Camille Strickland-Murphy and Veronica Park both died while in the Canada's prison system. Handout photos.

Last summer, 22-year-old Camille Strickland-Murphy died face-down in her jail cell with a sweatshirt and plastic bag over her head and a shoelace around her neck.

Her jailer, Corrections Service Canada (CSC), knew she had attempted suicide a week earlier, and was aware of her history of similar suicide attempts and self-harm, including once setting herself on fire—but still they classified her as a low-risk for suicide, her family alleges in a recently launched lawsuit.

Camille is one of four women since 2007 who died in Canada's federal prisons in what their families and prisoners' advocates believe were preventable deaths.

Terry Baker is the most recent woman to kill herself in a federal jail. The 30-year-old woman hung herself in solitary confinement in an Ontario jail on July 4, prompting calls for the prime minister to act immediately to stop additional deaths.

Baker died in the same segregation unit as another woman, Ashley Smith, by the same means.

In 2007, the death of 19-year-old Smith, who strangled herself in solitary confinement while guards watched, placed a spotlight on how Canada treats the mentally ill in jail, prompting an inquest that recommended more than 100 reforms and ruled her death a homicide.

It's an eerily similar pattern that prisoners' advocates say "screams out for investigation": young women with mental health issues are abusing drugs and killing themselves—and the CSC isn't doing enough to help them, their families and advocates say.

That's what prompted Strickland-Murphy's family, and the family of Veronica Park — who died three months before Strickland-Murphy at the same jail — to sue the CSC for negligence. They also want the federal government to declare the prisons violated the women's constitutional rights.

Read More: What It Is Really Like in Canadian Prison

The lawsuits come at a time of increasing scrutiny on the federal prison system, which was slammed last week for its lack of compassion toward families of inmates who die. In some cases, CSC will courier the ashes of the prisoner to their next of kin without notifying them first that their family member has died, according to a report from the prison watchdog.

The lawsuits also come as more women than ever before are being jailed in Canada. Though Canadian crime rates have reached a 30-year low, the number of women sentenced to hard time in federal jails has shot up by 40 percent in the last five years. And it's even higher for Indigenous women, whose numbers have increased by 85 percent in the last decade.

Citing privacy and ongoing litigation, a CSC spokesperson refused to comment or give details about the deaths of the two women in Nova Scotia.

"I can tell you that we take the death of an inmate very seriously," the spokesperson told VICE News. "As in all cases where an individual dies while in federal custody, the police were called in to investigate." Each case is investigated and analyzed, he said, and the CSC does "all we can" to prevent future deaths, including reinforcing to staff "the importance of preventing deaths in custody."

Details of prisoners' deaths rarely reach the public eye. The events outlined in the two suits paint a disturbing picture of how a Nova Scotia jail allegedly exacerbated existing mental health issues in the two young women—leading to their deaths.

The details below are from the statements of claim from their families. CSC has not yet filed a statement of defense, so it's not yet possible to know their side of the story.

Veronica Park.

Veronica, a 38-year-old Aboriginal woman from Corner Brook, Newfoundland, was a member of Canada's fastest-growing prison population: Aboriginal women.

After growing up in a tight-knit family of 12 siblings, she was in a series of traumatic relationships in which her partners sexually and physically abused her. As a result, she developed mental health issues, and used drugs to cope.

Following a string of criminal convictions for theft, mischief and assault dating back to 2001, Veronica began her time at the Nova Institution for Women on August 14, 2014. She was serving a three-year sentence for mugging an 82-year-old woman who was walking home from playing the slots at her birthday party in Corner Brook, Newfoundland. Park pushed her to the ground and stole her winnings. At her sentencing, Park apologized to the victim, who was also Aboriginal, saying she was desperate and had no money.

Although her family insists Veronica wasn't a risk to the public, she was classified as a medium security prisoner. The statement of claim says this is consistent with the over-classification of Aboriginal women as higher security risks, and alleges CSC imposed "harsher discipline on Veronica than accorded to other prisoners of European or Caucasian descent for the same or comparable misconduct."

Although CSC says it assesses inmates for mental health issues upon entry, her family alleges the jail didn't immediately assess her mental health or give her treatment. Instead they used solitary confinement and discipline to respond to her mental health issues. She was placed in solitary on three different occasions in 2014 and 2015.

Veronica bartered for pills and medication in the internal prison trade as a way to cope with mental illness and separation from her 20-year-old son. She crushed the pills and inhaled them, which, according to the lawsuit, lowered her immunity and weakened her lungs.

Eventually she was treated by a psychologist who prescribed anti-depressants, and began taking methadone, which stabilized her condition.

But in April 2015, her jailer denied her a visit from her son, which "aggravated Veronica's deepening depression and created in her feelings of despair and hopelessness," the claim states.

On April 21, according to documents obtained by her family, she was transferred to the jail's mental health unit. Two days later, she complained of a sore throat, cough and body aches, but a nurse in the health centre said her vital signs were normal and her chest was clear. She was told to return if her symptoms became worse.

Less than four hours later, Veronica returned, complaining she was having a hard time breathing. A second nurse said her vital signs were normal and her lungs were clear, but gave her a puffer and sent her back to her cell.

The next morning, staff found the woman in her room "gasping for breath." Her lips and face were white. "She was incoherent and unable to stand or sit," the claim states.

At 9:30 am she was taken to the ER at a nearby hospital where she was diagnosed with bilateral pneumonia. ER staff gave her antibiotics and put her on a ventilator—but at 4:18 pm on April 24, Veronica died.

The cause of death was acute necrotizing bronchopneumonia, a type of pneumonia, which is inflammation of the lungs caused by an infection. She also tested positive for MRSA (Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus), a bacteria that's hard to treat because it's resistant to many antibiotics. In a post-mortem, the medical examiner said chronic substance abuse contributed to her death.

Her family believes CSC could have prevented her death if they had diagnosed her early and properly, provided her with critical health care, and if they had not aggravated her mental health condition by segregating her and denying her a visit from her son.

***

Camille died three months after Veronica.

Also from Newfoundland, in the provincial capital St. John's, Camille grew up in a close, loving family who remember her as a girl who loved to run, skateboard, ski and sail.

As a teenager, she was diagnosed with a long list of mental health conditions, including obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD), ADHD, panic disorder and social anxiety. Similarly to Veronica, she used drugs to cope with her mental illnesses.

At 19, she was sentenced to federal prison—given a two-years for theft over $5,000 and armed robbery.

Her jailer soon became well aware of her mental health issues.

During her first sentence, she attempted suicide twice, her family says. Throughout her time in jail, her self-harm and suicide attempts would include banging her head repeatedly, strangling herself in her cell, and, once, setting herself on fire.

She was also attacked twice in prison by unidentified people. In the first assault in July 2012, her head hit a wall and she was knocked out. After the second assault in February 2013, in which staff found her convulsing on the floor, she was diagnosed with minor head trauma, which served to aggravate her already severe mental health condition.

Her ongoing symptoms included seizures, fainting, loss of consciousness, headaches, dizziness and nausea, which led officials to hospitalize her on seven occasions through 2012-13. According to the lawsuit, her symptoms went untreated and undiagnosed for more than six months. Finally, she was diagnosed with chronic non-communicating moderate hydrocephalus, which means the fluid around her brain that normally acts as a cushion was accumulating and compressing her brain, causing convulsions and pain, and contributing to her mental health issues.

She was sent to solitary for four days following the second assault — one of five separate occasions between 2012 and 2014 that she was placed in isolation for periods of one to seven days. The federal prison watchdog has demanded that no one with a diagnosed mental illness be placed in these conditions, calling it a "dangerous" strategy — but it still happens.

Normally, segregated prisoners are kept in a small five-metre-by-six-metre cell with bare walls for 23 hours a day, with one hour of "exercise" a day, usually in a cement yard with 10-foot walls topped with barbed wire.

In the solitary cell, there's a steel-frame bed that doesn't always have a mattress. A nurse and guards observe the inmate through a small window in the door, and food arrives through a small slot. A camera in the corner watches the prisoner. The lights are on all day and night. The UN has declared more than 15 days in solitary a form of torture.

"Despite Camille's complex mental health and neurological care needs, CSC failed to fulfill their obligations to provide any or adequate psychological intervention, treatment or assistance to Camille," the lawsuit states. "Instead CSC used segregation as a means of controlling and disciplining Camille for her behaviour."

Not long after she was released from jail, Camille was convicted of armed robbery again and of breaching her probation in November 2014. A court sent her back inside, for about 30 months.

Her mental health issues and chronic symptoms from the head injury continued. CSC knew this, Camille's family says, but her jailer provided her only "limited psychological treatment" initially. As a result, her family believes she turned to self-injury to cope with her pain.

On February 10, 2015, staff found her in a pool of blood with cuts on her neck and under her eyes after she took a razor blade to her own face.

CSC transferred her to the mental health unit. Not long after, on March 22, she set her room as well as her own leg on fire.

After the incident, CSC reclassified her as maximum security and put her in solitary where her family says she was "denied the ability to follow her correctional treatment plan."

In May, following the death of her friend in jail, Camille's OCD ramped up and she constantly washed her hands, making her skin raw. The claim does not say whether the friend who died was Veronica.

Her self-harming behaviour escalated, and on July 20, 2015—a week before her death—Camille hung herself in her cell. Staff found her unconscious, and she was rushed to hospital, where she was diagnosed as suicidal.

Despite this diagnosis, her family says, "CSC concluded that Camille was a moderate risk for self-injury and a low risk for suicide."

Back at Nova, she was placed in "clinical seclusion" with mental health monitoring and checks every 15 minutes. Staff refused to give her any personal items from her cell.

Over the next week, the frequency of mental health checks decreased, and she was returned to her cell.

On July 28, 2015, staff found her face-down on the floor of her cell, unresponsive, with a plastic bag and sweatshirt over her face and a shoelace around her neck.

Staff performed CPR, but it was too late. She was pronounced dead at 7:04 pm. The cause of death was asphyxia by suicide.

Ashley Smith died at age 19 in 2007.

CSC says it has taken "significant action" since Ashley Smith's death, both in operational and policy issues that it identified in internal investigations and independent reviews.

It has updated its Mental Health Strategy to improve care, and says timely interventions are a "corporate policy." In 2014-15, it spent $85 million on mental health services "to meet the needs of the offender population."

When they enter jail, inmates are screened for mental health issues. This happened to 93 percent of new inmates in 2015-16, CSC says. Once the inmate is living in the jail, there are three levels of mental health care available, depending on the needs and consent of the prisoner.

The federal prison regulator says it is continuing its work in tracking and reporting on issues in its jails.

But not enough has changed since Smith's death, according to an advocate who has raised the alarm on systemic issues within Canada's prison system. According to a report by the Canadian Association of Elizabeth Fry Societies, CSC's response to the inquest into Smith's death "failed to address the recommendations; and notably, amounted only to a promise to contract two treatment beds and examine the possibility of other contracts with provincial/territorial health departments."

Kim Pate, the executive director of the CAEFS, says the issue of women dying in jails"screams out for investigation."

"Unfortunately, too frequently this happens, and when it happens there are few answers to families, too few answers."

Although the number of suicides in Canada's federal jails are generally on a downward trend, suicide rates in these prisons are still seven times higher than the general population, according to a 2013-14 report by Canada's prison watchdog — and 22 percent of prisoners who committed suicide did so in solitary confinement. And according to the watchdog's report, although CSC policy does not permit the use of solitary to manage suicide risk—solitary is frequently used in this way.

Prisons are security-driven, not therapeutic, and so are inherently bad for people who are mentally ill, explains Howard Sapers, the federal prison watchdog.

The CSC has made changes since Smith's death, Sapers said, including policy changes around the treatment of mentally ill women, and new protocols for responding to mental health needs, and new policy changes for the use of segregation—and should be given credit for these positive changes, he said.

"But the bottom line, however, is that women too often are still held in segregation, women too often are still held in maximum security, the overrepresentation of Indigenous women is more pronounced than it is for men—a third of all women in federal custody are of Indigenous heritage, and the higher the security level, the more likely you are to find an Indigenous woman," Sapers added.

Federal prisons can be overcrowded, chaotic, and lack psychiatric support, he said. And there is still only one single national resource for significantly mentally ill women—and it's inside a men's prison in Saskatoon.

Women experience prison differently than men, as female prisoners are much more likely to enter jail with a previous history of sexual or physical abuse, and are more likely to feel anxiety or stress due to separation from their children, as they are more often the primary caregivers.

"There's still much to be done in terms of adequately meeting the needs of these women once they're in federal care," Sapers said.

In most cases, mental health issues are not recognized as such because "the behaviour is most often seen through the lens of criminality," Pate explains. As a result they're seen as trouble-makers, and punished with solitary or other disciplinary measures.

"In all cases, they appear to be preventable deaths. One of the challenges is, because we can't get information about what happened, it's challenging to identify exactly what occurred and whether it was, in fact, preventable."

Follow Hilary Beaumont on Twitter.

Stills From Under the Sun. Image Courtesy Icarus Films.

At first, the film looks exactly like what the North Korean government wanted: a beautiful piece of propaganda that shows just how hard working, harmonious and happy North Koreans are.

But that's not what Vitaly Mansky had envisioned for Under the Sun, a new documentary in theatres across North America this month. The director, born and raised in the Soviet Union, had spent more than two years negotiating access to the Hermit Kingdom so that he could create a documentary giving the outside world an inside look at the lives of an average North Korean family.

Instead, he quickly found that not only would the government be scripting the entire film, a team of officials would be dictating locations, characters and supervising every scene.

"We've shot in difficult places, but we never imagined how much control they would impose," said Simone Baumann, one of the film's producers from Germany.

The film follows eight-year-old Zin-mi and her parents as she prepares to join North Korea's Children's Union. But government control of the film was total. So Mansky turned to more covert tactics.

He kept the cameras rolling between takes, capturing the hovering officials as they emerged from behind the scenes to direct his film. And just like that, the curtain vanished.

"It really does call into question other documentaries that say they were made with no interference at all," said journalist and professor Robert Boynton. "I'm not sure I believe that anymore." He interviewed Mansky extensively through a translator for the New York Times and has interviewed several North Korean defectors for his book on the country's abduction of Japanese citizens, The Invitation Only Zone.

In the film, the government minders show up at the family's apartment. They're at the mother's factory to make sure the workers are as chipper and collegial as they should be. And when a North Korean veteran forgets to mention the Children's Union in a speech to a room full of students, the guides step in to fill the painfully awkward silence. At times, it's comical.

But it's also surprisingly creepy to see strange men dressed in black lurch into the frame inside a family's modest apartment and tell them how to eat their dinner.

That scene in particular, which occurs early in the film, gives you a sense of what's to come: a chilling, tragic and fascinating portrait of life under the thumb of Big Brother Kim.

Despite Mansky's background and experience shooting in restricted environments, some things still surprised him. "He's never been to a place where the kids don't look at the camera," said Boynton. "There were a few small moments where a kid decided to stick their tongue out. But it shocked him how controlled they were."

In order to get the footage, Mansky used some pretty basic subterfuge: "It was as simple as the North Koreans not knowing that some cameras can still be recording even if the red light is not blinking," said Boynton. "They thought they could monitor it that way and they couldn't."

But Mansky still had to hand over the video he shot each day for approval. Little did the minders know the camera was recording the same footage on two memory cards. The crew would hand over one and make a copy of the other. The officials would delete what they disapproved of and were kept in the dark about the copies.

Mansky even went as far as hiring a Russian expert in Korean and training her to be the film's sound recorder, so she could tell them what the government officials were discussing around them. "She was our spy," he told Boynton.

And so we follow Zin-mi's indoctrination through school, family life, and dance class as her parents' co-workers are forced to congratulate them on their daughter's success with ever-greater enthusiasm.

North Korea eventually got wind of the film after it started getting attention at festivals. The regime officially complained to the Russian government, which had provided funding for the production. But even under pressure, Mansky refused to remove Russia's name from the film.

Critics, including a former Russian culture minister, have said releasing the documentary put the family in danger. But Boynton said Mansky was, "very concerned about the family." "He edited with an eye to protecting them," and used only scenes that would not reflect negatively on them.

"It's difficult for North Korea to judge them," said Baumann. "The officials appreciated the job they did. Everything according to script. The mother said in an interview that it was her daughter's first acting job and she did so great."

Since the film came out, Zin-mi has become something of a celebrity in her country. North Korean media claim she was seen giving Kim Jong-Un flowers after the 7th Congress of the Workers Party in May.

As for the fate of the minders, Mansky told Boynton he was unconcerned. "They are part of the propaganda apparatus," said Boynton. "People constantly being stripped away. It's like one of those Russian dolls. You open it and there's another one and another one."

And for Boynton's money, this film is the closest we've come to knowing what goes on in North Korea. "It's so hyper accurate it makes you question other previous depictions of North Korea," he said. "The role of artifice and pageantry and theatre is enormous. Mansky is the first one who really understood that. The reality is the non-reality."

Sometimes you're en route for a nice vacation and you end up stranded in the airport, or you head to Walmart and accidentally stumble into a clandestine meth lab, or you suffer through hours and hours of volunteer time just to realize that you feel just as bad about life as when you started. We've all been there.

But at least we, collectively, can take some small solace in the fact that—no matter how bad things can get out there—we aren't the guy who got his car completely drenched in poop when a sewage truck exploded next to him.

Video of the shitsplosion, filmed from another car's dash cam, begins with the sewage truck casually pulling up to a red light at an intersection. Everything looks normal on the surface, though the noxious gases are already gurgling up inside the mobile metal poop canister, pressure rising to an explosive level.

And explode it does—all over the taxi cab parked behind it, all over the driver's side window of the public bus to the truck's right. But the car that really takes the brunt of the mess is a clean, unsuspecting SUV, idling to the truck's left.

Afterward, as the streets run brown with the foul liquid pouring from the truck's sides, you can see the SUV's driver helplessly tap their brakes, unsure of what to do, knowing that no course of action will possibly undo the terrible string of circumstances that brought them to this street at this time, next to a festering poop bomb of a truck.

Sure, life is hard, and everybody's got issues, but it's important to maintain perspective. As bad as it can be, at least you aren't the guy who just got his newly-leased Lexus drenched in a geyser of shit. That's something.

Read: Looking Back at the Poop So Toxic It Grounded a Plane

In his most personal project to date, actor Michael K. Williams journeyed into the dangerous world of illicit trade for his VICELAND show, Black Market. Now, we're extending our look into global underground economies with our new series, Black Market: Dispatches.

In Dispatches, VICE will investigate how contraband moves across borders by embedding inside criminal enterprises. We'll meet heroin traffickers, counterfeiters, and sugar babies to explore the politics and motivations behind these hidden operations.

Catch the first season of Black Market: Dispatches Tuesday, August 16 at 10 PM ET/PT on VICELAND.

So far, this week is actually shaping up to be a pretty bad one for Hillary Clinton. New emails from her time as secretary of state, released by Judicial Watch on Tuesday, revealed a questionably cozy relationship between the Clinton Foundation and the State Department. The father of the Orlando nightclub shooter appeared at one of her rallies, forcing her to disavow his support. And VICE News revealed that the FBI probe into her emails was prompted by fears that her homebrew private server had been "compromised" by a foreign power.

A capable opponent would quickly turn any of those stories into a crisis for Clinton, using it to build out the caricature of her as a deceptive shill who's careless with state secrets and totally under the thumb of toxic moneyed interests. But Donald Trump is, obviously, not a capable opponent. So instead, the media has spent the last 24 hours talking about whether he suggested that someone could or should assassinate Clinton.

Trump made his instantly infamous remark that "Second Amendment people" could do something about Clinton at a rally on Tuesday—though, like all his off-the-cuff utterances, the comment was just one garnish in an incomprehensible word salad. Trump doesn't attempt to make points when he speaks; he just jabbers until he gets some sort of rise from his audience. It's the kind of rhetorical strategy that serves you well when you're a third-tier Howard Stern guest but not so much when you're trying to become the president.

Whatever Trump "meant" by the statement, it gave everyone yet another opportunity to beat up on him. The New York Daily News bashed Trump on its cover Wednesday, with the headline, "THIS ISN'T A JOKE ANYMORE." Politico ran a story about Republican National Committee staffers quitting because they can't support Trump. A new Reuters/Ipsos poll found that 19 percent of Republicans wanted their nominee to drop out.

"A bloody line has been crossed that cannot be ignored," MSNBC host Joe "Morning Joe" Scarborough—another former GOP congressman who was once friendly with Trump—wrote in the Washington Post. "At long last, Donald Trump has left the Republican Party few options but to act decisively and get this political train wreck off the tracks before something terrible happens." In an op-ed for CNN, another former Republican congressman Chris Shays, wrote that Trump "represents practically everything I was taught not to be, and everything my wife and I taught our daughter not to be."

And all this happened before noon on Wednesday.

The 2016 presidential contest was always going to be what political experts call a "contrast election"—a mudslinging, scorched-earth affair dominated by negative campaigning. But few people anticipated how badly Trump would fuck this up—instead of Clinton vs. Trump, it's been Trump vs. Trump, with Clinton standing around and waiting for voters to realize how unhinged her opponent is.

Every former Republican official that joins her cause (and there are a lot of them now) adds fuel to her basic argument: Trump is simply too nuts to lead the country. "You don't even have to think about my policies or his, he is just unfit," is how RealClearPolitics editor AB Stoddard said on Fox News, paraphrasing the Clinton campaign's message. "He doesn't have the temperament."

At this point, it looks like Clinton will easily win with this argument. But it's a shame that America is missing out on a chance to debate the relative merits of their presidential candidates and their policies—an opportunity that manifests itself just once every four years.

On foreign policy, the area where presidents tend to have the most freedom to act unilaterally, Clinton remains an avid hawk, and her steadfast support for Israel, while utterly typical for an American politician, upsets the portion of the left who see that country as perpetuating atrocities against Palestinians. As the endless email scandal shows, she's also exceedingly secretive and would presumably continue her predecessor's lack of transparency in the White House. Her "evolving" position on the Trans-Pacific Partnership makes critics wonder where she actually stands on the issue of trade, a hot-button topic among her progressive base.

On issues like trade and interventionist foreign policy, a right-wing candidate like Trump could credibly challenge Clinton—or at least prompt voters to ask, "Why is this sort of stuff good for Americans?" No matter Clinton's response, that debate would be a chance to talk, substantively, about the US economy, and America's place in the world.

The best part of the Democratic primary this cycle was that for a while, there was actually quite a bit of this kind of debate—while Clinton and Bernie Sanders basically agreed on most issues, they still got into it over policy details, arguing over the benefits of expanding Obamacare versus scrapping it in favor of a single-payer system, for example, and over how to properly regulate Wall Street. Sanders forced Clinton to respond publicly to criticism from the left, and the result was the sort of argument often missing from American politics. Sure, the primary devolved into petty sniping and Festivus-style airing of grievances, but for a while, there was substance.

Trump now has a similar opportunity to confront Clinton. Does she still think the US intervention in Libya was successful? What can she do to convince voters that lobbyists won't have excessive access to her administration? Will she try to work with what will likely be a Republican-dominated Congress or continue the recent trend of governing through executive action?

Maybe we'll get to see some of that when the candidates actually meet—if Trump doesn't find a way to weasel out of scheduled presidential debates. If he does, it would be the bitter cherry on the shit sundae of his campaign. Because while Trump's racist bluster, incoherent views, and rabble-rousing are clearly a problem, the bigger problem is that he's going to let Clinton walk into the White House without having to answer a single question.

Follow Harry Cheadle on Twitter.

Since launching in 2014, multiplayer mythological game SMITE from Hi-Rez Studios has eaten up more and more of the professional multiplayer online battle arena (MOBA) market, bringing a higher level of competitiveness to a playing field previously dominated by League of Legends and DOTA.

In this documentary, part of our new series Versus, VICE follows some ofSMITE's top-tier professional players in the lead-up to one of 2016's biggest eSports events, DreamHack Summer in Jönkoöping, Sweden. Along the way, we learn how the sheer enjoyment of the game transformed average players into top competitors and how, at the end of the day, SMITE isn't forming an exclusive audience of pro gamers but is a MOBA game for everyone.

Scary, right? Photo via Facebook/Caroline Saint-Pierre

Clowns are creepy as all hell. This is a statement that is about as controversial as "water is fine" and "Donald Trump should not have the nuclear codes."

So, it's fairly understandable that when two clowns—specifically, two intentionally terrifying-looking clowns as compared to your regular just freaky-looking clowns—entered a park in Gatineau, Quebec it was going to end in white-hot kid tears and a police investigation.

According to the Ottawa Citizen, "AT LEAST TWO" (Caps mine) children were scared Monday afternoon and a Facebook photo by a "concerned mother" resulted in "DOZENS OF COMMENTS." (Caps mine. For emphasis) And yes, also a police investigation. UPDATE: The cops got 'em, folks. It was teens, obviously.

And intently looking at this photo for the last minute or so, here's what we can tell you about the alleged perps, who can't be named but who can be analyzed.

Spooky scary.

The first clown is a human teen who wears jeans and red T-shirts. His partner however, in the full 'I'm the cheapest clown for divorced dads to ruin a birthday party with' costume seems to be far more committed to the bit. You just know he or she is the one you don't trust with small animals you like.

But then there's the chain.

You know, I really just want to make fun of helicopter parents and their pants-wetting baby children and teens, but that chain, man.

As a scare tool, a chain is a pretty solid device. There's the implicit threat of violence with that chain. You aren't thinking about hauling a Ford truck out of the mud with Bob Seger singing about the road, man, when you see a clown dragging a chain. You are thinking about John Wayne Gacy, Pennywise, probably something involving a dark basement, and, if you are an FBI agent, Juggalos.

OK, I apologize to the pants-wetting children of Gatineau, Quebec, which is a good town to drink in when you are 18 and don't know better. Your tears were called for and my bad jokes were not. Science even says that "clowns are universally disliked by children." That clown mask was weaponized.

But since I work for the internet, I must assume that this is some kind of stupid prank for someone's stupid YouTube/Tumblr/art project/pitch to a new media company.

But that chain. Well played, area teen.

Follow Josh Visser on Twitter.

Illustration by Marta Parszeniew

This post originally appeared on VICE UK.

It's never been easier to spend money. You may never touch hard cash before your wages are swiped away on a credit card, spent in one click on Amazon, or siphoned out of your account on a late-night Uber.

One by one, the steps in between you and debt are being eroded by the creation of a "frictionless" cash system. It's a perfect shitstorm for people with money trouble and people who are rapidly becoming acquainted with money trouble. It's making people ill—and it's making ill people poorer.

We already understand the link between money and mental health pretty well. "Chronic mental health makes people poor, because it can mean they lose their job and they're dependent on benefits," says Professor Dame Til Wykes, a specialist in psychosis at Kings College London. "Discrimination can make it difficult to get another job.

"Because most people with mental-health problems are poorer, they don't have the savings or the means to cope with fluctuations in their finances, leading to a cycle of deprivation. You don't deal with it, you get debt problems. It's incredibly common," she says. A frictionless system makes it even easier to fall into this cycle.

Leah has bipolar disorder and writes a blog on money and mental health. When her debts got out of control, she had to move in with her mom. Others are not so lucky. "If you're going through a difficult time, these issues can be overwhelming," she says. "Keeping up with rent, difficulties getting social housing. People have to battle to get the right benefits."

The consequences can be deadly. In July 2015, 23-year-old Joshua Jones committed suicide after his online gambling debts spiraled. Academics have estimated that there were 1,000 extra deaths from suicide and an additional 30-40,000 suicide attempts between 2008 and 2010 following the economic downturn, which is linked to people struggling to cope with benefit cuts, unemployment, unstable work, and debt.

We are now learning that money and mental health are related in many different ways. A study of more than 5,000 people signed up to a new Money and Mental Health Policy Institute found that 93 percent of those self-describing as having mental-health issues said they spent more when they were unwell.

Another 88 percent said that they were behind on bills, while 80 percent said they found internet shopping a trigger for spending.

There are several different types of spending associated with mental health. The most obvious one is manic spending, which can affect people who are bipolar or have other kinds of mood disorders when they are on a high. "I would spend loads in charity shops on outlandish things," says Leah. "Like a top hat or loads of glass wear, even though I didn't have a flat and was living with my parents. Even shoes that were two sizes too big."

Others will comfort spend, trying to boost depression or low mood by buying stuff. Dan, a poet, battled with himself in shops when his depression was severe. "You stand in the shop, shaking, turning to the door and turning back and pacing to the door and pacing back," he says. "You fight it for days, but still the whisper is there. And so is the emptiness."

Those who have been found to suffer from PTSD are more likely to be nihilistic about money. They spend because the transaction, or life itself, feels meaningless. Researchers at the institute spoke to a man whose daughter had quit her job and taken out hundreds of thousands of pounds worth of debt online because she thought the world was going to end.

There used to be human barriers against this. "If you turned up at a bank and said you want to take out a $65,000 loan and they asked why and you said, 'Because the world is going to end,' then you can prove that you didn't have the capacity and that debt can be written off," says Polly Mackenzie, director of the institute. "But if you do it online, they can't know, and there is no reasonable proof."

Gift-giving, or spending on other people, is often a way of boosting your social value when you're experiencing a low mood. Lee, a software consultant, says he would get his friends expensive gifts as he tried to buy himself into a life he wanted. "I wanted to be able to afford all these lavish restaurants and be this person I was making up because I was lonely in my own head," he says.

He knew he had a problem when he woke up in Paris, multiple times, in 2004. "I spent £2,700 in two days," he says. "I never even took any pictures."

It took another three years before Lee was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Two and half years ago, he was declared bankrupt, about $40,000 in debt, and with hardly any friends left after borrowing so much money off them and lying over the years. "Going bankrupt was the best thing I ever did, the relief," he says. "I'd forgotten what being able to sleep was like."

Addicts will spend money to feed their addictions. But the move to online gambling has also removed the human barriers that used to stop people with mental-health problems spending. Professor Til remembers one case before internet gambling where all of the local betting shops knew not to serve one of her patients because when he was manic he believed that he would always win. He got into masses of debt. "Nobody is there to stop you online," she says.

There is support out there. StepChange, the money and mental-health charity, guided Lee through the process of going bankrupt. Other organizations, like Citizens Advice Bureau, offer advice too. But what might have helped Lee and Leah, even before they were diagnosed with mental-health problems, is some kind of limit—like the way your bank blocks payments if you don't warn it you are going abroad.

The Money and Mental Health Policy Institute was set up by Money Saving Expert's Martin Lewis, who is looking at ways of getting some of the barriers that human contact used to provide back in place. Banks, Martin says, should be offering ways to help people control their own money—for example, by using trusted friends or authorizing the bank to suspend an account if there are sudden withdrawals.

"We don't want banks to give special mental-health options—we want controls that will help people manage their finances in difficult times," he says.

Both Leah and Lee say that controls like that would have helped them when they needed it. Lee might not have woken up in Paris so many times in 2004 or lost so much sleep. Leah might not have wiped years off her savings and had to move back in with her mom. For them and many like them, a bit of old-fashioned friction might not be such a bad thing.

Follow Hazel Sheffield on Twitter.

The fight for criminal accountability in the death of Freddie Gray was a courtroom disaster, but Baltimore cops aren't off the hook yet.

Two weeks after State's Attorney Marilyn Mosby conceded defeat in her effort to convict six cops of crimes ranging from misconduct to second-degree "depraved heart" murder for Gray's arrest and death last April, a scathing report into the city's policing practices was released by the federal government. The Department of Justice paints a picture of obscene, systematic discrimination against people of color—one that isn't exactly stunning after two years of Black Lives Matter protests across America, but serves as a reminder that the men and women policing some of the country's largest cities still have a long way to go.

Among other outrages, the feds found that between 2010 and June 2015, 44 percent of BPD stops were made in two African American communities containing just 11 percent of the city's population. Seven African American men in these areas were stopped more than 30 times, and blacks made up some 91 percent of those arrested for petty offenses like trespassing in Baltimore—even as they represented just 63 percent of residents. What's more, officers issued discriminatory orders to round up "all the black hoodies" in one neighborhood, with fliers depicting black men with hoodies as suspects for loitering posted in several BPD districts.

On Wednesday, Baltimore mayor Stephanie Rawlings Blake told a packed press conference at city hall that she's committed to implementing reforms outlined in the report. "It's not going to be easy, and it's not going to be quick," she said, estimating that, based on costs in other cities, reforms could cost as much as $10 million dollars per year.

For his part, Police Commissioner Kevin Davis was repentant—if only vaguely—about the scathing criticism of his cops, having assumed the gig after Gray's death and the subsequent unrest. "I'm very, very concerned by some of the information contained in this report," he said.

The report comes more than a year after the DOJ investigation was launched at the request of Mayor Rawlings-Blake, and it explains exactly how BPD practices make life miserable for black residents. More than 163 pages, the feds detail a pattern of making arrests without probable cause, stopping and arresting black residents without justification and using excessive force. And they say the practices are underpinned by "systemic deficiencies" in the force's training, supervision, and accountability structures.

The probe was launched shortly after Gray, a 25-year-old black man, died in police custody after being driven—cuffed and shackled but without a seatbelt—through six stops before arriving at a police station unconscious in April 2015. He died a week later after sustaining a fatal spinal cord injury.

The DOJ report critiques police practices rooted in the mass arrests that characterized "zero tolerance" policing led by former governor Martin O'Malley in the early 2000s. Perhaps fittingly, his ill-fated 2015 presidential bid leaned in part on his crime record in Baltimore, one fictionalized on HBO's The Wire.

The report also found a pattern of unlawfully strip-searching individuals prior to arrest—citing one incident where a woman was fully strip-searched in public during a traffic stop for a missing headlight. "I really gotta take my clothes off?" the woman asked. "Yeah" the male officer replied, a female officer proceeding to search her anal cavity with a latex glove before releasing her without a criminal charge.

The long-awaited report should resonate nationally, coming nearly two years after a similarly scathing probe suggested Ferguson, Missouri, was basically a police state.

"This speaks to the nation," Jonathan Smith, a former civil rights litigator at the Department of Justice who oversaw the Ferguson investigation, told VICE. "I think you will see, in many of the urban centers in the United States, exactly the same behavior."

Some two dozen federal investigations into the police practices plaguing America's cities have gone forward under the Obama administration. But in two key ways, Baltimore is not like other cities, according to Smith. For starters, cops in the city have allegedly been punished for calling one another out. "You have officers courageously coming forward and saying this is wrong you shouldn't be doing this—and they were punished for it," he said. And local policing seems to have systematically reinforced segregation by heavily concentrating on the borders between white and black neighborhoods.

At the press conference, Rawlings-Blake emphasized a number of reforms already being implemented in the city, noting she's already revised 26 key policies in the police department, and that the city is "revamping our approach to officer accountability."

"This is a moment to get better," Commissioner Davis added.

Of course, some former Baltimore cops take issue with the tone of the federal report, which cited 60 complaints of racial slurs against black people.

"The BPD is not a bunch of white officers calling blacks niggers," said Peter Moskos, a former Baltimore cop and professor at John Jay College of Criminal Justice. "I didn't hear the word used once by a white officer. Not once. I'm not saying it's never been used, but this isn't fucking Ferguson. I suspect much of the usage they talk about is from black officers. Doesn't that matter? But the report doesn't tell us."

The report's big-picture look at the BPD marks the first step toward a consent decree between Baltimore and the feds that will force the new reforms into practice.

Since Gray's death, BPD has begun using new police vans with built-in surveillance, instituted training in community policing, and made mandatory body cameras for officers—though uncertainty remains about when these cameras must be turned on. Citizen-shot footage of Gray's arrest played a significant role as evidence in the trials of officers charged in his arrest and death, and the DOJ reported "serious concerns that BPD officers interfere with individuals who attempt to lawfully record police activity," including seizing phones and deleting their contents without just cause

While Mosby's office blamed the broader legal system when she dropped the Freddie Gray charges, if nothing else, the feds' findings ensure Baltimore cops will be under a microscope for years to come.

Follow Annalies Winny on Twitter.

Photo via CBSA's Twitter

The Canadian Border Services Agency announced that earlier this summer a dangerous drug called carfentanil was seized in a package from China destined for Calgary. A potent synthetic drug more powerful than fentanyl, carfentanil is known for being a large animal tranquilizer and for its alleged use as a chemical weapon by the Russian military.

You can see the pain in 27-year-old Quiwanna Mungin's face as she thrusts the walker out in front of her, the way her hands shake as her grandmother lights her cigarette. She won't talk about the father of her seven-month-old son Kayden, or the day she was shot and the man was arrested. But witnesses at the Ravenel Mobile Home Park outside Charleston, South Carolina, that stormy May afternoon still see it in their dreams, how darkness fell and rain bolted down and the stray cats all disappeared.

First, it was quiet. Then there were screams.

"Go check on my baby! My momma!" Mungin can be heard howling to her neighbor on the dash-cam video as a Charleston County Sheriff's deputy kneels in the fresh mud to cuff her ex-boyfriend, Kenneth Ancrum, beside his 2006 white Lincoln. "Your son shoot all of us!"

Minutes earlier, Mungin had walked into her family's blue, single-wide trailer to find Ancrum, 23, holding their baby boy in one hand and his black .40-caliber Glock in the other. Her 55-year-old mother, Betty Mungin, was dead at the man's feet, and her pregnant sister, Alexis, lay facedown in the kitchen in front of her eight-year-old niece, Armani—the two of them shot to death at close range. An autopsy later showed that Alexis's unborn twins, Taylor and Tyler, had been viable when their mother was killed, raising the official body count to five and making this the single deadliest mass shooting to hit Charleston County since the massacre at Mother Emanuel AME Church last June.

"I didn't plan to go to these people's home and kill these people," Ancrum, a three-year Army veteran, told me when I visited him in a North Charleston jail last month. Minutes earlier, I'd watched the man joke with other inmates in striped jumpsuits as they took turns trading hand gestures with me, licking their lips and flashing toothy grins through the visiting room window. But his bravado faded the moment he sat down, his muscular six-foot-two frame slumped over the phone that connected us, his forehead resting inches from the video screen projecting my face.

"My baby mama went and changed her phone—none of this shit would have happened if she hadn't," Ancrum insisted when I pressed him to explain why a 29-year-old woman lay sealed in concrete beside her mother and her little girl, a tiny fetal twin cradled in each arm. "I was looking for her, so we could talk. She was keeping my son from me. She caused all this shit to happen."

The term "mass shooting" often inspires visions of chaos, of armed men raining bullets indiscriminately on schools or nightclubs or blighted urban streets. The public imagination paints them as capricious storms of violence that appear as quickly as they churn through the news cycle. Above all, we perceive them as public, the victims at best acquaintances of the killer, and at worst random targets of a deep, faceless hate.

But the majority of mass shootings are private acts, neither random nor unpredictable. In fact, close to 60 percent of those that kill four or more people unfold just as this one did in Ravenel on May 17—not gangland feuds or terrorist attacks but intimate executions carried out in quiet homes by ordinary men who murder the women and children closest to them over slights as insignificant as a new phone number or a custody hearing.

A bedroom inside the trailer where Betty Mungin, 55; Alexis Mungin, 29 and her unborn twins; and Armani Mungin, 8, were shot and killed in May 2016. All photos by Justin Cook

At a quarter past noon, police reports show that Ancrum and Mungin sat down with caseworker Melissa Hartz at the Department of Social Services child support office in North Charleston. They were hashing out a payment schedule for their then four-month-old son, who was already smiley and round the way we think of happy babies, with a thick head of curly black hair.

Ancrum had signed an acknowledgement of paternity for Kayden at the hospital. But once the conference began, he denied the boy was his son, demanding a DNA test that derailed any further talk of support. "I was just being a man," he told me in jail. "I didn't have any doubt. I just wanted to make sure."

"Good," Mungin snapped, according to police records. "I want the test also, so now everyone will know!" She stormed out, leaving Ancrum to wait for the buccal swab.

Ancrum left the child support office on River Road just after the sample was taken at 12:44 PM. By 1:27, three generations of his son's family were dead.

Mungin later told police Ancrum first shot her in the leg as she turned to flee moments after finding him with the bodies in the trailer. Ancrum abandoned the infant on an inflatable mattress by the door and gave chase. Mungin was shot again as she ran through the tangle of brush separating her yard from her neighbor's, in the hand and stomach. Witnesses describe Ancrum pursuing her until she fell where the neighboring lot meets the road, taunting her with his gun drawn as she lay in the dirt begging for her life.

"I went and looked out my back window right here, and he was walking around her, holding the gun like this , talking trash to her," said one neighbor, who declined to give his name for fear of retribution from Ancrum's family. The neighbor called 911 and rushed to help Mungin when the man left to get his car. "She couldn't even speak. She was just going like this," the neighbor added, beckoning across the now-empty yard. "I'll never forget that. Somebody's trying to call for help and can't even speak."

Before he could reach her, Ancrum's car pulled up between them.

"He told me to hang up your phone, get in your house, you ain't got nothing to do with this," the neighbor said. He watched helplessly as Ancrum dragged Mungin into his car and began driving toward the trailer park's main exit—only to surrender coolly and without protest when deputies arrived seconds later. He sat silent and impassive until Detective Barry Goldstein read him his Miranda rights.

According to the detective's report, Ancrum replied with just one word: "Lawyer."

The neighborhood bike crew at Ravenel Mobile Home Park

The spillover from misogynist violence to mass shootings is a nationwide problem, but the Mungins were particularly vulnerable because of where they lived. South Carolina leads the country for femicide, and women are killed by men here at more than double the national rate. Across the country, statistics suggest the majority of female homicide victims are killed by their husbands, boyfriends, baby daddies, or exes. Stats also indicate that more than 70 percent of those women died by bullet. A woman is five times as likely to be killed by her abuser if he has a gun, and 20 percent of domestic homicide victims aren't the killer's intimate partner, but their children, families, first responders, and bystanders. What's more, according to one Everytown for Gun Safety analysis, about 15 percent of mass shooters between 2009 and summer 2015 had a prior domestic violence charge.

In Charleston County, guns like the one that killed the Mungins are ubiquitous and crazy cheap. There's a whole shelf of Glocks for sale at the Money Man Pawn shop on Savannah Highway, where police records show Ancrum bought his, and you'd be pressed to find one that sells for more than $60. Other handguns were on sale there for as little as $17.

Governor Nikki Haley and the legislature know their state is uniquely deadly to women. A handful of reforms even muscled their way through the State House after a Pulitzer Prize–winning Post and Courier investigation exposed South Carolina's femicide crisis. But critics say the few protections that actually work aren't evenly applied. In particular, a simple lifesaving tool called a lethality assessment Charleston City Police use might have flagged Mungin for protection in the summer of 2015—but the Sheriff's Department didn't begin rolling it out in their crime-plagued rural county until sometime this year.

Meanwhile, the local electorate has become so hostile to gun regulation in the wake of the shooting at Mother Emanuel that merely supporting a bill to limit abusers' access to weapons helped rout a 38-year Republican veteran of South Carolina's legislature. Though the sheriff's department vigorously denied it, the local fire chief echoed nearly every person I spoke to in Ravenel when he said black residents don't feel police do enough to protect them—and that packing heat is the only way to feel safe from your neighbors.

"It just didn't make any sense why we would allow people convicted of beating their spouse to own a gun. Somebody had to stand up and say that," State Senator Marlon Kimpson told me, rocking back from his desk as the early afternoon sun glittered through his office window from off the Cooper River. "I couldn't in good conscience just keep my seat."

South Carolina senator Marlon Kimpson, a gun-control advocate, in Charleston

Kimpson is close-cropped and trim, with a trial lawyer's gift for extemporaneous argument and a politician's flashbulb smile—the kind of man who puts just the right amount of pressure into his handshakes and wears his full name monogrammed on the cuffs of his sleeves. He is also a young black Democrat in an overwhelmingly Republican legislature.

"When we were debating the criminal domestic violence bill, a lot of the discussion centered on guns," he said. "All of the discussion was about the right to bear arms. Very little of it was about the victims."

The bill he's referring to—the Domestic Violence Reform Act—was signed into law last June, almost a year after the damning Post and Courier exposé effectively shamed lawmakers into action. Federal law already prohibits many convicted abusers from owning guns, but individual states still have to figure out how to enforce penalties and manage bans. South Carolina's new law was written to do just that, though Kimpson and other advocates say it achieves awful little in practice.

"The proponents of the bill wanted the stronger language included earlier on [mandating that guns be taken for] the first offense, but it didn't have the votes in the Senate to pass it," Kimpson continued. Instead, a defanged version gives judges discretion to take firearms for lesser offenses and only permanently bars possession for the most severe convictions or a repeat offense. Domestic-violence reform advocates in Charleston say that discretion has yet to be exercised. "I argued that it was a weak bill, but I voted for the bill because it did bring some reform to the way we handle people who have been convicted of domestic violence," the lawmaker added.

A litigator by trade, Kimpson occupies a plush spot in the middle of a gleaming glass tower in Mount Pleasant, a suburb flanked by the Arthur Ravenel Bridge on one side and Charleston Harbor on the other. The district he represents is just across the river, half an hour from the Ravenel Mobile Home Park in good traffic. But in most other respects, Marlon Kimpson's 42nd District couldn't be farther away if it were 42nd Street in Manhattan.

"We're Obama County—we voted for Obama the first time, we voted for Obama the second time," Kimpson explained. "There's a level of progression here that's not as evident in other parts of the state."

Unsurprisingly, he is among the state's most outspoken proponents of gun control. Like many here, he was galvanized by the massacre at Mother Emanuel and has made a legislative crusade of closing the " Charleston Loophole" that allowed Dylann Roof to buy a gun legally despite a criminal conviction that should have been disqualifying. Meanwhile, the state legislature has lined up behind no fewer than three bills to expand gun rights in the wake of that tragedy, including one that would bar creditors from seizing firearms in a debt collection, another that would nullify any executive order to do with guns, and a "reciprocity" measure to allow Georgians with concealed weapons permits to carry into South Carolina, despite that state's much laxer permitting requirements.

"I'm not saying that they did this while I was outside; I'm just saying it just happened to fall on the same day as the rally ," Kimpson said, detailing how the Georgia reciprocity bill became law. "I'm out, standing and crying with the families of the Emanuel Nine, and they decide to use a special procedure called special order" to force the measure to the floor.

In that context, it's more than a little miraculous that the Domestic Violence Reform Act passed the State Senate at all. The man who got it through was Larry Martin, an NRA-endorsed Republican from the crimson-dipped county of Pickens and Kimpson's frequent opponent. Or at least he used to be: This summer, after nearly 40 years in the legislature, Larry Martin lost his seat.

"They just felt I was an Obama-style gun-grabber," Martin said with a chuckle when I asked him about the law he'd diluted into its ultimate, GOP-palatable form. "They called a Bloomberg-inspired gun bill. I got real raw around the edges for that. I didn't get that from New York City or anything to do with Michael Bloomberg—I got it from Louisiana and got the suggestion from a local prosecutor who was convinced that guns are the predominant choice of weapon" for abusers who kill their victims.

"That was my baby momma. At the end of the day, I loved her." —Kenneth Ancrum

That wasn't Martin's only losing stance: He also supported a bill barring people who had been institutionalized for mental illness from buying weapons and opposed a permit-less carry law.

"Listen, the NRA supported me, they don't support Obama gun-grabbers," Martin said of his record. "With domestic violence being so prevalent in our society and our domestic violence death rate being annually in the top five in the country, we had to do something, and I'm proud that we did."

But when it comes to the future of gun control in South Carolina—even so-called common sense, bipartisan measures—the effect of his ouster has to be chilling.

The trailer on lot 48 is little changed from when the bodies of the Mungin family were discovered there in May. Huge live oaks dominate the neighborhood's landscape, their branches hung with Spanish moss like string lights for Christmas, their shade a welcome respite from the 100-degree heat. A skinny Boxer mix pants from the shadow of the dish antenna where it's been tied up nearby. There's still a white bassinet in the front window, an infant's white button-down shirt hanging from its edge, a Champagne-colored minivan parked outside with a spent Newport box crushed on the windshield.

The only evidence of what happened here a little over two months ago is a small, makeshift memorial beside the front door. Church candles pasted with black-and-white copies of Facebook pictures dot the steps. Below them, a plush bunny with flat saucer eyes stares mournfully up at the sky, its lavender fur soaked straight by daily five-o'clock showers, its arms wrapped around a white cross with Armani's name in black Sharpie. You can still see her pink and white bicycle piled in the ivy out back, waiting for the other grade-schoolers from E. B. Ellington Elementary to come tumbling over the park's busted asphalt on their rusty hand-me-downs.

"It's hard cause we don't see her riding bikes around here no more," lamented one ninth-grader to another as the two of them stood in the grass near the trailer, waiting on nothing, scuffing their shoes in the fine gray dirt. "That little girl, she used to go right through," replied the boy with the slits shaved into his eyebrows, identifying himself as a cousin. "She would have been riding bikes up the street right now," he added, grinding his knuckles into his eye to keep from tearing up.

Lorender Newman, a neighbor who knew the Mungin family and says she herself once had a boyfriend who physically abused her and only escaped after he was seriously injured in an accident

"You could see the bodies in there," the first boy said. "They let the bodies sit in there for hours and hours and hours. And you could see the small body bag, everybody was crying because you could tell that was the little girl, because the body bag was small."

At the time of the shooting, Ancrum and Mungin had been apart for a year. Besides their son, what bound them was money, or the lack of it, at least insofar as it kept Quiwanna and the boy tied to the overcrowded modular unit—just a few yards from Ancrum's—where her mother, sister, and niece all lived. Police reports show that another sister, Jessica Haynes, managed to escape the trailer in the midst of the shooting, and neighbors said a brother, Devonte, was also staying there.

"There are worse trailer parks on 17, people who don't have anything," the St. Paul fire chief, Doc Matthews, told me when I met with him in neighboring Hollywood, a hamlet so rural that some of its streets dead end into swamp. Though he wasn't on duty that day, Matthews's firefighters were among the first to respond, as they often are to local shootings. "We have to kind of protect ourselves from our neighbors most of the time," he added of the local gun culture. "When you have hopelessness, poverty, you have that type of cannibalism."

Charleston County Sheriff's Department spokesman Major Eric Watson confirmed that violent crime is high across the county's sprawling rural jurisdiction, though he did not provide specifics.

"There've been drive-by shootings in this area. Then nothing happens. Nothing," the fire chief told me, his face stoic even as his eyes brimmed with tears. "I don't know, I can't even begin to figure out why nothing happens. I tell young people don't take it on yourself, don't retaliate, call the police, but the police continue to do nothing. They said they don't want to call anymore."

It was a claim I heard from almost every black resident I interviewed, albeit one Watson refuted in the strongest terms. "They are no stats or numbers that validate those claims at all," he told me. "We are out there on a regular basis. I'm out there myself—I deal with the community quite a bit."

Matthews is the rare man here who loathes guns, won't touch them. But he said he understands why his son carries one, and why others in the black community feel no choice but to arm themselves.

"We need protection from the criminals too, right? Home invasions are here too," he lamented. "We've got guys gone to jail for shootings and stuff, and they're back on the street the next day."

The letter written by a neighbor's daughter who knew Armani Mungin

Family homicides are not mysterious. We know, more or less, how and when they happen. Breakups and orders of protection are frequent triggers, as are arrests and disputes over children. That means that even as the Mungins' deaths are typical of mass shootings, they are also typical of domestic-violence killings.

"Domestic violence is about power and control," said Butch Kennedy, founder of Real Men Against Domestic Violence, a Charleston nonprofit that works with men and boys to change the culture around abuse at home. "Once you lose that power and control over that person, that's when he becomes violent, because he has to have that. That's the most dangerous time."

Add guns in the mix, and that danger can quickly grow lethal. It's not clear exactly what tipped Kenneth Ancrum over the edge—he insisted to me several times he "wasn't angry" at the time of the murders—but what is clear is that the slayings happened immediately following the paternity test he said he only asked for because he was "being a man."

It's that very idea of manhood that Kennedy says is so often the flashpoint for domestic killers. Feminist scholars call it "toxic masculinity, " the set of social norms that teach boys to blunt their emotions and answer pain with physical violence, no matter its cause.

"Men are raised to believe that you're supposed to be the provider, you're supposed to be strong, you're not supposed to cry, you're not supposed to be weak, and men take that belief to heart," Kennedy explained inside a small conference room at the sprawling Science Applications International Corporation building outside Charleston, where he works developing communications systems for the Marines. "When you start to disrespect a man and you start to mistreat a man, they start to think that their manhood is being tested. When you get a person that has a mindset that he has to protect his manhood, he's going to do it by any means necessary, and this gun's right here."

In other words, cheap, easy access to a firearm helped ensure a spat that began with a bureaucrat in a nondescript government office slipped almost seamlessly into a massacre.

"He wanted to control how he was going to kill her." —Butch Kennedy

"That was my baby momma. At the end of the day, I loved her," Ancrum told me when I asked him why, in the midst of so much bloodshed, he hadn't killed his ex. The coroner described the shootings in the trailer as quick and close range, the home so otherwise orderly the dead must have barely had time to react. But none of Quiwanna's injuries were life-threatening. A combat veteran with a 2012 tour in Afghanistan's bloody Kandahar province, Ancrum likely could have shot her dead as she ran and certainly could have done it once she fell. But he didn't.

"I didn't want my fucking child to be motherless," he snapped at me, as though it were obvious.

But Kennedy has another theory.

"He wanted her to suffer," he suggests bluntly. "I think his goal was not just for her to know that he had killed her family... he wanted to control how he was going to kill her."

Ancrum currently faces five charges of murder, one of attempted murder, one charge of kidnapping, and one charge of weapons possession in the course of a violent crime. If convicted, he could face the death penalty.

Yet as the law stands, not much can be done to stop men like him. Like many other mass shooters, Ancrum bought the Glock he kept for "home protection" legally, in April of last year. An employee at Money Man insisted to me you can't even redeem a pawned weapon without a background check, much less buy a gun without passing one, and Ancrum wouldn't have met the threshold to automatically lose his guns even if he'd been convicted following an arrest for domestic violence last August. (Those charges were later dropped.)

But among the recommendations made by the Post and Courier , embraced by the governor's domestic-violence task force and pushed hard at the local level by activists like Kennedy, is the lethality assessment: a short checklist that law enforcement can use to gauge how likely a domestic-violence incident is to turn deadly in the future.

"There are three top questions"—among them, has he ever threatened you with a weapon—"and if any one of those you get a check yes to it, it's a totally different ball game," Kennedy told me. "You have to make sure that you do something for a victim."

The assessments are a policy recommendation, not a mandate, and while some law enforcement agencies leapt into action to implement them in the wake of the Post and Courier expose, most dragged their feet. Still, if Quiwanna Mungin had lived just a few miles up Highway 17 in Charleston proper, city cops would likely have asked her whether Ancrum had a gun when he was arrested last summer. Even without an order of protection against him, a "yes" to that question could have triggered a list of interventions—among them follow-up visits from police and a spot at a local shelter—that just might have saved Betty, Alexis, Armani, and her unborn siblings.

But the Charleston County Sheriff's Department didn't start conducting lethality assessments until earlier this year, at least 12 months after they were adopted by neighboring jurisdictions. It was too late.

Before leaving the jail, I asked Ancrum if he regretted killing all those people. He paused for a moment to consider the question. When he spoke again, his voice was clear.

"Everything happens for a reason."

Follow Sonja Sharp on Twitter.

Photo via Pixabay

The texts you think you're sending in private can be used against you in court, according to a potentially precedent-setting new ruling from the Ontario Court of Appeal, which critics believe will have implications on privacy throughout the province.

In the column "How Scared Should I Be?" VICE staff writer and generalized anxiety disorder sufferer Mike Pearl seeks to quantify the scariness of the world he lives in. We hope it helps you to more wisely allocate that most precious of natural resources: your fear.

If you're a consumer of fear-mongering news stories like I am, the 2016 Olympic Games in Brazil seem to have a cloud hanging over them—a cloud made of mosquitoes carrying the Zika virus.

Scarier still, that cloud isn't neatly contained in Brazil either; it's already spread throughout Latin America and is working its way north, gaining a foothold in Florida. So while there aren't any reports of mosquito-born Zika in Los Angeles where I live, I'm already on high alert, and I'm starting to get concerned about the red patch of skin on my shoulder.

But even if my red patch is Zika, I'm far from doomed. Yes, Zika can cause microcephaly in infants born to Zika-infected mothers, but Zika fever is usually pretty mild, causing either no symptoms at all, or a rough couple of days coping with a rash, a fever, some pinkeye, and maybe the odd body ache. With all the other things in the world to be concerned about, does it make sense to keep Zika in my thoughts at all?

Yes, according to Professor David Heymann, head of the Centre on Global Health Security at the British policy research organization Chatham House. "It makes sense to worry about it if you're going to an area where there's Zika transmission," Heymann told me. And he means me, not just pregnant women.

By way of an explanation, Heymann gave me an epidemiology history lesson about a comparably benign virus—German measles:

"If you think back to before there was a vaccine for German measles, it was pretty much the same situation: a viral infection led to—in many instances— neurological damage, or damage to eyes or damage to hearing," he told me. German measles spreads like the common cold, rather than mostly via mosquitoes and sex, like Zika.

During the German measles outbreak of the 1960s, that virus's shocking effects on fetal development mobilized an enormous, multi-decade effort to contain the disease, which finally concluded last year with the eradication of the virus in North and South America.

The CDC estimates that from 1962–1965 20,000 infants were born with the devastating effects of German measles, but from 2005–2011, there were only four. So it appears that organizing around the need to control a virus not because it can kill you but because it causes birth defects is something that has helped dramatically in the past.

Read our related story: Zika is about to hit states with the most restrictive abortion laws in the US.

But the comparison between Zika and German measles isn't perfect, particularly since German measles causes birth defects "at a rate of 85 to 90 percent," according to Heymann. So if a pregnant woman got German measles, it was fairly certain that she would have a child with devastating congenital effects. "Zika is on a much less great scale. It's thought to be about less than 2 percent or less than 1 percent risk at this point from the evidence that's available," Heymann explained. Other estimates have placed the rate of effects from Zika as high as 13 percent in pregnant women confirmed to have the virus.

"If men come back after they've been in a Zika area, they must be careful for quite a while in their sexual relationships." —David Heymann

Microcephaly, in which a baby is born with a small head and brain, is the most obvious, and arguably the most awful symptom of congenital Zika syndrome, or CZS. It should be noted, however, that there are varying prognoses for living life with microcephaly. Some microcephalic people thrive. Others live to a ripe old age with cognitive impairment. Tragically, some never have a chance at life, as was the case with a baby born with CZS who died on Tuesday—the first such death in Texas.

So CZS is the scary part, and science is scrambling to figure out everything it entails—which we already know is more than just microcephaly. In June, the World Health Organization issued a warning, saying it can cause defects in the heart, digestive tracts, and genitals of babies. More recently, we learned that it can cause curving joints.

Worrying about Zika stands to benefit public health if it drives people to take the steps that can help prevent CZS. In areas where Zika is hitching rides on mosquitoes, like Florida or a sports stadium in Brazil, people need to avoid day-biting mosquitoes like the literal plague, Heymann told me. "That means repellants during the day, long sleeves, long pants, tucking your pant legs, making sure they don't bite through your socks, a whole series of actions that must be taken," he said.

In a perfect world, it's not just pregnant women who would take these modest, anti-mosquito precautions, particularly wearing mosquito repellant made with the chemical DEET, which mosquitoes absolutely abhor. Studies have repeatedly found that DEET kicks ass at getting bugs to not bite you, and it's safe for pregnant women. So use it.

Meanwhile, in the absence of symptoms, Zika can spread through sex. "If men come back after they've been in a Zika area, they must be careful for quite a while in their sexual relationships," Heymann told me. You know damn well there are good preventative measures out there for STDs, and they're called condoms. Good science isn't available yet to show that condoms are effective—although some questionable science says they are. But condoms are a no-brainer anyway since they also prevent pregnancy.

Maps by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention

But part of what makes Zika transmission so unsettling is that it can flow through us so stealthily. The virus leapfrogs from mosquitoes to people, to more mosquitoes, to more people, and most of the organisms in that chain will never notice. "If you've been bitten," Heymann said, "the consequences may not even be known."

If you're in territory where the two potential Zika-spreading mosquito species, Aedes egypti and Aedes albopictus, live—meaning most of the continental US—is it so much to ask that you avoid mosquito bites?

No, you probably shouldn't be scared at all of Zika. But given the nightmarish consequences that could stem from a large outbreak, it makes sense to at least step up your giving-a-shit game.

Final Verdict: How Scared Should I Be of Zika?

2/5: Taking Normal Precautions

Follow Mike Pearl on Twitter.

Mathieu Chantelois with Toronto mayor John Tory. Photo via Facebook

His Twitter bio still says he's executive director of Pride Toronto, but Mathieu Chantelois' latest tweet announces that he's just resigned.

"I presented my resignation to the PT board and I currently work at Cineplex Media," reads the tweet. "It was time for me to move. I wish Pride the best!"

That news comes a month after Chantelois made some super controversial moves during this year's parade. When Black Lives Matter Toronto held up the march for half an hour and presented a list of demands including the "removal of all police floats/booths," Chantelois signed off on the request, but later changed his position.

"Frankly, Black Lives Matter is not going to tell us that there is no more floats anymore in the parade. I will not tell you that there is no more floats in the parade because Pride is bigger than Black Lives Matter. It is definitely bigger than me and my committee. That is the kind of decision that needs to be made by the community," Chantelois told CP24 at the time.

According to Global, staff in the parade have also sent an email to the board alleging a whole bunch of abuse. "We have been subject to racist, sexist and transphobic comments, sexual harassment and personal attacks," reads the email,which Global has published.

"He has tokenized staff members, volunteers, and members of the community, he has been afraid to have difficult conversations about community politics or with community, and he has crafted the festival in his own image rather than in the best interests of the community."

The email also mentions "controlled substances" in the office, hiring friends without interviews, and threats to fire staff after the parade. Pride has not confirmed the email, and Chantelois has denied the allegations.

Rodney Diverlus, one of the founders of Black Lives Matter Toronto, responded to Chantelois' resignation on Twitter: "If ur not committed to making pride accessible & safe 4 black queer/trans people & communities, then make space for someone who is #bai."

Follow Sarah on Twitter.

A mysterious YouTube video posted the day before the climb

On Wednesday, a 20-year-old Virginia man apparently known as Steve used suction cup climbing equipment to execute a spectacular ascent up the face of Trump Tower, Donald Trump's iconic mixed-use skyscraper in Midtown Manhattan. He told police he was trying to get the Republican presidential candidate's attention—but what exactly the human fly wants to buzz in Trump's ear is not yet known.

The climb began around 4PM EST, and continued until NYPD emergency responders pulled the man through a window against his will at 6:43 PM. He never made it as high as Trump's personal penthouse.

At a press conference on Wednesday evening, NYPD officials said that the climber is undergoing psychiatric evaluation at Bellevue Hospital. "At no time did he express that he wanted to hurt anybody," the NYPD said. "His whole intention was to meet with Mr. Trump."

Police also confirmed that the climber was a 20-year-old man from Virginia. According to local news reports, the man identified himself to police as Steve. At the press conference Wednesday, investigators said they had recovered multiple forms of ID from the climber, and that he told officers that "he previously went by one name and now he goes by another name."

In a YouTube video uploaded on August 9—the day before the climb—a man with similar hair and face shape as that of the climber addresses Trump directly, telling him, "The reason I climbed your tower was to get your attention."He claims to be an "independent researcher seeking a private audience" to discuss an "important matter."

"If I had sought this via conventional means, I would be much less likely to have success because you are a busy man with many responsibilities," the hoodied young man explains. He then implores viewers to "be sure to get out and vote for Mr. Trump."

According to CBS New York, Steve began his ascent from a ground-level terrace of Trump's building. The terrace slanted up to the main tower structure, forcing the climber to take a diagonal pattern for the first few minutes of his climb, attracting the attention of onlookers.

Everything you need to know about the world this morning, curated by VICE.

Debbie Wasserman Schultz and Hillary Clinton. Photo via Joe Raedle / Getty

US News

More Democrats Than Previously Thought Hit by Cyberattack
Federal officials investigating the Democratic National Committee email hack now believe the cyberattack was wider than previously thought, with more than 100 Democrat officials and groups being compromised. The FBI has notified the long list of Democrats that Russian hackers breached their accounts. —The New York Times

Trump Tower Climber Wanted Audience with Candidate
The man captured by police while attempting to scale Trump Tower with suction cups apparently made the climb to deliver a message to Donald Trump. In a video posted on YouTube, a man who resembles the climber explains he wanted to "seek an audience with Mr. Trump" about "an important matter." —VICE News

LAPD Claims Killed 14-Year-Old Boy Fired First
The Los Angeles Police Department said 14-year-old Jesse James Romero, shot dead by police on Tuesday, had fired first on officers. Police had been investigating a report of vandalism when Romero ran away from them. The cops claim the boy then fired a weapon at officers and was subsequently killed when they returned fire. —CNN

Muslims Sue After Michigan City Rejects Mosque
The leaders of an Islamic center have filed a lawsuit against Sterling Heights in Michigan after the city rejected their plans to build a mosque. The lawsuit by the American Islamic Community Center cites emails from city officials discussing the possibility of investigating mosque leaders for possible terrorist links. —USA Today

International News

Canadian Police Kill Suspect in Anti-Terror Raid
Police have shot dead a suspect in an anti-terror operation in Ontario. Family confirmed the death of suspect Aaron Driver, 24, arrested last year for supporting ISIS on social media. Police told the family Driver had detonated an explosive device—injuring himself and another person—and was intending to detonate a second before officers shot him. —CBC News

Russia Announces Daily Three-Hour Ceasefires in Aleppo
Russia's military announced that there would be daily, three-hour ceasefires in the Syrian city of Aleppo, the setting of some of the country's ongoing civil war's fiercest fighting, to allow humanitarian aid to enter the city safely. A Russian defense ministry official said the daily ceasefire would run from 10 AM to 1 PM local time. The UN said the three-hour pause would not be enough time to get aid to civilians. —Al Jazeera

Roadside Explosion Injures 13 in Pakistan
A roadside bomb hit a security vehicle and wounded 13 people in the Pakistani city of Quetta. Pakistan's home minister said the remote-controlled bomb had targeted police personnel escorting a judge, who was not hurt in the attack. —Reuters

Libyan Forces Capture ISIS HQ in Sirte
Libyan pro-government forces trying to oust ISIS from the town of Sirte have captured the city's large convention center, a symbolic base that militants had used as their headquarters and had flown the jihadist flag. The victory came ten days after the US began airstrikes on ISIS targets in Sirte. —The Guardian

Central American Nations Discuss Anti-Gang Force
Honduras is trying to get El Salvador and Guatemala onboard with the idea of a huge, trinational force to fight street gangs. The plan is inspired by the controversial crackdown currently underway in El Salvador. —VICE News

Image via

Everything Else

Feds Wants to Expand Marijuana Research
The Drug Enforcement Administration is expected to announce today that all universities will be able to apply to grow marijuana for medical research. The University of Mississippi is currently the only institution authorized to grow weed for that purpose. The DEA will not change the status of marijuana as a Schudule I drug. —The New York Times

Harry Potter Script Sells 4 Million Copies
The script for the play Harry Potter and the Cursed Child has sold more than 4 million copies in the UK, US, and Canada since its release on July 31. The play has also returned J. K. Rowling's previous books to bestseller lists. —TIME

Snapchat Denies Yellowface Filter Is Racist
Snapchat has been called out by Twitter users for its "anime" filter that gives users slanted eyes, buckteeth, and rounded cheeks. A Snapchat spokesperson said "lenses are meant to be playful and never to offend." —Motherboard

UK Judge Calls Racist a 'Cunt' in Court
British judge Patricia Lynch sentenced John Hennigan to 18 months in jail for racially abusing a Caribbean woman. After Hennigan told the judge she was "a bit of a cunt," the judge replied: "You're a bit of a cunt yourself."—VICE

Leo getting ready to blow some cocaine into someone's arse in 'The Wolf of Wall Street'

Cocaine's a funny drug, isn't it? I can't think of any other substance – bar maybe alcohol – with the power to turn a relatively nice, normal human being into an absolute fucking nightmare. "Yeah, yeah, haha – have a bitta that," your friend Grant is screaming, trying to ram the neck of a Polish brandy bottle physically inside your throat. "Haha," he's going, completely out of character, four lines deep now. "Probably going to kill him dead, that! Haha. Good fucking banter. Shall we do another bump? Let's do another dump!! Have I told you about my idea for a board game??"

Of course, not everyone turns into a big sentient clenched jaw after half a gram – lots of us can do cocaine without becoming self-obsessed or arrogant or devoid of all self-awareness. But some of us can't, which is where the "cocaine dickhead" archetype comes from. The girl who won't stop banging on about her screenplay; the guy who wouldn't be able to gauge the vibe of the room (extremely anti-him) if it was written out in spray-paint on the wall.

So why, exactly, does this happen? And how come it only affects some people and not others?

"Cocaine tends to make people go into themselves, so they can either become introverted or be very sociable but a bit dominant or self-involved," says Katy Mcleod, director of Chill Welfare, a social enterprise that runs welfare tents at festivals across the country. "One big issue with coke is how it makes you feel in yourself and how you come across to others when under the influence. The two don't always match up. You might think you're being really witty and outgoing, when other people just think you're a twat."

READ: Is This City Boy Actually Doing Cocaine on the London Tube?

To get to the root of the twat chemistry, I spoke to David Belin from the Department of Pharmacology at Cambridge University. "Drugs target three psychological mechanisms in your brain," he said. With cocaine, you're effectively buzzing off the chemical dopamine flooding your brain every time you take a bump. "Dopamine is not pleasure itself, but a mechanism in the brain that allows for learning," David explained.

Imagine how a new guitarist might get a kick out of nailing "Smells Like Teen Spirt" for the first time, but then immediately crave that feeling again so move straight on to "Heart-Shaped Box". There's a buzz there. You're focused. The world's a bit more thrilling. Cocaine replicates that feeling far more vividly. "It targets your brain so that dopamine is released all the time that you take it, and it feels great," says David. "You start building a very strong motivation for the drugs."

From here to the second psychological dust storm cocaine kicks up between your ears. "Cocaine influences your pre-frontal cortex and, because of the effects of the drug, you end up with an inability to inhibit your impulses and make good decisions."

Remember the time you repeatedly offered the girl at that party a fiver for a line and she said yes, but only after making you promise you'd leave her alone forever? That. A study at Maastricht University in the Netherlands found that a single dose of coke – so a bump, or a tiny, little line – can impair your ability to recognise negative emotions in other people, which is why you're under the impression everyone is eternally interested in what you have to say, when, really, they are not.

"Third: drugs facilitate habits, so at this point your impulses are full of motivation for the drug, and they reach your habit system and you just do it without thinking about it, necessarily," said David, referring to how moreish cocaine can be. "Also, with cocaine, there's no real physical withdrawal, but there's a strong psychological withdrawal. You feel anxious, you feel bad, so that adds to the motivation to continue taking the drug."

So that would explain why people might tease out the dregs of a bag towards the end of the night, or put the call in to Albanian Rocky at the same time you'd usually be waking up?

"Absolutely," says David, adding that all these urges are going to be further enhanced or inhibited by the likely addition of alcohol to the mix. The combination effectively creates a new potent drug – cocaethylene – when the two meet in the liver, which drastically increases your chance of a heart attack, even up to 12 hours after you've been mixing. Woohoo!

"It will lower your general inhibitory tone so you give in to impulses you wouldn't normally," says David. Oh, and also, that thing where you're a few drinks ahead of everyone else and start muttering about getting some gear to "sober yourself up"? It's a myth. The cocaine is just providing more dopamine to battle between the other neurotransmitters competing for dominance in your brain. It might momentarily sharpen your focus, but in effect you're only more stimulated.

The final thing I'm interested to hear about is why so many people tend to get turned on when they're on coke, even if, in the case of some guys, there might structural problems to contend with.

"It may have have to do with general arousal," he said. "Unlike heroin, which focuses on pleasure by itself, cocaine makes the world shinier. So something that is beautiful – a partner or a potential partner – will become more beautiful, and you will want them more. Perhaps you don't have a choice."

The issue of choice, or lack thereof, has been something that David's alluded to throughout. If you've never taken drugs, you might be reading this and thinking, 'If it's such a problem, just don't do any coke." Which is fair. But is there a point where a so-called recreational user should maybe give their intake some proper consideration?

"Say you did it once at a party with friends and enjoyed it," says David. "Then, two months later, it's there again, but instead of being every two months it might gradually become every Saturday, and you think, 'I'm fine, because it's only Saturdays.' Do you really want it, or do you end up in this mood with friends and take it without really wanting it? If it's the latter, it suggests you are losing control. It's a reflex. It's the moment, the mindset. And the triggers – meeting with certain friends, drinking alcohol – for the drug mean you are always finding justifications. I suggest you meet up with these friends on a Saturday and agree that none of you will take cocaine. If you can't make it through the evening, you may be be on the wrong side of the story."

@Gobshout

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(Photo: Michael Beck, via)

When I first meet Tom Whipple to talk about board games I tell him: it's not the winning that counts, it's the taking part. "Rubbish," he says. "That's the battle cry of the loser. Board games aren't about having fun. They're proxy-conflicts, a way to get one up on someone. If that someone happens to be your nana, so be it."

He's joking. But only sort of.

Tom Whipple is a man who takes this subject seriously. In fact, the 34-year-old, who's science editor at The Times, has just released a book about it. It's called How to Win Games and Beat People, and offers the secrets to being victorious at everything from Draughts to Battleships, Charades to Scrabble, Risk to Blackjack, and drinking games to pillow fights.

Among its revelations are the least guessable word at Hangman (jazz) and the Monopoly properties which virtually guarantee victory (orange), while other highlights include a surgeon offering tips for Operation, a Formula One driver dissecting Scalextric and a former SAS soldier explaining how to demolish all-comers in a pillow fight.

Tom Whipple

VICE: Most important question: what does an SAS guy say when you phone and ask how to win at a pillow fight?
Tom Whipple: That was Andy McNab. He was so charitable. When I explained what I was doing he just took it totally seriously: "A pillow fight situation? Okay, you're there to win, so no dancing, no staring – go in fast, hard and get the job done." Brilliant.

You also had a world-renowned surgeon talking about Operation.
I did. Roger Kneebone from Imperial College. I'd spoken to him before for The Times so I knew he'd be game. But actually there are some genuine transferable skills between Operation, the game, and operation, the activity that saves lives. Both are about keeping your hand steady. Surgery is more complex obviously, but you can't remove an appendix if you're shaking. So these guys have techniques to help them, like tucking their elbow into their body and supporting their wrist with the other hand. It was the same with Johnny Herbert. You wouldn't necessarily think a Formula One driver would be able to help with Scalextric, but he was adamant there are links. Key for both is anticipation, being smooth on the throttle and accelerating out of corners.

Was there anyone who didn't see the joke or turned you down?
I tried to get James Blunt for musical statues because he's was once a Buckingham Palace guard. But he never replied to my tweets. He has, like, 3 million followers, so he probably didn't see them. And then, just occasionally, I had academics who didn't see the joke. There's a chapter on drinking games and I had some trouble with that because those I got in touch with kept saying it was irresponsible to write about the subject. One told me drinking games kill and should be outlawed.

Ah. Still, how do you win a drinking game?
There's the classic advice: line your stomach. But, interestingly, there's research which shows the effects of alcohol are more pronounced when drinking somewhere unfamiliar. So if you really want to be last person standing, scope out your venue in advance and go drinking there a few days beforehand.

Good advice. Give me some more surefire tips for other games.
Well, I always thought Monopoly was a tedious game of luck, but it turns out it's a tedious game of skill. It's all about buying orange. They're the properties that get landed on most because they come a double dice throw after jail, which is the most commonly landed on square of all. And I think a lot of people feel that intuitively. But there really is serious academic probability theory that proves it.

Another?
Another might be Risk. Explaining this is a rabbit hole of maths – it's hardcore, degree-level statistics that uses a technique called Markhov Chains – but, as game players, what we need to know is essentially: attack. This is how you stand the best probability of winning. Don't consolidate. Don't defend. Don't strike a balance. Attack. And in Scrabble, it's a long shot, but always remember muzjiks, sovkhoz and kolkhoz. They're the seven letter words – real words – that score most points.

I also wanted to ask about Rock Paper Scissors, because it's supposed to be completely random. But you say you can load the odds in your favour.
This was proven by Chinese scientists. They analysed people playing Rock Paper Scissors, and what they found is that a player's choice of shape is often dictated by what occurred in the previous round. So players who just won are statistically more likely to repeat their choice. But players who lost tend to change in the more "powerful" direction – they would move from rock to paper, for example. If you remember that information, you can predict what your opponent is likely to go for and then beat them.

READ: Can You Reverse the Horrible Long-Term Effects of Drugs with Exercise, Food and Vitamins?

Apart from the tips, the other thing that really struck me were the interviews with people who had dedicated so much of their lives to "solving" games. Their dedication is fascinating. Like the Connect Four guy, for example.
Victor Allis. Astonishing. There are 4.5 trillion possible situations that could exist in a Connect Four game, and he created a computer programme that would play the perfect move for every one of them. It was literally unbeatable. One claim to fame he has is that Beyoncé – she beat Kanye West 9-1 at Connect Four backstage somewhere, and afterwards she said she'd been reading his thesis. So I could have interviewed Beyoncé – I could have done that, totally – but, of course, I went straight to the man himself.

But what inspires someone – he was also only in his twenties – to work this stuff out? It's just Connect Four or Hangman, or whatever.
Well, some are academics – Victor Allis investigated Connect 4 as part of his Masters degree, and I guess Connect 4 was a useful way to do research in quite hardcore computer science. And then others might work in game theory – maybe they predict financial markets, for instance – and this is something they do in their spare time. Like the Hangman example. This guy has – I'm simplifying here – worked out, for every situation, the next letter you should choose. And that changes depending on the size of the word you're guessing, and also what other letters you already know. But he's a data analyst for Facebook. And that is so complicated – finding behavioural models in an unconstrained system – that it's probably quite satisfying for him to go home and try to find a solution to a closed, defined problem like this. My guess is, for him, solving Hangman is like doing a Sudoku.

Is that similar to your own motivation for writing the book?
Well, I enjoy playing games and I have a very competitive family, so winning is important. But this started as something I did for the newspaper for a Boxing Day feature. I had an agent at the time because I was pitching a far more serious book. It was a sweeping history of time. I think I had illusions that I was a grand intellectual. But when that failed I said to the agent that I had this games idea instead – and suddenly everyone was interested.

And now it's finished and out there, are you unbeatable at games?
Actually, it's embarrassing, because whenever I play a game now people assume I will win. And, believe me, I'm still more than capable of losing.

@colin__drury

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The VICE Gaming Guide to Video Game Drinking Games

How Board Games Have Become More Popular Than Ever

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Amber Wolf. Photo via Facebook

This story was co-published with the Marshall Project.

In the past two weeks, Louisville judge Amber Wolf has experienced a level of internet fame that few judges have: Two videos, filmed in her courtroom, have gone viral. In the first, recorded on July 29, Wolf reacts with outrage toward jail administrators as a female defendant, who had been in custody for days, appeared to not be wearing pants in court and claimed that she was denied feminine-hygiene products. (A spokesman for the jail later said that the defendant was wearing shorts under her long shirt.) Soon after, on August 5, a second video surfaced in which Wolf temporarily suspends a no-contact order to allow a defendant to hold his newborn child for the first time before being sent back to jail.

Wolf, 34, worked as public defender and prosecutor before she was elected to preside over Jefferson County's District Court in 2014. Below, she talks about her career, her recent fame, and why she reads internet comments.

In Kentucky, all court proceedings are recorded, yet it's rare for the general public to see the actual footage. What has it been like to have these videos released and to be at the center of all of this attention?
Amber Wolf: It is very unexpected. When a reporter called me about it, my initial reaction was, "How do you know about this?" And he said, "I have my sources." So I have no idea how anyone found out, and I certainly have no idea how things go viral. It makes me a nervous wreck. I'm not used to being in the spotlight. I am an elected official, so I'm in the public eye a little bit, but this is definitely a lot more than a little bit.

Are you worried at all that some people are going to see the compassion you've displayed and think that you're soft on crime?
If they are perceiving that, then they aren't paying attention. I have seen comments from people who say I'm an activist liberal judge, which is not the case. I haven't done anything to pursue or propel any political points. I just saw an opportunity to do the right thing.

And what I would point out is, I didn't let the man out of jail. For the time being, he needs to be where he is, but that doesn't mean he can't see his child.

I'm not a judge who slaps people on the hand or hugs them. I'm actually a tough judge. Not every case is the same. Applied to other people who come through my courtroom, I probably wouldn't have made the same decision.

Why do you think people have had such a strong reaction to the videos?
I have thought about that a lot of over past few days, and I think it's because people have a perception from television and the media that judges are cold and hard. And I don't think that's the truth. All judges are human beings under that robe. We think with both our heart and our head. It's not a mutually exclusive thing.

But not every judge ends up an internet sensation. Do you see a future for yourself as a TV judge?
No. This whole thing has been uncomfortable for me. This is not for entertainment. But I have gotten a couple calls about that. One person asked to write my biography. And there's one producer who has been very persistent, contacting me in multiple ways. I haven't responded to those. I don't even know what the point would be. I am currently in my dream job. This is what I wanted to be as a kid. And I never thought it would even be a possibility given my background.

Why did you think that?
It's just that I have gone further in school than anyone in my family. I grew up in a poorer household, my dad worked two jobs, my mom was working as well and she went through a career change in the middle of my childhood. It was tough for us. We didn't have a lot of stuff; we didn't go out to dinner. I got scholarships and worked my way through my education. And here, we're elected officials, so you need money to run a campaign. But I threw my name in the hat, and I worked my butt off for an entire year because I didn't have the money my opponents had. And it worked out because I got out there and went to various communities in Louisville and told them about myself.

You worked as a public defender and a prosecutor before you were elected judge. Also your husband is a police officer. How have those experiences impacted you?
I think it makes me a more fair judge because I can see both sides. But my role now is to step back from those positions and try to be able to see the point of view of every party and try to make a fair decision.

With my husband, that's certainly another aspect of my life, but I never consider what my husband would think. That's not how I make my decisions.

Have there been any positives to all this attention?
I've gotten thousands of thank you messages from across the world, which is crazy to me. People from other countries said, "Thank you for changing my opinion of the US."

One of the best things is one of my former defendants from a couple of years ago contacted me to tell me that I saved his life. He was late for court, and he was there for a minor charge. He told me, "I'm late, I'm sorry, I had to use heroin just to get here." And I said, "What do you mean?" And he said, "I don't get high off heroin anymore, but my legs don't work if I don't have it." And I thought, Oh my God, this man is going to die.

I talked to him for a long time and wrote a note on a post-it that read, "You can do this," which I gave to him. We referred him to our drug court program, and it worked. He's now clean and sober.

I have somewhere between 100 and 200 cases per day, but if I have a slow moment, I like to talk to people. So while people might judge me and say I'm just slapping people on the hand, what I'm doing is small gestures of kindness where I try to connect with people and make them feel like they can improve their lives. It doesn't always work, but when it does, it is very rewarding.

I don't give free passes. You can see in the first video, I told that women in front of me that it was her fault that she was there. And I needed her to understand that. I've agreed not to comment on that video anymore other than to say the jail administrator and I met for a long time and came to a mutual understanding. And I stand by everything that I've done.

What are the biggest challenges in your job?
I think the challenges, really, are just not getting disheartened. You see a lot of the same people over and over again, sometimes for the same things. But knowing every once in a while you can help someone improve their life, you just stay focused on that.

It's heart-wrenching when you dismiss a case because the person you have been dealing with for a long time has overdosed. I had this happen not too long ago— a defendant who passed away. And it wasn't even a drug charge at all, it was a DUI charge, and he was on home incarceration for that. He overdosed and died. And it's terrible. It made me think, Gosh, I wish did something else, I wish I knew he had a drug problem. But it had nothing to do with his case.

Ultimately what our community wants, whether they think so or not, is for these people who get out of jail to be productive members of society. Jail is a necessity sometimes, and I'm certainly a believer that you should suffer the consequences of your actions, but jail alone is not going to do that.

I'm a comment reader, even though people say don't read the comments. But it's important to me to see what people think. I hate the fact that people think I'm an activist judge. I just want to say, "Come down to my court and see how I handle my cases." You can't judge the job I do based on two videos you saw on the internet.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

This article was originally published by the Marshall Project, a nonprofit news organization that covers the US criminal justice system. Sign up for the newsletter, or follow the Marshall Project on Facebook or Twitter.