#DNA Extraction System

[nainad123]

Nucleic Acid Extraction System Market Size, Share, Scope and Trends for 2022-2032

The nucleic acid extraction systems market in europe commands a significant share of 28.6%. Leading biotechnology firms in the region are actively engaged in commercialization and expanding their operational footprint, a trend that is anticipated to fuel additional growth in the nucleic acid extraction system market.

Globally, the nucleic acid extraction system market size is poised for notable expansion, with a robust compound annual growth rate (CAGR) of 11.4%. This growth trajectory is expected to elevate the market's value from $4.63 billion in 2022 to a projected $13.64 billion by the conclusion of 2032.

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In the fast-evolving landscape of healthcare and research, the global nucleic acid extraction system market is experiencing a remarkable surge, driven by an escalating demand for advanced molecular diagnostics. As the healthcare industry continues to prioritize precision and personalized medicine, the need for efficient and reliable nucleic acid extraction systems has become paramount.

Rising Demand for Precision Medicine:

The increasing emphasis on precision medicine, which tailors medical treatment to the individual characteristics of each patient, has fueled the demand for advanced molecular diagnostics. Nucleic acid extraction systems play a pivotal role in this paradigm shift by enabling the isolation and analysis of genetic material with unprecedented accuracy. This surge in demand is evident across diverse applications, including oncology, infectious diseases, genetic disorders, and pharmacogenomics.

Technological Advancements Driving Market Growth:

The market surge is closely tied to rapid advancements in nucleic acid extraction system technologies. Cutting-edge innovations, such as automated extraction processes, high-throughput capabilities, and integrated sample-to-answer solutions, are enhancing efficiency and reducing turnaround times. These technological breakthroughs not only improve diagnostic accuracy but also contribute to cost-effectiveness, making molecular diagnostics more accessible to a broader range of healthcare providers and research institutions.

Impact of the COVID-19 Pandemic:

The global COVID-19 pandemic has further accelerated the adoption of nucleic acid extraction systems. These systems have played a critical role in the development and deployment of diagnostic tests for the SARS-CoV-2 virus. The urgency to enhance testing capabilities and the need for reliable molecular diagnostics have propelled the market to new heights, with governments, healthcare organizations, and research institutions investing significantly in advanced extraction technologies.

Competitive Landscape 

Major industry leaders are actively engaged in multiple initiatives aimed at expanding the range of nucleic acid extraction instruments and kits. Their objective is to enhance the advantages for end users and accelerate the pace of research by exploring and integrating innovative and efficient solutions.

A notable example of this trend is seen in Thermo Fisher's strategic move in 2020 when it acquired QIAGEN N.V., a prominent global provider of diagnostic techniques and sample preparation technology. This strategic investment is anticipated to broaden the company's specialty diagnostics portfolio by introducing groundbreaking sample processing, testing, and bioinformatics solutions. The goal is to provide users with cutting-edge tools that not only optimize efficiency but also contribute to a faster turnaround time in research endeavors.

Key Segments Covered in Nucleic Acid Extraction System Industry Research

By Product :

DNA Extraction

RNA Extraction

Protein Extraction

By Application :

Hospitals & Diagnostic Centers

Life Science

Pharmaceuticals

Academic

Medical and Clinical Research

By Region :

North America

Europe

Asia Pacific

Latin America

Middle East & Africa

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The surge in the global nucleic acid extraction system market reflects a broader trend towards precision medicine and advanced molecular diagnostics. As technology continues to advance and applications expand, these systems will play an increasingly integral role in shaping the future of healthcare and research. The market's upward trajectory underscores the critical importance of reliable and efficient nucleic acid extraction in the pursuit of accurate and personalized medical solutions.

Contact:  US Sales Office 11140 Rockville Pike Suite 400 Rockville, MD 20852 United States Tel: +1 (628) 251-1583, +353-1-4434-232 Email: sales@factmr.com

[certified-shellfishhater]

watching nile red extract the dna of a strawberry instead of revising physics right now

[pathologylab]

#G2M's Bacterial DNA #Extraction Kit provides a #comprehensive solution to isolate high quality #DNA from Gram negative (-) and Gram positive (+) bacteria. It allows #purification from 2x10-9 viable bacterial #cells. Many bacterial species are present as pathogens which are responsible for causing a variety of human and animal diseases. In addition, they are used in various industrial #applications, such as the production of biofuels and #enzymes.

Visit our website for more information: https://www.genes2me.com/bacterial-dna-purification-kit

For more details, Call us at +91-8800821778 or drop us an email at social@genes2me.com

#genes2me #kit #solutions #bacteria #RTPCR #ivd #madeinindia #india #manufacturer #spin #column #manual #automatic

[reality-detective]

BREAKING: Navy Intercepts Deep State Submarines Carrying Kids, Gold & Bioweapons — Military Locks Down Oceans Under Trump’s Orders

As of April 14, 2025, the U.S. Navy has locked down the Atlantic and Pacific in a massive military sting targeting elite-run trafficking, bioweapon transport, and deep-sea blackmail ops. This isn’t routine patrol — this is war.

Trafficking victims. Mobile CIA servers. Gold bars. Bioweapons.

All being extracted from vessels linked to billionaires, ex-agency operatives, and foreign “diplomats.”

These aren’t pirates. These are floating Deep State hideouts — and they’re being wiped off the map.

Trump is back. This operation is under direct military command — not civilian leadership.

GITMO is active. EBS is locked and loaded. Tribunals are not coming — they’ve begun.

On the East Coast, naval strike teams seized ships disguised as luxury liners. Below deck: surgical rooms, soundproof chambers, biometric systems, and unregistered children with no records. DNA matches tie them to CPS abductions across U.S. states.

One server retrieved mapped over 600 trafficking routes since 2012 — running through Italy, the Netherlands, Israel, and U.K. ports. Funded by “charities” tied to Clinton donors. The Epstein network didn’t die — it went mobile. Now it’s caught.

On the West Coast, it's even darker.

A submersible tied to a “research foundation” was captured leaving San Diego — carrying precursor agents for aerosolized behavioral control, encrypted tablets, and night-vision tech meant for offshore “medical” camps.

Crew included former CIA, UN peacekeepers, and a WEF consultant — all under fake identities.

Some vessels carried gold stamped with central bank seals, believed stolen during the 2008 collapse and laundered through IMF fronts. Others had sealed crates of bio-compounds traced back to DARPA and WHO partners.

Nine vessels silenced in 48 hours.

No GPS. No distress calls. Just vanished.

Naval divers are pulling up deep-sea data vaults dumped overboard — containing:

Blackmail dossiers on European leaders

Human trafficking-finance links with Big Pharma

Files on Antarctic underground cities marked for “climate relocation” by elite surnames

This is military justice, not courtroom theater.

No arrests. No media coverage. Just elimination.

No escape. No more oceans to hide behind.

If you're tied to child trafficking, gold laundering, stolen intel, or elite escape ops — you will be hunted. You will be erased.

There are no more safe harbors. The storm is here.

- Julian Assange

[tobiosbbyghorl]

pairing: scientist!sunghoon x scientist! reader

wc:10.5k

released date: 05.17.2025

warning: PURE FICTION!!

synopsis: In the quiet of her lab, Dr. Y/N, a skilled scientist, sets out on a risky mission to bring back her late fiancé, Park Sunghoon, who died in a car accident. Using his preserved DNA, she creates a clone that grows rapidly in just two years. When Sunghoon wakes up, he faces the difficult reality of being brought back to life and the moral issues surrounding Y/N's actions.

a/n: ITS HERE!! Hope you guys will love it as much as I did writing it! feedbacks,likes and reblogs are highly appreciated!

In the cold glow of my underground biotech lab, silence is sacred. Down here, beneath layers of steel and earth, the world doesn’t exist. No grief. No time. Just me. Just him.

The capsule glows in the center of the room—a vertical womb of steel and glass, pulsing faintly with blue light. Suspended inside, wrapped in strands of bio-filaments and artificial amniotic fluid, is the reason I wake up in the morning. Or stay awake. I don’t know the difference anymore.

Park Sunghoon.

Or… what’s left of him.

One year ago, he died on his way to our civil wedding. A drunk driver. A rainy street. A second too late. I got the call before I even zipped up my dress. I still remember the way my coffee spilled all over the lab floor when my knees gave out. I never cleaned it. It’s still there, dried in the corner. A fossil of the moment my world cracked open.

⸻

He used to say I was too curious for my own good.

That I’d poke the universe too hard one day and it would poke back.

Maybe this is what he meant.

⸻

Sunghoon and I were both scientists—biotech researchers. We studied regenerative cloning, theorized about neural echo imprinting, debated ethics like it was foreplay.

He was against replicas. Always. “A copy isn’t a soul,” he’d say. “It’s just noise pretending to be music.”

But the day he died, I stopped caring about music.

I just wanted to hear his voice again.

⸻

I had everything I needed. A sample of his bone DNA—collected after a minor lab accident years ago and stored under a pseudonym. His blood type, genome map, neural scan from our first brain-simulation trial. A perfect match, all buried in our old hard drives. He never knew I kept them. Maybe he would’ve hated me for it.

Maybe I don’t care.

I called it Project ECHO.

Because that’s what he was now.

An echo. A ripple in the void.

⸻

The first version—ECHO-1—was a failure.

He looked like Sunghoon. But he never woke up. I ran every test. Monitored every vital. Adjusted nutrient cycles, protein growth, heartbeat regulators. But something in him was missing—something I couldn’t code into cells.

A soul, maybe. Or timing.

He died the second I tried to bring him out.

I cremated and buried that version in the garden, under the cherry tree he planted the first spring we moved in. I didn’t cry at the funeral. I just stood there holding the urn and whispered, “I’ll get it right next time.”

⸻

ECHO-2 was different.

I restructured the genome to prevent cellular decay. Added telomere stabilizers to delay aging. Enhanced his immune system. This time, I built him stronger. Healthier. The version of Sunghoon that would’ve never gotten sick that winter in Sapporo, or fainted in the elevator that one night after forgetting to eat. That version who could live longer. With me.

But the rest—I left untouched.

His smile. His hands. The faint mole scattered in his face. The way his hair curled when wet. All exactly the same. It had to be. He wouldn’t be Sunghoon without those things.

I even reconstructed his mind.

Using an illegal neural mapping sequence I coded from fragments of our joint research, I retrieved echoes of his memory—dream-like reflections extracted from the deepest preserved brain tissue. It wasn’t perfect. But it was him. Pieces of him. The things he never got to say. The life he never finished.

⸻

It took two years.

Two years in the dark, surrounded by synthetic fluid and filtered lights, modifying the incubator like a cradle built by obsession. I monitored every development milestone like a parent. I watched him grow. I whispered stories to him when the lab was quiet, played him our favorite records through the tank’s acoustic feed, left him notes on the console like he could read them.

⸻

One night, I touched the tank and felt warmth radiate back. His fingers twitched.

A smile cracked on his lips, soft and sleepy.

And I whispered, “You’re almost here.”

⸻

Now he floats before me—grown, complete, and terrifyingly familiar. His chest rises and falls steadily. Muscles formed and defined from synthetic stimulation. His brain is fully developed. His body—twenty-five years old. The age he was when he died. The age we should’ve gotten married.

And now, he’s ready.

⸻

The console buzzes beside me.

“Project ECHO – Stage V: Awakening. Confirm execution.”

My fingers hover. The hum of the lab grows louder. My heart beats so hard I feel it in my throat.

This is it.

The point of no return.

I press enter.

The Awakening didn’t look like the movies.

There was no dramatic gasp, no lightning bolt of consciousness.

It was subtle.

His eyes fluttered open, hazy and uncertain, like the first morning light after a long storm. They didn’t lock onto me at first. He blinked a few times—slow, groggy—and stared at the ceiling of the pod with a confusion so human it made my knees go weak.

Then his gaze shifted.

Found me.

And held.

Just long enough to knock the breath from my lungs.

“Sunghoon,” I whispered.

His lips barely moved. “…Y/N?”

And then—just like that—he slipped under again.

His vitals were stable, but his body couldn’t process full consciousness yet. It was expected. I designed it that way. A controlled emergence. Gentle. Like thawing from ice.

He would wake again. Soon.

⸻

Phase VI: Integration.

I had the room ready before I even began the cloning process. A private suite in the East Wing of my estate, modified to resemble a recovery room from a private hospital: sterile whites and soft blues, filtered natural lighting, automated IV drips and real-time vitals displayed on sleek black monitors. The scent of lavender piped faintly through the vents. His favorite.

I moved him after he lost consciousness again—quietly, carefully. No one else involved. Not even my AI assistant, KARA. This part was just mine.

Just ours.

He lay in the bed now, dressed in soft gray cotton, sheets pulled up to his chest. The faint hum of the machines harmonized with his breathing. It was surreal. Like watching a ghost settle into a life it forgot it had.

I perched on the armchair across from him, the dim lighting casting long shadows over his face.

“You’re safe,” I murmured, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “And when you wake up… everything will be in place.”

⸻

I spent the next forty-eight hours setting the stage.

Fabricated records of a traumatic car accident—minor amnesia, extended coma, miraculous survival. Hacked into the hospital registry and quietly added his name under a wealthy alias. I made sure the media silence was absolute. No visitors. No suspicious calls. A full blackout.

I memorized the story I would tell him. Rehearsed it like a script.

We had been on our way to City Hall. A drunk driver ran a red light. I survived with minor injuries. He hit his head. Slipped into a coma. No signs of brain damage, but long-term memory instability was expected.

He’d been here ever since. Safe. Loved. Waiting to wake up.

And now—he had.

⸻

On the morning of the third day, I heard movement.

Soft. Shuffling. Sheets rustling.

I turned from the monitor just as he groaned softly, his head turning on the pillow.

“Sunghoon?”

His eyes blinked open again, more alert this time. Still groggy, but present.

“Y/N…?” he rasped.

I rushed to his side, heart in my throat. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

His brows knit together, voice hoarse. “What happened?”

“You were in an accident,” I said gently. “The day of our wedding. You’ve been in a coma. Two years.”

His eyes widened—just a little. Then flicked down to his hands. The IV. The machines. The unfamiliar room.

“…Two years?”

I nodded, bracing for the confusion. “You survived. But it was close. We weren’t sure you’d ever… come back.”

He said nothing.

Just stared at me.

Like he was trying to remember something he couldn’t quite reach.

“…Why does it feel like I never left?” he whispered.

I smiled softly. Forced. “Because I never left you.”

And for now, that was all he needed to know.

But deep down, behind those eyes, behind the half-forgotten memories and muscle memory that wasn’t truly his—

Something flickered.

Something not asleep anymore.

He was awake.

And the lie had begun.

The days that followed passed in a quiet rhythm.

He adjusted faster than I anticipated. His motor skills were strong, his speech patterns natural—so much so that sometimes I forgot he wasn’t really him. Or maybe he was. Just… rebuilt. Reassembled with grief and obsession and the memory of love that still clung to me like static.

I stayed with him in the hospital wing, sleeping on the pullout beside his bed. Every morning he’d wake before me, staring out the wide window as if trying to piece together time. And when I asked what he was thinking, he always gave the same answer:

“I feel like I dreamed you.”

On the seventh day, he turned to me, his voice clearer than ever.

“Can I go back to our room?”

I paused, fingers wrapped around the rim of his tea mug.

He still called it our room.

I nodded.

“Yeah,” I said. “You’re strong enough now.”

And so we did.

I helped him down the hallway, hand in his, the same way I’d imagined it during the long nights of Phase II. His steps were careful, measured. But his eyes… they lit up the moment we entered.

It looked the same.

The navy sheets. The low lights. The picture of us by the bookshelf—framed and untouched. His books still on the shelf in alphabetical order. His favorite sweatshirt folded at the foot of the bed like I had never moved it.

He smiled when he saw it. “It feels like nothing’s changed.”

Except everything had.

I didn’t say that.

⸻

He asked about the lab a few nights later. We were curled together in bed—his head on my shoulder, our legs tangled like old habits finding their way home.

“How’s the lab?” he asked, voice soft in the dark. “Are we still working on the neuro-mirroring project?”

My heart skipped.

I’d gotten rid of everything. The pod. The DNA matrix. The prototype drafts. Scrubbed the drives clean. Smashed the external backups. Buried the remains of ECHO-1 under a new tree. The lab was as sterile as my conscience was not.

I turned toward him, brushing my thumb over the scar that curved above his brow. The one that hadn’t been there before the “accident.”

“It’s being renovated,” I said carefully. “After the crash… I couldn’t go in for a while. So I decided to redo it. Clear things out. Start over fresh.”

He nodded slowly. “Makes sense.”

He didn’t ask again.

And just like that, life began to move forward.

He followed me around the house again, stealing kisses in the kitchen, playfully poking fun at the way I never folded laundry properly. He rediscovered his favorite coffee, laughed at old movies like they were new, held my hand under the stars like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But sometimes—when he thought I wasn’t looking—he’d stare at his reflection too long. Tilt his head. Press his fingers to his chest like he was checking if something was still there.

Maybe he felt it.

The echo of what he was.

But if he did, he never said.

One night, wrapped up in each other’s warmth, he whispered into my neck, “I don’t know how I got so lucky to come back to you.”

I pressed a kiss to his temple, forcing a smile as my heart ached beneath the surface.

“I guess some things are just meant to find their way back.”

Even if they were never supposed to.

Time softened everything.

The sterile silence of the house began to fade, replaced by the quiet thrum of life again—the clink of mugs in the morning, the shuffle of his bare feet on the hardwood, the lazy hum of music playing from a speaker that hadn’t been touched since he died. I started to breathe again, and so did he.

Like we were rewriting the rhythm we’d lost.

—

Our first night out felt like time travel.

He picked the place—a rooftop restaurant we always swore we’d try, back when work kept getting in the way. I wore the same navy dress I had worn on our second anniversary. He noticed. His hand slid into mine under the table like it belonged there, his thumb tracing invisible patterns against my skin.

Halfway through dessert, he leaned in, grinning with chocolate at the corner of his lip.

“You still scrunch your nose when you’re pretending to like the wine,” he teased, eyes gleaming.

I blinked. “You remember that?”

He nodded slowly. “It just feels like… I always knew.”

I smiled, heart aching in that strange, quiet way it always did now.

“You’re right,” I said, brushing the chocolate off his lip. “You always did.”

Even grocery shopping with him became a date.

He pushed the cart like a child let loose, tossing in things we didn’t need just to make me laugh. At one point, he held up a can of whipped cream with the most mischievous glint in his eye.

“For movie night,” he said innocently.

I arched a brow. “For the movie or during the movie?”

He smirked. “Depends how boring the movie is.”

We walked home with one umbrella, our fingers interlaced in the rain, and the world somehow felt smaller, warmer.

He burned the garlic the first time.

“I told you the pan was too hot,” I said, waving smoke away.

“And you told me to trust you,” he countered, looking absurdly proud of his crime against dinner. “Besides, I like it crunchy.”

“You like your taste buds annihilated, apparently.”

We ended up ordering takeout, sitting on the kitchen floor, eating noodles out of the box with chopsticks, laughing about how we’d both make terrible housewives.

But the next night, we tried again.

He stood behind me, arms around my waist, guiding my hands as I chopped vegetables.

“You used to do this,” I said softly. “When I first moved in.”

“I know,” he murmured. “It’s one of my favorite memories.”

Cuddling became a ritual.

He always found a way to get impossibly close—sprawled across the couch with his head in my lap, humming contentedly while I read a book or ran my fingers through his hair.

Sometimes we didn’t speak for hours.

Just the quiet breathing, the rise and fall of his chest, his heartbeat echoing faintly against my thigh. Real. Solid. Present.

It was a miracle I could touch.

One night, as rain tapped gently on the windows and he was half-asleep on my shoulder, he whispered:

“I feel safe with you.”

I held him tighter.

Because if I let go—even for a second—I was afraid he might vanish again.

⸻

Love blossomed differently this time.

Slower. Deeper. Less like fire, more like roots. Tangled and unshakable.

And sometimes, in the quiet of our shared bed, I would watch him sleep and wonder if it was love that brought him back.

Or obsession.

But when he opened his eyes and smiled like the sun lived behind them, I told myself it didn’t matter.

He was here.

And that was enough.

For now.

⸻

I woke with a jolt, my heart pounding so violently it threatened to break free from my chest. The nightmare was still fresh, its vividness clinging to my mind like the smoke of a fire.

Sunghoon.

He was in the car again—his face frozen in the moment before everything shattered, his eyes wide with disbelief. The screech of tires, the crash. His body limp. The way I couldn’t reach him no matter how hard I screamed.

I gasped for air, my fingers clutching at the sheets, tangled in the panic that still gripped me.

My breath came in ragged bursts as I sat up, drenched in sweat. My chest heaved with the rawness of the memory, the terrible what-ifs that still haunted me.

A hand gently touched my back.

“Y/N?”

His voice, soft and concerned, cut through the haze of the nightmare. I froze for a moment, the world around me still spinning from the disorienting shock.

I turned, and there he was—Sunghoon—sitting up beside me in the bed, his eyes full of concern. The soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminated his face, and for a moment, it was almost as if everything had shifted back into place.

But only for a second.

“Are you alright?” He asked, his voice warm with worry.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breathing. “I… I just had a nightmare,” I whispered, avoiding his eyes. My heart was still trying to settle, and I didn’t want him to see the fear in my face. I didn’t want him to see how broken I still was.

Sunghoon leaned forward, his hands reaching out to cradle my face gently. He brushed a strand of hair away from my forehead, his touch so familiar, so tender.

“Nightmares are just that,” he said softly, his thumb grazing my skin. “They aren’t real. I’m here.”

I nodded, trying to pull myself together, but the knot in my throat wouldn’t loosen. There was something about the way he said it—so assuredly. So real. Like the past didn’t exist, like he had never been gone.

Like I hadn’t created him from fragments of grief and obsession.

He sat next to me, his arm around my shoulders as I leaned into him. The warmth of his body, the steady rise and fall of his chest, slowly calmed me. I closed my eyes and breathed in the scent of him—the same as it had always been.

“I’m here,” he repeated, his voice a quiet lullaby.

But somewhere deep inside, I couldn’t shake the question that had haunted me since the moment I had revived him: Who was he really? Was this truly the Sunghoon I had loved, the one who had filled my life with light? Or was this just a perfect imitation, a replica of my memories? An echo of a man who would never truly exist again?

I wanted to believe he was him. I needed to believe it.

But as he held me, his warmth seeping into my skin, I couldn’t deny the doubt that gnawed at my soul.

“Y/N?” he murmured, sensing my tension.

“Yeah?” I whispered, pulling myself closer into his arms.

He tilted my chin up, his gaze intense as he met my eyes. “I love you,” he said quietly, with such certainty that for a moment, it almost felt real—like the love we’d always shared before the accident, before everything shattered.

And in that moment, I wanted to believe it. I wanted to forget everything else, to let myself drown in the reassurance that this was him—my Sunghoon.

But the ghosts of the past still lingered in the corners of my mind.

“I love you too,” I replied softly, my voice shaky but true.

And for a few minutes, we just sat there, holding each other in the stillness of the night.

But as I closed my eyes and let the warmth of his embrace lull me back to sleep, the doubt remained.

Would I ever be able to escape the shadows of my own creation?

As the days passed, the weight of my doubts gradually lightened. Sunghoon’s presence—his warmth, his voice, the way he smiled—reminded me more and more of the man I had once loved, the man who had been taken from me.

The fear, the gnawing uncertainty that had once been constant in the back of my mind, slowly started to fade. Each moment we spent together was a little piece of normalcy returning. He didn’t just look like Sunghoon. He was Sunghoon. In every little detail—his laugh, the way he tilted his head when he was deep in thought, how he always made the coffee exactly the way I liked it. His presence was enough to reassure me that this was him, in all the ways that mattered.

We went on walks together, hand in hand, strolling through the garden I had planted the day we first moved into the house. It was filled with flowers that bloomed year-round—just like the memories I had of us, blooming and growing despite the heartbreak.

We laughed, reminiscing about everything we had shared before. Sunghoon was never afraid to be vulnerable with me, and it felt like we were picking up right where we left off. His sense of humor, always dry and sarcastic, never failed to make me smile. And slowly, I began to accept that the man who stood beside me, laughing at his own jokes, was truly my Sunghoon.

One night, as we cooked dinner together, I watched him carefully slice vegetables, his movements graceful and practiced. It was simple, domestic, but it felt like everything I had longed for since he was gone.

“Don’t forget the garlic,” I reminded him, teasing.

He shot me a look, smirking. “I remember.”

I smiled, feeling the warmth of the moment settle into my bones. This was real. The way he made sure I was comfortable in the kitchen, the way we worked together without needing words—this was our life, reborn.

The more time we spent in the house, the more at ease I became. We cooked together, watched old movies, read books side by side, and held each other as we fell asleep at night. There were no more questions in my mind. No more doubts. Just the feeling of peace settling over me, like the calm after a storm.

Sunghoon never asked me about the lab. And I never had to lie, because there was no need to. The lab had been dismantled long ago, every trace of Project ECHO erased. It was as if it never existed. My obsession, my grief—gone.

In its place was this. A second chance.

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you, Y/N,” he said one evening as we sat on the couch, the sound of rain tapping against the windows. He held me close, his head resting against mine. “No matter what happens, no matter what changes… you’re the one for me.”

I turned to look at him, searching his eyes for something—anything—that might reveal the truth I feared. But there was nothing. Only love. Real love.

“I feel the same,” I whispered back, brushing my lips against his.

For a moment, the world outside disappeared. There was no past, no lab, no questions. There was only Sunghoon, here with me. And that was enough.

The days continued to pass in a peaceful blur of moments that I had once thought lost forever. With each sunrise, my doubts melted away, and with every touch, every kiss, I felt more certain that this was real. That he was real.

Sunghoon might not be the exact same person who had walked out of that door all those years ago—but in my heart, it didn’t matter. He was my Sunghoon, and that was all I needed.

Together, we built a life—one step at a time. And this time, I wasn’t afraid.

I wasn’t afraid of the past. I wasn’t afraid of the future.

I was just… happy.

Sunghoon’s POV

It had been a year since I came back to her, and in that time, I had slowly convinced myself that everything was okay. That what we had, what I had, was enough. That the woman I loved, the woman who had saved me—had done so much more than just revive me—wasn’t hiding any more secrets. But the past… it always had a way of creeping up, didn’t it?

I wasn’t snooping, not exactly. I was just cleaning up. I had offered to help her tidy up the office since she had been so caught up in her work lately, and well, I had nothing else to do. After all, it’s been a year now, and I’ve come to understand her more than I could ever have imagined. She’d been distant the past few days, and it made me uneasy. The kind of unease that makes you feel like there’s something you should know, but you can’t quite put your finger on it.

It was as I was sorting through the boxes in her home office—one that she hadn’t allowed me to visit much—that I found it.

A video tape.

It was tucked behind a stack of old files, half-buried in the clutter. At first, I thought nothing of it. She was always meticulous about her work, so maybe it was just an old research document, something from her past. But when I saw the words “Project ECHO – Development and Breakdown” scrawled on the side, my heart stopped. I felt a sickening knot tighten in my chest, and instinctively, my fingers curled around it.

What was this?

My thoughts raced as I fumbled with the tape, my hands trembling just slightly as I slid it into the old VCR player she kept in the corner of the office. The screen flickered to life.

There I was.

Or… the version of me that had once existed. The first one. My mind was running faster than my eyes could follow the images flashing on the screen. I saw footage of my development, from the initial growth stages to the first electrical impulses firing in my brain, as well as my physical appearance being tested and adjusted.

My stomach turned as the video documented every breakdown of my body—every failed attempt to bring me to life. I saw the wires, the artificial fluids, the machines that I had been hooked up to before I had opened my eyes, before I had woken up in that hospital room.

But it was the last part of the video that hit hardest. There, in her cold, emotionless voice, Y/N narrated her thoughts, her failed efforts, her obsession with recreating me.

“I couldn’t get it right… not the first time. But I will, because I have to. For him. For us.”

My chest tightened as the realization hit me like a brick. She had known the entire time. She had created me. I wasn’t the Sunghoon who had died. I was a version of him. A shadow of the real thing.

The screen went black, but the words echoed in my mind like an incessant drumbeat.

For him. For us.

The pain of that truth was like a knife twisting in my gut. The woman I loved had spent years trying to recreate me, to bring me back—because she couldn’t let go. She couldn’t let me go. But she never told me. She never let me in on the truth of it all.

I was a lie.

I wasn’t real. And all this time, I had been believing I was the same Sunghoon she had lost. But I wasn’t.

I could feel the tears stinging my eyes as I reached for the nearby papers, pulling them out in a frantic rage. More documents. More of my development—charts, genetic breakdowns, notes about my failed memories, and even the procedures Y/N had carried out. Every page proved it. I wasn’t just a clone; I was the culmination of her grief and desire.

The door to the office opened quietly behind me, and I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The air in the room grew thick, suffocating. I could feel her presence like a weight pressing down on me.

“Sunghoon,” she whispered, her voice barely a murmur.

I finally turned to face her. She looked pale, her eyes wide, clearly having seen the documents I had scattered across the room. She knew. She knew what I had found.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I choked out, my voice raw. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth, Y/N?”

Her eyes flickered with guilt, and for a moment, I thought she might say something—anything to explain, to apologize. But instead, she took a step back, her hands wringing together nervously.

“I didn’t want you to hate me,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I didn’t want to lose you again. I—I thought maybe if you didn’t know… maybe we could have our life back. I just wanted to have you here again, Sunghoon.”

My hands balled into fists at my sides, and I could feel the tears building in my eyes. “But I’m not him, am I? I’m not the real Sunghoon. I’m just… this.” I gestured around at the papers, at the video, at the mess that had been my life. “I’m a replica. A copy of someone who doesn’t exist anymore. How could you do this to me?”

She stepped forward, her face pale with fear, but her voice was firm. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far. I just wanted you back, Sunghoon. I couldn’t let go. I couldn’t lose you. You were taken from me so suddenly, and I couldn’t… I couldn’t live with the thought that you were gone forever.”

I looked at her, the woman who had once been everything to me—the one who I thought had rebuilt me out of love, not out of desperation.

“Do you think I’m the same person? Do you think I can just pretend that I’m the man I was before? How could you think I wouldn’t want to know the truth?” My voice cracked, emotion flooding out of me like a dam breaking. “How could you do this?”

Her face crumpled, and I saw the tears well up in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Sunghoon,” she whispered, her voice barely audible through the sobs. “I thought if I could just give you everything back, we could start over. But I was wrong. I—I should’ve told you from the beginning.”

I could feel the overwhelming ache in my chest, the confusion, the betrayal. But more than that, I felt the loss of something far deeper: trust. The trust that she had built between us was gone in an instant.

“You’re right. You should’ve told me,” I whispered, stepping back, my throat tight. “I need some space, Y/N. I can’t… I can’t do this right now.”

I turned and walked out of the room, my heart shattering with each step.

I paused at the door, the weight of her voice sinking into me like a stone. I didn’t turn around, not right away. The question lingered in the air, hanging between us, impossible to ignore.

“If I was the one who died, would you do the same?”

Her words were quiet, but they cut through the silence of the room with precision, like a knife through soft flesh. I could feel the tension in the air—the desperation in her voice, the need for an answer. She was asking me to justify her actions, to somehow make sense of everything she had done.

I clenched my fists at my sides, fighting the urge to turn and lash out. But I couldn’t do it—not when the pain of her question was a reflection of everything I was feeling.

“I… I don’t know,” I finally muttered, my voice barely a whisper. “Maybe I would. I can’t say for sure. But I don’t think I’d ever hide the truth from you. I wouldn’t keep you in the dark, pretending that everything was okay when it wasn’t.”

Her soft, broken gasp from behind me reached my ears, but I couldn’t face her—not yet. Not when the anger and hurt were still so raw.

“You don’t know what it’s like to lose someone you love that much,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “I couldn’t stand the thought of living without you, Sunghoon. I thought… maybe if I could just bring you back… we could have our future. But now, I see how selfish that was. How wrong.”

I wanted to say something—anything—to ease her pain, but the words stuck in my throat. The truth was, part of me still wanted to reach out to her, to hold her, to tell her it was going to be okay. But I wasn’t sure if that would be enough. Would it ever be enough?

“I need time, Y/N,” I said quietly, my voice cracking. “I need to think. About all of this. About us.”

The silence that followed was heavy, unbearable. And then, finally, I walked out the door, leaving her behind, standing in the wreckage of her choices—and my own shattered heart.

The days stretched on like a slow burn, each passing hour marked by the tension that filled every corner of our shared space. We were still in the same house, the same home, but it felt like we were living in different worlds now. The walls felt thicker, the silence heavier.

I moved through the house in a daze, keeping to myself more often than not. Y/N and I had an unspoken agreement—it was easier this way. She’d stay in the study or the kitchen, and I’d retreat to the room we used to share, now feeling like an alien space, void of the warmth it once held. We didn’t speak much anymore, and when we did, it was brief—polite, almost mechanical.

There were moments when I caught a glimpse of her, standing in the hallway, her head bent low, a soft frown on her face. Other times, she’d walk by without looking at me, her eyes fixed on the floor, avoiding my gaze as if she feared what might happen if she met my eyes for too long. I wanted to reach out, to say something—anything—but every time I did, the words felt inadequate, like they couldn’t possibly capture the weight of everything that had changed.

One evening, I found myself sitting in the living room, staring out the window at the moonlit garden. I could hear her footsteps in the hallway, the soft sound of her presence lingering in the air. For a moment, I thought she might come in, might sit beside me like she used to. But she didn’t. Instead, the silence stretched between us again, a reminder of the distance we had created.

I exhaled sharply, rubbing my eyes as frustration built inside me. The whole situation felt suffocating—like I was trapped between what I wanted and what had happened. I didn’t know how to fix it, or even if it could be fixed. There was so much to unravel, so many emotions to sort through. And then there was the truth—the truth of who I was now. Not just a man trying to find his way back to a life that no longer existed, but a clone—a replica of someone who once had a future, now burdened with a past he didn’t truly own.

The sound of her voice from the kitchen broke my thoughts.

“Dinner’s ready,” she called softly, her voice almost too gentle, too careful.

I hesitated for a moment, staring at the untouched glass of water on the coffee table. The empty space between us felt too vast to cross, but eventually, I stood up, making my way to the kitchen.

We sat across from each other, the dim light from the pendant lamp above casting shadows on the table. There were no small talks, no jokes exchanged like before. We ate in silence, the clinking of silverware the only sound between us. Every so often, I would look up, meeting her gaze for a fleeting second, but neither of us had the courage to speak the words that were hanging in the air.

The food was good, as always, but it didn’t taste the same. The flavor of everything felt hollow, like a memory that wasn’t quite mine.

When the meal was over, I helped clear the table, my movements stiff. The kitchen felt too small, the air too thick.

She turned to face me then, her expression unreadable, her eyes dark with something I couldn’t quite place. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, her voice barely a whisper. “For everything.”

I swallowed hard, the knot in my chest tightening. “I know you are. I… I just don’t know what to do with all of this.”

Her eyes flickered with unshed tears, and she stepped back, as though the space between us could somehow protect her from the weight of the moment. “I never wanted to hurt you, Sunghoon,” she murmured, her words full of regret. “I thought… I thought if I could just bring you back, we could have another chance. But now I see how wrong I was.”

I nodded slowly, trying to process the ache in my chest. “I don’t know how to fix this either. But I know… I know I need to understand who I am now. And what we are.” My voice trembled, but I fought it back. “I need time.”

“I understand,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “Take all the time you need.”

It felt like a farewell, and yet, we stayed in the same house. In the same life, but now it was something unrecognizable.

The next few weeks passed in the same quiet, empty rhythm. We moved around each other, living parallel lives without ever crossing paths in any meaningful way. There were mornings where I would wake up to find her sitting on the couch, staring at her phone, or nights where I’d catch her reading a book in the dim light.

Sometimes, I would linger by the door to her study, wondering if I should knock, ask her how she was feeling, but each time, I backed away, unsure if I was ready to face the answers she might give.

At night, I would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if this was how we were going to live—side by side but separate. I missed her. I missed us. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was just a shadow of the man she once loved, and that was a weight I wasn’t sure she could carry anymore.

One night, as I lay in the dark, unable to sleep, I heard the soft sound of her crying. The quiet sobs seeped through the walls, and my heart clenched painfully in my chest.

I wanted to go to her. Hold her. Tell her everything would be okay. But I couldn’t. I didn’t have the words anymore.

And maybe, I never would.

The night stretched on, and despite the tension that hung thick in the house, I managed to fall into an uneasy sleep. The weight of everything—our fragmented relationship, the guilt, the uncertainty—had left me exhausted, though the sleep I sought felt shallow and restless.

It was around 3 AM when I was jolted awake by the softest sound—a faint, broken sob. My eyes snapped open in the dark, my heartbeat quickening. I froze, listening carefully, the sounds of her grief pulling at something deep within me.

It was coming from the direction of her room.

At first, I told myself to ignore it. After all, she had her own space, her own pain, and I had my own to deal with. But the sound of her brokenness—quiet and desperate—was too much to ignore.

Slowly, I slid out of bed, my bare feet padding softly on the cool floor. I moved silently through the house, drawn to the soft, muffled sounds echoing through the walls. When I reached the door to her room, I paused.

She was crying, the kind of sobs that wracked her body and left her vulnerable. I hadn’t heard her cry like this before—unfiltered, raw, as if the dam inside her had finally broken.

The light from her bedside lamp flickered weakly, casting long shadows on the walls. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her head buried in her hands, the tears falling freely, like they couldn’t be held back anymore.

I stood there, frozen, my chest tightening at the sight. My first instinct was to rush to her side, to pull her into my arms and whisper that everything would be alright. But I didn’t. I just watched from the doorway, a spectator in my own home.

The sound of her pain made me feel powerless, as if I were too far gone—too far removed from who I once was to even be the man she needed. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came. The silence between us felt like an unspoken agreement, a distance neither of us knew how to cross.

And then she spoke.

“I’m sorry… Sunghoon,” she whispered to the empty room, the words slipping from her like a confession she hadn’t meant to make. “I thought I could fix it. I thought… if I could just bring you back, we could be happy again. But I don’t know what I’ve done anymore. I don’t know who you are. Or if you’re even really you.”

Her voice cracked at the end, and I could hear the weight of her regret, the guilt, the fear of everything she’d done.

The flood of emotions hit me all at once—anger, sadness, confusion—and yet, there was something else, too. The overwhelming desire to reach out to her. To show her that I understood, that I knew how hard this was for her.

But still, I stayed frozen. Silent. The words that had once flowed so easily between us now felt like strangers.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, but it didn’t stop the tears.

“I was selfish,” she muttered to herself, her voice barely audible now. “I couldn’t let go. I wanted you back, no matter the cost. And now… I don’t know if you can ever forgive me.”

That was when the weight of it all hit me fully—the pain she had been carrying, the burden she had placed on herself. The fear she had been living with, not knowing if I could ever truly forgive her for bringing me back.

I stepped forward then, unable to watch her fall apart without doing something.

“Y/N,” I said quietly, my voice hoarse, betraying the emotions I had kept bottled up for so long.

She immediately stiffened, her breath hitching as she quickly wiped her face, trying to pull herself together. “You’re awake,” she said, her voice faltering. “I didn’t mean for you to—”

“I heard you,” I interrupted, taking a few steps into the room. “And I’m not angry with you.”

She looked at me, her eyes filled with so much sadness, it was almost more than I could bear. “But I did this to you,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I brought you back, Sunghoon. And I don’t know if you even want to be here. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t ask to be—” She stopped, her breath shaky, as if even speaking the words caused her pain.

I knelt in front of her, my heart aching as I reached for her hands, gently pulling them from her face. “Y/N…” I said softly. “I am here. I’m here because I want to be.”

“But what if I’ve ruined everything?” she whispered. “What if I can never make it right?”

I shook my head, cupping her face in my hands as I looked into her eyes, searching for some glimmer of hope in her. “You didn’t ruin anything. You did what you thought was best… even if it was wrong. And I understand that. But we can’t live like this, hiding from each other. We need to talk. We need to be honest.”

She nodded slowly, tears still slipping down her cheeks. “But can we ever go back to what we were?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, filled with a quiet desperation.

I swallowed, my own emotions threatening to spill over. “I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice thick. “But I want to try. I want to figure it out. Together.”

There was a long pause, and then, slowly, she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against mine, her tears falling onto my skin. I closed my eyes, letting the weight of everything settle in.

In that moment, I realized that maybe there wasn’t a way back to what we once had—but that didn’t mean we couldn’t find something new. Something different. Something real.

And I was willing to fight for it.

I held her closer, whispering against her hair. “We’ll find our way. Together. One step at a time.”

The silence between us stretched out, thick with the unspoken words, the weight of everything we had been through. Her breath was shaky against my skin, and I could feel the warmth of her body pressed against mine, like she was finally letting herself soften, letting me in again.

I wanted to say more, to fix everything, but the words weren’t coming. I could only focus on the rhythm of her breath, how the vulnerability in her touch made everything seem both fragile and precious.

And then, almost instinctively, I pulled back just slightly, my hands still cupping her face, fingers brushing softly over the damp skin of her cheeks. I searched her eyes for something, anything—some flicker of permission, of trust.

The question formed in my chest before I even realized it, and before I could second-guess myself, it slipped from my mouth, quiet and uncertain but earnest.

“Can I kiss you?”

The words were soft, tentative, as if I wasn’t sure she would say yes, as if I wasn’t sure I even had the right to ask anymore. But something in me needed to hear it—to know if we could bridge that last distance between us, if the gulf of everything we had been through could be closed with something as simple as a kiss.

Her gaze locked onto mine, and for a moment, everything went still. She didn’t say anything. There was only the quiet sound of her breathing, the rise and fall of her chest under my palms. The world outside the room felt distant, irrelevant. It was just us now, alone in this fragile moment.

I waited. She could say no. She could push me away. But I needed to know where we stood.

And then, slowly, her eyes softened. She gave a slight nod, her lips trembling as if the simple motion of it took all her strength.

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but it was there. It was all I needed to hear.

Before I could even think, my hands moved to her shoulders, pulling her gently closer. I closed the distance between us, hesitating only for a brief second, just enough to feel the weight of the moment.

And then I kissed her.

It wasn’t the kiss I had imagined—the wild, desperate kiss of two people who couldn’t control themselves. No, this one was different. It was slow, careful, tentative, like we were both afraid to break something that had just begun to heal. My lips brushed against hers, soft and uncertain, as if I were asking for permission again with every gentle touch.

She responded after a moment, her hands finding their way to my chest, clutching at me like she was trying to ground herself in the kiss, in the connection we were rebuilding. I could feel her hesitation, but I could also feel the warmth, the pull, the quiet promise in the way she kissed me back.

The kiss deepened slowly, our movements syncing, building, and for the first time in so long, I felt something stir inside me that had been dormant—hope. A fragile, trembling hope that maybe, just maybe, we could find our way back to each other. That maybe this was the first step in learning to trust again.

When we finally pulled away, neither of us spoke for a moment. We just stayed there, foreheads pressed together, our breaths mingling in the stillness. I could feel her heart beating against my chest, a steady rhythm that told me she was here. She was still here with me.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice small, but it wasn’t the apology I had been expecting. It wasn’t guilt or regret. It was a quiet understanding. A promise, maybe.

“I know,” I whispered back, brushing my thumb over her cheek, wiping away the last remnants of her tears. “We’re going to be okay.”

And for the first time in so long, I actually believed it.

The air between us was thick with the weight of everything unspoken, but in that moment, there was only the soft brush of our lips, the warmth of our bodies pressed together, and the undeniable pull that had always been there. We moved slowly, cautiously, like we were both afraid of shattering something fragile that had just begun to heal.

The kiss deepened, an unspoken question lingering in the space between us. I could feel her heartbeat against my chest, fast and erratic, matching mine. It was as if we both understood that this was more than just a kiss—it was a reclaiming, a restoration of something that had been lost for far too long.

I gently cupped her face, tilting her head slightly, deepening the kiss as my hands found their way down her back, pulling her closer, as if I couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t get close enough. Her fingers slid up to my chest, tracing the lines of my shirt before pushing it off, the fabric slipping to the floor without a second thought.

There was no more hesitation, no more doubt. Just the raw connection between us that had always been there, waiting to be unlocked.

She responded with the same urgency, hands moving over my body, finding the familiar places, the marks that made me me. I could feel the heat of her skin, the way her breath caught when we came closer, when I kissed her neck, her jaw, her lips. The taste of her was like everything I’d been missing, the feeling of her so real, so tangible, that for a moment, it was hard to believe she was really here. Really with me.

Our movements grew more urgent, more desperate, but still tender, as if we were both trying to savor this moment, unsure of what tomorrow might bring, but desperate to make up for the lost time. I wanted to show her everything, all the ways I loved her, all the ways I had missed her without even knowing how much.

The world outside the room disappeared. There was no lab, no documents, no research, no mistakes. Just us—finding our way back to each other, piece by piece. I held her close, kissed her as if I could never let her go, and when the moment finally came, when we both reached that point of release, it wasn’t just about the physicality. It was about trust, about healing, about starting over.

When we collapsed against each other afterward, breathless and tangled in sheets, I felt something shift inside me. Something I hadn’t realized was broken until it started to mend.

Her hand found mine, fingers lacing together, and she rested her head on my chest, her breath slowing, and for the first time in so long, I felt peace. A peace I hadn’t known I needed.

And in the quiet of the room, with her beside me, I whispered softly, “I’ll never let you go again.”

She didn’t answer right away, but I felt the way she squeezed my hand tighter, her chest rising and falling against mine. She didn’t need to say anything. I could feel it in the way she held me.

And for the first time in a long time, I allowed myself to believe that we could truly begin again.

The quiet stillness of the room enveloped us, the soft sound of our breathing the only thing that filled the space. I held her, tracing the curve of her back with my fingers, savoring the moment as though it might slip away if I wasn’t careful. The weight of everything—the doubts, the fears, the mistakes—was still there, lingering in the shadows of my mind, but for once, I didn’t feel like I had to carry them alone.

She shifted slightly, raising her head to meet my gaze. There was a softness in her eyes now, the guarded walls that had once stood so tall between us slowly crumbling. I could see the vulnerability there, but also the strength that had always been her anchor.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but it carried all the weight of everything she’d been carrying inside. “I never meant to hurt you.”

I brushed a strand of hair away from her face, my fingers lingering against her skin. “I know,” I murmured, my voice thick with emotion. “I know. But we’re here now. We’ll figure this out. Together.”

She nodded, her eyes closing for a moment as if gathering herself. The air between us was charged with unspoken words, and I could feel the weight of the past year pressing down on us. But there was something different now—something that had shifted between us, something I hadn’t felt in so long.

Her lips found mine again, soft and gentle, a kiss that spoke volumes more than words ever could. It was an apology, a promise, a plea all rolled into one. And for the first time in so long, I allowed myself to believe in it fully.

When we finally pulled away, her forehead rested against mine, both of us still tangled in the sheets, the world outside feeling miles away. I could hear the distant hum of the city, the night stretching out before us like a quiet, unspoken promise.

“I love you,” I whispered, the words escaping before I could even think about them. But it felt right. It felt real.

She smiled, her fingers brushing against my cheek. “I love you, too. I never stopped.”

And in that moment, I knew. No matter the struggles we’d faced, no matter the secrets, the pain, or the mistakes, we were still here. Still us. And as long as we could keep finding our way back to each other, everything else would be okay.

We stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside fading into nothingness. In the quiet, there was only peace. The peace of knowing that, together, we could face whatever came next.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I finally let go of the fear that had kept me tethered to the past. Because with her by my side, I knew we could build a future. A real future. And nothing, nothing at all could take that away from us.

As the days passed, something began to shift between us. It was subtle at first, small gestures of kindness, moments of vulnerability that had been buried under the weight of secrets and doubts. But as we spent more time together, the trust that had once been strained slowly started to blossom again, like a fragile flower daring to bloom in the cracks of the world we had rebuilt.

Every morning, Sunghoon would make me coffee, just the way I liked it—strong, a little bitter, with just a hint of sweetness. It became our small ritual, something to ground us, to remind us that we were still learning, still growing. And every evening, we’d find ourselves lost in the quiet comfort of one another’s presence. Sometimes we didn’t say much, just the familiar silence that had always existed between us, but now it felt different. It felt safe.

One night, as we sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket together, he turned to me, his expression soft. “I’ve been thinking about everything. About what you did…and why. I don’t want to just forgive you. I want to understand. I want us to really move forward.”

I smiled, the warmth in his voice soothing the lingering worries in my chest. “We will,” I whispered, “We’re already on the way.”

Sunghoon gave me a small, genuine smile, his fingers lightly brushing over mine. It was a touch so simple, yet it carried all the weight of the world. I had feared this moment—the moment when the cracks would be too deep to heal—but instead, I felt something stronger than before. Something more real.

As the weeks went on, we found ourselves sharing more than just physical space. We started talking about the future—what we wanted, where we saw ourselves. There was no more fear of the unknown between us. Instead, there was excitement. There was trust, slowly but surely, weaving its way back into our lives.

I could see it in the way Sunghoon would ask about my day, genuinely interested, and how I would lean into him when I needed comfort, no longer second-guessing whether I deserved it. Our conversations had depth now, unafraid of the things we once kept hidden. We didn’t pretend anymore. We didn’t have to.

One evening, while we were cooking dinner together, Sunghoon turned to me with a teasing smile. “You’ve improved. Your cooking’s actually…not terrible.”

I laughed, playfully shoving him. “Hey, I’ve gotten better!”

He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me into his chest. “I’m proud of you.”

I could feel the sincerity in his words, the love that had grown back between us like something tangible. The fear and doubt that had once plagued me were nowhere to be found now. In their place was a quiet certainty.

We weren’t perfect. We still had our moments of miscommunication, of moments when the past reared its head, but with each day, the trust between us grew stronger. It wasn’t about erasing the mistakes we’d made. It was about learning from them and choosing to move forward together, no matter what.

And as I looked into Sunghoon’s eyes, I saw the same thing reflected back at me—the understanding, the acceptance, the desire to never give up on us.

In that moment, I knew that trust wasn’t just something that had to be given freely—it had to be earned. And we were earning it every day. Slowly, but surely, we were becoming something new, something even more beautiful than before. Something that could withstand anything life threw at us.

And for the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to believe in the future again.

In us.

Life had felt like it was finally settling into a quiet rhythm, like the calm after a storm. Sunghoon and I had been living together in peace for the past year, our bond mended from the cracks of the past. The tension had faded, leaving room for love, laughter, and domestic moments that felt so normal and reassuring. We’d shared so many firsts again—first trips, first lazy weekends in bed, first home-cooked meals. Everything felt right. Almost.

It was during one of these peaceful afternoons that I made a discovery. I was cleaning out the attic of our home, something I’d been meaning to do for months, when I came across an old box. It was tucked away in the corner behind some old furniture, covered in dust and cobwebs. The box was unassuming, wooden with a faded label that simply read, “Don’t Open.”

Curiosity got the best of me. I knew it was probably something from my past, but that label tugged at something deep inside me, urging me to open it. I hesitated for a moment, but then, with a deep breath, I lifted the lid. Inside, I found an old video tape. It was yellowed and cracked with age, but there was no mistaking the handwriting on the label: “For Y/N.”

My heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t like me to leave things unexamined, especially if they seemed tied to my past. But this felt different. There was an unspoken warning in those words. Still, I couldn’t resist.

I brought the tape downstairs and found the old VCR player we kept for nostalgia’s sake. Sunghoon was in the living room, reading a book. I hesitated for a moment before calling him over.

“Sunghoon, you have to see this,” I said, holding up the tape. “I found something in the attic…”

He looked at me curiously, putting the book down. “What is it?”

I popped the tape into the player, and the screen flickered to life. At first, there was nothing—just static. But then, the image cleared, and I saw him.

The figure of a man in a lab coat appeared. His features were unmistakable—he was Park Sunghoon, the real Sunghoon, the one who had died in the accident years ago. But this Sunghoon wasn’t the one Y/N knew now. He looked younger, more fragile, and tears stained his face.

“I… I don’t know how to start this,” the Sunghoon on the screen murmured, his voice choked with emotion. “Y/N… is gone. She passed away. Leukemia. It was sudden. I—I couldn’t do anything. She was everything to me. And I… I can’t bear it.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. She glanced at Sunghoon, whose face had gone pale. He looked at the screen, wide-eyed, his expression unreadable.

“In my grief, I’ve decided to do something I never thought I would. I’m using her preserved DNA, the samples we took when we were researching regenerative cloning… to bring her back. I—I have to do this. I can’t live with the pain of losing her,” the real Sunghoon continued, his voice trembling.

The video cut to a series of clips from the lab: footage of the real Sunghoon working late nights, mixing chemicals, monitoring equipment, and seemingly obsessed with recreating Y/N.

“I’ve used everything we learned in our research. I’ll make her whole again,” the video continued. “But this is for me, I know. For us. I want to have a second chance. A chance to make things right. If you’re watching this, Y/N… then I’ve succeeded. I’ve recreated you.”

The video ended abruptly, and the screen turned to static.

It was strange, to know the truth about their origins—about the fact that their love had been recreated, in a sense, by science and heartache. But as Y/N lay in Sunghoon’s arms that night, she couldn’t shake the feeling that none of it truly mattered. What mattered was that they were together now. They had both fought for this. They had both fought for each other. And nothing in this world could take that away from them.

Their love had brought them to this point—not fate, not science, but love. It was a love that transcended life and death, pain and loss. A love that, no matter what had come before, had always been destined to endure.

They had started as two broken souls, unable to move forward without the other. But now, they were whole again. Their love, their memories—no matter how they came to be—were theirs to cherish.

And that, in the end, was all that mattered.

The rest, the science, the questions of whether they were real or not, faded into the background. Because, in the end, they were real. Their love was real. And that was all they needed to know.

©️tobiosbbyghorl - all rights reserved

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[alienpossession]

The Shell: The Landing

The right landing should have delivered us right on the doorstep of the townhall of the small town, where we would quickly encounter all sort of human that probably gathered right away to observe us upon our landing.

We would then utilize that opportunity to paralyze them with our venom, gather their DNA, absorb it to our system and built our human shell that copied the townspeople for the perfect integration as we would then dispose their vegetative bodies. But, we instead landed off the town's border due to the rookie that probably put the wrong coordinate which resulted in us stranded in this forest and in human measurement, some 35 kilometres off from our supposed landing spot. That distance is a very miniscule one compared to the intergalactic journey we went through, but for human measurement, that's like a major miss and we ensured that we will relay this message once we are in contact with Mothership that stationed just outside Earth's orbit. The next batch should not experience this unfortunate circumstances

Yet, despite the isolation, we still managed to find a lot of traces of human existence among this wooded path. Sadly, it's not consistent enough to be extracted as a basis to build our shell as most of them tend to be sweat and urine instead of blood, saliva or sperm which has higher DNA consistency. But it's a huge wooded landscape and with that much human traces already, we kept our belief that we will find the necessary DNA source eventually.

After around 30 minutes, we finally found what we're looking for. It's near a structure we learned as a tent and there, we found copious amount of sperm and other things right next to a tree and basically spread around the area. As the one responsible for this pack, I decided to be the first one to initiate this whole thing so I absorbed all the DNA, hair, saliva and practically anything I could find in the perimeter and let the process kickstarted. I can feel my liquid form enlarged and started to harden as I emitted all the information I received from the sources to create the perfect human replica. The flashes of image I received about this human source sharpened the imitation to its finest details. I started from the head as we were taught in our academy to always form the brain and the head first because that's where we will control the shell from. This human has quite an angular facial feature peppered with shaved facial hair based on the genetic data. He has no inherited diseases whatsoever so I take the liberty to assume that this is a healthy person which means that he probably has decent built. The average height of the human in the area where we supposedly landed is around 6 feet tall so that's the height I set my shell to be. But everything becomes much more easier as this human all in a sudden walked out from his tent and started calling out another name

"Colin, is that you?" He faintly whispered. Did I and the pack make too much noise? Well, creating a shell is not necessarily a quiet process as we're practically building a skin but we believe we've been very quiet. Then, an animal we know called as deer appeared but the human seemed to not be that startled. Yet, just a glimpse of his look helped me to really fine-tune everything to perfection. I reshaped my shell's abdominal and pectoral muscle to be tighter and imprinted the ink I saw on the human. The taut legs and tight yet bubbly glutes followed suit alongside the hair on his legs and shaved pubic hair. I also notice the scars in his back and right above his ass crack and make his intricate web of veins that carried the blood to energized his body more visible in my shell to really match his. The final creation is the sexual appendage of the male human and despite not seeing it in full frontal form from the owner, I make an educated guess from the bulge he sported earlier and let the meat formed itself to become a 6.5 inches soft, uncut cock with a large grape-sized sperm glands or human usually called it as balls. It's modifiable after all, so no need to get it perfect on the first go

As I then take the time to create all the internal organs and placed myself to wrap this imitation brain of this shell like a cocoon, this shell is finally ready so I stand up and happily grinned looking at the rest of the pack

"Wait here, okay? All of you will have your turn coming,"

He's already back inside his tent when I stand up, so I slowly creep myself to ambush him before that Colin person comes back. He's sleeping naked with his ass on full display inside his tent, the fuzziness and arch of his ass inspired me to alter my shell right then and there for a perfect copy and before he's aware, I lunged right at him and started to circle my muscular forearm to choke him. We battled hard as he flailed around trying to get himself free, but I locked his neck and legs way too tight for him to get out from. When his body goes limp, I finalized the tiny details I failed to get by altering my shell before I enacted the final replication process. As my shell goes limp without me in control, I inserted myself to his brain to gather all information needed. It's a rather quick process as I simply wrap myself around his soon-to-be useless brain and absorbed all the information about.......Ryle Adams. Then, I slide out from his brain and entered my Ryle shell to then inject the memory to the mush of a brain of the shell so I can pass myself on as Ryle Adams with ease and also making this body able to function autopilot even when I'm not inside of him, a perfectly seamless integration

Now, time to clean up the old Ryle and prepare for Colin's arrival after his fishing duty. Maybe to make the replication easy, I should just stuff one member of the pack into Colin's brain, so once it gets out, it can simply replicate everything without making guesses or adjustment. Yeah, that sounds easier to be honest.....

[mokulule]

The Number You Have Called Cannot Be Reached - Part 9

First|Masterlist

Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason) Warnings: angst, depression, canon typical violence.

Jason was not angry he was frustrated. There was a difference. A distinct difference that Jason knew very well.

Ghost kept running. He would steal a thing. Evade some goons, cause he often stole from the rogues. Then evade some bats, lead them in a new direction, sometimes changing overall direction mid chase, there really was no rhyme or reason to it.

And then, when Jason showed up, he’d invariably be standing on another rooftop and disappear. All the while Jason could feel his longing and sorrow, a call for help he wouldn't let Jason answer, and it was frustrating and confusing, but mostly frustrating.

Because Jason was not angry.

He may have snapped at Dick, when he made a joke about his princess being in another castle, but he hadn’t actually laid hands on anyone. He made sure nobody made the mistake of touching him.

He ducked his head, never stuck around and ignored the looks he got. Worry, pity, wariness, Jason flip-flopped how he interpreted the gazes. A loose canon, that’s what they thought he was. But Jason was not. His chest burned, but Jason was not angry. Because he knew the difference, between himself and the pits. He knew. But they didn’t. They didn’t understand and Jason could not explain - not without him sounding unstable. There was no way he could explain things and keep cool. They wouldn’t understand that he kept away for their sake. At best he’d be benched.

Benched, a bitter voice mocked, locked up and thrown in Arkham more like. Criminal, murderer, crazy.

He shook his head. Pushed the thoughts away. He couldn’t allow himself to be benched. He needed to catch Ghost - to make him listen and explain just for a moment so he could understand what was going on with him and the pits.

As long as Jason didn’t cross the line, they wouldn’t try anything. He had to believe that.

Oo o oO

Bruce was at a loss.

If it wasn’t for the fact that Jason hadn’t pointed a gun at any of them, Bruce would have thought they’d gone a year or two back in time. He was tense and curt and kept himself at a distance. Always out of reach.

It wasn’t like he joined their patrols regularly normally, but he could usually be counted on if something big was going down. Now Bruce wasn’t so sure he’d want to ask him if something happened. It seemed like he was nearing breaking point and Bruce feared what way he’d fall.

The thief, Ghost, was at the center of this. Something was going on there, but it was like he was missing crucial information. Jason was downright frantic to catch him.

Danny Fenton. The name was still a dead end. The DNA sample useless. His contact at Star Lab had gotten back to him and informed him they’d had a break in weeks ago, before the thefts started in Gotham - nothing had been stolen, the invisible perpetrator had been found out because of the electromagnetic disturbance his stealth tech gave off, or rather that was what their reports said. The recorded disturbance matched the readings they got off of the Ghost.

It was quite possible there were many more unrecorded thefts before the Ghost came to Gotham. He’d already informed Tim and watched him pale from the realization that they actually had no idea how far the Ghost was with what he was building. If building something was indeed what he was doing with the eclectic mix of parts he’d stolen. Tim had a theory, that much was obvious, but he was not at a point where he felt he had enough evidence to share it.

When Bruce had told him of the Star Lab incident, he’d glanced towards where they’d stored the spectral calibrator, before his shoulders had forcefully relaxed.

Bruce was no slouch when it came to technology, but mostly when it came to operating it. He could infiltrate systems and extract information fine, but it he was honest, the kids were better, and since he rarely worked alone these days, he didn’t get as much practice - he wondered momentarily if this is what it was like growing old.

It was something he’d never expected when he set out on his mission as a young man, growing old that is.

Besides while Bruce had designed a fair few gadgets in his time, and assembled the Bat computer himself back in the early days when it didn’t have near the capabilities it did today, he was not an inventor. Lucius was the one who’d made his more fanciful ideas workable in the early days.

And now he had all these talented kids.

It didn’t matter most of them were adults, they’d always be kids to him. Here he went again getting distracted.

He rubbed his forehead. Point was, Bruce couldn’t see what the parts could be used for but Tim could. And it was something that worried him, which in turn worried Bruce and like always these days his thoughts circled back to his worry for Jason.

He’d given him time, like Dick had said - three weeks so far in fact. And instead of things calming down they’d become worse. The Ghost’s continued escape was winding Jason up, there were no two ways about it. They needed to capture him.

Bruce had to be honest with himself, if it wasn’t for Jason, the Ghost would be very low priority for them. He wasn’t hurting anyone, just a thief. Before the day Jason had tackled the Ghost on the rooftop, he had been low priority. Amusing in fact, with the way he riled up Damian with his continued escapes, it had been low stakes - safe in a way many of their missions weren’t.

But now, Tim was working frantically on ways to capture the Ghost, they’d tried nets of various materials (some even Martians had trouble phasing through) with no success. Barbara was still trying to unearth more information from the phone, also with no success.

Steph and Cass had been steadily and stealthily working on changing the cameras throughout the city connected to Barbara’s network to ones with better filters and built in detectors for electromagnetic disturbances over a certain threshold - a very bothersome process since most of the cameras technically weren’t theirs and had to be indistinguishable from the originals and send visuals to the real owners of the same (low) quality they’re used to in case somebody decided to take a closer look.

Damian was giving him long looks, when he thought he wasn’t noticing. He was hiding something and he’d been sneaking off on his own. Bruce was trying to convince himself to leave it alone. He’d nearly lost Damian in the past because he was too controlling.

Trust, it was something he was trying to practice but it irked at him not to know. What if he got in trouble? He had to forcibly remind himself, it was most likely that Damian was just sneaking off to some wild animal he was hiding and nursing back to health.

Duke had just gotten back from a three month exchange program abroad, he would have to be caught up to speed. Maybe his abilities would give them some additional insight.

Hopefully.

Oo o oO

Jason was not angry, he was livid. Ghost was on another rooftop. About to do his disappearing act, again again again.

“Come back here!” He yelled.

Fear not his own hit him in a sickly yellow haze. He gasped and struggled not to throw up. Ghost was gone again. Of course he was. His one chance and-

“Jason…” the words were quiet, barely audible, Bruce. Jason grit his teeth. Bruce was a fucking hypocrite saying his name in costume like that.

A step forward was heard, a purposefully made sound to announce his approach, and Jason spun.

“Don’t touch me!” His guns were pointed at Bruce. He stood frozen, the hand he’d no doubt been reaching toward Jason was pulled back. It served him right.

Jason didn’t trust him. He should shoot him, teach him not to get too close. He knew Batman’s armor, he knew the weak spots. It would be easy. A rubber bullet wouldn’t kill, but it would hurt.

Jason wanted him to hurt; like he hurt.

He wanted-

He wanted-

He couldn’t remember loading his guns tonight. The realization struck him like a splash of ice water. Rubber bullets or live ammunition?

He didn’t know!

He followed the aim of his still raised guns, pointed at his dad’s chest, the armor could only do so much at such a close distance.

Real bullets or rubber?

Jason took a step backwards in horrified realization. It didn’t matter. Not at this close range. Both would be lethal. He knew that. He knew guns. Why had that even been a question? Why was he still pointing his guns at Bruce?

A wounded sound escaped his throat and he turned and ran.

He’d crossed the line.

-

Poor Jay, huh? Can Danny keep escaping the bats? Will Jason be okay? Tim POV next time, we're in serious need of a plan here, come on Timmers.

Next

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[hog-facts]

In the early 1990s, as neoliberal economic policies swept across the globe, a radical agricultural experiment took root in a discreetly funded research facility in rural Iowa. Driven by the philosophy of hyper-efficiency and market optimization, geneticists and agribusiness magnates collaborated to create what became known internally as the "Farrow-Fund Hog" (FFH).

The FFH was engineered not for traditional traits like taste or size, but for peak financial performance through its digestive system. These hogs were designed with a hyper-efficient metabolism capable of converting the lowest-grade, cheapest feedstuffs—including recycled food waste and even certain types of biodegradable industrial byproducts—into marketable protein with unprecedented speed and minimal caloric loss. Their digestive tracts were micro-engineered to extract every conceivable nutrient, leaving virtually no waste.

The defining characteristic of the FFH, however, was its peculiar "bio-pricing" mechanism. Each hog possessed a subtly altered adrenal gland that, under specific dietary and environmental stimuli (carefully controlled by the facility), would produce a unique, aromatic pheromone. This pheromone, imperceptible to humans, acted as a natural "quality signal" to other FFHs, influencing their feeding patterns and, crucially, subtly altering the lean-to-fat ratio of their offspring based on perceived market demand signals. For instance, if market projections indicated a future preference for leaner pork, the hogs would subtly adjust their internal chemistry to favor muscle development in their progeny.

This meant the Farrow-Fund Hog was a self-regulating, market-responsive biological entity, theoretically capable of optimizing its own production cycle to perfectly meet fluctuating demand curves, minimizing overproduction and maximizing profit margins without human intervention. The project, though ultimately deemed too ethically contentious and biologically unstable for widespread implementation, remains a chilling hypothetical case study within obscure economic circles: the ultimate expression of neoliberalism, literally inscribed into the DNA of livestock, turning a living creature into a sentient, self-optimizing economic unit.

[talonabraxas]

“We all have spiritual DNA; wisdom and truth are part of our genetic structure even if we don’t always access it.” — Surya Das

Anunnaki 𒀭𒀀𒉣𒈾 Talon Abraxas

Mainstream historians and archaeologists regard the ‘fertile crescent’ between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers in what is now Iraq as the “cradle of civilization.” Between 4000 and 1900 BC, this area was the home of the Sumerian people of Mesopotamia. Virtually nothing was known about Sumer until its archeological discovery 180 years ago.

The Sumerians were extraordinary people. They supposedly created an advanced civilization when most of the world still lived in the Stone Age. Yet, despite all their accomplishments, and according to conventional history, Sumer grew out of a collection of hunter-gatherer clans who banded together to form the first human civilization within the Tigris-Euphrates Valley around 4000 BC.

So, what and who enabled the sudden initial spurt of civilization in Sumer six thousand years ago?

The Sumerians invented the first known writing system using a cuneiform script on clay tablets. These tablets were kept in large libraries. About 500,000 of these clay tablets have now been found.

Through these clay tablets, as well as cylinder seals, and stele, the Sumerians provided a richly detailed version of humankind’s early history — including the creation story of both Earth and humans. There are startling and numerous similarities between the Sumerian creation stories, later Babylonian myths, and the subsequent Judeo-Christian Bible verses. Virtually every story in Genesis originates in ancient Sumer.

Deciphering the Cuneiform Texts

In 1976 — after studying Sumerian cuneiform tablets and carvings for 30 years — noted scholar, academic, researcher, and author Zecharia Sitchin published his translations of the ancient Sumerian texts in a series of books called “The Earth Chronicles.”

As deciphered by Sitchin — and confirmed by many other credible researchers — the Sumerian cuneiform texts describe an alien race known as the ‘Anunnaki’ who came to Earth thousands of years ago from their home planet, Nibiru (the legendary so-called 12th planet in our solar system).

The Sumerians texts describe the Anunnaki as coming to Earth on a special mission — to bring wisdom and to mine certain minerals. They had tremendous knowledge and power over the entire world.

And so, for your consideration — and according to the deciphered interpretations of the Sumerian clay tablets — what follows is a condensed version of the fascinating story of the Anunnaki.

The Anunnaki — Part 1

About 450,000 years ago, before the Great Flood and during Earth’s Pleistocene ice age, the Anunnaki arrived on Earth. These ancient astronauts established their initial base camp in Mesopotamia in the Fertile Crescent between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers.

Here they set up a mission control center, a spaceport, and mining operations. The supreme Anunnaki ruler, Anu, supervised the effort from the home planet of Nibiru as the Anunnaki began a systematic colonization of Earth under the leadership of Anu’s two sons, Enlil and Enki.

The Anunnaki gold mining operations

Over thousands of years (Earth time), the Anunnaki established a thriving colony. During this time, their focus was on their primary objective — gold. The Anunnaki sought gold for highly technological procedures to repair the degraded condition of the atmosphere on their home planet.

The extraction process on Earth proved inefficient and time-consuming when the Anunnaki attempted to retrieve gold only from the Persian Gulf. So, to ease the increasing rivalry between the half-brothers Enlil and Enki, their father, Anu, placed Enlil in charge of the Mesopotamian colony E-din (perhaps the basis for the biblical Eden).

Meanwhile, Enki led a foray to Abzu, or Africa, the “land of the mines,” — and eventually to South America — where he set up gold-mining operations. The mined ore was then transported from the far-flung mines by cargo craft back to Mesopotamia for smelting and processing into hourglass-shaped ingots called zag, or “purified precious.” Some of the actual ingots have been found in archaeological excavations.

The Anunnaki mined gold on Earth for more than 100,000 years until the rank-and-file Anunnaki — who were doing the backbreaking work in the mines — mutinied about 300,000 years ago. On top of the unrelenting toil of the mining operations, climate change presented many difficulties for these extraterrestrial colonists.

Enlil wondered aloud if there was not another way to mine for gold. At this point, Enki suggested that a primitive worker, called an Adamu, could be created to take over the difficult mining work. Enki pointed out that a primitive humanoid — hominin — was prevalent in Abzu (Africa), where he maintained a laboratory.

Human Genetic manipulation

Realizing the toll on the Anunnaki to mine the gold, King Anu and the Council on Nibiru was desperate for a different solution. They debated the morality of tinkering with a species. Enki argued that producing a hybrid — half Anunnaki and half primitive humanoid — would not be an act of creation but merely improving the existing species.

And so, Anu decreed that their eminent geneticist, Enki, would employ advanced genetic engineering to fashion an upgraded version of the primitive hominin by manipulating its DNA to become the new worker slave (the Adamu).

The genetic process

The Anunnaki medical officer on Earth was a female named Ninhursag. The Sumerian tablets describe how Enki and Ninhursag produced the first so-called ‘test-tube’ infant by combining DNA and creating a hybrid humanoid in the laboratory.

It is written that Enki and Ninhursag took the reproductive cell or egg from a primitive African female hominin and fertilized it with the sperm of a young Anunnaki male. The fertilized ovum was placed inside an Anunnaki woman who carried the child to term. And so began the creation of a new race of human workers (the Adamu).

The first hybrid human could not procreate. The Anunnaki had to constantly create new batches of human workers (the Adamu), which was time-consuming considering the timespan between in vitro fertilization and birth.

So, Enki and Ninhursag set about to create an Adamu that could reproduce itself. The result of their efforts was finally a male Adama with the ability to reproduce through sex with an Adama female. This was the final solution to the first modern human beings — the perfect slave race. An intelligent and subservient prototype was ultimately created that we now call Homo sapiens.

The new and improved hominin — the Adamu — Human 1.0

When the Anunnaki infused their DNA and genetic material, they effectively bestowed upon the new hominin many physiological features, strengths, and abilities not previously occurring in then-existing hominins.

The early Adamu that bred among themselves lived for hundreds of earth years. The Nephilim (half human and half Anunnaki) lived for thousands of years. All this longevity was thanks to Anunnaki genes. And in the opinion of ancient humans, the extreme life spans of the pure-blooded Anunnaki made them appear immortal.

One of the concerns of the Anunnaki, including Enlil, was that the new humans would want to live for as long as their pure-blooded Anunnaki overlords. As a result of this concern, the Anunnaki set about manipulating the DNA of humans to reduce their life span drastically and limit the total capacity of their brains.

The final genetic version of Human 1.0 incorporated these modifications. The Anunnaki denied Homo sapiens the intelligence and extreme longevity that the Anunnaki possessed because it did not suit their purposes. Homo sapiens were invented to be slave workers, nothing more.

What is often misunderstood about Human 1.0

The process described in the Sumerian tablets was a breeding program like what has been done and is being done today with various animals and humans by humans to improve the stock.

The skeptics of the Sumerian story about the origin of Homo sapiens should not lose sight of today’s knowledge concerning cloning, in vitro fertilization, genome mapping, gene splicing, gene sequencing, and gene modifications.

Only 30 years ago, the concept of gene manipulation would have been incomprehensible — even to the most learned scholar trying to interpret the Sumerian tablets. But today, the Sumerian account of modern human creation becomes more plausible.

Stories of the Anunnaki — Myth, Religion, or History?

As expected, it is highly controversial that the Sumerian cuneiform texts (as deciphered and translated by credible scholars) say that the Anunnaki were ancient astronauts that came to Earth to mine gold, impart great knowledge, and created Homo sapiens to function as slaves.

Mainstream scholars assume that the ancient Sumerians were talking about mythical, imaginary beings in their reference to the Anunnaki. But we should question why ancient scribes would have taken the time and effort to write down fables painstakingly. Is it not more reasonable to assume that they wrote down their stories to recount history instead of fanciful myths?

Many non-mainstream researchers have opened our eyes to a much more detailed and credible understanding of the human creation story — first recorded by the Sumerians long before it was plagiarized and transcribed as the Bible.

It is essential to understand that early on, the Sumerians never referred to the Anunnaki as “gods.” The reference to sky beings as “gods” was shaped by western and near eastern civilizations and religions that followed Sumer — including the Babylonians, Egyptians, Romans, Greeks, Judaism, and Christianity.

A better explanation of what transpired in the ancient past is that the original writings from Sumer were recordings of actual events. This history was later rewritten to form a distorted base for new religious cults — including Judaism and Christianity. The corrupted religious dogma was so different from the original writings that the early accounts in Sumer became viewed by today’s mainstream scholars as “mythology.”

The writings inscribed into ancient Sumerian clay tablets have much greater merit than the fantasies presented in the Bible. Also, the non-mainstream and credible interpretations of the Sumerian texts help to counter the highly questionable explanations which mainstream science offers as fact regarding the evolution of Homo sapiens and

[ultrakill-confessions]

Ok, so: In the ultrakill universe bioengineering technology has at least gotten to a point where artificial organs can be created to keep blood fresh. It is 100% possible that a machine could make a box filled with fucked up bone marrow to generate blood.

This box would need a way to get nutrients, which first of all, is pretty easy to distribute nutrients, given that it's basically all blood anyways, although blood plasma changes would probably be needed. Second of all, it would need a way to digest said nutrients, probably just a simple digestive system is all that's needed, preferably herbivorous diet because plants are probably still alive on earth, and if not on land, certainly in the water. Third of all, an aspiring blood box owner would need to make sure the box can't easily get diseased, probably just encasing most of it with metal would work, but it needs three holes, one for food, one for waste, and one for blood extraction.

How would a machine in the business get the parts for a fucked up blood box? Well the metal is easy, the biological matter is the hard part. We know some biological matter is inside machines, but it's unclear if their DNA is backwards compatible enough to extract the code for things like stomachs (and I suppose the matter doesn't necessarily need DNA, it could've been made from scratch, but why would one do that). If not machines, maybe husks would be a good choice, most of them seem to be fleshy and seem to have internal organs, but they might not have a diet that accepts plants, they might not be able to satiate themselves with food at all. The actual best bet for getting the genetic and organic material, is fish. They are likely untouched and if not untouched, fish could still be found in lower regions of the ocean (or in the wrath layer but at that point making a blood box is no longer a choice).

That's all to say, machine that lives in a submarine getting plants to feed the abhorrent gore box for blood to survive on. They could also kill the fish but that's unsustainable, and more importantly not as cool.

Also, I think it would be silly to directly attack the blood box to a machine, effectively making them an herbivorous murder machine. Imagine seeing a swords machine wandering the forest looking for berries to turn into blood.

-color palettes guy

-

[rassilonsleftbollock]

An idiots guide to...BIGENERATION~

(under the cut- very long you have been warned)

Okay so firstly, what is regeneration and how does it work. Well before we even get yo that we have to discuss how Gallifreyan blood works (now this is just a theory, but I have done lots of research over the years). So main components of Gallifreyan blood are T-cells, these are the immune system and can asexually reproduce and often specialise (differentiate) into cells very similar to phagocytes and Lymphocytes in humans, which are then used to fight infections; next there is blood cells, biconcave and basically the same as human red blood cells, but not red as the 'hemoglobin' is an orange compound designed to take in oxygen from a different atmosphere to Earths, however that chemical works the same and carries blood the same; next is lindos cells, these are the platelets of the Gallifreyan system and when an injury occurs they clot the blood and work of healing the area, this bloot clotting can also cause the same issues as in humans, with strokes or hypoxia, but still do the job for both external and internal issues; next is something unlike humans, atron carrier cells. These cells carry artron energy which reacts with the enzymes on the surface of the lindos cells to speed up healing.

They are not natural to the body and are placed there when the time lord recieves "rassilon's imprinteur". These cells do not die because the atron they contain keeps them alive, they are modified blood cells with a different compound for storing atron energy. They are made specially for a specific time lord when they graduate, they combine a marrow extract of stem cells with the chemical so they differentiate in certain conditions, causing "imprinteur" cells to specialise. Then the marrow is transferred back into the host body and the cells are rarely rejected. Then everytime the Timelord(TL) is exposed to the vortex or a rift, their atron cells are replenished.

Regeneration however, is caused when a large scale clotting of Lindos cells occurs on a large injury. When this happens loads of the imprinteur cells get stuck behind them and react rapidly, this influx of energy causes artron radiation to damage the DNA, and when the lindos cells repair the damage they repair the damage to the new DNA print, causing a new body. This can go wrong and cause structural changes to the brain, resulting in new personality, limb differences or missing/malformed internal organs.

After regeneration a person's lindos cells are very low, but after an hour the cell count would've doubled in the body's rapid attempt to make enough. This large influx of cells will stay alive for two weeks, creating an "elastic stage" of regeneration where any damage caused after the first hour and before the end of the first two weeks, will repair itself even quicker, albeit at large cost to the already deprived energy and caloric biome of the body. This means limbs that are severed can regrow, not ones however that are not already there, unless the stump is cut off. Please do wait at least a day before acting on the elastic stage otherwise your poor TL will be very exhausted.

So now we've got that out of the way, it's time to discuss Bigeneration. Lindos enzymes are catalysts, which means they react with artron energy causing the increased healing effect, however like other catalysts they have an optimum PH and an optimum temperature. Most importantly, more energy creates a faster reaction, but too high a temperature (please please please try to keep your TLs at 14.6°c) causes the enzyme to denature or at low temperatures, work slower. They also can only be used once, but considering every Lindos cell carries and excretes roughly 5 microlitres of enzyme when its working and about 300,000 work on an area of 1 cm³, there are always enough.

The Doctor Bigenerated because of the Galvanic radiation, which is what also killed him. Galvanic and artron radiation work in tangent with each other, meaning he had more energy to regenerate with. This caused his cells to undergo mitosis faster, raising his already high Lindos (we can assume this because otherwise no Bigeneration could've occurred and it has been documented that they have an abnormally high count. See: sixth doctor regenerating from small head injury due to internal clotting and high lindos cell count causing fast regen), and more artron energy carrier cells to be produced. This would've accelerated regeneration and given enough energy for two separate bodies to be created.

In the Rani's case however, she was exposed to the unfiltered radiation of space. Her bigeneration doesn't exactly make sense from the same point of view as the Doctor's does, but when you factor in the fact that the flux left a lot of background radiation around, including artron energy. In the deep of space its also very likely there could be an undocumented vortex rift nearby that could've also 'supercharged' her atron cells. However in those deep space temperatures, her enzymes would've been damaged severely*, preventing regeneration until she was dethawed. There she would've had enough time to replenish her lindos count (atron surplus would increase the rate of this).

This acceleration of both factors would've caused a Bigeneration in both these two subjects, however whilst it is very unlikely and there has only ever been one case (See:Pandora and Romana) documented, with these factors it is possible.

-Rani has three brain stems like all timelords, so stayed alive by keeping one thawed

Extras:

-* urm my friend corrected me on my enzyme knowledge so here u go

- the penetrative ability of artron is very contradictory. A lot of sources claim it isn't very penetrative hence the separation of vortex and original dimension (can be stopped by 5-10 metres of air), however some say more penetrative than galvanic due to the existence of rifts. This is important when investigating the source of the Rani's artron energy to regenerate as likely she used up the majority of it she had keeping warm in space. Without this energy she could've regenerated so I have considered it to be as penetrative as gamma radiation, hence its need for the imprinteur cells to be contained.

- the brain has more capillaries than other areas of the body. Capillaries have a thin lumen and narrow tube. This means they are more suceptable to bursting and clotting. Hence six's rapid regeneration and mental confusion.

[tanadrin]

Pr and the Mniw

Pr is a minor planet orbiting the millisecond magnetar MMR CHA J1712-2901 ("Ast"), about a thousand light years from Earth, in the constellation Sagittarius. Ast has four major planets: Wsjrhp, Hrw, Mnw, and Bstt. Hrw has one moon, Jmstj. There are five large minor planet in eccentric orbits within 3 AU, Jrb, Bjr, Rrj, Zr, and Pr.

Planetoid

Pr is a large asteroid with a rotation period of about two hours; its average density is less than 4 g/cm^3, but its internal composition is highly variable. About 40% of its solid material is composed of massive diamond fragments fused together at seams formed of carbon glass, and the interior of the planet contains a large irregular cavern roughly 250 kilometers in radius. This cavern is sufficiently enclosed to retain an envelope of water and air with minimal outgassing. Due to the very high rotation speed of the planetoid, the surface of the cavern, at its lower levels, experiences a centrifugal force about 1-2% of Earth's gravity. The axis of Pr's rotation is nearly perpendicular to its orbit.

No complete model of the formation of the Ast system has yet been offered, but several hypotheses have been suggested to account for some of its more unusual features. The formation of a protoplanetary disk may be due to the disruption of a stellar companion, or fallback from the supernova that formed Ast in the first place; the diamond fragments which make up Pr may have originated in a disrupted carbon-rich planet or planetoid, or gas giant. The interior atmosphere of Pr is perhaps due primarily to biological processes releasing volatiles into the cavern.

Deliberate planetary engineering has been mooted as a possibility, but the crew of the DSE Scholiast, the only vessel to survey the system so far, has not yet found evidence of such engineering by other civilizations, and the indigenous inhabitants of Pr are likely incapable of such undertakings at this time.

[Map of Pr, with some regions and bodies of water labelled, plus many major settlements. The relief of the cavern interior is very great; the large plateaus have scarps tens or hundreds of kilometers high. Note that the equilibrium potential at the interior surface of a rotating body is cylindrical, not spherical, and this projection is adjusted accordingly, and so shows true shapes near the poles. The nature of the geological processes that have shaped Pr's interior are not fully understood at this time. The total land area visible here is roughly equivalent to Texas or the Iberian Peninsula.]

Biology and Ecology

Pr's internal heat is maintained by the radiation from Ast, which is converted to thermal energy in Pr's crust. Thinner regions of the crust, particularly near the equator, have higher heat flow from the exterior; the high axial tilt of Pr also means that the northern and southern hemispheres can experience somewhat different heat flows throughout the year. Much more important to Pr's seasons, however, is the variability of Ast's magnetic field created by the eccentricity of Pr's orbit. When Pr is closest to Ast, organisms can extract energy from the magnetic field, as Pr's rotation allows them to create selective ion gradients whose diffusion provides energy, or to directly extract mechanical energy from electrically charged cilia. (Induced current is much too weak to be a useful source of biological energy).

As on Earth, the native lifeforms can be broadly classified into producers and consumers, but even the consumers on Ast obtain a significant portion of their energy budget from autotrophy, using heterotrophy only to supplement this budget. A minority of producers are also radiotrophs, who extract energy from the radioactive elements in Pr's crust.

Pr biology does not use DNA and is highly resistant to radiation. It also does not seem to experience Darwinian genetic drift. Instead, cells seem able to adapt their own internal machinery in response to certain kinds of stress, and to disseminate these changes throughout the organism, or even to conspecifics. The nature of this process and how it could have evolved is still a mystery, nor can they apparently account for all of the different forms observed among the native life.

The interior of Pr is dim, but not dark. Some plant species have evolved to emit light as a form of signaling, incentivizing some animal species to evolve eyes in response.

Because of the energy inefficiency of pure heterotrophy, to say nothing of pure heterotrophy that involves predating on other heterotrophs, no carnivorous animals are known on Pr.

[Above, the Mniw. The upper Mni has a fully-grown set of skin-plates; the lower Mni has either shed or removed hers, possibly as a cosmetic choice. The dark patches of skin shown are the rough beds from which the skin-plates grow.]

The Mniw

The Mniw (singular Mni) are the indigenous inhabitants of Pr. They are 12-18 centimeters long, with tough gray skin, and usually found with a mineralized defensive covering that grows out from the skin. They have a single sex, and reproduce via parthenogenesis. However, they still engage in a form of sexual intercourse, which is divorced from reproduction: instead, sex among the Mniw exists as a means of facilitating horizontal gene transfer, which then alters the nature of the offspring they bear. It can also allow a limited sharing of experiential memory. In addition to sight, hearing, and the other usual senses, the Mniw have the ability to sense the weak induced electrical currents in Pr's crust, which helps them perceive their environment better.

Mniw hatch from eggs and are generally raised in family units; they do not make sex-based distinctions, but do make social distinctions based on relationships. A mwt is the Mni who laid the egg; all other adults in the same household involved in childrearing are jtw; the sntw are siblings who share a mother, while other children raised in the same house are snw. Children from one's own eggs are srtw, while children from one's partner(s) are mnw.

As in humans, Mni adolesence is marked by gradual sexual maturity; reproductive fertility comes later in life, however, around the age of 30. Past 50, fertility declines slowly, as does the capacity to engage in horizontal gene transfer, though the capacity for sexual intercourse remains. Past 65 or so, Mniw enter their equivalent of "old age," but Mni do not experience a sudden collapse in their physiological health late in life, and can in principle life forever so long as they are not felled by accident, violence, or disease. In practice, lifespans are around 130-200 years, with a great deal of variability.

Mniw have many social elements, like hierarchy and emotions and social roles, that would not be entirely alien to humans, but they have no direct analogue to human sex roles or orientations. Instead the major cleavage in Mni society historically is between Mniw who tend to be primarily exogamous, preferring to mate and rear children with Mniw from distant communities, vs Mniw who tend to be primarily endogamous, with about 85% of Mniw being primarily endogamous; these traits perhaps evolved in the context of horizontal gene transfer to take advantage of different patterns of dissemination of useful traits.

Mniw can survive outside of Pr, but without a strong, moving magnetic field must consume a large amount of food; and the food they are normally adapted for will not grow at all absent such a field. An Earth-standard gravitational field would render them totally immobile, and would be extremely unpleasant, though probably not fatal, and it's possible given their unique physiology that they could eventually adapt to such an environment.

Mniw generally inhabit large, almost hive-like cities that are built out in three dimensions; historically, these could be strongly fortified against attack in a way that made wars of conquest nearly impossible until the invention of gunpowder. Mniw have had writing for about 5,000 years, and the first confederate states emerged around 3-4,000 years ago. The dissemination of gunpowder weapons 1,500 years ago radically altered politics and society on Pr, but the absence of easy paths to industrialization has caused a certain degree of stagnation since.

Modern Pr is divided into about a dozen large states, in an area of roughly 750,000 kilometers square, with a fair amount of diversity in languages, cultures, and social systems, given the small size of Pr. A very loose framework of international diplomacy is carried out through a series of councils called the Jaw Mwad, and on the occasion of the Scholiast's arrival, the Mniw convened a great council, a Wr Jaw Mwad, for the first time in over a century to open formal channels of communication.

[power-chords]

In a New York Times review of Crichton’s most famous book, “Jurassic Park,” the literary critic Christopher Lehmann-Haupt notes that at first its dinosaur plot “sounds like just another recycling of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein myth.” In “Frankenstein,” the eponymous scientist reanimates a corpse, which then escapes and runs amok. In “Jurassic Park,” scientists bring dinosaurs back to life; they too escape and run amok. But Crichton’s book, Lehmann-Haupt argues, has a unique feature that makes it a “superior specimen of the myth.”

Shelley seemed most interested in crafting a tragic human narrative. Dr. Frankenstein is isolated from society by his ambition; in a lonely mania, he makes a choice that ultimately sows destruction. Although the novel could be described as science fiction, the science isn’t meant to be recognizable. “With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I collected the instruments of life around me, that I might infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet,” her narrator recalls. A few moments later, the monster opens an eye. In time, after pursuing the monster that he has made to the Arctic, Dr. Frankenstein proclaims, “Seek happiness and tranquility, and avoid ambition.” He seems to be warning about the dangers of solitary scheming, not the dangers of technology.

“Jurassic Park,” in contrast, follows Gottlieb’s dictum to deëmphasize individual characters. “By telling his island adventure from many points of view,” Lehmann-Haupt writes, “he cleverly undermines the reader’s belief that the story has a hero.” The real protagonist is the technology of de-extinction; the reader is exhilarated by its possibilities and terrified of its consequences. Whereas Shelley obfuscates how Dr. Frankenstein re-creates life, Crichton cares about the scientific details; on a guided tour, we learn how DNA is isolated from preserved prehistoric mosquitoes, and even hear about the shortcomings of the Loy antibody-extraction technique. (“Most soluble protein is leached out during fossilization, but twenty percent of the proteins are still recoverable,” a helpfully expository scientist informs us.) Crichton goes on to re-create the display of a Cray X-MP supercomputer, which identifies a DNA error that will be repaired with restriction enzymes.

“Jurassic Park,” like many dramas about technology, features a rich man with strange ambitions: John Hammond, the wealthy founder of a Silicon Valley genetics company called InGen. Yet Hammond isn’t presented as an evil figure who casts a shadow over the book; he is a jovial grandfather obsessed with creating the ultimate spectacle. He is too naïve to see the risks inherent in toying with nature, but it is difficult to imagine him declaring, “Seek happiness in tranquility, and avoid ambition!” Although Crichton ultimately has him devoured by a pack of venomous procompsognathus, we don’t really care about his interiority. We’re too busy following the exterior reality of how his creations thwart the park’s security systems.

These days, when confronting new tools that concern us, we seem to be taking our cues more from Shelley than Crichton. News coverage of Musk often focuses on his provocative statements and chaotic personality. The technology journalist Kara Swisher recently wrote on Threads, Meta’s competitor to X, that Zuckerberg is “a small little creature with a shrivelled soul.” Crichton, if he were alive, might focus more on the personality of the platforms themselves. Twitter was once conceived as a digital town square—a place where people from around the world could share a common conversation, free from media gatekeeping and government censorship. But uniting hundreds of millions of users into a limited number of common conversations required a computationally intensive curation to surface the most relevant and attention-grabbing interactions. As I’ve reported, this technical challenge is inevitably biased toward generating rancor, strife, and misinformation; these are the properties that will always thrive in an environment of algorithmic amplification. The problems with Twitter, and now X, are not just about how its weird owner runs the place. They’re intrinsic to the underlying technology.

Sometimes a Shelleyesque approach leads us to blame entire classes of individuals for the harms caused by a tool. Consider the case of e-mail, which has evolved over the past two decades to become a source of stressful distraction and overload. An obvious response is to blame faceless managers for exploiting the productive potential of employees. If only we had better bosses, the argument goes, capitalism would be more humane and we’d have better work-life balance. (This argument isn’t always wrong, of course.) Such complaints naturally lead to regulations that constrain individual behavior, as when French legislators attempted to stop managers from sending e-mails outside work hours. As I learned while researching a book about e-mail, however, many of the medium’s consequences are fundamental to its easy-to-use design. The simple act of introducing an ultra-low-friction form of messaging disrupted the fragile ecosystems of modern office work. When you make it easier to communicate, people automatically begin communicating a lot more.

—Cal Newport, “What Michael Crichton Reveals About Big Tech and A.I.,” The New Yorker, January 29, 2025, and screencaps of Spielberg's Jurassic Park as selected by yours truly.

[the-cat-ara]

I'm curious about your Metamy fankid's origin, would you be able to elaborate?

Of course!!, even though it all ended in a lot of text. 😅😅

Dr. Eggman, upon learning of the couple's plans to conceive a child, saw an opportunity to conduct an experiment in genetic engineering and bio-synthesization (mostly as an opportunity to create a perfect creature, with the best of his best creation and a part of one of his pesky enemies, that he could add to his army of Badniks). Since natural conception between a biological organism and a robot was impossible, he offered to assist them in the creation of a biological offspring, concealing his true intentions. Despite initial mistrust, the couple eventually accepted his help. Eggman began the process by extracting samples of Amy's DNA and performing an exhaustive genetic analysis to determine the feasibility of fusion with a piece of Metal sonic's nucleus. Using gene-editing nanotechnology, he began to modify and optimize segments of the biological material. His goal was to create a functional bridge between biology and technology, allowing the resulting organism to possess a hybrid structure capable of sustaining itself and developing in a stable manner.

But the first attempts were unsuccessful. The incompatibility between the organic matter and the nucleus piece generated a cellular collapse before reaching the advanced mitosis phase. After multiple unsuccessful attempts, Eggman concluded that the system required a high-density external energy source to stabilize the integration process. It was then that he requested access to the Chaos Emeralds, arguing that their energy would be able to catalyze the symbiosis between the biological and synthetic structures. Faced with the absolute refusal of all, Amy intervened, achieving that their use was allowed under strict surveillance (to the annoyance of Eggman). By exposing the DNA-impregnated core to the energy of the Chaos Emeralds, the expected synthesis occurred: the bio-mechanical combination stabilized, allowing the hybrid structure to self-regulate. However, the procedure consumed an excessive amount of energy, leaving the Emeralds in a state of hibernation rendering them temporarily unusable, which frustrated Eggman, as he would not be able to use them for other future projects.

With initial success assured, the next step was to implant the tiny nucleus into Amy's uterus to develop. The procedure did not guarantee successful implantation or stable embryonic development, so constant monitoring was required to evaluate progress. It took several months of studies and evaluations before Amy finally began to show signs of pregnancy, confirming that the experiment had worked.

Throughout the pregnancy, Amy attended periodic medical check-ups to monitor the development of the fetus, which presented accelerated growth and an unusual demand for resources by the mother, making her consume more food. As the pregnancy progressed, Amy began to experience episodes of extreme fatigue and systemic deterioration, which worried all her friends and especially Metal Sonic, eggman performed some studies. The results were alarming: the fetus was absorbing an inordinate amount of energy and nutrients, severely compromising the mother's health to the point of endangering her life. Amy was immediately hospitalized to stabilize her. With only a few days remaining before her due date, the possibility of a premature birth was considered. However, given Amy's critical condition, the procedure posed a high risk of maternal mortality. Finally, the day of delivery arrived and Iris was successfully delivered. After delivery, Amy showed signs of slow recovery, partially regaining her energy levels. However, this only lasted a few months before Amy's body collapsed due to extreme exhaustion and she was again admitted to the hospital, this time showing no improvement, and a year later Amy finally passed away.

if you got this far, I hope you liked it and that what I said made some sense, also thank you very much for asking, I'm always glad you ask about my drawings :D💖💖!!

[reveseke]

General BW!reader headcanons

— Criminal minds × spiderverse au; Black widow spider variant reader headcanons.

General BW!reader, works with any writing made with any AU branch of BW!R. This is more or less my own headcanons on mainly the general anatomical structure and powers of black widow! Reader and some jabs and mentions to the different [micro AU?] branches of BW!R (teen!BW!R, ally/Unsub spence (roommate & forensic pathologist BW!R respectively) micro au branches; AUs within the main AU lol)

Anatomy changes/powers functions/etc

- BW! Reader has a specialized fang-like system that developed a little after getting bitten by a DNA modified black widow !! Imo It's in the same vain with the vampiric fangs that extend when used! (In a way like Miguel's fangs actually, now that I think of it. They do extend outwards too when used due to the paralyzing venom the guy has lol..)

^ I'd also bargain that it wasn't an easy experience when the fangs to develop as the structure of their head changed a little to accomodate the fangs. Sore palate, lots of headaches, probably teeth structure changes as well...

- about BW!R's venom, since we're talking about BW!R being able to kill someone with a bite, the venom comes out in a more prominent form (take the female black widows who have more prominent venom for example, but sixfold that venom prominence). It's stronger, deadlier due to the modifications of the spider that bit R.

- now I believe I'd still put the slower development of the mutative gene in play with the other spider folk of my au (have the powers fully develop in the span of like month— or two or so.)

- urge to bite is more of a defensive mechanism in this case and it's probably something BW!R catches on quite quickly after the first few times. (Prey drive would probably apply as well, but have it come in when it's about the chase.); Mask is worn to prevent the biting, of course the fangs will still itch and the urge will be there but there's less likely a way that BW!R would bite when there's something obscuring the face. <- absolutely incorporating the 🕷️'s headcanon of a mask in lol. (Also distinctive ways to recognize characters etc. Makes things fun and easier to describe.)

- also also since the the teeth that have the venom gland attached to them are extendable, BW!r can extract their venom !!

^ Wholeheartedly believing that, BW!R realized that while biting they're going to have to be extremely or they run into the risk of being found (saliva traces, bite marks) and captured due to it. So they sometimes extract their venom from their own glands in the same way snake's venom is extracted (cup, thin but durable enough plastic wrap [cling wrap?] Over the cup and have the snake forcefully bite down and puncture the plastic wrap thus activating the venom glands and the snake shoots that venom into the cup.) And use a syringe to apply the venom to the victims of the BW!R.

- let's go back to the biting and instincts, now it's said and done that BW!R bites for defence and then have prey drive (that also goes hand in hand with hunting instinct), so I do think that they also get a more of an adrenaline kick out of it if the ""prey"" they're hunting is running away from them; trying to escape. (Hunting instinct, in which BW!R shamelessly bites the people they're hunting.)

- I think (Doctor) BW!R would have an easier time with discovering their powers since they are a doctor to begin with. They're more on the science side of the spectrum and are interested in documenting down things.

- but (teen) BW!R would have the same problem of discovering them at a slower pace like JS!R does.

Other things ??

- BW!R does not imo have a "no kill rule", they do not care if they kill or not. HOWEVER killing via bite is only the last resort they go to when they feel like the person they're hunting down would be better off dead due to what they have done. (Or they loose control and goes on a more primal/feral instinct that comes with the black widow gene.)

-(teen) BW!R has little to no control over biting people.

-(adult) BW!R has more control over their instincts.

- BW!R is often associated with the BAU one way or another.

-(teen) BW!R after being captured is placed in the custody of someone on the team (Hotch or Rossi most likely)

-(vigilante/doctor) BW!R is dorm roommates with Spence and Spence is an ally to the reader who works with them as a sidekick at some point. They both end up in the custody of the BAU and forcibly working with the FBI.

- unsub! Spence and (forensic pathologist) BW!reader, they're allies and unsub! Spence helps BW!R to mask the victims BW!R has killed so they cannot be traced back to them. Also Unsub! Spence who was also part of the BAU team already so that's how he was associated with them originally, later on (Forensic pathologist) BW! Reader is kind of shoved into that scene ad well.

- BW!R has a small symbol on his lower back (the hourglass of a black widow) that will light up when they apply enough strength to something because they tap into the full scale of their powers and that's the indicative of it. Just a small detail I thought about was cool. (Also I think they'd also have markings on their shoulders and arms as well.)

Relationship/ally/other things !!

- (doctor) BW! Reader & (ally) Spence are in a Queerplatonic relationship and you cannot change my mind about that. That's set on stone for me already lol.

- depending on the micro AU branch, BW!R ends up being an ally to the BAU in one way or another.

- (doctor) reader & (ally) Spence au; both are placed on the team after the team discovers that Spence is working with BW!R and betrayed the team. But they also wanted to have them close by due to orders from higher levels.

- (forensic pathologist) BW!R and Unsub!Spence both ends up with the team at some point.

- (teen) BW!R after being captured is placed in someone's custody in the team.

[randomthefox]

Metal Sonic's listed flaws.

His maximum overdrive technique can fatigue his power systems. In spite of the fandom hype Metal Sonic can scale to Sonic and Shadow. This is a primary reason why Sonic and Shadow outspeed him.

Super Metal Sonic lost to Super Sonic in five minutes in Sonic Speed Force Battle. Super Sonic wasn't even trying his hardest against him. Showing how overshadowed Metal Sonic is while he remains Doctor Eggman's slave.

Metal Sonic has been out of the temporal loop for a while as such is more inexperienced in battle. Sonic Adventure's original game shows he has been in stasis capsule.

Metal Sonic underestimated the power of the chaos emeralds against Super Sonic, Super Tails, and Super Knuckles. I admit I dislike how Izuka didn't bother giving Tails and Knuckles their aura forms. Death Battle intentionally low balled Knuckles in his fight against Donkey Kong without the use of his chaos emeralds, master emerald, and hyper emeralds in spite of Knuckles being far more familiar and most experienced with chaos emeralds history lore wise as its guardian.

Metal Sonic Metal Overlord form can easily be destroyed by egg fleet battleship debris and getting rammed into by one. I say this since Imperfect and Perfect Cell have tanked getting hit by conventional weapons without a scratch on them. Imperfect Cell was able to survive getting hit from behind by a sledge hammer which broke into pieces on contact on the back of his head. Perfect Cell survived getting hit by military jets and tanks. Perfect Cell knows Android 17's omnidirectional barrier technique after having absorbed him which can help counter against Metal Sonic's chaos control time limit, victory by endurance. Metal Sonic is not extracting Perfect Cell's dna because of the huge durability advantage Perfect Cell has over Metal. I keep seeing footage of Neo Metal Sonic holding his own against Perfect Cell and the Cell Jrs. Metal Sonic is made out of Titanium material which Perfect Cell is able to easily survive Titanium destroying attacks. Perfect Cell is going to Frieza death beam knee cap Metal Sonic like he did to Gohan only Perfect Cell's death beam attacks are going to sever Metal Sonic's limbs.

Metal Overlord is implied to be the same one from Sonic Rivals as he has shown some use of Silver's copied telekinesis which he uses to heal himself with the attracted metal debris around his point of view. Metal Overlord is unable to make proper offensive use of it against Shadow. Even chaos control Metal Overlord cannot phase in his missile attacks and can only move his body to attack Shadow.

My only complaint about your dissertation is a lot of those feats are Anime Only. Nobody hits Cell in the head with a sledgehammer in the manga.

Otherwise yes, spot on. The list of feats between the two is like night and day. Perfect Cell is supposed to be something like a million times stronger than Freeza, and even Goku could not defeat him and it required Gohan unlocking his true potential to be able to overcome him. Metal Overlord was beaten by regular ol' Super Sonic Tails and Knuckles. It's not even a discussion, in my opinion.