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Your “fast pass” through airport security? Suspended — overnight. In the middle of a partial government shutdown, the U.S. Department of Homeland Security has halted both TSA PreCheck and Global Entry — the programs millions rely on to skip long security and customs lines. That means no expedited screening. No special escort lanes. No faster passport control. The suspension began early Sunday, just as a major winter storm barrels toward the Northeast — creating the perfect storm for travel chaos.

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Homeland security to suspend TSA PreCheck and Global Entry airport security programs

Democrats accuse DHS of ‘kneecapping’ programs that help speed registered travelers through security lines

The US Department of Homeland Security (DHS) suspended the TSA PreCheck and Global Entry airport security programs that give approved participants a fast-track through bag check and passport control, as a partial government shutdown continued.

The popular government programs at US airports accelerate security lines and make travel slicker for all. The suspension from early Sunday was destined to cause headaches for passengers – combined in the north-east with an incoming blizzard.

A person in tactical gear walks through a cloud of tear gas

US homeland security department partially shut down after lawmakers fail to agree funding

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The homeland security secretary, Kristi Noem, said in a statement that “shutdowns have serious real world consequences”. She said also that “TSA and [Customs and Border Protection] CBP are prioritizing the general traveling population at our airports and ports of entry and suspending courtesy and special privilege escorts”.

TSA’s PreCheck program allows approved passengers through a faster security lane at US airports and is designed to reduce wait times. Global Entry expedites US customs and immigration clearance for pre-approved, low-risk international travelers entering the US.

Some US airlines were critical of DHS for giving travelers scant warning of the temporary suspension.

“Airlines for America is deeply concerned that … the traveling public will be, once again, used as a political football amid another government shutdown,” said the chief executive for the trade association, Chris Sununu, the former Republican governor of New Hampshire.

News of the suspensions came at “extremely short notice to travelers, giving them little time to plan accordingly,” he added, urging Congress to “get a deal done”.

A similar shutdown last year caused losses of more than $6bn across the travel industry and related sectors, he said.

The partial government shutdown began on 14 February after Democrats and the White House were unable to reach a deal on legislation to fund DHS. Democrats have been demanding changes to immigration operations that are core to Donald Trump’s aggressive mass deportation campaign.

The department was given an enormous funding windfall in legislation last year but its key enforcement agencies, Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) and border patrol, have created a storm of controversy as they have cracked down violently on enforcement and protests in several Democratic-run cities over the last year. This culminated most dramatically in two US citizens who were protesting an especially intense crackdown in Minneapolis last month being shot dead, with Trump administration leaders quickly heaping criticism on the victims while defending the federal officers.

Those killings not only prompted a national backlash and a partial retreat by the White House, it drove Democrats to lead a block on funding for DHS pending reform, leading to the ongoing partial government shutdown.

Democrats on the House committee on homeland security have criticized the decision about airport security.

They said on social media the administration was “kneecapping the programs that make travel smoother and secure” and accused them of “ruining your travel on purpose”.

With Associated Press and Reuters

Because Dante’s uncle did own something. Not the neighborhood. The system. Bail posted before sunrise. Charges “under review.” Witness statements “misplaced.” By afternoon, Dante was back on the street—smiling. Then Sofia’s phone buzzed. Unknown number. A photo. Taken from down the hospital hallway—right outside her room. No caption. No threat. Just proof. Nolan stared at the image, jaw tight, the old mission focus sliding back into place. This wasn’t about one violent man anymore. It was about the machine behind him. And machines only stop when someone is willing to break them. 👇 Who Dante’s uncle really is—and what Nolan did after that photo—continues in the first comment.
Because Dante’s uncle did own something. Not the neighborhood. The system. Bail posted before sunrise. Charges “under review.” Witness statements “misplaced.” By afternoon, Dante was back on the street—smiling. Then Sofia’s phone buzzed. Unknown number. A photo. Taken from down the hospital hallway—right outside her room. No caption. No threat. Just proof. Nolan stared at the image, jaw tight, the old mission focus sliding back into place. This wasn’t about one violent man anymore. It was about the machine behind him. And machines only stop when someone is willing to break them. 👇 Who Dante’s uncle really is—and what Nolan did after that photo—continues in the first comment.

He Posted Bail in Hours and Threatened Everyone… Then the Next Text Was a Photo Taken Outside the…

“Put the rifle down, Nurse—unless you want to die tonight.” They thought Ward 4B’s ‘Mouse’ would shake. She didn’t. At Naval Medical Center San Diego, Avery Sinclair was a joke with a pulse. Soft voice. Careful steps. Hands that “trembled” just enough for the recovering Marines to tease her. “Easy there, Mouse,” Staff Sergeant Tex Maddox would grin. “Don’t drop the IV.” She’d smile politely. Eyes down. Small. That was the point. Because “Avery Sinclair” barely existed. Months earlier, she’d been embedded in a classified Navy program—operators under medical cover. When the program was scrubbed, the records vanished. The operatives were told to disappear. Live small. Draw no attention. Never resurface. So she became the Mouse of Ward 4B. Until the night the hospital went dark. The lights cut out mid-shift. Monitors flipped to battery. The intercom choked on half a warning before dying completely. Then they came. Twelve men. Coordinated. Suppressed rifles. Moving like a blueprint. Not thieves. Not random shooters. Hunters. Their target was Room 417—Martin Keene, a defense contractor supposedly under “cardiac observation.” Rumor said heart trouble. Reality? Keene had files tying Senator Harold Vance to procurement kickbacks and offshore laundering. Enough to end careers. Enough to start wars in quiet rooms. The first shot cracked down the hallway. Tex tried to stand, still stitched from surgery. Other Marines reached for dead call buttons. And the Mouse… changed. Avery leaned close to Tex, voice no longer soft. “Barricade. Solid walls. Stay low. Don’t be heroes.” He blinked at her. “Who the hell are you?” She didn’t answer. Because one of the mercenaries turned the corner, rifle rising—aim locked on her chest. “Put it down, Nurse,” he sneered. “Unless you want to die tonight.” Avery didn’t flinch. Instead, she stepped forward into the dim emergency lights, eyes steady, posture different—wrong for a civilian. And when she spoke, her voice carried something that made the gunman hesitate. Because he hadn’t just come for Keene. He’d come for her. And somehow… he knew her real name. 👇 How the ‘Mouse’ took down twelve mercenaries—and what they were trying to bury—is in the first comment.
“Put the rifle down, Nurse—unless you want to die tonight.” They thought Ward 4B’s ‘Mouse’ would shake. She didn’t. At Naval Medical Center San Diego, Avery Sinclair was a joke with a pulse. Soft voice. Careful steps. Hands that “trembled” just enough for the recovering Marines to tease her. “Easy there, Mouse,” Staff Sergeant Tex Maddox would grin. “Don’t drop the IV.” She’d smile politely. Eyes down. Small. That was the point. Because “Avery Sinclair” barely existed. Months earlier, she’d been embedded in a classified Navy program—operators under medical cover. When the program was scrubbed, the records vanished. The operatives were told to disappear. Live small. Draw no attention. Never resurface. So she became the Mouse of Ward 4B. Until the night the hospital went dark. The lights cut out mid-shift. Monitors flipped to battery. The intercom choked on half a warning before dying completely. Then they came. Twelve men. Coordinated. Suppressed rifles. Moving like a blueprint. Not thieves. Not random shooters. Hunters. Their target was Room 417—Martin Keene, a defense contractor supposedly under “cardiac observation.” Rumor said heart trouble. Reality? Keene had files tying Senator Harold Vance to procurement kickbacks and offshore laundering. Enough to end careers. Enough to start wars in quiet rooms. The first shot cracked down the hallway. Tex tried to stand, still stitched from surgery. Other Marines reached for dead call buttons. And the Mouse… changed. Avery leaned close to Tex, voice no longer soft. “Barricade. Solid walls. Stay low. Don’t be heroes.” He blinked at her. “Who the hell are you?” She didn’t answer. Because one of the mercenaries turned the corner, rifle rising—aim locked on her chest. “Put it down, Nurse,” he sneered. “Unless you want to die tonight.” Avery didn’t flinch. Instead, she stepped forward into the dim emergency lights, eyes steady, posture different—wrong for a civilian. And when she spoke, her voice carried something that made the gunman hesitate. Because he hadn’t just come for Keene. He’d come for her. And somehow… he knew her real name. 👇 How the ‘Mouse’ took down twelve mercenaries—and what they were trying to bury—is in the first comment.

‘Put the rifle down, Nurse—unless you want to die tonight.’” The “Mouse” of Ward 4B: How a Quiet…

HE PUNISHED ME WITHOUT EVER RAISING HIS VOICE. For 18 years, my husband never touched me again — and I thought I deserved it… until a routine doctor’s appointment shattered everything. When my affair was exposed, he didn’t yell. He didn’t divorce me. He did something colder. He erased me. We lived in the same house like polite roommates. Separate bedrooms. No holidays together. No arguments. No affection. Just silence so thick it felt like a prison sentence I had willingly accepted. I told myself this was justice. That his indifference was mercy. Then, at a post-retirement physical, Dr. Evans turned the ultrasound screen toward me and asked a question that made my blood run cold: “Susan… are you sure you haven’t had surgery in the last 18 years?” She showed me calcified scarring inside my uterus — evidence of an invasive procedure. I have no memory of it. None. But suddenly, 2008 came flooding back. The overdose. The hospital. Waking up with pain in my lower abdomen. My husband holding my hand — the only time he’d touched me in years — telling me the pain was from having my stomach pumped. I believed him. Now I’m not so sure.
HE PUNISHED ME WITHOUT EVER RAISING HIS VOICE. For 18 years, my husband never touched me again — and I thought I deserved it… until a routine doctor’s appointment shattered everything. When my affair was exposed, he didn’t yell. He didn’t divorce me. He did something colder. He erased me. We lived in the same house like polite roommates. Separate bedrooms. No holidays together. No arguments. No affection. Just silence so thick it felt like a prison sentence I had willingly accepted. I told myself this was justice. That his indifference was mercy. Then, at a post-retirement physical, Dr. Evans turned the ultrasound screen toward me and asked a question that made my blood run cold: “Susan… are you sure you haven’t had surgery in the last 18 years?” She showed me calcified scarring inside my uterus — evidence of an invasive procedure. I have no memory of it. None. But suddenly, 2008 came flooding back. The overdose. The hospital. Waking up with pain in my lower abdomen. My husband holding my hand — the only time he’d touched me in years — telling me the pain was from having my stomach pumped. I believed him. Now I’m not so sure.

Sister Mocked Me on the Plane — Until I Used My Fighter Pilot Skills to Save 300 Lives…

He nodded toward Blackwood, still shaking hands like a politician. “Every word was a lie.” His name was Dalton Brennan. Callsign: Wolf. And when he said he’d served beside her father, the air shifted. “Ghost didn’t die in an accident,” Wolf said quietly. “He was shut down.” Scarlett felt it then—the cold certainty settling in her chest. Because two weeks before he died, her father had tried to call her three times in one night. She missed it. He left no voicemail. Now this stranger was telling her the commander praising him had signed off on something that never should’ve happened. And when Wolf confronted Blackwood days later—when the truth started leaking in places the Navy couldn’t seal— someone finally said it out loud: “Better not touch a SEAL.” They ignored the warning. They shouldn’t have.
He nodded toward Blackwood, still shaking hands like a politician. “Every word was a lie.” His name was Dalton Brennan. Callsign: Wolf. And when he said he’d served beside her father, the air shifted. “Ghost didn’t die in an accident,” Wolf said quietly. “He was shut down.” Scarlett felt it then—the cold certainty settling in her chest. Because two weeks before he died, her father had tried to call her three times in one night. She missed it. He left no voicemail. Now this stranger was telling her the commander praising him had signed off on something that never should’ve happened. And when Wolf confronted Blackwood days later—when the truth started leaking in places the Navy couldn’t seal— someone finally said it out loud: “Better not touch a SEAL.” They ignored the warning. They shouldn’t have.

“Better Not Touch A SEAL!” The Commander Ignored The Warning — Then Knelt And Begged For His Life…

For 18 years, my husband never touched me after my affair—until a routine exam exposed something done to my body while I was unconscious. When my infidelity came out, Michael didn’t yell. He didn’t throw things. He didn’t even insult me. He erased me. We stayed married on paper. Shared a house. Shared bills. Ate at the same table. But we slept in separate rooms. Never brushed hands in the hallway. Never let shadows overlap. I told myself it was mercy. That his silence was kinder than rage. That this cold, careful distance was the punishment I deserved. Eighteen years of quiet atonement. Then, at a routine post-retirement physical, everything cracked. Dr. Evans turned the ultrasound screen toward herself, her expression tightening. “Susan,” she said slowly, “I need to ask you something directly. How has your intimate life been over the last 18 years?” My face burned. “Nonexistent,” I whispered. “We haven’t shared a bed since 2008.” She frowned. “Then this doesn’t make sense.” On the screen were images I didn’t understand—white streaks, hardened lines. “I’m seeing significant calcified scarring on your uterine wall,” she continued carefully. “Evidence of an invasive procedure. Are you absolutely certain you’ve never had surgery?” My fingers went numb. “I’ve never had surgery,” I said. “I had one child. Natural birth. That’s it.” She held my gaze. “The imaging doesn’t lie. Go home. Ask your husband.” And suddenly… 2008 came rushing back. After the affair was exposed, I spiraled. Guilt swallowed me whole. One night, I took too many sleeping pills. I remember flashing hospital lights. A dull ache in my lower abdomen when I woke up. Michael sitting beside me. Holding my hand. “Don’t worry,” he’d said gently. “The pain is from pumping your stomach.” I believed him. Because I thought I owed him my life. I drove home from the clinic shaking. Michael was in his chair, reading the paper with that same unreadable expression he’d worn for nearly two decades. “Michael,” I said, my voice breaking, “what happened to me in 2008?” The newspaper slipped from his hands. “For 18 years I’ve punished myself,” I sobbed. “But while I was unconscious… what did you let them do to my body?” His face drained of color. I stepped closer. “Why is there a scar inside me I don’t remember getting?” Michael turned away. And for the first time in 18 years— his shoulders started shaking. 👇 Full story in the first comment
For 18 years, my husband never touched me after my affair—until a routine exam exposed something done to my body while I was unconscious. When my infidelity came out, Michael didn’t yell. He didn’t throw things. He didn’t even insult me. He erased me. We stayed married on paper. Shared a house. Shared bills. Ate at the same table. But we slept in separate rooms. Never brushed hands in the hallway. Never let shadows overlap. I told myself it was mercy. That his silence was kinder than rage. That this cold, careful distance was the punishment I deserved. Eighteen years of quiet atonement. Then, at a routine post-retirement physical, everything cracked. Dr. Evans turned the ultrasound screen toward herself, her expression tightening. “Susan,” she said slowly, “I need to ask you something directly. How has your intimate life been over the last 18 years?” My face burned. “Nonexistent,” I whispered. “We haven’t shared a bed since 2008.” She frowned. “Then this doesn’t make sense.” On the screen were images I didn’t understand—white streaks, hardened lines. “I’m seeing significant calcified scarring on your uterine wall,” she continued carefully. “Evidence of an invasive procedure. Are you absolutely certain you’ve never had surgery?” My fingers went numb. “I’ve never had surgery,” I said. “I had one child. Natural birth. That’s it.” She held my gaze. “The imaging doesn’t lie. Go home. Ask your husband.” And suddenly… 2008 came rushing back. After the affair was exposed, I spiraled. Guilt swallowed me whole. One night, I took too many sleeping pills. I remember flashing hospital lights. A dull ache in my lower abdomen when I woke up. Michael sitting beside me. Holding my hand. “Don’t worry,” he’d said gently. “The pain is from pumping your stomach.” I believed him. Because I thought I owed him my life. I drove home from the clinic shaking. Michael was in his chair, reading the paper with that same unreadable expression he’d worn for nearly two decades. “Michael,” I said, my voice breaking, “what happened to me in 2008?” The newspaper slipped from his hands. “For 18 years I’ve punished myself,” I sobbed. “But while I was unconscious… what did you let them do to my body?” His face drained of color. I stepped closer. “Why is there a scar inside me I don’t remember getting?” Michael turned away. And for the first time in 18 years— his shoulders started shaking. 👇 Full story in the first comment

After I had an affair, my husband never touched me again. For eighteen years, we lived like strangers,…

You could catch measles from an “empty room” — and it’s spreading fast in Salt Lake County. Health officials say cases are climbing, with 28 confirmed so far this year — compared to just four last year. And nearly all infections are in people who aren’t vaccinated. Here’s the chilling part: measles can linger in the air for up to two hours. Walk into a room where an infected person was earlier, and if you’re unvaccinated, experts say you have up to a 90% chance of catching it. Exposure sites now include schools and even Salt Lake City International Airport. Symptoms start like a cold — cough, fever, red eyes — which means many people don’t realize they’re contagious until the rash appears. Officials warn cases will continue rising, especially among the unvaccinated. Quarantines are already in place at local schools. They’re urging anyone who feels sick to stay home immediately. Details in the comments 👇
You could catch measles from an “empty room” — and it’s spreading fast in Salt Lake County. Health officials say cases are climbing, with 28 confirmed so far this year — compared to just four last year. And nearly all infections are in people who aren’t vaccinated. Here’s the chilling part: measles can linger in the air for up to two hours. Walk into a room where an infected person was earlier, and if you’re unvaccinated, experts say you have up to a 90% chance of catching it. Exposure sites now include schools and even Salt Lake City International Airport. Symptoms start like a cold — cough, fever, red eyes — which means many people don’t realize they’re contagious until the rash appears. Officials warn cases will continue rising, especially among the unvaccinated. Quarantines are already in place at local schools. They’re urging anyone who feels sick to stay home immediately. Details in the comments 👇

If you’re feeling sick, it could be measles, Salt Lake County health officials warn Measles is actively spreading…