies not in her status as the mother of Objectivism, but her ability to play the Cool Girl, even posthumously, in the minds of men whose view of women is colored by both desire and revulsion. You're not a misogynist if your hero is Ayn Rand, and Ayn Rand is the ultimate shield and sword for the kind of arguments regularly entered into by the kind of man who worships Ayn Rand. Ayn Rand wouldn't care that you called her a slut on the internet. Ayn Rand doesn't think it's rape if you hold her down and shove your dick in her without permission. Ayn Rand probably drinks whiskey and plays beer pong and has always had way more guy friends because girls cause so much drama. She's the Sociopathic Pixie Dream Girl.

It's difficult to make the case that Ideal itself merited publishing, except insofar as it opened up another opportunity for Ayn Rand fans to discuss Ayn Rand—and this time around, to turn her into a foil for the harpy feminists whose ideas seem to be winning, and winning especially among the young women who are not showing up en masse to libertarian rallies.

For the kind of men who prefer women one-dimensional, Rand is a convenient figurehead for a simplistic morality—a morality that only works for those in a position to experience the world as a fundamentally fair place. For the kind of men who prefer women to be accouterments, Rand offers the convenient corroboration of someone who is not a white man to help mostly white men make a self-serving political case. For the kind of men who prefer women to be ideas instead of actual, complicated people who can speak for themselves, Ayn Rand is also conveniently dead.

You might even say she's ideal.

Jill Filipovic is a journalist and lawyer in New York. She's also on Twitter.

Illustration by Heather Benjamin. Follow her on Instagram.

Photo via ReSurge International

There's an old saying about medical professionals and diagnoses: Just because your doctor has a name for your condition doesn't mean he knows what it is. Even now, in an era that has introduced stunning medical advances like multi-check blood-testing, or the new innovations unveiled at EuroMedLab 2015 that will lead to a more efficient diagnostic process, your doctor still might not know what's wrong with you. Last year, CNBC reported that approximately 12 million Americans are misdiagnosed each year, according to a study published in the journal BMJ Quality & Safety. The New England Journal of Medicine published a study that found 31 percent of breast cancer patients in 2008 were over-diagnosed.

This is, obviously, a big deal. When you're misdiagnosed, not only are you receiving incorrect or perhaps extraneous treatment, you could be exacerbating the condition you actually have. Doctors who misdiagnose patients run a serious financial risk. According to a 2013 study conducted by Johns Hopkins University, misdiagnosis is also the number-one cause of malpractice lawsuits and subsequent payouts.

Enter Figure 1, an app created by Dr. Joshua Landy, the writer/professor Gregory Levey, and the mobile developer Richard Penner. Released in 2013, the app has hundreds of thousands of users, mostly consisting of medical professionals such as physicians, nurses, and surgeons.

As Landy puts it, medicine is "richly visual," with most early learning in the discipline stimulated by models, case reports, textbooks, etc. Figure 1 embraces that standard and modernizes it for the digital age, making the experience hands-on and mobile. The app basically functions like Instagram for healthcare, with a focus on clinical diagnosis. It can act as a digital databank that catalogs cases, opens dialogues, and disseminates medical information quickly.

On Motherboard: This App Translates Your Photos Into Stories

On Figure 1, users can upload an image of any medical case giving them pause, allowing them to seek answers from the online medical community at-large. Uploading is reserved for verified healthcare professionals. You can find everything, from Osteomyelitis with Progressive Amputation to Lichenification, internal abnormalities to external irritants to total medical anomalies. A patient's confidentiality is protected and their consent must first be given before anything can be uploaded. (The website's FAQ page has a detailed privacy policy.) Landy says he built the app to create a deeper well of medical knowledge, a place to "access cases quickly and get collaborative feedback from others."

Still, the functionality of the app suggests it caters to a sense of inquisitiveness among the medical class. One click of the Discover tab (yes, there is one) on the app's website reveals pages full of X-Rays and photographs documenting clinical cases. It's a fascinating piece of tech that, in theory, could help solve all kinds of medical riddles. In short, Figure 1 aims to crowd-source medical expertise. "One of the exciting things about Figure 1," Landy says, "is that the app is now available in more than 100 countries, so people are learning about medical conditions from around the world. For instance, US doctors are able to see cases of measles posted by healthcare professionals in India. Being able to connect with people on the other side of the world who are already dealing with these issues is really useful for patient care." The app gives verified checks—similar to Twitter letting you know it's the real Zayn instead of some devious impostor—to validated healthcare professionals to confirm that users are who they say they are, allowing them to interact with other physicians without worrying about trolls spreading misinformation.

Watch: Aleppo's Child Nurse

Since its inception in 2013, the app has discovered that funders are just as curious as doctors. At the end of its founding year, Figure 1 raised a $2 million seed round from Canadian venture capitalist firms Version One Ventures and Rho Canada Ventures after impressive early growth. Last year, the app doubled its funding with an additional investment from Union Square Ventures (see a full list of investors here). This is right on par with or just ahead of apps like Switch (pegged as the Tinder for jobs) and The League (a Tinder-esque dating app that draws information from LinkedIn as well as Facebook to create Tinder, but with a dollop of implied classism), both of which are in similar stages of development. According to Figure 1's communications manager Annie Williams, the app is currently in the pre-revenue stage, meaning the investors aren't using money to determine how valuable the app is yet.

Though Figure 1 is intended for use strictly by medical professionals, laypeople are free to download the app, which will offer them what Landy calls a "very limited experience." He admits, "I think it's natural for people to have curiosity about what tools their doctor is using, and they can certainly learn more about us on our website or on our social media where we post the top learning cases." Figure 1 cracks open a door allowing anybody to peer into the medical world. It permits those interested to peruse the unusual and expose themselves to what is tantamount to a private medical conference complete with captioned exhibits. In my short time using the app, I've already seen rashes that look like a clump of boils and a testicle swollen to the size of a cantaloupe.

Image courtesy of Figure 1.

Whether you're a healthcare professional or just an inquisitive dilettante, Figure 1 can expand your understanding of modern medicine. With an easy to maneuver Browse tab, which is divided into two categories—Anatomy and Speciality—a user can find something specific or simply scan the large repository of cataloged images and cases. For professionals, it's like sharing a conference room with colleagues and peers worldwide, all of varying backgrounds and specialties. For amateurs, it's a bit like sitting in every doctors' office simultaneously on their busiest day.

For doctors, it can be truly beneficial to have a second pair of eyes for any given clinical case, and Figure 1 gives them that opportunity tenfold. The app has already started to amass testimonials from users who have found application of the technology can be life-saving: "In one case, a doctor nearly missed a collapsed lung on an X-Ray, but recognized it by having seen something similar on Figure 1 the week prior," Landy says. "In another, a doctor was able to recognize a life-threatening infection by seeing an image on Figure 1."

When it comes to doctors, it's important to get a second opinion; now your doctor can get several with the click of a button.

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A drug doctor hands out clean syringes and treats drug injectors lining up outside the ambulance at midnight in Central Bucharest. Photos by Vlad Brateanu

It was only when the drug ambulance pulled up near Bucharest's main train station that the city's forgotten people emerged from the darkness. Some had surfaced via a hole in the pavement from their homes in the city's network of sewer tunnels. Others came from nearby shacks, tents, and street corners. At night the average citizen avoids this stretch of land, marooned by a roundabout. It is a part of their city they'd prefer to forget.

The light from the open ambulance doors revealed a ramshackle group of damaged people gathering round, many of them Roma. On their flesh were signs of repeated drug injections: needle wounds in the jugular, swollen feet from ruined veins, and track marks up the arms. A few of them were high, either numbed on low-purity heroin or agitated from injecting a dirt-cheap mephedrone hybrid known locally as either legale or pure.

To an outsider, it may have looked like they were queuing at a mobile soup kitchen. But they were taking advantage of the little help that is available to them: clean syringes. To the people who patiently line up outside this converted ambulance four nights a week, fresh packs of needles are a lifeline, and they are a form of currency.

"The general public's attitude to the Roma and to the drug addicts is that we are wasting money on nothing, that it's better to let them die than to help them," said Dan Popescu, harm-reduction services coordinator at the Asociatia Romana Anti-SIDA (ARAS), which runs the drug ambulance. Despite the HIV epidemic among Bucharest's injectors, ARAS is one of only two drug projects carrying out harm-reduction services in the whole of Romania.

Some users bring buckets or plastic soda bottles full of dirty needles, which they have picked up in their own neighborhood and for which they are rewarded with extra packs of syringes. The clean needles go some way to stemming the rising number of injectors with blood-borne infections. Popescu said that almost all the injecting drug users they come into contact with in Bucharest's ghetto zones test positive for HIV and hepatitis C. It is widely accepted among health officials that official statistics on the extent of drug-related infections in Romania barely scratch the surface, but one analysis found half of injecting drug users have HIV and three quarters have hepatitis C. Because they are so widely used, syringes are also a form of collateral among Bucharest's injectors for anything from drugs to taxi fares.

The kids from the Pinocchio children's home sneak out at night to spend it sniffing industrial paint. Some have already started injecting legale.

One woman I spoke to, Flori, was 28, but she moved like she was in her 70s and was close to losing sight in one eye. She sleeps above ground in the warmer months and in the sewers during winter. She injects a mix of heroin, crushed methadone pills, and legale—a combination of three drugs known as Total Combat. Her favorite feeling in life, she told me, was the rush she got from injecting legale.

Every night a group of teenagers from the local orphanage, Pinocchio, come to the sewer entrance, to mingle with the older drug users and get high rather than sleep in their beds. They sniff a toxic metallic paint called Aurolac from black plastic bags. It's the drug of choice for young street kids before they move on to injecting. The paint gives a hallucinogenic high but causes damage to the lungs, heart, and brain. It is one of the most likely highs to cause instant death via heart failure.

Stephan, a Roma kid from Pinocchio, is 16. His mom was murdered in the street in front of him when he was ten; he ended up in a children's home and has been sniffing paint ever since. He had just started using legale when I spoke to him. He was introduced to it by an older boy at the orphanage. His friend, another Roma kid called Liviu, is 17. His father is also dead, though his brother and sister visit him in Pinocchio. I asked him why he takes drugs. "Life is ugly," he told me. "If you don't have parents, how can it be nice?"

It is no coincidence that the majority of Bucharest's desperately sick drug users are from the Roma community, Europe's largest ethnic minority. Like in many parts of Europe, the Roma, who originated in India and migrated to Europe in the Middle Ages, where they have been an underclass ever since, are a largely segregated community in Romania. Of the 10 to 12 million Roma in Europe, an estimated 2 million, more than anywhere else, live in Romania. Although they were freed from slavery by the King of Romania 170 years ago, they are still viewed as undesirables and are treated as such.

They have their own language and their own unconventional life. Although there are the odd exceptions—a child Roma pop star and a small group of Roma royalty and entrepreneurs—the overwhelming majority have low-paid, little respected jobs, such as recycling discarded scrap metal, cans, bottles, and clothes. On every level—housing, education, employment, and health—they are severely disadvantaged. It is something that, on paper, the EU is struggling to come to grips with. On the ground, however, Roma are subject to widespread discrimination, a nominally illegal situation within an EU member state.

Many Roma are simply locked out of mainstream society. Only around 45 percent are able to access healthcare or receive welfare in Romania, because they do not have the relevant ID. A US Department of State report remarks that a lack of identity documents excludes many Roma from participating in elections, receiving social benefits, accessing health insurance, securing property documents, and participating in the labor market.

They are virtually invisible to the authorities. Despite warnings from the World Bank's global AIDS program about the spiraling problem in Romania, the government has done almost nothing regarding the HIV outbreak among legale users since 2010. Romania has responded to this HIV epidemic by shutting down drug services and buying low-quality needles that snap under the flesh.

Even on the plane over to Romania, I could feel the anti-Roma vibe. A young Romanian business-management student doing his degree at a British university asked me what I was doing in Bucharest. Explaining that I was writing an article about Roma and drug addiction, he quickly corrected me. "Roma? You mean Gypsies? We do not call them Roma. Please remember, be careful—they steal."

A lot of Roma do end up stealing, but that is because they are trapped in a cycle of poverty, accentuated by being segregated in ghettos, often resorting to drugs as a solution to their shitty lives.

Many of the homeless drug users in Bucharest, like this woman who has lived on the streets for 20 years, have mental health problems.

Death from drug abuse stalks this population. The Romanian government barely bothers to count the number of narcotic-related deaths. Of the scores of drug injectors Dan and his ARAS team come across in the ghettos of Bucharest, they are aware of around two people who die each week—around a 100 a year—which is three times the official figure for the entire country. The day after I went out with them, they saw the corpse of a young woman named Niculina, a heroin user they often chatted to, being lifted into an ambulance in one of Bucharest's ghetto zones.

"Currently the biggest problem we are facing in Romania is the unrestricted spread of HIV and TB among people who inject drugs. Why is that? Because of a lack of political will and accountability," said Valentin Simionov, who spent a decade trying to persuade the Romanian government to take its drug problem seriously, before getting a job with a London-based drug NGO. "In a country where 80 percent or more of the population say they are Orthodox Christians, you would expect huge compassion and solidarity with the poor and sick. Not here."

A 20-minute drive from the underground ghetto in the sewers, Ferentari is Bucharest's most infamous ghetto area. Located in the borough called Sector 5, a name with echoes of the country's Communist past, it is known to some, particularly the taxi drivers who choose not to take passengers there, as the Land of the Pirates . The politicians there are certainly dodgy; the mayor of Sector 5 was arrested for corruption earlier this year.

Local NGOs and journalists call it a punga saracie —a sack of poverty. In other words, it has the kind of deprivation from which no one can escape. The chances of getting out, save for leaving in a coffin, are as limited as the efforts of the Romanian government and its people to help them.

One of the ghettos areas of Ferentari. Hundreds of families are packed into tiny apartments that are in a state of extreme dilapidation.

As I walked down Livezilor Alley, sandwiched between some dramatically dilapidated 1970s apartment blocks, the first thing I saw was a young man bending over in plain view in the street to inject himself in the groin before continuing his stroll.

Each 15-square-foot apartment, originally designed for single male workers from a now defunct bus factory, houses an average of ten people today. Only one in six apartments has hot water and gas for heating and cooking . Not everyone has electricity, but the outside walls of these blocks are covered with new and old satellite dishes. There don't appear to be many doors. The basements have been flooded for years and are home to huge rats. The stench is amazing. Dirty needles are everywhere, in stairwells, on the pavements, and in the huge, open rubbish dumps along this drag.

There is a theory mentioned in Hidden Communities, a book on Ferentari, that the drug dealers and injectors here maintain these piles of waste on purpose as a kind of "filth preservation policy" that creates a "no go area where the drug culture can survive." What is for sure is that most people throw their refuse out the window because the garbage trucks do not come and haven't done so for years because the local politicians simply do not care. This area is 70 percent Roma. So the trash is left to fester along with the people.

Michele Lancione is an Italian ethnographer from Cambridge University who has studied the community in Ferentari. He acted as my guide in what is essentially a no-go zone for the journalists who are satisfied just taking a quick snap of a drug injector before sneaking away. "Life in these places is incredibly hard, even more so if you happen to have an addiction," Lancione told me. "You are stigmatized both as a Roma and a drug user. In all this, the state is just absent. Or, worse, it is there, but only to harass people and make their lives even more marginalized through a lack of investments and a medieval penal code."

As we walked away from Livezilor Alley a woman was dragged screaming from her home and bundled into a car. The word on the street was that she was a sex worker about to be punished by an angry pimp. Just around the corner was Caracuda, Romania's second drug charity, which is essentially a shack where drug users bring in their old syringes to get new ones.

Roma bring buckets of used syringes to be replaced with clean ones. Needles are a vital commodity—they are used to prevent infection and as a form of currency in the drug world.

Most of the injectors I spoke to at Caracuda had similar stories of loss and regret. The drugs offered an escape from that, if only for a short time.

"I started using heroin when I was 17 because that's what everyone else was doing," said Marian, who is 35 but has never had a job. "When I am using heroin I feel like a normal person, like you." Another, a teenager named Costel, told me, "I take drugs to forget. There is a need to feel blurry." When I asked him what he had to forget, he said he could not tell me, because it was unspeakable.

As Lancione points out, the EU funds for Caracuda, part of Romania's threadbare provision for drug addicts, are fast running dry and the Romanian government is refusing to step in to save it. "The Romanian State is inept at helping those who most need it, illustrated by the fact the help it gives Caracuda, in the shape of clean syringes, is done on the cheap. The needles are of such low quality—they break inside the body as drug users search for veins—as to be almost useless."

I talked to Florian, 27, who has two neck injecting wounds. He's from the ghetto, where he said "everyone" injects drugs. He had just stepped out of a taxi after paying the driver, a heroin user, with clean needles. Florian has been injecting heroin since he was 12. He injects one gram a day. "At the beginning, when I was a boy, the feeling of heroin was very nice. But now I do it because I need to do it. It's no pleasure," he said.

He's been puncturing his skin and filling his veins with heroin for almost half his life. But he's no feral, semi-human caricature. He's a lost boy, looking for some kind of a way out. Unfortunately, he's trapped in the same vicious circle in which so many young Roma find themselves. When I asked him what his tomorrow looked like, he said, "Shit. No future. Nothing."

Florin is a Roma man who has been living on the street since 1995 and uses Aurolac and injecting legale. The injuries on his chest are old burn wounds that never heal, from when he set himself on fire in 2010.

One of the men gathered outside Caracuda told me his brother was off to England the next day. It turned out England is a popular holiday destination for the people in Ferentari. But they don't go there to take snaps of the Queen.

I asked the man what his brother was going to do in my homeland. "Steal!" he replied, smiling. He said lots of people from Ferentari love England because the police are so nice and lenient. He was particularly fond of Asda and Morrisons in Birmingham, where he stayed for six months before getting deported last year. He earned good money stealing whiskey, chocolate, and Gillette Fusion razors using a classic aluminum-lined shopping bag, before selling them to the fences who run local 7-11s. In Romania you can get three years for stealing a Snickers bar. But in England this guy said he got caught stealing four times before he was sent back to Romania.

For Amer, 30, another Roma injector, life in the ghetto here is a one-way track. "To me this is a normal life, I've lived here since I was born," he told me. "I go out of Ferentari twice a week, when I go to hospital for treatment and to make money, but I can't tell you what I do—otherwise I will go to jail! In five years' time there will be no change. I'm hoping life will be better, but I don't think so. The Roma are not treated fairly by the government—they are ridiculed and not taken seriously."

One 35-year-old drug user, Daniela, has been injecting for 15 years. She clutched a box of precious needles to her chest. "These needles are a beautiful thing. But we are treated like garbage.Living here is like living on an island forgotten by the world."

This is Amer. These wounds are from scratching his skin to the bone when he was suffering from acute psychosis from using legale between 2010 and 2012. He attacked his arm because he had the sensation of bugs crawling under his skin.

The average wage in Livezilor Alley is under $68 a week . Most live hand to mouth off the streets. The men are involved in hustling and stealing, while sex work is one of the few alternatives for teenage girls. Education levels among Roma in Ferentari are seriously low, with most children dropping out of education by the time they are 12, to start working or to start families, according to the Policy Center for Roma Minority, a nonprofit organization founded in 2008 and based in Ferentari . With open drug injecting a part of life in many homes, it is common for children to start taking drugs, even heroin and legale, at a young age. In Hidden Communities, the author interviews an eight-year-old heroin injector and a ten‐year-old who was forced to inject drugs in his pubic area because all his veins were scarred.

"The problems faced by the Roma community in the ghettos of Ferentari are of many interconnected layers under the umbrella of extreme poverty," said Raluca Negulescu, executive director at the Policy Center. "Children are exposed to drug consumption, which does not only normalize it, but it's a health hazard. Children get sick with hepatitis C after being pricked by needles."

Not only do young Romas have to deal with drugs, but they also have to contend with the police. Last year a 26-year-old Romani man, Daniel Dumitrache from Bucharest, was arrested and taken to police cells for working as a "parking boy," a common job among young Roma, where they earn income by finding parking spaces for drivers in exchange for tips. By the next morning he was dead. The police said he became ill and, in spite of receiving medical care, died shortly thereafter. They stated that there were no signs of violence on his body despite the fact Daniel's parents said his body was covered with bruises. A forensic report found the cause of Dumitrache's death was a ruptured spleen, and an officer was arrested for unlawful use of deadly force but later moved to another precinct.

In 2014, a chief of police in Romania resigned in March after surveillance camera footage showed him slapping and kicking a 14-year-old Roma girl at police headquarters. Meanwhile, there have been numerous statements from Roma sex workers of abuse at the hands of police—they are commonly asked to clean the police station naked before being let go.

In its report on Romania's human rights record, the US Department of State said: "Discrimination against Roma continued to be a major problem... Major human rights problems included police mistreatment and harassment of detainees and Roma." It's this systematic discrimination against Roma that impedes their access to adequate education, housing, health care, and employment opportunities.

The drug that eats its users from the inside out has hit Russia. See the impact in "Siberia: Krokodil Tears."

The politicians are as bad as the police. In 2007 Romania's foreign minister suggested that the government should buy up a piece of land in the Egyptian desert and ship Roma people there . In 2010, President Traian Basescu was fined a whopping $150 by Romania's anti-discrimination organization after stating "few of the nomad Roma want to work; many of them traditionally live on what they steal."

In 2014, there was international outrage after the mayor of a Transylvanian town evicted 74 families and forced them to live on a chemical waste dump. In 2012, the mayor of Baia Mare, a town in northern Romania, decided to force hundreds of Roma into a decommissioned chemical factory.

Reporting on the situation of Roma people in Europe, the European Union Agency for Fundamental Rights described the levels of exclusion and deprivation in countries like Romania as "shocking." In 2015, in its appraisal of Romania's progress of reform, the European Commission said, "few effective measures were taken to integrate the Roma population" and that there had been little movement in improving education or health care for Roma.

"The only effective interventions directed to drug users in Bucharest—and with Roma drug users in particular—are left in the hand of a bunch of NGOs, which cannot cope with the scale of the problem," said Lancione. "The state could and should do more—but this will happen only when and if its EU partners (which grant it its economic subsistence) will put adequate pressure. Unfortunately, this does not seem to be on the agenda, while another generation of young men and women is growing up in totally unacceptable conditions."

Through the EU's Roma integration strategy program, $28.7 billion was made available from 2007 to 2013 for member states to spend on Roma social inclusion, but only a fraction of that money has been utilized by Romania because the civil service has no idea what to do with it. The EU warns Romania every year that it is dragging its feet and must act, but every year the situation stagnates.

Despite the threat of sanctions for discriminating against Europe's largest ethnic minority, Romania, and even the self-proclaimed leaders of the Roma community, appear content to let their citizens rot away in their ghettos.

The EU has admitted that despite slow progress, vulnerable citizens like the Roma are best helped if countries remain in the EU. As long as no one kicks up a fuss, the health emergency around Roma drug addiction can be swept under the carpet.

"These children see the path others have trod, so it seems natural to [follow]. We need to expose them to alternative ways of living, so they have some element of choice." —Raluca Negulescu

This year marks the end of a ten-year plan by European governments, called the Roma Decade of Inclusion, "an unprecedented political commitment by European governments to eliminate discrimination against Roma and close the unacceptable gaps between Roma and the rest of society."

So I ask Raluca Negulescu what impact the Roma Decade has had on the kids of Ferentari. "The impact is close to zero, if I'm being optimistic. There is still blatant racism towards the Roma. Those who are drug users are seen as deserving it. This is highly unacceptable in an EU country in 2015."

As grim as the outlook is today, Negulescu thinks that real change is possible if the Roma people take the reins. "We have informal leaders, not people who say, 'I'm the leader,' but people who have the support of their people, people who actually want to change things, and not just for themselves," said Negulescu. "Some of these Roma women, they are amazing. They are the leaders. Now, in Sector 5, there are virtually no Roma in public positions. But I hope in the next ten years these women will be elected onto local councils."

In the past year, Negulescu's project has been working with more than 300 mainly Roma kids in a education program meant to help them catch up with their grade level in school. "These children see the path others have trod, so it seems natural to go along the same path. We need to expose them to alternative ways of living so they have some element of choice."

Toto is one of those lucky kids. Spotted by filmmaker Alexander Nanau when he was ten year old, living in the Livezilor Alley with his two teenage sisters, Toto's tough life was documented on camera more than 15 months. Nanau filmed Toto, whose mom was in jail for selling drugs, hanging around in a stark apartment, sleeping as drug users injected next to him. As his older sister got into heroin, he and his younger sister were moved to a children's home, where his life took a turn for the better.

Toto and His Sisters, a brilliant documentary work, was released last year. Now 15, Toto is one of the children benefitting from Negulescu's education program. He's now a famous street dancer in the neighborhood, and sometimes people ask for his autograph.

"I still get hassled when I go in shops. People tell me not to touch things because I am Roma," he told me. "I visit my mom in the old apartment and see my younger sister, although my older sister is in jail for stealing a mobile phone. Now, I share a room in a house with two other boys, who are my friends. I'm fine. I feel happier. I'm going to be a dancer. Maybe a film director, who knows?"

It is pitiful that the only real help being given to the drug users living in Bucharest's ghetto areas are via two NGOs funded mainly by foreign money. With few resources, these organizations are fighting a losing battle. As one of the newest members of the European family, Romania is clearly not under enough pressure from the EU to stop this. As long as the Roma are segregated in ghettos in Romania—and in other countries in Central and Eastern Europe—drug addiction will continue and rates of HIV will spiral.

Here's hoping that Toto, a boy with more opportunity than many to escape the grim destiny of those around him, manages to leave behind ghetto life. But even if he does, he will always be Roma. After centuries of subjugation, it is time for kids like Toto to be treated like human beings.

The author would like to thank Michele Lancione and the Hungarian Civil Liberties Union for their assistance in writing this article. The HCLU has a new campaign to raise awareness of drug abuse in the Balkans; to learn more, go to www.room-for-change.org.

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Police draw gun towards victim. Screenshot via Facebook witness video.

Various Canadian government websites went offline Sunday following threats from online hacktivist group, Anonymous, after the death of an alleged anon "comrade" at an Anonymous protest in British Columbia.

Anonymous says that it took down the RCMP's national websites in response to a fatal shooting on Thursday in Dawson Creek near a BC Hydro public hearing about the controversial Site C dam project. The man who was killed was carrying a knife and said to be wearing a Guy Fawkes mask at the protest, one which the RCMP knew about in advance, according to an Anonymous video press release published on Saturday.

The group is asking the government to release the identity of the officer who shot James McIntyre. If not, Anonymous said that they will release the identity of the officer themselves.

A local newspaper reported that police identified the victim today. McIntyre, 48, was shot outside of the Fixx Urban Grill, but worked at another restaurant, Le's Family Restaurant. Little information has been released on McIntyre, but he has been linked to the Twitter account jay mack, which has not been active since July 16, the day of McIntyre's death.

One of the account's last tweets include one tagged with BC's RCMP Twitter handle saying "Ready 4 our little showdown? Our people r going 2 b in place at that meeting in Dawson Creek(BC Hydro)."

BC's law enforcement watchdog had initially believed that a man who disrupted the protest and the person shot were the same man, but have since found that they are not. In a video statement, Independent Investigations Office of BC spokesperson Kellie Kilpatrick says that the IIOBC has not seen a case with "as many moving parts and changing landscapes as this one."

The massive Site C hydroelectric dam on Peace River was approved by the BC government earlier this month, and had been met with lawsuits from environmental and First Nations groups.

At time of publication, one of Anonymous' last tweets asked its audience to stand by for more proof of the "murder." They later tweeted that the anon killed was Indigenous, and that BC Hydro is helping to cover up the situation. Both tweets have since been deleted.

A blurry but graphic video posted on Facebook by user Corey Pfeifer shows two officers, guns drawn, surrounding a man allegedly holding a knife, who had apparently been shot. The video also appears to show an officer kick an object away from the man on the ground. IIOBC now confirms that a knife was at the scene.

"He's fucking dead, there's blood everywhere," says a man's voice in the video. "This is fucked up."

The IIOBC reported that a masked man approached police in what they describe as in an aggressive manner. Police said that the victim did not comply to their directions and was shot and he later died in hospital.

In their statement, Anonymous also said that "an RCMP officer mercilessly shot and killed a masked anon without provocation or cause," and "if Canadian police were as brave as Canadian nurses they could deal with people with knives without hiding behind bullets."

"We will most certainly avenge our own," the group said, adding that they will also fundraise to cover the costs of the burial of their fallen comrade.

"If we do not receive justice, rest assured there will be revenge," they said. "Behind this mask is an idea, and ideas are bullet-proof."

According to a tweet from the Twitter account Anarcho Anon, on Saturday, the apartment of McIntyre's family was raided by police, who told them it was unrelated to the shooting.

In the most recent large-scale attack on Canadian government, Anonymous claimed responsibility for shutting down the Canadian Security and Intelligence Service sites, asking Canadians to protest Bill C-51. This past Wednesday afternoon, Anonymous also claimed responsibility for crashed federal emails and several department websites.

With regards to this latest apparent attack, the CBC reported that an RCMP spokesperson from headquarters in Ottawa said that the websites were down due to maintenance issues, and that any other issues were not related to Anonymous.

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Cropped photo via Flickr user 401(K) 2012

Read: The Bureaucracy of Gender Transitioning

According to a report in The Oregonion, a trans woman in Portland was convicted of fraud today for using her old identity—from before she transitioned to female—in order to bilk the Social Security Administration out of almost $250,000. Richelle Dee McDonald was sentenced to eight months of house arrest, and, according to The AP, will have to give the money back.

McDonald was born in 1945, and received a Social Security card sometime in the early 1960s under the name Richard McDonald. In 1972, however, she obtained a second Social Security card, this time as Richelle. Richelle claimed she had never received a Social Security card in the first place.

When she was hit by a bus sometime around 1974 and suffered a debilitating arm injury, she qualified for Supplemental Social Security—but she collected it as Richard. In the decades that followed, she did things to maintain the identity of Richard. For instance, she made sure he had a driver's license. But, despite the arm injury, she worked as a janitor at a hospital for almost 25 years. When Richelle retired, she attempted to collect Social Security, and that was when the whole thing unraveled.

A Social Security official noticed the connection between Richard and Richelle, and sniffed around. In May of last year, Richelle was hit with a summons, and in December she pled guilty on charges of wire fraud, stealing from the government, and Social Security fraud.

McDonald's crime is a riff on the practice of "ghosting," a kind of identity theft where the thief takes a dead person's ID, and uses it for fun and profit. But this particular ghost didn't die. At transition he theoretically should have ceased to exist at all. Since transition leaves a huge number of bureaucratic loose ends, like an outdated birth certificate, and inconsistent IDs, it's a wonder this kind of thing doesn't crop up in the news more often.

In any case, McDonald dodged prison in part because the federal judge in her case, Marco A. Hernandez, recognized how rough things were for her when she was younger. The prosecutor, Helen Cooper, recommended against prison time anyway, citing the expense of dealing with an elderly inmate who suffers from seizures. Instead, they'll get their money back.

So far she's paid $30,000, and the government hopes that even though she's 70-years-old, McDonald will live long enough to fork over the other $220,000 or so. The Oregonian says that'll take about another 20 years.

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The psychopath I'm on the phone with is quite friendly.

"There's kind of a joke in the military that if you go out and kill 100 people as a civilian, you're thrown in jail, but if you do it as a soldier, you get a bunch of medals," he says with a chuckle.

The man, who I'll call "Ben" because he prefers to remain anonymous, tells me he was in the Air Force for four years, from 2002 to 2006. He claims to have been diagnosed with Antisocial Personality Disorder (ASPD) in 2005.

"I fit the description, just from a certain lack of empathy or ability to understand it," he tells me. "I don't have close friendships. I look at the human race just as any sort of animal in nature. I see most people as basically greedy and stupid. So I can detach any real emotion from it. I think that makes it easier to make certain decisions in combat or how to deploy forces, things like that."

ASPD is a mental health condition chiefly characterized by a lack of concern for the feelings of others. According to the National Library of Medicine, people with the disorder—alternately called psychopaths or sociopaths—can be skilled manipulators who flatter and lie their way into people's lives. As the name of the condition suggests, they have little to no regard for social norms, and tend to cause pain without experiencing remorse or guilt.

In short, they are believed to be capable of heartlessly taking a life—arguably rendering them some of the scariest people on the planet.

It's only natural that many people with ASPD might be drawn to the military, given that it offers an opportunity to kill without consequence. The controversial movie American Sniper, based on the book by former Navy SEAL sniper Chris Kyle, who was killed in 2013 by another veteran, led some Americans—including prominent commentators like comedian Bill Maher—to label Kyle a psychopath for what they say was callous disregard for the lives of the 160 Iraqis he's confirmed to have killed. Maher pointed to statements Kyle made in his book, such as "I hate the damn savages," and "I love killing bad guys," as proof of the emotional detachment that characterizes people with ASPD.

Scientific studies and expert testimony suggest the phenomenon of antisocial military personnel is quite real. But as it turns out, succeeding as a soldier without a conscience is no small task. Interviews with current and former soldiers diagnosed with ASPD, as well as soldiers who have served alongside them, indicate that many sociopaths are unable to overcome their more troublesome psychological tendencies long enough to excel in a military environment. Indeed, the failure to form emotional connections with peers or tolerate superiors makes sociopaths difficult to train, especially in an environment where each soldier's life literally depends on his or her teammates.

But those who pass that test become a kind of secret weapon for an army: merciless fighters whose self-preservation skills and ability to kill without remorse can be consciously utilized by their superiors.

They are natural leaders who will motivate other soldiers to kill. They are also fiercely competitive and will aggressively pursue victory.
–US Army Major David S. Pierson on 'natural killers'

In her popular 2005 book The Sociopath Next Door, Harvard Medical School psychologist Martha Stout explains that ASPD occurs in about 4 percent of the population. According to Stout, while many of these people end up committing crimes and getting caught, others manage to come across as normal humans living acceptable lives, holding jobs as librarians, CEOs, and soldiers. Like all personality disorders, ASPD is overwhelmingly misunderstood, even within the mental health community. There doesn't appear to be a professional consensus on whether there is even a difference between psychopathy and sociopathy. Some doctors use the terms interchangeably, and the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM)—which is the widely accepted standard for diagnosing mental illness—doesn't use either of those terms, instead grouping all variations of this condition under the same ASPD category.

Some mental health professionals, however, take the stance that psychopaths are essentially more controlled than sociopaths. According to this school of thought, while having very little regard for others, sociopaths are somewhat able to form limited attachments to certain individuals or groups. They are usually disorganized, impulsive, and volatile—and therefore more likely to be imprisoned for committing crimes. On the other hand, psychopaths are completely incapable of attaching to others. They seamlessly assimilate into society, and are generally so skilled at emotional mimicry that they can maintain a solid education, gainful employment, and even families and long-term relationships. Many of the serial killers that haunt our collective subconscious—Ted Bundy, Dennis Rader (BTK)—were psychopaths. (To be clear, the majority of psychopaths are not serial killers.) Although I'm not a mental health professional, I'll be distinguishing between psychopaths and sociopaths here, since all the people with ASPD I interviewed clearly fell into one of those two separate categories.

On Motherboard: The Loud Fight Against Silicon Valley's Quiet Racism

There isn't all that much academic material on the subject of sociopathy and psychopathy in the military. A short study by US Army Major David S. Pierson (who didn't return my request for an interview) details the potential benefits presented by "natural killers" in the military. He describes high-functioning psychopaths as bringing "obvious advantages to a unit. They will personally kill the enemy in droves. They are natural leaders who will motivate other soldiers to kill. They are also fiercely competitive and will aggressively pursue victory." According to Pierson, these individuals generally gravitate towards infantry, armor [tanks], and above all, special operations units. He advises officers to keep an eye out for them so their skills can be well-positioned and utilized.

Ryland Taylor, a former US Army Ranger sniper who has not been diagnosed with ASPD but wrote an article on the topic for a popular blog on sociopathy, says he's noticed these types of people during his time in the service, and believes they can make great soldiers. But Taylor adds that most of the people he believes to have been sociopaths in the army were too impulsive and destructive to last very long in such a highly structured and hierarchical environment.

"Most of the guys I knew who had really bad cases of ASPD, and I mean the spooky sociopaths— the guys who don't register things and make everyone uncomfortable—most of those guys wash out," he explains. "They just can't make it. I think there's something required to get through these commando pipelines, or even the army in general, that most of them don't have. For one thing, these units need to be cohesive. You need to be somewhat able to get along with your peers. If they feel like they can't trust you, you won't get very far.

"You also have to be willing to shoot, though," Taylor continues. "If you're a guy who doesn't belong there, you make everyone nervous too. Some sweethearts make it into the army who really shouldn't be there, and everyone watches them. We don't need to worry that they're going to choke up or freeze and get a bunch of people killed. You want that sweet spot, where someone's extroverted, adventurous and thrill-seeking, without being so spooky that no one likes you and wants to work with you."

They thought I was suffering from depression. They were very concerned about PTSD. Turns out I just don't care about most things. –Nathan

People with ASPD tend to look out for number one, so many sociopaths and psychopaths also display a proclivity for self-preservation seemingly incompatible with a career that requires risking one's life for the sake of their country. Nathan, 28, says he was unsurprised by his diagnosis, which occurred just as he was being medically discharged from the army.

"I spent five years in the military, but I broke both my legs," he begins. "They thought I was suffering from depression. They were very concerned about PTSD. Turns out I just don't care about most things. I went to a psychologist a couple of times, and talked to him, and he said I was fine. I wasn't at risk for suicide; in fact, quite the opposite. It didn't impact my life negatively."

Nathan was never in combat, but I can't help but ask why he joined the military in the first place.

"What drove me to the military is different than some people," he explains. "I imagine many sociopaths to be intrigued by the prospect of killing someone. For me, I feel very strongly in property rights, and people's bodies are their own property, so when I see somebody victimizing someone else, I think that's the worst thing you can do. I don't know if you've ever heard the metaphor that there are sheep, wolves, and sheepdogs. I am definitely a sheepdog."

I'm struck by this statement. If that's how he feels—and I never forget he and the other interviewees might be lying, given the ASPD traits of dishonesty and manipulation—it would seem to indicate some semblance of a moral compass. James Fallon, a neuroscientist and professor at the University of California, Irvine School of Medicine (who is himself a diagnosed psychopath), says this mentality is not uncommon among those with ASPD. "Emotional empathy is when you feel what other people feel," Fallon explains. Of course, "there are other people who understand you are having these emotions, but don't experience them on your level. That's cognitive empathy, and there is some association with another type of bonding, which is essentially bonding with [a] nation. Psychopaths tend to have a larger vision. They're not personally empathetic, but they feel like they are powerful enough to change things."

Watch: The Business of War

That requires a kind of discipline and mentality not all of all those with ASPD have. An ex-Marine I'll call Chris tells me he was diagnosed as a sociopath while still in the service, and that he was not discharged as a result of his condition. He adds that he was eager to be in combat, but it just didn't work out, as the Marine missions in Iraq and Afghanistan didn't line up with his four years in service.

Of course, that doesn't mean he kept his shit together the whole time.

"I was actually court-martialed in 2010, but I didn't get kicked out." Chris says. "I have no idea how I got so lucky, but I was drinking in Thailand and stabbed two of my friends. We were arguing, someone pulled a knife, and it got pretty bloody. I didn't feel bad about it. I don't think I ever told them I was sorry. One of them almost died. He had arterial bleeding.

"I got court-martialed, lost one rank, and spent 15 days in the brig," he adds with a hint of pride. "They originally tried to get me for attempted murder, but I had a good military lawyer and he got it down to assault and battery."

Chris goes on to tell me he eventually went AWOL and fled to Mexico, where he became addicted to meth and spent time in and out of prison before getting caught by the US Border Patrol. Now thoroughly bored with civilian life, he says he's saving up money to join the Lions of Rojava, a group of Americans fighting with the Kurds against the Islamic State in Iraq.

"I feel like I'd be doing some good," he says. "I'd kill some bad guys... I only enjoy hurting people if they deserve it and it usually doesn't do me any good. ISIS is like torturing people in cages, and that's pretty fucked up. That is the opposite of progress."

The only active soldier I spoke with—who I'll refer to as David—says he's had a lot of trouble dealing with higher-ranking officers while in the army.

"I'm very against authority," David says. "I've been that way for a long time, and I thought the military would fix that, but it didn't. I have a very hard time taking orders from people I consider to be dumber than me. I don't consider myself a genius, but I'm pretty damn smart, and I hate when someone has been here ten years and is a rank above me, and they think they know everything."

I remember seeing the fear in people's eyes, and knowing that I could operate with a clearer head because it was absent in me. –Nolan

There is a small population of psychopaths that can hold their act together for long enough to become experts at the profession of killing. Professor Kevin Dutton, a research psychologist at the University of Oxford and the author of a number of books on psychopathy, says it's rare but possible for psychopaths to function well as a member of a team like a combat unit.

"If you can harness a psychopath's self-interest and make it dependent on the success of the team that they're in, then they become better team players than the others," Dutton explains. "There are certain premiums on heroism and risk-taking; so if they can do those things and not put people's lives in danger, then it gives their team an edge over an opposing team. It takes close and careful management, but you can get psychopaths to function well in a team."

When they do so in a military setting, their attributes of fearlessness, emotional detachment, and calculation become valuable assets in the fight to kill as many enemy combatants as they can without being killed themselves. Nolan, who served in the British Army infantry for 11 years before becoming a security contractor, seems to have walked this fine line.

"I remember seeing the fear in people's eyes, and knowing that I could operate with a clearer head because it was absent in me," he writes in an email. "People that we recognized as having 'the fear' (this was our name for the look that people get in their eyes before a patrol) were weak, and I'm glad I do not suffer from their problems. Why would I invite something into my character that could get me killed?"

Another, more prominent veteran of the British armed forces also seems to personify this concept of a psychopathic soldier. One of the books Dutton recently published, called The Good Psychopath's Guide to Success, was co-authored by Steven Mitchell, who goes by the pseudonym Andy McNab. McNab is an author and long-time veteran of the British Special Air Service (SAS)—the UK's elite special forces unit—and a diagnosed psychopath. He claims to be the most highly decorated soldier in British army history, and in 1993, he released Bravo Two Zero, a book about his SAS unit's attempt to destroy underground communications between Baghdad and the rest of Iraq during the Gulf War.

I've never had a problem killing... I don't keep a tally, but I don't lay in bed and worry about it. –Andy McNab

Although there is controversy over the details, the Bravo Two Zero patrol's fateful mission has been extensively documented by former members of the unit. According to their accounts, McNab and several of his troop members were captured and imprisoned for six weeks by the Iraqi army, for which he was awarded the Distinguished Conduct Medal. He tells me his condition made him much better suited to special forces than most soldiers.

"I've never had a problem killing... I don't keep a tally, but I don't lay in bed and worry about it," McNab says, going on to explain how in contrast, his fellow soldiers were severely affected by the violence they witnessed and took part in.

"Two have committed suicide, one's in prison for murder," he tells me. "He shot his girlfriend, gave her something like 27 rounds in the back because they had an argument in a pub car park. Another tried to commit suicide but cocked it up. He had champagne and chocolate with his kids and then when the kids went back to their mother—because he was divorced—he took something like paracetamol [Tylenol], just buckets of it. But he had so much champagne and chocolate that he was sick, so it all came up. He has permanent kidney damage now."

So McNab does believe PTSD afflicts many combat veterans—just not him.

"Family lives crumble, things like that," he says. "But for me, it's never been a problem. When I was a prisoner in Baghdad, I was whipped, I was burned, I had my back teeth pulled out. I got dysentery; my right collarbone was broken. I was stripped of clothing for weeks on end, blindfolded and interrogated in a detention center, and I've never dreamt about it. That was then, and I'm out of it, and that's it."

Much like Nathan's "sheepdog" metaphor, McNab and Dutton claim in The Good Psychopath's Guide to Success that people like McNab can be successful and sometimes even valuable members of society under the right circumstances.

Other people with ASPD also express a wish to help humanity and achieve a sense of personal growth, or just a desire to avoid the unnecessary drama that comes with hurting someone. Combat veteran Blanka Stratford, 35, wrote a memoir in which she describes her experience in the Army, among other interesting things she's done.

I ask if she ever killed anyone during her time in Iraq.

"I was ordered to shoot at a little girl who came close to our fence with her father and brother," she replies. "They were just picking up sticks and coming closer to the fence, and I was on watch duty. I was instructed to shoot close to her because she was close to our perimeters, and I told them there was no danger. She was dressed in rags, and there was no possibility that they had bombs strapped to them. There was absolutely no reason to shoot. My supervisor was an idiot and it would have had a result that was completely pointless. So I didn't."

When faced with the question of whether someone with ASPD can adhere to some form of a value system, Dr. Michael Stone, professor of clinical psychiatry at Columbia University—who often appears on television as a premier expert on psychopathy—says absolutely not.

"Cognitive empathy means you understand the facial expression of another person," he says. "It doesn't mean you give a damn about them."

Stone is skeptical that there are any real psychopaths who manage to stay in the military, suggesting they lack the ability to assimilate into a highly structured and cohesive entity.

"For example, Chris Kyle—there's no indication that he was a psychopath," Stone says. "He had a solid marriage and cared deeply about his own people, and wanted to get rid of as many of the enemy as he could. He seems like a good soldier, not a negative personality. I would be dubious that anyone could describe snipers as sociopaths."

I point out that Kyle seemed to have an absolute disregard for the lives of anyone who wasn't American or a soldier.

"And what's wrong with that?" Stone laughs in response. "In World War Two, I'm sure there were some Russian snipers in Leningrad who saved many of their own by killing Nazis. And why not? Who the hell should care about killing Nazis? Why should their lives count for anything?"

Dutton, on the other hand, says that while no one can accurately diagnose a patient posthumously—and that there's a chance Stone is right about Kyle not being a psychopath—his ability to emotionally distance himself from the people he killed is a traditionally psychopathic trait. Dutton argues that psychopathy, like all personality disorders, exists on a spectrum. People can have varying degrees of ASPD, he says, and it's quite possible Kyle shared at least a few traits with someone like McNab.

"It would appear that Kyle does offer support for my theory that certain psychopathic characteristics dialed up in the right CONTEXT, in the right COMBINATION, and at the right LEVELS can predispose you to success in various professions," Dutton writes in an email.

Whether Kyle had ASPD—and even if you don't consider his time as a SEAL to be helpful to society—he certainly managed to contribute something to the world. He died while trying to help a fellow veteran overcome his PTSD, a condition some say Kyle himself suffered from, making it less likely he was high on the psychopath spectrum.

But being an effective sniper seems to involve a dispassionate distance from one's targets that might be conducive to a psychopathic personality. McNab tells me one of the many positions he held during his time as a British Special Forces officer was that of a sniper. He describes the role as characterized by a sense of detachment and often ending in devastating emotional trauma—but only for soldiers with consciences.

"It's very technical," McNab says. "You look through your optic, you make your calculations for wind and distance and all the rest of the stuff you have to do—and then you crack on. So what happens is it stops becoming about the human you're killing, and it starts to become about the success of the process.

"And that process becomes almost mechanical after a while," he continues. "They're never people to you, just targets. But what happens when some guys come back, out of that environment, back to their family and kids and cutting the grass and all that sort of stuff? They start to think about it, and there's the possibility that those people become human to them, or they start to think about the right and wrong of what they've done... It's the aftermath that's difficult for them."

McNab offers a dark chuckle.

"For me, I realize the people I've killed are human beings," he says. "But I think, you know, So what? It's all part of the game."

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Destiny Frasqueri in her new music video "Soul Train."

It's been a minute since we heard from Princess Nokia, the artist who owned last summer with Metallic Butterfly, the genre-jumping mixtape that we're still streaming everyday on SoundCloud. Yesterday, she finally returned to the internet with a music video for her new song "Soul Train." This time around, she's going by the name Destiny and she's traded in the Matrix vibes for the aesthetic of a disco queen.

The new video, which premiered on Dazed Digital, offers a carefree vision of young New Yorkers wearing 70s-inspired outfits and hairstyles, licking banana popsicles, and dancing in the streets. It's a nostalgic ode to the summer block parties of Destiny's youth and the Saturday mornings she spent learning how to do the hustle with her father.

I caught up with Destiny at her brother's studio in the East Village a few days before she dropped the new video and I could tell that she felt she was on the brink of something big. "I'm the happiest I've ever been," she told me, with her hair worn in a high ponytail and her eyelids glittered. "I've worked really hard. I'm taking care of my body, my artistry, my life."

She was telling the truth. This year she's been creating at a breakneck pace, playing shows all across the country, hosting her Smart Girls' Club radio show, and giving lectures at places like Harvard University and the New School. Not to mention, she's also been working on a brand new mixtape and three additional music videos that will drop later this summer.

But as much as things have changed for her, she still knows exactly who she is. "I am Destiny, a woman, a feminist, a cultural activist who is just trying to make my culture as relevant and as celebrated as possible," she told me with pride. I used our meeting to ask her about her new mixtape, her cultural inspirations, and the direction of her new body of work. Here's what she had to say.

VICE: Your new track "Soul Train" and your new mixtape has a whole 70s disco vibe. What is the story behind this new direction?
The mixtape incorporates a lot of positive aspects of my upbringing such as black power, brown power, Puerto Rican culture, community value, and community lifestyle. The whole soul disco era is very reflective of my personal self. Looking at the musical renaissance of the 70s and at these different parts of my upbringing made me think of the sociology of today. I thought of block parties, watching Soul Train, and television that was made for black and brown youth and the fact that these images are not available to our community right now... They are, but in an underground way.

The video for "Soul Train" is a day in my life, learning a dance and dancing with my father. It's seeing brown people on television being celebrated, being happy and dancing, and being liberated and empowered. I wanted to make music that reflected that. I wanted to speak to the community of young brown kids who are making and re-narrating these stories of radicalism and happiness through music and art.

As an artist, you go through an aesthetic transformation in the "Soul Train" video. Can you talk about the aesthetic value of the video and why it's important?
It's a vintage nostalgic aesthetic that is in line with my free spirit and inspirations. I really love and am inspired by Puerto Rican culture in New York in the 70s, rock n' roll-inspired street gangs like the Black Spades and the Savage Skulls. Also salsa groups like Fania records, and Woodstock.

That time period was one of the first ages of enlightenments in the last 100 years with psych culture, disco, and soul. It was a period of time where brown kids were finding themselves and finding freedom and fighting against a systemic oppression, and that's what kids are doing now. Today, they're so empowered by new ageism, by Afrofuturism, and by community and friendships.

In the video, you and your crew march down the street with solidarity fists raised in the air. Considering this reference to social unrest, how related is your new work to the Black Lives Matter movement and the daily stories we hear of police brutality happening toward people of color?
I'm very empathetic to what's going on right now. My community is hurting; they're bleeding and suffering. I've thought about what I can do, and as an artist, I can contribute art through which people can live vicariously. I want to create work that celebrates us as people because I see that we are being brought down. When I made the video for "Soul Train," I wanted to make a visual that showcased black and Latino children being happy, just being happy and funny.

Images of kids having a good time seems like it should be commonplace, but thinkers like Bell Hooks talk about being "Tired of the naked, raped, beaten black woman body" in entertainment and media. Are you drawing from that idea and from the general lack of positive images of black people in the media?
Yes, absolutely. We are constantly portrayed as angry or as the victims. Urban life, women, and children are disrespected, demonized, dissected, and stolen from constantly. There are many communities across the entire United States who are fighting in our own ways. We're joining together with friends and family and creating these adhesives to make our environment better.

I wanted to make a video that showcased black and Latino youth creating a party in the neighborhood for each other. The video touches on those community aspects of friendship, love, and neighborhood values. Everybody in that video looks beautiful and happy.

How did you cast "Soul Train"?
A lot of women in the video are from my art collective, the Smart Girls Club. Many were my friends and some were casted from Instagram. I invited whoever wanted to come. All those kids are hippies, radicals, and activists. And they all have beautiful minds and are involved in the emotional aspects about what the song is about.

You were recently invited to Harvard University to give a talk on afrofuturism and the concept of urban feminism. How did that come about?
I was performing in Boston and in the audience there happened to be a queer Afro-Latin professor who does a class on the demonization of witchcraft at Harvard. Her name is Professor Aisha M. Beliso-De Jesús, and she's a Santera and author of a book called Electric Santería. Afterwards, she came up to me and said, "I'm so touched by the themes you're talking about in your show. You're in a nightclub and you had a song about African spiritualism in Spanish, one about female empowerment, and another about utopian native community value... Who are you?!"

In two weeks, she had set up a talk at their beautiful hip-hop archive at Harvard and I spoke about new age spirituality, Afro-Caribbean spirituality, and witchcraft in her Voodoo class. I did a Q&A, and her class was assigned my album Metallic Butterfly. Later on, I gave a talk about urban feminism and afrofuturism.

The music, art collective, and radio work you've done until now is very heady, intellectual, and based in a lot of historical research. How do you feed your intellectual spirit?
I'm an extremely spiritual being. I read a lot of holistic health books because I'm always trying to constantly evolve my higher self and accept organic matter and raw beauty into my life. I really take it day by day. I wake up; I pray; I meditate; I do magic. I always cultivate protection and I'm always trying to expand my dreams and ambitions.

Recently, I've read the autobiography of Assata Shakur, and re-read The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran, The Diary of Anne Frank, House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros, and Maya Angelou's poetry. Also seeing Nina Simone, Audre Lorde, and YouTube clips of female Black Panthers. I'm inspired by their revolution and radicalism. I have surpassed every statistic that has been put in front of me, so I wake up very grateful. In the last couple of years, I have become really woke in my consciousness and my culture. I am a proud Afro-Latina and Native American woman, and there are many aspects of my pride. It's not just a deep cultural pride; it's a pride in my ancestors.

How does this ancestral pride function in your work?
People expect us to forget and not over-exaggerate the pain and sadness of oppression and genocide, and I think that's bullshit. I have an obligation—not only to the women in the last two generations of my family—but to my ancestors, so that they are proud. I incorporate my love for their values in my work. I'm black as hell, and I'm so prideful to be a black woman.

Do you think your music can help us go a step further in terms of social progress?
There are more things I wish I could do. I wish I could go to the South and do more protests, but it's really unsafe and I'm very scared. Sometimes it's hard for me to want to fight because I'm afraid for my life. I think we can be as vocal and expressive of our beauty and of our fight as we can. I have songs on my mixtape called "Happy and Brown" and others that speak about black pride and black genocide. Time will tell what will happen, but it's not just me. There are so many amazing acts right now that are accelerating the community. Afropunk is an excellent example, bands like Oshun, Lion Babe, Wynter Gordon, and even Kendrick Lamar's " King Kunta" on the radio are pushing a different narrative. "Soul Train"—even though it's lighthearted and may not be the most radical song—is a contribution.

Any advice for other artists on the come-up?
Work really hard, be consistent, make a decision, and treat your body good. Physically, be in shape. Eat good things and be aware of what's going in and out of your body. Have good friendships, make good memories, appreciate the people in your life, forgive, and have compassion and kindness.

Follow Barbara on Twitter.

After grueling traffic at the Qalandia checkpoint, a young man enjoys a cigarette in his car as traffic finally clears on the last evening of Ramadan. He is bringing home a sheep for the upcoming Eid celebration.

This article appears in the 2015 Photo Issue

Photos by Tanya Habjouqa and Magnum Photos

Habjouqa's work focuses on gender-, civil-, and human-rights issues across the Middle East. She says she tries to approach her subjects with sensitivity, but also with an eye for the absurd. These photos, which are part of a series called Occupied Pleasures, focus on the ludicrous everyday life that the 48-year occupation of the West Bank, Gaza, and East Jerusalem has created—and the beauty in spite of it, as the Palestinians refuse to let suffering define their existence.

From a besieged Gaza where a five-minute boat ride is the epitome of freedom to a tropical studio backdrop that serves as a travel fantasy, the photos show that in humor there is often sadness and that, in Palestine, the oppressed never stop dreaming of a life full of greater possibilities. One industrious Gazan refused to be deprived of his right to love and snuck his young Jordanian bride to Egypt through smuggling tunnels. He said, "It was like a Bollywood film, her trembling, covered in Earth... I ran to her and covered her with my kisses." Habjouqa says that moment stayed with her and infused in her a desire to capture those little nuggets of happiness and light that Palestinians literally find at the end of the tunnel.

Hayat Abu R'maes, 25, and Nabila Albo, 39, take students out on a hike and yoga outing in Zatara, on the outskirts of Bethlehem. Sometimes they go to nature spots (one popular spot is near Roman ruins) that settlers try to intimidate Palestinians from accessing. They call it "inner resistance."

Students from the Al-Quds University javelin team wrap up the last practice before summer vacation in the West Bank city of Abu Dis, next to the Israeli separation wall.

A young girl in the Banana Land amusement park of Jericho takes a portrait in a studio. For a vast amount of the West Bank population, travel is expensive and sometimes stressful through the only exit available—the Israeli-controlled Allenby Bridge. For some, such studios are the closest to a tropical adventure they can experience.

A toy-filled van drives along Gaza's beach highway. 2013

Gazan bodybuilders jovially strike poses after a workout. 2013

A woman in Gaza without a travel permit, marches through the silent dark of an underground tunnel on her way to a party in Egypt, clutching a bouquet of flowers. 2013

High school students enjoy a boat ride on the Mediterranean Sea off the Gazan coast. Gazans are not allowed to travel outside of the enclave due to the siege, so this ten minute ride must feel like the epitome of freedom. 2013

A young girl plays on the beach in the party dress she wore the night before at a wedding at the Deir al-balah Refugee camp in Gaza. 2013

West Bank: Two furniture makers take a break in a pair of plush armchairs (of their creation) in the open-air in Hizma, against Israel's 26-foot high Separation Wall, 2013.

Alexis Frulling. Screenshot via YouTube

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Alexis Frulling stands centre stage at Peelerz, a self-titled "rig pig strip club" located in the small industrial town of Nisku, Alberta, just south of Edmonton. An announcer is on stage and asking the crowd whether or not they want to see her naked.

The announcer turns to Frulling and asks her if she enjoyed her stampede.

"I did," she says with bravado. "I saved one horse and rode two cowboys."

The packed crowd roars in approval and, as the Big & Rich country song starts to play, Frulling readies herself for her first dance.

Later, when Frulling sits down next to me in the hotel lobby connected to the strip club, she seems a far cry from the bombastic and proud girl who was just on stage. Dressed in jean shorts and a flannel cut-off shirt, she seems overwhelmed and above all else, tired.

A month ago, Frulling was a young woman just living her life in Calgary. That all rapidly changed when, on the way to a Wiz Khalifa concert, the mood hit her and the two guys she was traveling with and they decided to have a threeway. They chose an area between two buildings they thought to be discrete and had, well, a threesome. Probably not the best decision in the world—the location, that is, not the sex.

Related: The Woman from the Calgary Stampede Threesome Reminds Us That Women Can Do Whatever They Want

Long story short, someone spotted the act, filmed it, and promptly posted it online, an action seemingly illegal in Canada. While the video isn't explicitly graphic, it is clear enough to see what is occurring. The video seemed to strike a chord online. It started getting shared with tags like "stay classy Calgary," or the phrase Frulling would eventually use on stage, "save a horse, ride two cowboys." At first it seemed like just a typical internet meme—an anonymous occurrence making the rounds online—but then someone tagged Frulling and dredged up a picture from earlier in the day showing her with one of the men, and life as she knew it changed.

The internet reared its ugly fucking head. Thousands of people from all corners of the internet descended on the young woman from Calgary, calling her a slut and a whore, and saying that she was a waste of life. Indicative of the clear double standard that exists in our society, the two men in the video were seen as heroes and received metaphorical high fives, while Frulling was labelled a tramp. It was gross, it was misogynistic, it was cowardly, and it was completely predictable.

Recently British journalist Jon Ronson published a book regarding Twitter outrage and public shaming and the consequences that arise from them. He found and interviewed people who went through experiences similar to Frulling's. "The people I met were mostly unemployed, fired for their transgressions, and they seemed broken somehow—deeply confused and traumatized," he wrote. People often don't realize the real-life consequences for others when they type "slut" from behind their glowing blue screen.

"There are always those thoughts that you feel like fucking running away and offing yourself," Frulling tells me. "But really... you can't let them tell you what they think they know. These people don't fucking know you."

Peelerz. Photo via Facebook

So Frulling almost immediately stood up to her anonymous tormentors, even though she does admit that "the first three days felt like a dream." She stepped in front of the barrage of social media the night it went viral, making a YouTube video calling out her "haters." She embraced what happened, trying to absorb the damage and came out on top.

Frulling never thought she would end up dancing at a strip club. But at this moment, she now has one of the most searchable names in Canada. She is unemployed, and the attention from the video has significantly hurt, if not downright eviscerated, her job prospects in her hometown.

"I can't get a job in Calgary because all of this bullshit that's going on," she says.

For a young woman freshly out on her own who needs to pay the bills, having no income is not an option. In the days after she became a public figure, her phone kept ringing—on the other end of the line were people offering her money to come "entertain" at clubs. She said no at first but finally relented after days of offers. The calls got to be so much that she had to get an agent. Prior to this evening, she'd worked in strip clubs as a bartender, but never thought she would be the one on stage.

"What was I going to do? I need to work," she tells me as country music blares from the closed door behind us. "In a way, yeah, I had to do this, but I could have not done this and kept living and doing nothing. So at least I'm doing something. People disrespect strippers and don't give them the time of day. At the end of the day, everyone has their own type of job."

"I don't want to end up like..." she trails off. "I used to work in a strip clubs, and some strippers are classy, but it can go the complete opposite way."

So here we are, in a well known strip club located in essentially a large industrial park near the Edmonton International Airport. A place whose only real claim to fame is that Fubar 2 was filmed inside these walls. This is a fact enjoyed by the establishment so much that, shortly after the film's release, the name was changed from the original "Airways" to the fictional one in the film, "Peelerz."

Now, Frulling is topless on stage, surrounded by young men crowding the stage, cheering for her, and willing to part with some money for a picture. She has a dance background, so being on stage isn't strange, and she looks natural as she dances. She tells me that she tries not to have a routine and tries to keep it purely improvisational.

Up until her final dance of the night she kept her bottoms on and only went topless, but this dance is different. Everyone in perve row acting as if with a group mind—not that different from the online masses that got her here—begin banging the chrome siding in unison to create a thunderous noise. It reverberates through the whole of the bar shaking the directional oil rig signs that hang upon the walls. It almost overwhelms the music that's being blasted at far too loud of a volume. Frulling takes a few steps and without hesitation strips completely.

"Oh it looks like we have a pantless party here," the announcer chimes in.

After her shows, because there are no posters for Frulling to give out, they put a pitcher in the middle of the stage to play a game of "last loonie in the bucket." Patrons throw loonies into the bucket and, as the name states, the person who throws the last one gets to take home a pair of Frulling's panties.

For the next minute or two in this 200-person strip club in Nisku, it rains loonies (Frulling must have made hundreds). As the announcer counts the last few seconds off, a young man named Mattie in a tight black t-shirt and a cowboy hat at least two sizes too small for starts tearing open multiple rolls of loonies worth $25 each and throwing them by the handful. At this point, he knows he's going to win so he starts shaking.

"I fucking love strippers, man!" Mattie yells, while banging on the siding.

Mattie ends up taking home the underwear.

"Tonight is her first time on stage. We're all going to be gentlemanly, alright?" the announcer would say this night.

Frulling is all alone here in Edmonton; she made friends with several of the dancers but otherwise she'll be solo for the majority of her quick and dense tour of Albertan clubs. The tour will see her make stops in Lloydminster, Red Deer, Grande Prairie, Fort McMurray, and Medicine Hat. The agent responsible for booking all these shows was at Peelerz for her first dance to show support, but Frulling will be making most of this journey by herself. During our conversation, I ask if it's hard being away from her family for so long and she broke down.

"I'm not really living at home right now. I kind of moved out. Giving them some space."

I ask if she moved out because of what happened at the Stampede.

"Yes and no. It's just giving me time to grow," she says. "I think it's like a big step for me to just, you know, move out and start fresh."

She looks at me as some young men come walking out of the strip club en route to a cigarette.

"Do you have any more questions? I'm so fucking tired of interviews."

Follow Mack Lamoureux on Twitter.

Illustration by Dan Evans

For a long time, I never gave sleep science much thought. The closest I came to probing what transpires when we close our eyes at night was putting a friend's hand in a cup of warm water to see if he'd piss himself. But recently, one Tuesday night, I was lying in bed alone, in an empty flat, when an ear-splitting noise woke me up. It was a terrifying—and terrified—shriek. A blood-curdling scream. A woman's voice. It sounded like my sister. It sounded like she was struggling.

My heart was racing and, for maybe ten seconds, I was paralyzed. I couldn't move or make a sound. Then it passed; my muscles relaxed, I stopped jerking, the piercing scream died away and my eyes welled up.

That wasn't the only time this has happened. In fact, it's becoming a fairly regular occurrence.I don't have any long-term mental health problems; for the most part I'm not going to bed fucked up on acid, or drunk; and I don't regularly take medication. So what could be causing these auditory hallucinations?

As I lay in bed last week after another one of these episodes, I decided to follow the most rational course of action: self-diagnose myself online. According to the web, I have "exploding head syndrome" (EHS), a form of hallucination where a person hears a deafening noise, like a bomb exploding, or—in my case—the hideous screams of a family member.

Dr. Brian Sharpless, an assistant professor at Washington State University, is an expert in exploding head syndrome. He happened to be near my home in the UK for a couple of weeks recently, so I got in touch to arrange a meeting.

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After contacting Sharpless our interview was set for the following week, so in the days that followed our correspondence I did what I could to stop the screaming from happening again. I'd figured out that these episodes seem to happen when I'm not that tired or when I go to bed sober. So, I decided, the best thing to do was head to the kind of gay bar where sobriety and sleep are the very last things on your mind.

On the night bus home, sweating out the vodka, I broached the topic of EHS with Elle, a friend over from the US, assuming she'd think I was losing it. "Sometimes, my ex-girlfriend used to say she'd hear her father screaming in her ears, not for very long, before waking up with a jolt," she responded, unfazed. Turns out these episodes are more common that I'd expected.

The following Wednesday, I found myself sitting in The Holy Inadequate, a pub on the outskirts of Stoke on Trent, opposite a stranger who was going to tell me why I hear screaming in my sleep. Dr. Sharpless was speaking at the Stoke Skeptics Society, which seemed to be the sole thing happening in town that night.

"It usually happens just as you're going to sleep, or when you're about to wake up," Sharpless told me. "You hear a massive, loud explosion. Some people hear it outside, in the environment, while others hear it inside their head. Some people even feel the sensation that their head is actually exploding."

It often happens when you're off your sleep cycle, says Sharpless, who has conducted some of the most extensive research into the syndrome.

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In 2011, he executed a study that used a sample of 36,000 people. "What I discovered was that about 8 percent of the general population, 28 percent of students, and 32 percent of psychiatric patients had experienced exploding head syndrome at least once," he told me. Students, like psychiatric patients, have intermittent sleeping patterns, an apparent cause of the exploding head feeling.

Scientists have an array of explanations for EHS, but there's one that Sharpless argues is the most likely: "There's a part of your brain stem called the reticula formation. When you're going to sleep, just like a computer, your brain has to shut down in stages. What we think happens with exploding head syndrome is that—rather than shutting down—your auditory neurons fire all at once. It's this, we think, that causes these noises."

It seemed a rather dull explanation for this very visceral experience, but did at least reassure me that I wouldn't need to start seeking out an exorcism. Sharpless, however, did share a few of the more colorful theories about EHS with me—the first being gang-stalking.

"Gang-stalking is where a group of people spy on and torment you, and in this instance cause you to experience these sensations," said Sharpless, explaining that some EHS sufferers believe they're being targeted by a government agency of some sort. "They believe these agencies are using a microwave energy generator, and they point it at them while they're sleeping," he continued, "and it causes the massive explosion."

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While that's a fun theory, Sharpless's final offering was my personal favorite.

"I don't know about here in the UK, but in the US there was a big switch from passive to active water and electricity meters," said Sharpless. "A lot of people think this is how the government is spying on us, and causing us to experience these explosions."

What if he was right? I mean, my apartment does have electricity and a water supply.

I got in touch with Southern Water and NPower to find out if they were behind the screaming: "Are your meters spying on us for the government and or causing me to hear noises in the night?" I emailed their press team.

"I am sorry to hear that you have suffered from 'exploding head syndrome,'" came the response from Southern Water. "As you will know, doctors suspect the condition is caused by problems which occur for some when the brain shuts down when falling asleep—not by water meters. Let me reassure you that Southern Water is not installing smart meters."

Tellingly, NPower never got back to me.

Sharpless didn't think my sleep condition was too much to worry about. For other people, it can be debilitating to the extreme. In one case, a guy Sharpless met experienced these explosions up to seven times a night. In cases like that, it can lead to a fear of sleeping, serious anxiety, and insomnia.

There hasn't been enough research done to find a cure yet, but experts reckon anti-depressants and anti-seizure pills may be helpful. "They don't make it go away, but appear to turn down the volume," says Sharpless. "In some other studies, just educating the patient has reduced the frequency."

I don't really know what's going on inside my head—whether the screams are the product of malfunctioning neurons, NPower mind games, or if I just have childhood issues relating to my sister that I should really see a therapist about. But if my meeting with Sharpless taught me anything, it's that this exploding head syndrome affects far more of us than I'd imagined.

Image via Wikipedia

Most of us aren't afraid of killer robots because we're adults and we know they aren't real. But earlier this month the Future of Life Institute—a group backed by famed tech entrepreneur Elon Musk—handed out 37 grants to projects focused on keeping artificial intelligence "robust and beneficial to humanity." In other words, they're devoted over millions of dollars to making sure that the machines don't rise up and kill us all.

Among other things, the funded projects aim to keep AI systems aligned with human morals and limit the independence of autonomous weapons. One of the recipients was Ben Rubinstein, a senior lecturer in computing and information systems at Melbourne University who received $100,000 to make sure computers don't turn on us and breach important security systems.

VICE caught up with him to ask how in God's name he's going to do that.

VICE: Hey Ben, so movies love the idea of AI overtaking human intelligence. Is that a real concern?
Ben Rubinstein: Personally, I don't think it's inevitable. From the outside it looks like we are moving really fast but from the inside it doesn't look that way. When I look at AI, I see lots of things it can't do. There's this thing called Moravec's paradox, and with some exceptions, it basically says things humans and computers aren't good at the same things.

I take it morality is one of the things computers aren't good at. How do you implant morals and ethics into a machine brain?
When AI becomes a level above what it is now, we need to have value alignment. The problem is, what if the utility doesn't align with a human's utility function? Isaac Asimov was a science fiction writer and he wrote three laws of robotics: Robots shouldn't injure a human or allow a human to come into harm. Robots should obey orders from a human unless it violates [law] number one. And robots should protect themselves unless they violate laws one and two. These laws make for good reading, and make a lot of sense, but the problem is they are very vague.

How do you make them less vague?
One way some of the research projects are trying to do this is by having the AI learn human judgments. Simply get the AI to watch humans, put that into a machine, and then design an algorithm so it can observe actions we might take. Have a model of the world and ascribe it values which can explain what we are doing, if that makes sense?

Kind of...
Basically it's inverting the process. Instead of going from values to actions, rather observing actions we are taking and try to reverse engineer us to figure out what our values are.

Tell me about your project. What will the grant allow you to do?
I'll be focusing on machine learning. So for a short-term problem, I want to find out if machine learning can be mislead. When you design a machine learning system, you have something in mind that you want it to do. So it's going to extract patterns from data and it's going to accurately predict something, maybe about customer attention or predicting a disease from a medical diagnostic.

But say you were to feed a machine learning system slightly incorrect data on purpose, how much would it influence the machine learning system in the wrong way? This is particularly relevant when you are talking about cybersecurity. Imagine having a sophisticated adversary that doesn't try to hack into your system by exploiting a bug in your code but instead they mislead the machinery algorithm to make it seem like something is happening when it's not, like autonomous weapons going off randomly.

Anywhere machine learning is being used and making important decisions like someone's health—such as monitors in hospitals—it's something where my research is relevant. It's not just about hacking into the system anymore.

Related: Like getting freaked out by machines? Watch our video on Israel's killer robots

Is a Terminator scenario likely at any point?
Unlikely in my life, and I am in my mid 30s. But surveys have been conducted with international experts of AI, asking when might AI be able to do the general things humans can do. They say about 2040 or 2050. But AI researchers are notoriously bad at estimating how far AI is going to come. So I would take these predictions with a grain of salt.

But you're not ruling it out. Does that mean you're saying it's a theoretical possibility?
Yes it is. AI is improving and one day it will be there. But when you look at Terminator-style science fiction it always looks kind of hopeless for humans and the only way out is to get a time machine. But the problem is with this sci-fi is it often looks at this current society and says, What would it look like if AI became super intelligent now?

If we had Terminators or Cylons walking through the streets today we would be in trouble. But before we get there, AI is going to progress and AI is going to be given more and more responsibility to act in our world. I think we will see small-scale accidents happen first. For example, with autonomous driving or elderly care robots there will be an accident. And any accident, even on a small scale will significantly rein in the ability of AI to be used.

That's why it makes it hard to predict what we will do when super intelligence is around. But I am feeling pretty optimistic about the whole thing.

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Photo by Brian Weis.

Lauren Rosen is a 26-year-old crematory operator and cemetery groundskeeper. She is stylish and petite, with tattoos and wavy dark hair, and a far cry from what most of us think of when we picture a stereotypical funeral home worker. Rosen is part of a new wave of female workers in the death industry. According to the National Funeral Directors Association, 57 percent of mortuary science students are women. As a crematory operator, Rosen's duties consist of lifting corpses into crematory machines, raking shards of bone out of cremation units, reading toe tags, and keeping body parts organized.

Rosen works in Detroit, a city that has a close relationship with death. It's one of the most dangerous cities in the nation, with a crime rate of 21.23 violent crimes per 1,000 residents. The vast majority of the city's homicides occur in the principally black inner-city, and the bulk of suicides in the mostly white suburbs. Additionally, Detroit has a startling number of abandoned properties. These vacant homes and storefronts often serve as drug houses where violent crimes are common.

Rosen attempts to maintain a sense of detachment from the personas and identities of the bodies she burns, while simultaneously ensuring each one is treated with care and dignity. It is a complex dichotomy.

VICE: How did you get involved in the death industry?
Lauren Rosen: I dealt with loss when I was very young. I lost someone who was very close to me in a very tragic way, and it kind of sparked an interest in me. It became a sort of morbid curiosity. When I started to research career options I learned that the burial, embalming, and funeral industry was heavily based in "merchandising." A huge part of my job would be up-selling, and I really didn't feel comfortable with that. I didn't want to be the person scamming mourning families out of money. I chose cremation because it's inexpensive, and it's the more environmentally friendly option.

Photos via Jamie Lee Curtis/Twitter

EVO 2015, the year's biggest gathering of the fighting game world's premier players, is over. Done, dusted, KO. If you caught VICE Gaming's beginner's guide to the event last week, you'll know all about the titles on show at the Las Vegas tournaments, from the popular Ultra Street Fighter IV (surely to be replaced by V come 2016's EVO) and Ultimate Marvel vs Capcom 3 to slightly less commercially known fighters like Guilty Gear Xrd and Persona 4 Arena. And if you witnessed any of the action as it streamed over Twitch, or if you were there in person, you'll know that EVO 2015 was heavy on the drama.

The biggest contest of them all, with the healthiest prize pot, was in Street Fighter IV. Last year's winner Luffy didn't rank in the top eight, with the final contested between 29-year-old Japanese star and 2014 Capcom Cup winner Momochi, representing Evil Geniuses, and Taiwanese underdog GamerBee, who fought through the losers bracket to unexpectedly make the top two. He'd already come through an epic best-of-five face-off against the Korean ace Infiltration, and wasn't entirely expected to put up another strong showing against a player whose many prior triumphs speak for themselves.

It didn't quite play that way. Momochi didn't walk the Street Fighter final, GamerBee putting up a tremendous defense to take it to a decisive last game, and actually came close to (albeit unintentionally) throwing it away when a stick malfunction had organizers scanning the rules for the official line on how long is too long to not be kicking skulls and tossing fireballs. The competitors are level when the pause menu pops into view, leading to a roar of confusion and disapproval. Momochi's "stick difficulty" cost him a potentially tournament-winning round—but when a new controller was found, and battle recommenced, it was GamerBee whose momentum appeared to have stalled. Momochi, as Evil Ryu, put GamerBee's Adon to the sword—well, introduced him to a decisive uppercut—and that was that: EVO 2015 had its Street Fighter champion. Watch the final stages of the action, and the prolonged pause full of "wha'?" faces, below.

Much earlier in the Street Fighter tournament, this happened, too. First the belt, then the shirt, and not-quite-finally the "unnecessary pepperonis."

But perhaps the biggest Street Fighter story to come out of EVO 2015, in the non-specialist press anyway, had nothing to do with the waggling of sticks and mashing of the strong punch button. Like many live gaming events, EVO attracts scores of cosplaying attendees, dressed up as their favorite fighting game characters, and this year saw a bounty of Ryus, Kens, Sagats, and Vegas. And one of the people behind the Spaniard's famous mask was actually pretty famous herself—Halloween and Trading Places actress Jamie Lee Curtis was at the event in disguise, as her teenage son Thomas (dressed as Dee Jay, sort of) wanted to go to celebrate his graduation. Few would have clocked her, had she not tweeted about her undercover attendance to her 156,000 followers.

I dare say she pulls off the role more convincingly than Jay Tavare did back in 1994's so-bad-it's-actually-bad-so-don't-bother Van Damme-starring Street Fighter movie. (And the Animated Movie's version was just too creepy as he tried to deck Chun-Li, only to be kicked headfirst through an external wall.)

On FIGHTLAND: How Jake Gyllenhaal Got Into Fighting Shape for 'Southpaw'

A little sympathy, please, for Guilty Gear player Woshige, who fell victim to the classic sporting gaff of celebrating a win just a smidge too soon. Count the rounds, son, count the rounds.

Elsewhere in the on-screen fighting, the Super Smash Bros. tournament was dominated by Sweden's Armada, whose Fox and Peach game was so good that he barely dropped a single round the whole way to the trophy. UMvC3 was won by KaneBlueRiver, aka Chile's Nicolas Gonzales, and the climax to the Mortal Kombat X contest was really rather something—check out 17-year-old American player Sonic Fox's against-the-odds victory over Britain's Foxy Grandpa below. "Pocket sand!" (Full results for all competitions can be found here.)

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