#And the endo number is supposedly 1 in 10

[grumpygreenwitch]

Machina Ex Machina 4-5

I'm not entirely sure if I can update links before the posts are actually, er, posted. So if there's holes in the link collection below, give me a few days. I usually update them all in a lump.

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FOUR

Ilo City rested on a narrow strip of land that left it surrounded by the Sea of Simulation on three sides. It had long grown used to being flooded by the whims of the tide, and no new Sector could be laid out without a requisite number of tidal shelters, meant to accommodate the entire population if need be. Even if only a single sector of Ilo survived, the city’s population would remain standing.

No one had foreseen those shelters having to fend off an entire city falling from the sky. During the first Spirestorm, Halcyon had lost nearly a third of its population. Ilo was counting more than half gone. The Island had been completely obliterated.

The Grid felt a ripple of panic go through its entirety. No one, not even the oldest programs, had ever seen the Spires active in such a fashion; they’d only ever gone live to bring about each generation of programs. Obviously no one believed the unseen, unknown, nonexistent so-called ‘Users’ were suddenly going to show up just to erase all that they had (supposedly) created, but again…

The attacks, if that’s what they were, had happened almost exactly a millicycle apart. The Grid’s entire population held their breaths as another millicycle came and went without a Spire having a genocidal tantrum, and an all-cities meeting was called. Normally the cities of the Grid ran their own matters without interference or input from anyone else but, given the circumstances, even Om’s SysAdmin had showed up, inasmuch as he could.

Adas was standing a step beside and behind Endos, who was himself standing a few paces to the left of PEN, Halcyon’s own SysAdmin. Once a simple first-gen, PEN was one of the few programs of that generation that had naturally upgraded. It was a tall, stately presence in robes of purest violet accented with blue and indigo circuitry. Over it all it wore a darker shawl that shimmered, its weave constantly in motion; Adas had seen a few as they’d come into the city; it was a perma-Cosmetic rotating through the names of all the programs that had been lost in Halcyon.

“I’m glad to see all of us present, in one way or another,” PEN declared to the eight or so projections standing in a circle on the Halcyon CommCon’s main floor. “I ask only that we mourn Aeolus’ absence as the loss it is.”

“So there are no survivors from the Island at all?” one of the other SysAdmins asked, her tone wounded and full of shock.

“None,” Endos replied. “I have also commanded Ilo to be evacuated, at least until we find answers.” He shrugged eloquently. “We’re just too close to the Spire to allow for appropriate advance warning.”

Gungnir scoffed. “What would you consider enough distance for advance warning, Endos?” The SysAdmin for Pevir countered. “You can barely see Halcyon’s Spire from the Souk, and yet here we are.”

“We’re not attacking the Spires,” Endos gritted out. “This isn’t the time to bring up that dead pixel yet again.”

His fellow SysAdmin, a last-gen with a long, blood-colored mohawk and armor that rippled with red and orange circuitry, put his hands up. “Then I won’t suggest common sense,” he declared. “But I will offer all of Pevir’s fleets if someone should want to have them at hand.”

“You want us to invite your battleships into our space?” Glim exclaimed. “Should we also swear allegiance preemptively?”

“That is a very short-sighted response to a very generous offer,” a calm, roughly electronic voice declared, and every SysAdmin turned to the screen in question. Om was the smallest of the cities, the most remote. The city dwelt on the Spire itself, and it was inhabited by programs that most everyone considered… weird, to begin with, interested in matters of abstraction, rather than reality. But OM had been SysAdmin of the city since its inception; he’d been around nearly since the inception of the Grid. He was one of the oldest programs still in existence, if not the oldest, and no one could tell if he’d founded the city, or if he’d renamed himself after it. Though the connection was so bad that his image was full of static and his voice full of noise, his presence still carried the weight of a program who had borne witness to Grid events most there couldn’t even fathom. The unfortunately poor projection made it impossible to guess at his height, which kept on jumping, or his build, which seemed to be fairly solid most of the time. He spoke with a seasoned, calm male voice, and the pale blue of his circuitry was so hard to render that he looked like the most basic of first-gens. Whenever he showed up to a meeting, which was exceedingly rare, he made it a point to speak in a clipped, formal fashion just so the commline wouldn’t make a hash of his words. “I for one would welcome one of Pevir’s ships, if he can spare it for Om. His fastest.”

The meeting went silent as they all realized what Gungnir had actually offered, an offer which only OM had readily understood. Pevir wasn’t offering its battleships to fend off an attack; they were being offered to evacuate the cities.

Gungnir turned to someone not shown on his projection, then back to the meeting. “It will be sent at once. It’s… It’s a long way to Om from here, old friend.”

OM gestured lightly, his mostly featureless face nonetheless showing a grin. “Then we will hope that there is no need for it to make haste.”

“We can’t just… abandon our cities, can we?” Another SysAdmin hesitated.

“Gungnir, you don’t have enough ships to evacuate us all,” Endos pointed out.

“I do.” The SysAdmin’s smile was fierce and humorless.

“Have you built yet more useless -” Glim began.

“He does,” PEN interrupted her, eyes on Pevir’s projection, “if he sends the entire fleet out. All of Pevir’s ships.”

Glim gaped in disbelief. Gungnir shrugged, looking deeply amused. “I don’t imagine any of you are going to attack Pevir at this time. So optimistic of me, I know.”

“We weren’t going to attack you at all to begin with,” ACM, Flow’s SysAdmin and Pevir’s crankiest neighbor, muttered.

Privately, Adas thought that perhaps Pevir had a point: without a Spire to defend against, they didn’t have to worry about getting derezzed into a crater. For that matter, Pevir had destroyed its Spire and nothing had happened to the city. Why were the Spires important enough to preserve?

Almost immediately, her instincts recoiled from the question. Of course they were important. It didn’t even bear thinking about it. She shook her head minutely and focused on the meeting.

“Halcyon is the largest, not the oldest. Om is,” OM was saying. “We are also the smallest, though.”

“Is is a population factor, then? Ilo might have been the second largest -”

“Pevir is the second largest city on the Grid,” Gungnir interrupted. “First now, I guess.” He grimaced.

“Pevir is not at risk, and thank goodness for that,” PEN declared mildly. “I’m not sure your people would be willing to evacuate if they were.”

Gungnir grinned. “Every enemy can be beat. It just takes enough tries to figure out how.”

PEN just rubbed at its forehead. Glim rolled her eyes.

“Where did the Island and Ilo rank?” Endos turned to Adas.

“Third and fourth, in that order.”

The meeting was silent. “Who’s the fifth?” Gungnir asked.

“We are,” Glim breathed out in a frightened little whisper. “Ark.”

“The fleet is on its way.”

“Every sensor on your Spire, Glim,” Endos suggested.

“There’s not even a storm around it right now,” she protested breathlessly, even as she turned away to give directions to her staff.

“We cannot all move to Pevir,” OM reminded everyone. “Choice aside, the area around Pevir is not energy-rich. She does not have the resources to support much more in the matter of population than she already does.”

“And moving programs around will just make someone else a target, if it’s size we’re looking at,” Gungnir added. “For that matter, you said Ilo’s evacuating to Halcyon. What’s that do to your local headcount, PEN?”

PEN turned to Endos, who turned to Adas. Her faceplate flickered momentarily, and her energy levels faltered with an answer she didn’t want to give out loud.

PEN drew itself up very straight. “We will keep an intensive watch on our Spire. Let us go on the belief that if there is to be another event, and if it is indeed targeting cities according to population density, both Ark and Halcyon are first in line. Offense is, at the moment, unlikely. All our efforts must focus on defense and evacuation. Is there any other information we can share?”

There wasn’t, of course. The meeting dissolved into mostly individual conversations as the SysAdmins tried to sort out how to keep themselves from becoming a target.

Endos turned to PEN. “If you wish Ilo to -”

He was interrupted by an upraised hand from the other SysAdmin. “You will be a target wherever you go. We will be a target wherever we stand. Nothing has changed. Continue with the evacuation.”

Endos nodded his gratitude, and as PEN turned its attention back to another matter, Ilo’s SysAdmin turned to Adas. “I’m going back to Ilo to oversee the evacuation. I want you to stay here and oversee this end of it.”

Adas felt her energy bottom out. “What?!”

Endos caught her shoulders. “I need you here, Adas. You have to be Ilo’s voice in Halcyon.”

But… But Ilo was her home, overseeing such things was her job! Why did she have to stay in this unfamiliar, greedy, horrible, no-good -

You’d be angry. You’d be very angry. But you’d be there doing the job.

She drew herself up straight. Angry, yes. But anger didn’t excuse her from doing her duty. “Yes, sir.”

Endos smiled his gratitude at her and then turned to the circle of programs that were working the consoles along the perimeter of the meeting room, out of sight but in charge of all the details that went with such a momentous meeting. “Please inform PEN accordingly. Adas speaks with Ilo’s voice while this situation is ongoing.” He waited for a few nods of acknowledgment before hurrying away.

Adas drew a deep breath. Well, fine. She’d just… She’d make a Little Ilo in Halcyon, away from their weirdness about transactions and whatnot. She turned to the nearest program. “Where’s the sector designated for the Ilo evacuees?”

He handed over a tablet with the information, and she nodded. It looked to be sufficient space, in an older manufacturing area. Nothing that couldn’t be repurposed with the right equipment. “What about security? Supplies? Restructuring crews?” The programs around her gave her blank looks. “Do you expect the incoming programs to sleep on the floor with the gridbugs?”

“Uh…”

She huffed angrily. “Don’t be useless at me, do your job. I need someone in security, supplies and construction to come speak with me. Either that, or tell me where to find them.”

They scrambled to give her the information, which had her going all over a city she didn’t know, with transportation she didn’t understand. What was a ‘spiral’? What were ‘boards’? She stepped out of the meeting room and into a multi-tiered courtyard with elegant light-sculptures scattered throughout, and saw a few groups of programs gathered here and there. A familiar ID pinged her senses. Oh, finally! Someone useful! She made a beeline for the group before she realized what she was doing, and by the time her common sense caught up to her, the six or seven black-masked Sentries had all turned to stare at her. “Um.”

“I know her,” GAM’s voice informed the others. The hyperbolic attention that had slammed into Adas like a wall eased up somewhat, and they turned their attention to one another once again.

“GAM, a word with you, please?” she asked meekly.

He stepped away from the group and closer to her.

“Thank you,” she murmured. It had just come to her that the only reason she was still standing there fretting about her people and her city was him.

He shrugged minutely. “Didn’t do much, did I?”

“A lot of programs are alive because of you,” she told him tartly.

“A lot of them aren’t.”

“Did you expect to save the whole city?”

A sound of amusement came through the black faceplate. “See, logic tells me there was no way. My core? That one wanted me to save two.”

She stared at him.

“What did you want?”

“Oh! Um. Ilo is evacuating, and most of the population is coming here.”

“Aware of that. I think the whole of Sector 42 has been set aside for you.”

“Yes, but that’s all that’s been done.” She gestured at him, suspecting that she wouldn’t have to explain.

She didn’t. “What, no -?” He let out an exasperated sound at her expression, and turned back to the other Sentries. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Janus!”

Another Sentry approached them. Adas could barely tell them apart, if only because the newcomer was a sliver shorter, and perhaps not as broad across the chest. “Problem?”

“No one’s cleared Forty-Two to make sure it’s safe for habitation. Or, you know. Safe, in general.”

Janus groaned. “Why am I not surprised. I’ll get on it.”

“There’s no debris or anything from the… from the event?” she asked GAM as Janus meandered off to speak to another group.

“We didn’t take any damage,” he reminded her. “But Forty-Two’s an old manufacturing Sector, there’s probably junk all over it. Didn’t they assign you some sort of removal crew?”

“No.”

“Do you have any help at all?!”

She stared at him and he sighed, hanging his head.

“I do have the names and coordinates of some programs that might be helpful, but it’s telling me to use this ‘spiral’ thing. I can drive if someone gives me a baton. I’m proficient with both a lightcycle and a crawler.” She offered the tablet.

“The roads are for walking, and batons aren’t cheap,” he replied automatically, taking the tablet. “Come on, I’ll show you how to navigate the Spiral.”

She trotted after him. “But… A baton? You had a baton.”

“Yes, and it’s going to be expensive to replace.”

She huffed in exasperation, and they rode down a lift in silence. “Does everything have a price in Halcyon?”

“Walking in the door doesn’t,” he replied, arms crossed. “Refueling doesn’t. When your people come in, they’re probably going to be given a soukscan.”

“A what?”

He lifted his hand, his armor receding so he could show her the pale white circuit sitting just under the skin of the back of his hand. He curled his fist, and it tightened into a bright glyph, shifting position so it rested across his knuckles. “A soukscan. It’s how you track transactions in Halcyon.”

“We don’t… We don’t do that in Ilo, we don’t do any of your bean-counting thing.”

“No. But here you and your people will have to. Didn’t you get one when you came in?” When she shook her head, he made a little amused sound. “So technically, you’re in Halcyon illegally.”

“What?!” She puffed up in indignation until she realized he was teasing her. “I am here as a representative of my city,” she declared primly. “I’m not joining yours. Wait. Is that how you track the population of the city? With those soukscan things?”

“Yes.”

She hopped on a line immediately, her faceplate bright with calculations.

“What are you doing?”

“Telling your SysAdmin that the Ilo refugees absolutely cannot be given soukscans.”

“Then they won’t be able to get anything for themselves!”

“Do you have to pay for energy?” she demanded.

“No, but -!”

“Population is how the Spires are choosing targets,” she told him. “If Halcyon reads at the same level the last event left it at, there’s a chance there won’t be any more events here, even with all the Ilo refugees on-site.”

He was silent as she sorted through communication channels and messages, getting on top of a pile of issues that was trying to grow before she could do anything about it. She only noticed the silence after the most urgent matters had been dealt with.

“Population. That’s what’s triggering this?”

“It’s the going theory,” she admitted, belatedly realizing that she probably ought not to be blurting out major SysAdmin information in front of just anyone. “I probably shouldn’t have said anything.” She glanced up at the black faceplate.

And told him everything that had been said at the meeting. It was impossible to tell what he thought about it all through the black faceplate. “Do you ever take your helm off?”

“Not if I don’t have to,” he replied distractedly. “With it I’m a Sentry. I’m part of the Wall. If you have faith in the Wall, you have faith in me. Without it I’m just GAM. And GAM might not be someone to trust.”

“Well, I trust GAM,” she countered tartly. The lift doors opened and she stepped out on ground level, looking around and seeing nothing but rising buildings and the odd program hurrying this way and that. No vehicles of any kind, she realized for the first time. The last machine she’d seen was the jet that had brought her and Endos from Ilo to Halcyon.

He followed her out of the lift almost belatedly. “This way.”

She trotted after him.

FIVE

GAM rode with Ilo’s GO4 all the way to Sector 42, because after the first meeting he had the nasty suspicion that, if he didn’t, no one was going to want to listen to her until she bit someone’s head off. Which, he’d come to realize, the little actuarial program was entirely willing, ready and able to do.

It was an eye-opening revelation, and it worried him a little how delighted he was to discover it – but he was. The Ilosian had no behavioral filter. She didn’t count her beans before she spoke to someone, just to see what she could get away with. She had zero beans; she had no soukscan. She had nothing to sell, nothing to buy, and nothing to lose.

They watched as the reconstruction crews repurposed all the detritus that cycles of abandonment had left behind, using the mass to turn warehouses into heavily reinforced habitation cubes, clearing out old manufacturing stock and machinery, making room for ETCs, communication points and other general necessities, all the while keeping in mind the wholesale destruction that had just hit Ilo and doing their best with the materials at hand to plan against a potential third onslaught. GAM wasn’t sure who’d be footing the bill for it, but when the first sailer came in and the Ilosians began to flow into the Sector, carrying what little they’d been able to salvage of their lives, he didn’t care. It felt, finally, as if he were doing something to help, when in Ilo itself he’d been able to do nothing except dig through crushed buildings in the hopes of finding something other than disk shards.

With Halcyon shifting into its downtime millicycle, an Ilosian program brought Adas and him cups of energy while she spoke to what seemed to be Sector Leads. It caught him off-guard, being given something and not having to pay for it. The Ilosian watched in fascination as he held onto the cup and drained the energy remotely from it.

“Not even for that, huh?” Adas asked, downing half the cup in one go. “You don’t have to stay, you know. You probably have things to do.”

“I did. Until we realized there was no City Security watching after you and your people.”

“‘We’?”

“WallSec.” He pointed to the three black-and-violet figures filtering Ilosians at the ramp coming down from the sailer’s landing port. “We oversee everyone coming into Halcyon. And since City Security hasn’t even shown up, I guess I’m with you until they do.”

She sipped at the cup. “And you’re allowed to do that? Just… decide that we’re your job now?” She squinted at him. “You’re not just a Sentry, are you.”

“I am a Sentry.” There was amusement in his voice. “A Wall Sentry. The safety of everyone inside Halcyon City is my responsibility. The moment your people walked in, they became my job.”

She gave him a very suspicious look, sipping at the energy, but another Ilosian chose that moment to rush up to her and hand her a small bundle. “Oh, thank goodness.” She took it and unwrapped it. “Here. I’m sorry, but your Spiral is horrible. I feel like I’m going to miss a step and fall between the boards just looking at it.”

“It takes…” He lost the thread of his words when he saw what she was offering him. “Some getting used to.”

It was a multi-purpose baton, the activity lines on it gleaming in the white and blue of Ilo.

“Well, take it. It’s the least I can do. I’d forgotten you lost yours in Ilo.” There was a second baton in the bundle, which she secured to herself. “It’s just a crawler, though.”

“You should keep it,” he said slowly. “You could make a small fortune selling it here.”

Adas made a rude sound. “We won’t stay here long enough to need Halcyonite beans,” she told him. “Take it. If…” She faltered, but rallied swiftly. “If something happens, I’d rather know you’re fully upgraded to do your job. Of protecting us, you know.”

GAM took the baton gently. “It doesn’t feel any different.”

“It’s a baton, how different can it be?”

“You’d be surprised.” He examined the glowing lines bisecting the device; at least one of them was active. “Multi-purpose batons are rare here in Halcyon.”

“Well, try not to lose it, then,” she replied cheekily. They both looked up as the sailer on the ground deployed its wings and lifted up until it could hitch itself to the nearest data-line, making room for a smaller sibling that was already on approach. “That should be it,” she informed him.

“HEY!”

The shout made her jump and drop the cup, whirling around, but GAM was already prowling away from her, radiating menace in a way she’d not seen from the Sentry before. He pointed at a knot of Ilosians with the baton. “YOU!”

They stared at him, frozen in uncertainty. “Not you, move!” he barked at them. That, they understood, and scattered away from his path as he stalked closer. “YOU!” he snarled.

The Halcyonite program who’d been hiding behind the Ilosians, and rifling through the boxes of supplies Adas had spent an entire millicycle securing for them, froze for all of a picocycle.

Then it took off like a small skiff on a big line.

GAM was after the rogue in an instant, a runaway freight lift. “WallSec 42!” he called out into a dedicated comm-line. “Janus, there’s a breach somewhere in the Sector, I’m in pursuit of a scavenger.”

“Deploying search Bits,” his fellow Sentry replied at once. “Do you need backup?”

“It’s one scavenger.” The program in question, a low-energy figure ahead of him, twisted around a corner and under a set of massive pipes that had not yet been repurposed. GAM leapt over them and closed the distance. “Find that breach and seal it. These programs have been through enough. CitySec ought to have done that much.”

“Yeah, well, they’re claiming since the Ilosians don’t have soukscans, they’re not CitySec’s problem.” Janus’ tone dripped his opinion on that information, and it wasn’t flattering of their fellow officers.

The rogue leapt with impossible grace up, caught the bottom of an old surveillance platform, and used it to further launch themselves onto a rooftop, racing along. GAM didn’t bother following; he wasn’t sure the old platform would take his weight. He was fairly certain the roof wouldn’t. Instead he threw himself through a window into the low building and ran on, head twisted up to follow the scavenger by the dim glow coming off them and shining through the gaps in the roof.

When the thief leapt down he put on a burst of speed and nearly caught them at the door, but some sort of thin rope leapt at him and slashed for his faceplate, and he had to duck, his grab going wide.

What was that?! In all his cycles of service he’d never seen anything like the weapon the program had just used. Was it even a weapon? An Upgrade? A Cosmetic? A patch? GAM picked up speed again and ran on. The rogue twisted around another corner; the Sentry followed and nearly got himself derezzed when a thin pipe came at him out of nowhere and nearly caught him at throat height. He bent down and slid under it on his knees.

“Now you’re making me angry,” he ground out as he sprang back up and raced through a narrow, debris-filled space between two warehouses.

The rogue ran out into a yard full of broken, rusted containers, and dashed into the maze, seeking freedom, but when GAM came out of the chokepoint he was done with games. He pursued until the edge of the tiny wasteland, picked up a piece of material as big as his chest, and threw it as hard as he could.

He caught the scavenger at the knees. The rogue program went down with a yowl, crashing into crates and reducing them to even more tattered bits and pieces. GAM ran up to them, found them rolled into a disoriented ball. Their hair, which was much brighter than the rest of their circuitry, was twisting this way and that like a bunch of severed live wires.

It wasn’t a weapon, or an upgrade, or a patch. GAM’s senses were telling him that it was part of the rogue, for all that it looked so different from them. He rolled the program over with a foot, grabbed them by the throat, and lifted them up. There was enough of a difference in height between them that the rogue was suddenly nearly two feet off the ground, clawing helplessly at the Sentry’s arm. “The Ilosians don’t have it hard enough, you have to steal from them?” he demanded.

“Hey, man, life’s hard for everyone!” the rogue replied angrily. She was a first-gen, though her face had more definition than most. Her body was all straight, simple lines, and her voice had the soft burr that identified most of them, though softened some by a feminine Cosmetic. Her hair lashed out at him again, but this time he called the bluff and the dreadlocks pummeled weakly against his armor. She tried to kick him, but GAM stretched out his arm and she couldn’t reach him. She barely weighted anything. “Let go!”

“Sure. When you’re in containment.”

“Charge me the stupid fine and let me go!”

“So you don’t need to steal, is what I’m hearing. You were doing it just because, if you can pay the fine.”

She writhed angrily in his grip and he shook her once, sharply. “Cut it out! You’ve got one good thing going for you, and that’s that now we know there’s a breach between Sectors. You want a favor from me, you better be showing me where that breach is.”

“Oh, go lick a power line, CitySec,” she shot back, though she was hanging more or less limp in his grip after the shake.

GAM paused at that. “You might want to take a second look, rogue.”

She did. More startling by far, so did her hair. Every dreadlock came up, and tiny optical interfaces irised open at the tip of each one. “Oh.” Her voice went faint, and even her hair looked taken aback. “Oh, gridbugs, you’re WallSec.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” GAM clipped out. “You just spent the last few picocycles getting firmly on my bad side, rogue. Do you want a moment to re-evaluate your priorities?”

“I mean, is it gonna make a difference?”

GAM couldn’t help but be amused. Scared, but not cowed. “It might. About that breach?”

“It’s not a breach,” she strangled out, and he lowered her to her feet but did not release his grip on her throat. “It’s an old delivery system. The seals degraded a few cycles back.” She eyed him warily. “You wouldn’t fit.”

“Funny. Coordinates, please,” he demanded, all courtesy. “Janus, you still listening?”

“Glorying in your brilliant handling of the matter,” his fellow Sentry confirmed, his amusement obvious. The thief muttered out a set of coordinates. “I’ll handle this one myself, GAM.” The line closed.

GAM eyed the thief. The thief eyed him back, exponentially. “Your name and assigned Sector,” he demanded.

“Ugh.” She rolled her actual eyes. “Look, WallSec, there’s no one t-”

She stopped looking at him. Every single one of her eyes shifted just enough that GAM knew he was no longer the focus of her attention. He also knew it wasn’t an attack, or a cohort of the thief, simply because the angle of her attention was too steep. He knew, in fact, exactly was she was looking at. And he knew, without looking himself, that bypassing the soukscans had not worked.

The Sentry whipped around. He didn’t notice, but the thief did, that he shoved her behind him as if he could shield her from what was coming.

Halcyon’s Spire was activating once again. Electric power lined its circuitry, the storm around it feeding it from a wall of electric bolts that was increasing even as the storm itself expanded monstrously. Like a filling energy pipe, the blinding light was rising toward the top with implacable speed.

GAM yanked the thief forward. “Run.”

“Where?!” she demanded.

“The Ilosian buildings are reinforced. Run!” he shouted at her, and they both did as alarms began to bellow through the city once again.

[the-ice-cream-squad]

Bad news fellas it got worse

So apparently they didn’t block my phone number

They saw this post and texted me a followup message; here’s some of the things I’ve gleaned from all they’ve sent in the past hour or so:

1) Their rejection of my identity and insistence that I seek therapy for something that’s just part of who I am is supposedly coming out of a place of “concern” somehow. Yeah okay buddy

2) “I blocked you on Discord so it wouldn’t turn into a big convo” okay but you still followed up through text??

3) “Don’t compare this to me being trans” oh so you can attack my identity with no guilt, but as soon as your identity is challenged it’s a problem??? My brother in christ they are both normal parts of an identity that some people think is a problem of some type that needs to be fixed, and you are trying to be “respectful” while telling me I’m not allowed to exist

4) “Don’t post about this publicly” my identity is under attack here and I’m not naming you, I should be able to post whatever I want — I’m just chilling and you’re the one coming after me. Plus it’s kinda weird that you insist on this being private when you’re the one trying to invalidate me?

5) “I am worried about you and I’m upset by you lying” sir the reason we’re in this debate at all is because you’re upset that I told the truth about my systemhood what do you want from me

6) “I do not plan to engage further” bro sent FOUR more paragraph-messages after this

7) “I encourage you to take this serious issue as an opportunity to reflect on the consequences this is having on you and those around you” and here’s where I compare it to anti-trans rhetoric because you are literally the only person I know who takes offense by me existing, which I’ve been comparing to people who view being trans or gay as somehow “dangerous” and like their existence is “perverted” and they “are a danger to children around them.” Once again, I’m just existing here are you are the only one who has a problem with it. Plus, the only effect all this is having is that YOU’RE making MY mental health worse by constantly invalidating me. My existence should do nothing to offend you. Your constant insults and everything are taking a toll, though.

8) “I firmly believe it is not healthy to continue doing this without seeking a professional” sysmed alert, this just in: I’m apparently not allowed to exist without confiding in a stranger — I don’t tell like anyone irl about my plurality and this whole issue is making me think I’m right to keep it hidden from most people

9) “The point I am trying to make has nothing to do with hurting other people, it has to do with my concern for you.” Two things. One: If you were actually concerned about me, you would actually listen to me telling you I’m fine as I am. And two: This coming from the same guy who just said the thing in #7 up there about the “consequences on those around me.” Pick a consistent reason, dude, cause right now it feels like you’re just rejecting endogenic systems as a whole with whatever “logic” you can scrounge up

10) “I am hurt by the fact that you lied to me” stop talking, my honesty is why you have a problem. And besides, who’s the one who called the other “disgusting” numerous times? Wasn’t me, I’ll tell you that for free

11) “The way you are behaving is extremely worrying” YOU! ARE A SYSTEM! TOO! I am literally just existing and being content with who I am, and being honest and open with my friends about anything they want to know about involving it! The only difference here is the origin of our systemhoods and whether or not some stranger with a degree has told us our experiences are valid!

12) You “understand and empathize” but still think there’s something wrong with me and that I can’t exist, incredible

13) “I have talked to many endogenic and tulpagenic people” OKAY AND YET YOU STILL MAINTAIN THAT THEY’RE NOT REAL??

14) “Several endos have told me that they feel that I have been able to improve on having empathetic and respectful conversations about this” that’s great for them! I still feel like you’re trying to reject a part of my identity 👍 you’re basically out here saying "several endogenic systems who havent known me for more than the length of one coversation say I’m getting so much better at being respectful and they dont feel like someone they care about is betraying them at all when I deny their identity! :D”

Basically dude I’m not gonna follow up or reply to anything else you say. It was nice while it lasted, but if you’re gonna be this insistent on invalidating me, I’m not going to reply to you and I’m sure as hell not going to listen to you trying to tell me this should be private.

I’m trying to hold SOME measure of respect for you, though, even though you seem unwilling to do the same.

Here’s your takeaway, if you still haven’t blocked this blog yet: Stop. Just stop. Stop trying to explain yourself; you’re only making it worse. All you’re doing is digging yourself a deeper hole. If you can’t trust a friend of four years, but somehow trust strangers online who stroke your ego and tell you how good you are at respectfully denying their identity… you need to check your priorities.

Clearly your entire goal here is just denying endogenics the right to exist, so I see no reason to keep trying to respect your points.

Please block this blog when you’ve finished reading. I don’t want my future posts bogged down by you trying to tell me I’m not real.

I’m sorry it had to be this way.

Goodbye.

Just got a giant message from someone I considered a friend saying stuff about how me being endogenic somehow hurts people and then immediately blocked before I could give a response, not feeling great right now

Like. The guy’s trans

He’s familiar with the dumb type of “your existence somehow harms people” rhetoric and yet he still takes issue with this

Oh, well

And if the person in question somehow sees this post: I wish it could have ended in a better way than this.

Anyway fellas sorry for the vent, I’m just feeling especially upset that I wasn’t able to send them my response and wanted to get something out somewhere, we’ll return to our regularly scheduled plural positivity and dumb memes and quotes by the next time we post here :)

[type2diabetestreatments-blog]

Your A1c: To Share or Not To Share...

New Post has been published on http://type2diabetestreatment.net/diabetes-mellitus/your-a1c-to-share-or-not-to-share/

Your A1c: To Share or Not To Share...

A few weeks ago, I was reading around on one of the many diabetes message boards of which I'm a member. I spotted a thread that included a note from a woman who wrote that her A1c has never been above 7% in 40 years of living with type 1 diabetes. Rather than responding directly, I tweeted, "I want to die a little."

Why the strong reaction? Because in the 18 years I've had type 1 diabetes, I have never been below 7%, and I once again was reminded that many people seemingly have much better control than I do. Sometimes it's all I can do not to hide under the covers. (Yet here I am sharing at the 'Mine...)

The Twitter conversation between my DOC friends and I carried on for a bit, and after awhile, I noticed a trend in comments. Not about this woman's A1c specifically (props to her for good control!), but about the idea of sharing your A1c results with others.

Personally, I don't like to draw that much attention to my specific A1c result. Usually when I have an endo appointment, I'll say that it either went up or down, and sometimes by how much. Giving the actual number can be tricky, because when you're swimming in a sea of numbers like we PWDs are, one more single number doesn't always mean much. In diabetes, context is king. And even when your A1c is supposedly perfect, you can still feel like a failure if you know it's an average caused by too many lows or bouncing blood sugars.

The more aware I am of others' lives with diabetes and the struggles they go through, the more trepidation I have over revealing this bit of information. It's just a number, right? It shouldn't have so much sway over a person's self-worth. And yet it does!

In fact, A1c results aren't the only things that cause a little knot of guilt in my stomach. There have been times at diabetes meet-ups where I'll test with another PWD after having a lunch or snack, and they'll have a perfect blood sugar reading — or possibly even be low! — while I'm clocking in at 212 mg/dl. Or when I hear that someone's basal rate is 10 units less than mine, or when their bolus ratio is 1:15 and mine is 1:8.

Sharing any number can trigger a "Why am I not as good as them?" reaction. If I'm being honest, I can't help but admit to smidges of jealousy here and there. It's not like I'm not trying to manage my diabetes, and Lord knows I'm fully aware of why my basal rate or bolus ratios might be different (different body sizes, activity levels, etc.). But of course, that also makes me feel guilty that I'm not in better shape!

It's a vicious cycle, I tell ya.

So that brings me back to the idea of sharing, specifically sharing your A1c because it's often regarded as being somewhat of a "report card" or "benchmark" in how you're doing with your diabetes management.

I asked via our Facebook page and Twitter feed (you are following us, right?) about whether or not folks share their A1c results. And no surprise, what came back was quite the varied reaction!

One thing I hadn't considered is the fact that your or your child's A1c could be a source of pride! Obviously, we put some serious blood, sweat and tears into our diabetes management, and when we get an A1c that makes us happy, reactions be damned! We're happy! Sometimes sharing can be the reward for a job well done. D-mom Kristie Angel says, "Since we all work together to help maintain Ethan's blood sugar, I share it! It's a reflection of all of our hard work." Amen!

Sometimes even when a number isn't what you'd hoped for, you can use it as a teaching moment. For reader Jenna Holt, when her A1c wasn't the greatest, she kept the number to herself more often. But now she says, "After being involved with the Diabetes Youth Foundation of Indiana, I have come into a role model position. I share my number with everyone. Even when it isn't the greatest, I feel that it can help put things into perspective — not everyone is perfect and won't always have the perfect number. From there the discussion begins about how to improve that number and set reachable goals to help lower it over the months to follow."

Likewise, reading about someone's success in dropping their A1c can be inspiration. In a recent column in Diabetes Health magazine, Meagan Ensler writes, "A few of my friends freely share all their A1cs, the good, the bad, and the ugly. They let us cheer them on or offer support. They aren't afraid to show their struggles with diabetes. One man I know even posts his daily blood sugar readings on Facebook, which seems incredibly brave to me."

I guess that's why it's important to be open with how your whole diabetes life is doing, not just what the one A1c reading is. Life is complicated and it's not always a matter of just "not trying hard enough." There's often more to the story than meets the eye.

What I'm getting at is: while the diabetes community is amazing in many ways, it also leaves folks open to the risk of comparing themselves too often with other people without knowing the full story.

One reason I appreciate blogging is that it helps bring to light how monumental of an achievement it is to bring down an A1c. Hearing the one-off comments from this woman who's never been above 7%? I don't know her full story. I don't know what she does or how she lives. It's not fair to judge or presume anything about her, and I certainly shouldn't use her notes to evaluate my own diabetes management. Right?

"First of all, (an A1c) is personal, and also to get a full picture of the how and why the number is what it is you would have to settle in for a long discussion," says reader Becky Wardle. "I view it kind of like sharing your kids grades. Most of the time there is a big back story and a reason for the number. Also, no two people are the same, so a triumphant number for one may be another's sorrow." Good point!

Jane Dickinson, a CDE and also a 30+ year veteran of type 1, feels the same way. She says, "I think I fear that I will be judged and I loathe being judged, especially by numbers. People may compare and I don't want that either."

According to a new position paper by the American Diabetes Association, we cannot even compare our goals for our A1c level! No more "one size-fits-all" everyone with diabetes should maintain an A1c of 7%! This milestone statement was underscored by current ADA president Vivian Fonseca, who says, "It is unrealistic to expect that everybody with diabetes should have the same goals and use the same medication." For example, younger, healthier PWDs might be able to accomplish a lower A1c of 6% or 7%, whereas for older folks (and even children), it might be safer to trend higher, in order to minimize the risk of hypos. The new ADA guidelines emphasize working on individualizing treatment with the right combination of medication, diet, exercise, and blood sugar testing. Cool that they're recognizing this!

But if we're not even working toward the same goal, does it make even less sense to share our results?

I think there can be some rewarding aspects to sharing your A1c, but I also think it's important to remember how announcing those numbers can make other people feel. On the flip side, I also think it's important to remember that what one person does to manage their diabetes is what they need to do and what they've been able to accomplish, and I should be proud and support them. After all, YDMV (Your Diabetes May Vary)!

Managing diabetes is a tough gig and we all need as much support as we can get. I suppose a little comparison can help us realize our goals and motivate us to accomplish them, as long as we're seeking the right guidance from our doctor, educator, and our DOC friends.

In fact, maybe I should send that woman a note asking how she does it!

Disclaimer: Content created by the Diabetes Mine team. For more details click here.

Disclaimer

This content is created for Diabetes Mine, a consumer health blog focused on the diabetes community. The content is not medically reviewed and doesn't adhere to Healthline's editorial guidelines. For more information about Healthline's partnership with Diabetes Mine, please click here.

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