#High-Precision Transmitters

[mastergarryblogs]

Unveiling the Power of Position Velocity Feedback Transmitter Systems in Modern Industries

Introduction: The Importance of Position and Velocity Feedback Systems in Precision Control

Position and velocity feedback transmitter systems are integral to industries that demand high-precision control and motion tracking. These systems are employed to monitor the position and velocity of moving objects in real-time, providing critical data for automated operations. The evolution of these systems has been significant, with advancements in technology enabling more compact, accurate, and reliable feedback mechanisms that drive automation, robotics, aerospace, automotive, and healthcare applications.

With the global shift towards increased automation, the demand for such systems is on the rise. Industries across the board require precise control of machinery, vehicles, and robots to enhance performance, improve safety, and optimize productivity. The growing need for smart manufacturing, autonomous vehicles, and medical robotics underscores the vital role these systems play in modern industries. Despite some challenges, such as high upfront costs and integration complexities, the long-term benefits of precision, efficiency, and reliability outweigh these hurdles.

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Position Velocity Feedback Transmitter Systems Market Dynamics: Drivers, Challenges, and Opportunities

Drivers of Growth

The Position Velocity Feedback Transmitter Systems market is experiencing robust growth driven by several key factors:

Advancements in Automation and Robotics: Industries across manufacturing, automotive, and aerospace are increasingly adopting automation technologies. These systems allow for faster, more accurate control, driving the need for precise position and velocity feedback.

Technological Advancements in Sensors: Innovations in sensor technology, particularly in digital systems, are facilitating the development of more accurate and miniaturized position velocity feedback systems. The integration of Internet of Things (IoT) technologies is making these systems smarter and more adaptable, driving their adoption in industries such as healthcare, smart manufacturing, and autonomous vehicles.

The Rise of Industry 4.0: Industry 4.0 technologies are revolutionizing production lines, with automation and data-driven decisions at their core. Position velocity feedback systems play a critical role in enabling smarter, more efficient manufacturing processes.

Emerging Applications in Healthcare and Autonomous Vehicles: In healthcare, robotic surgeries and diagnostics systems demand highly accurate motion control, while autonomous vehicles require precise feedback systems for safe operation. Both sectors are driving significant demand for position and velocity feedback systems.

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Challenges to Position Velocity Feedback Transmitter Systems Market Adoption

Despite the promising growth, several barriers could slow the widespread adoption of position velocity feedback transmitter systems:

High Initial Investment Costs: The cost of acquiring and integrating high-precision position velocity feedback systems can be prohibitive, especially for small and medium-sized enterprises (SMEs). High upfront costs can deter organizations from upgrading or adopting these systems, limiting market expansion.

Complexity of System Integration: Integrating new feedback systems with existing infrastructure and machinery can be complex and time-consuming, especially in industries that have legacy systems. This complexity increases the time to market and may discourage immediate adoption.

Specialized Training Requirements: The operation, calibration, and maintenance of advanced position velocity feedback systems require highly specialized knowledge and skills. The shortage of skilled labor in these fields may hinder growth, particularly in developing regions.

Key Opportunities

Several emerging trends present substantial opportunities for the growth of the position velocity feedback transmitter systems market:

Smart Manufacturing: As manufacturing processes become increasingly automated, there is a growing demand for position velocity feedback systems to enhance productivity and reduce human error. These systems are integral to improving the efficiency of production lines and ensuring consistent product quality.

Healthcare Robotics: Surgical robots, diagnostic devices, and rehabilitation technologies require real-time motion control. The healthcare sector’s increasing reliance on these technologies provides a substantial opportunity for the growth of high-precision position feedback systems.

Autonomous Vehicles: The rapid development of autonomous vehicles (AVs) hinges on accurate motion tracking and feedback systems for safe navigation. As the demand for AVs increases, so too will the demand for position and velocity feedback transmitters that ensure precise vehicle control.

Position Velocity Feedback Transmitter Systems Market Segmentation and Analysis

By Type

The position velocity feedback transmitter systems market can be divided into two key types:

Position Feedback Transmitter: This sub-segment is expected to dominate the market, driven by the increasing demand for precision in industrial automation applications. Position feedback transmitters provide accurate location tracking, ensuring the correct placement of components in automated systems.

Velocity Feedback Transmitter: While this segment is smaller, it is growing rapidly due to the need for precise speed control in applications such as robotics, aerospace, and automotive industries.

By Technology

Analog Systems: While still in use, analog systems are being increasingly replaced by more sophisticated digital feedback systems that offer greater accuracy and scalability.

Digital Systems: Dominating the market, digital systems provide real-time, highly accurate feedback for a range of applications, particularly in industries like automotive, aerospace, and healthcare. The continued innovation in sensor technology and integration with IoT is expected to fuel further growth in this segment.

By Application

The demand for position and velocity feedback systems spans a variety of industries:

Industrial Automation: Expected to maintain the largest market share, industrial automation continues to be the leading driver of demand for precise motion control systems. These systems are integral to ensuring the accuracy and speed of machinery in sectors such as manufacturing and material handling.

Aerospace and Defense: Aerospace applications require high-precision feedback systems for tasks such as flight control, navigation, and satellite positioning.

Automotive: As automotive systems become more automated, the demand for position and velocity feedback systems grows. These systems ensure precise vehicle control in autonomous and semi-autonomous driving technologies.

Energy: The energy sector, particularly in renewable energy systems, requires high-performance motion control to optimize energy production and distribution.

By Region

The market is geographically diverse, with distinct growth patterns across various regions:

North America: Dominating the market, North America is poised to continue leading the position velocity feedback transmitter systems market due to its advanced industrial sectors, including aerospace and automotive.

Asia-Pacific: The Asia-Pacific region is expected to witness the highest growth rate, driven by rapid industrialization and the increasing adoption of automation technologies in countries like China and India.

Europe: Europe’s strong automotive and industrial automation sectors will continue to contribute to the growth of this market.

Latin America and Middle East & Africa: While smaller markets, the demand for these systems is expected to rise as industries in these regions embrace automation and robotics.

Position Velocity Feedback Transmitter Systems Market Competitive Landscape

Key Players

The market for position velocity feedback transmitters is highly competitive, with several industry leaders at the forefront:

Pepperl+Fuchs: Known for its next-generation sensors, Pepperl+Fuchs continues to innovate with solutions tailored to the needs of the automotive and industrial automation sectors. The company launched new high-performance sensors aimed at enhancing precision in harsh industrial environments in 2024.

Temposonics: Specializing in digital feedback systems, Temposonics has made significant strides in the robotics and aerospace sectors. Their advanced systems offer real-time position and velocity tracking, catering to industries that demand high-speed and high-accuracy solutions.

Other Key Players: Other companies in this market include Balluff, Siemens, and Honeywell, each offering various solutions across different applications, from industrial automation to healthcare.

Emerging Trends in Competition

Integration of IoT: Manufacturers are increasingly integrating IoT technologies into their position velocity feedback systems to enhance data collection, improve connectivity, and enable predictive maintenance.

Customization and Tailored Solutions: Companies are focusing on providing customized solutions for specific industries to cater to the unique needs of sectors such as automotive, aerospace, and healthcare.

Sustainability Initiatives: With growing environmental concerns, companies are developing energy-efficient systems that not only meet performance requirements but also adhere to sustainable production practices.

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Conclusion:

The Position Velocity Feedback Transmitter Systems Market is on a rapid growth trajectory, driven by advancements in automation, robotics, and sensor technologies. The demand for high-precision motion control systems is intensifying as industries seek to improve efficiency, safety, and productivity. Despite challenges such as high initial costs and integration complexities, the opportunities presented by emerging applications in healthcare, autonomous vehicles, and smart manufacturing are substantial.

With continued innovation and a focus on integration with IoT and digital technologies, the market is well-positioned for long-term expansion. As the industrial landscape continues to evolve, the role of position and velocity feedback systems will be pivotal in shaping the future of automation and precision control across various sectors.

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[rhynestonez]

BLURRED LINES

Bucky X Reader

Oneshot

Summary: You and Bucky go undercover as a couple in a high-end casino. You’re dressed to kill, but he can’t stop looking at you. Tension builds as you have to pretend to flirt, touch, kiss—all for the sake of the mission. The lines blur.

The air in the hotel suite is thick with steam and tension. You’re standing in front of the long mirror, smoothing the fabric of your dress down your sides as you take in the transformation. The black silk clings just right—elegant but dangerous, cut low enough to be distracting but tailored for ease of movement. Strategic slits, hidden loops for gear, enough flexibility to throw a punch if it came to that. You’d argued with Nat once about fashion in the field, but tonight? Tonight, the dress was the weapon.

From behind you, the sound of the door opens with a soft click. You don’t turn at first—you already know who it is.

“Didn’t think you were the type to be late, Barnes.”

His low voice answers after a beat. “Didn’t think you were the type to wear that.”

You glance at him through the mirror.

He’s standing just inside the doorway, frozen. Black tux. Crisp white shirt. His hair is tied back neatly, a few strands already slipping loose at the nape of his neck. His metal hand flexes once at his side before stilling.

“You clean up nice.” he says finally. Quiet. Flat. But his eyes betray him—dark and unmoving, fixed squarely on you.

You smirk and twist your earring into place. “That sounded dangerously close to a compliment, Barnes.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

His tone is gruff, but his ears betray him too—turning a little pink where they peek out from his hair. You catch it. You don’t comment.

You turn to face him fully, hands settling on your hips.

“Ready?”

He scans you once more. Not just the dress. The hidden knife at your thigh. The transmitter woven into your earring. The cool steel tucked just under the side of your bodice. His gaze lifts back to yours, unreadable now.

“Yeah-“ he says. “Let’s go get this over with.”

You walk toward him slowly, your heels clicking softly against the marble floor. When you reach him, he holds out an arm, his gloved hand curled slightly in invitation.

You slide your hand into the crook of his elbow.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t secretly love this.” you murmur.

He doesn’t answer, just puts his gaze elsewhere until you make it to the car.

The car ride to the casino is quiet.

Not uncomfortable—but thick. Dense, like something unspoken is taking up space in the backseat with you.

Outside the tinted windows, Monte Carlo is draped in golden light. The sun’s last stretch glints off the Mediterranean as high-end cars blur past. Palms sway lazily along the hills. Everything looks expensive. Dangerous. Perfect for a Hydra front operation.

You glance sideways.

Bucky sits beside you, legs slightly apart, one hand on his knee, the other resting—casually but precisely—near the side holster hidden beneath his jacket. His face is set in stone, but you can tell. He’s already in mission mode. Watching everything. Reading the layout of the city. The perimeter. The exit points.

Still, his eyes flicker toward you more than once.

But you pretend not to notice.

You check your lipstick in the compact mirror instead, not because you need to—but because it gives you something to do with your hands. Your fingers are steady, but your pulse is annoyingly loud in your ears.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” he asks finally, voice low.

You glance over. He’s looking at you—really looking, not just in that tactical, calculating way.

You close the compact with a soft click and tilt your head. “I’ve danced with worse.”

“Yeah, but not with me.”

His voice is barely above a whisper, and it’s almost playful—almost. But beneath it, something else simmers. Not quite nerves. Not quite jealousy. Something that feels like… warning.

You match his look. “I can handle you.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. A shadow of a smile.

“We’ll see.”

-

The casino is lit like it’s trying to seduce every soul inside it.

Crystal chandeliers, gilded marble floors, a glass dome high above that reflects the shimmer of every polished shoe and glittering necklace below. The noise is muffled elegance—clinking glasses, low jazz, a hum of conversation like distant thunder. Cameras are disguised as art. Guards in suits line the shadows.

The car pulls up to the front and the valet opens the door.

Your heels touch pavement first. The dress catches the evening breeze like smoke. You rise slowly, extending a hand—and Bucky is already there, taking it. He’s smooth, practiced, but his grip lingers just a second longer than necessary.

His metal hand rests against your back as you walk in, a gentle but unmistakable pressure.

It’s all part of the act. The intimacy. The easy affection. The illusion of being lovers.

So why does your skin burn where he touches you?

“Eyes on the room Barnes.” you whisper, not looking at him.

“I am-“ he murmurs, and you feel his mouth so close to your ear that your breath catches.

“You’re in it.”

You glance up sharply, and he’s already scanning the crowd again, stoic as ever. Like he didn’t just say something that made your stomach do a slow, traitorous flip.

You walk past velvet ropes, nodding to the security detail with a practiced smile.

Bucky plays the role well—silent and dangerous, a little possessive, perfectly tailored. Anyone watching would believe he was your bodyguard or your billionaire boyfriend. Or both.

You weave through the sea of perfume and tension toward the poker tables, trailing intel, eyes locking on your target.

“Act natural.” you say softly, looping your arm tighter around his.

“This is me being natural.”

You roll your eyes. “Try smiling once. For show.”

“I don’t smile for free.”

You lean in close, lips just grazing the shell of his ear.

“Fine. I’ll owe you one.”

This time, his grip on your waist tightens. Just slightly.

The private floor is buzzing—low voices, high stakes. You and Bucky glide through it like smoke, a polished couple whose wealth gives them the right to be everywhere and the power to be unnoticed. That’s what makes this place so dangerous. Everyone is playing a game behind the game.

Bucky’s hand never leaves your back.

He hasn’t spoken much since you entered the upper floor of the casino, but his body stays close—too close to be just part of the act. When you stop to grab a drink, his front brushes lightly against your shoulder, his breath catching on your skin for a second too long.

Your target is exactly where intel said he’d be: Armand Duclaire. Mid-50s, French arms dealer with a taste for rare weapons and younger women. He’s surrounded by bodyguards and a few glamorous hangers-on, drinking whiskey that costs more than your monthly gear budget.

Duclaire is leaning back at the main poker table, cigarette balanced between two fingers, laughing too loudly.

You squeeze Bucky’s wrist once in signal.

“I need to be close to him,” you murmur. “He’s got the auction guest list on him.”

“You’re not getting close to him alone.”

You smirk. “Jealous?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he sets his jaw, his hand tightening on your waist.

“Just stay close.”

You approach the table with casual grace, Bucky just behind you.

There’s only one open seat. You don’t hesitate—you slide into Bucky’s lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

His body tenses beneath you.

For half a second, his hands hover—unsure where to go—but then one lands on your bare thigh, slow and deliberate. His thumb rests there, warm and unmoving. A possessive gesture. Territorial.

Your breath stutters, just once, before you plaster on your flirtiest smile and turn your attention to the dealer.

“Mind if we join?” you purr to the table.

Duclaire’s eyes drift over you lazily. He nods. “Of course. Though I must warn you, beautiful distractions tend to lose big.”

You laugh lightly and reach across the table for your chips, the movement intentionally slow. Bucky shifts slightly beneath you—barely noticeable, but you feel the tension in his chest, his breath against your shoulder.

“Careful,” you say sweetly to Duclaire. “I don’t play to lose.”

You play for three rounds.

You flirt just enough. Laugh at Duclaire’s jokes. Brush your fingers along Bucky’s knee when you lean forward. Whisper against his jaw when you need to pass him intel—close enough that your lips graze his stubble. Close enough to hear his breath hitch.

“You okay?” you whisper during a lull.

“Fine.”

It’s a lie. He’s too still. Too quiet. His grip hasn’t moved from your thigh, but his thumb is making slow, deliberate strokes now. Just enough to make it hard to focus. Maybe it’s accidental. Maybe it’s not.

Then comes the perfect moment.

Duclaire pulls out a slim card from his jacket—gold trim, the auction list encoded in the barcode on the back. He places it on the table near his drink as he reaches for another smoke.

You shift again—slightly, just enough to lean into Bucky’s neck and whisper, “He has it. On the card. I can swap it. I just need a distraction.”

Bucky hums under his breath. You feel it deep in his chest.

He leans in—sharp, fast, efficient—and presses a kiss to your neck.

Your body goes rigid.

Not a fake kiss. Not just lips near skin for cover. No—he kisses you. Slow. Just below your ear. Hot breath against your throat, mouth open enough that you feel it burn. It lasts exactly three seconds.

Long enough for his fingers to grab the card and for you to swap it.

Long enough for your heartbeat to go completely haywire.

When you straighten again, your eyes lock.

You don’t speak.

You don’t have to.

You make the clean exit five minutes later.

The card is in your purse. The real one. Duclaire never notices—it was flawless. But you feel Bucky’s tension rising the second you’re out of that chair. His body close behind yours, quiet as a ghost but charged like a storm.

Down the hallway, the sounds of the casino fade—replaced by low jazz from the lobby and the rhythmic tap of your heels against marble.

He hasn’t said a word.

You glance over your shoulder.

“You gonna say something?”

He doesn’t.

You stop walking. So does he.

The corridor is dim, elegant. A long stretch of mirrors and gold trim that feels too grand, too intimate.

Your pulse stutters.

“It was just a play..” you say—too fast, too practiced.

Bucky steps forward. One step. Just close enough that you have to tilt your chin to keep eye contact.

“Felt real.”

He says it so low you almost miss it. And then his eyes—those sharp, storm-colored eyes—flicker down to your mouth. Just once. Just enough.

You swallow.

“It was the mission.”

“Then why are you shaking?”

You blink.

Your fingers are trembling. Just barely. But he’s close enough to notice everything. He always is.

“Adrenaline-“ you say, but it comes out breathless.

“Bullshit.”

You open your mouth—but the door at the end of the hallway opens suddenly. A hotel staff member pushing a cart. You both step aside, tension snapping taut, but it doesn’t dissipate.

The suite is silent when you get back.

You toss your clutch on the table, but your hand lingers near the strap. You don’t turn around.

“We got what we came for-“ you say flatly. “That’s what matters.”

Bucky closes the door with a click. The quiet stretches.

“It’s not just that.” he says behind you.

You let out a soft breath and finally turn. “Then what is it?”

He’s watching you with that unreadable expression again—tight shoulders, clenched jaw, eyes that look like they’re holding back something sharp and vulnerable at once.

“You sat on my lap.” he says slowly, like the words taste strange coming out. “You leaned into me like you meant it. You let me touch you. Kiss you.”

“Because we had to-“ you say, but your voice wavers. “You know that.”

“Then why didn’t you pull away?”

You feel it hit you in the ribs—hot and honest.

You stare at him.

His eyes are dark, locked on yours like he’s daring you to lie.

“Because I didn’t want to-“ you whisper. “Okay?”

Silence.

Then—he steps forward, and you don’t move.

“Say it again.”

“I didn’t want to stop.”

“yeah?” he breathes, voice rasped and quiet, like something broken just healed in his chest.

And then his hand lifts. Not rushed. Not aggressive. He touches your face like he’s still unsure you’re real—like the risk of wanting you might be too much.

But you lean into it.

Finally.

His hand lingers at your jaw. You’re so close. His breath is on your lips. That beat of stillness feels suspended in time—your body leaning into his, your mouth parted just slightly, like you’re waiting.

And you are.

Waiting for him to make the move. Waiting for yourself to let it happen.

But before either of you can—

Your comm crackles.

“Status check. You two clear?”

The voice is muffled, but unmistakable—your handler.

You flinch. Bucky’s head picks back up, a slight frustration in his clenched jaw.

He groans under his breath. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

You blink, heart still thudding in your throat. Slowly, you pull back—just enough to breathe. “It’s HQ. We have to answer.”

He goes to comply-but you’re already reaching for the tiny comm device tucked near your bra strap. You press the mic. Try to sound neutral.

“We’re clear. Package secured.”

“Copy that. Confirmed the switch went unnoticed. Hotel cams are being scrubbed. Extraction window in 40 minutes. You’ll have to sit tight till then. Keep the cover clean.”

You don’t respond at first. You glance at Bucky—he’s already pulled back, pacing a slow half-circle around the room, hands on his hips, head tilted back like he’s trying to will the tension out of his body.

“Acknowledged.” you say finally, and shut the comm off.

The silence that follows feels loud.

You smooth your dress. Try not to look at him. Your body is still vibrating from how close he was. How close you still are to losing the thread entirely.

“Well-“ you say, your voice quieter than you meant. “That was…”

“Bad timing.” Bucky finishes for you, eyes still on the wall.

You nod. Try to exhale some of the heat still buzzing through your veins.

He walks over slowly. Pauses in front of you, not quite as close as before. The moment—the one that almost happened—hangs between you, unspoken but undeniable.

“You okay?” he asks finally, softer now. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you interrupt gently. “We just… we got caught in it.”

He nods. “Yeah. Still.”

“Still..” you echo.

You both fall silent. Not awkward. Just careful. Like something has shifted—but neither of you are quite ready to step over the line again.

Not yet.

He scrubs a hand through his hair, then gestures to the couch. “We’ve got forty minutes. We should lay low.”

You nod. “Yeah. Good idea.”

You sit down. Not touching. But the air between you is thick with everything unspoken.

Not gone.

Just waiting.

You settle onto the edge of the plush hotel couch, your heels off, legs curled slightly under you. Bucky stays standing a moment longer, as if trying to work off the restlessness coiled in his limbs, then finally sits too—with a deliberate bit of space between you.

But not too much.

You glance over.

“You always pace like that?”

He freezes mid-movement, head turning slowly toward you.

“I wasn’t—”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe I was.” he mutters.

You smile, slow and a little smug. But you don’t press it.

Instead, you shift your body to face him more and reach down to adjust the strap of your heel. It’s a little thing, but it draws his eyes for just a second longer than it should. You catch him.

“Were you always this bad at pretending?” you ask.

He exhales a short laugh through his nose. “I was better when I didn’t care.”

“Ouch.”

“Not about you.” he says quickly. “About… the role. The cover. I used to just turn it off. The part that felt anything.”

The room quiets again.

You look at him—really look. His profile is sharper in the low lamplight. Tired. Beautiful in that worn-down, ex-soldier kind of way. You’ve known him long enough to recognize the cracks behind his calm.

“That sounds exhausting.” you say gently.

“It was.”

He leans back, one arm resting on the back of the couch. It brushes behind your shoulder, not quite touching you.

“I hated being touched, for a long time,” he admits. “Still do, sometimes. But you…” He glances at you, eyes sharp but quiet. “I feel fine when it’s you.”

The words hit you square in the chest. And you don’t say anything at first because what do you even say to that?

So instead, you nudge him with your shoulder—just enough to break the mood, not the meaning.

“Bucky, are you flirting with me again?”

“That wasn’t flirting.”

“Sure felt like flirting.”

He exhales a laugh. Low. Real.

You shift slightly, and your knee brushes his. This time, neither of you move away.

There’s a beat of silence. Then—

“Y’know, you snore.” he says suddenly.

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“When we were in Prague. That shitty safehouse above the butcher shop. You fell asleep for two hours, dead to the world. Snored like a chainsaw.”

You slap his shoulder lightly, feigning offense. “You’re full of it.”

“Swear on my life.”

“That’s rich coming from the guy who talks in his sleep.”

He looks at you sharply. “I do not.”

“You yelled ‘get down’ in your sleep that night.”

A beat.

He blinks, deadpan. “…I stand corrected.”

You laugh—and it’s a real laugh. Bucky watches it bloom on your face like it’s a rare thing, something he wasn’t expecting to see but can’t look away from now that it’s there.

When your laughter fades, the room softens again.

You both shift, unconsciously, leaning closer—knees brushing fully now, his arm still half-draped along the couch behind you. The quiet is no longer heavy. Just there. Warm. Unspoken.

You sigh.

“This isn’t weird, right?” you say. “Us. Here. Everything.”

“No.”

“Good.”

“Good.” he echoes.

And again—there it is.

That charged, fragile pause. The space where a kiss could fit. He leans in slightly. You meet him halfway. Not kissing. Not yet.

Just close enough that if either of you breathed a little harder, it might tip over.

But neither of you do.

Not yet.

The extraction goes smoothly.

Too smoothly.

You and Bucky slip out of the hotel in clean streetwear and low profiles. Sunglasses, quiet strides, no handholding this time. No laughter. The tension from the night before has cooled to something taut and unreadable, like the final stretch of a wire before it snaps.

The jet ride is brief. Nondescript. You sleep for half of it with your head leaned against the wall, heart stubbornly ignoring how much it wants to lean the other way—toward him.

Bucky doesn’t say much. Just sits across from you, arms crossed, looking out the window like he’s trying to stay out of his own head.

Neither of you talk about what almost happened.

The mission is technically a success. Everyone’s pleased. No injuries. The asset’s safe. Surveillance wiped. You even get a quiet “good work” from the director before you’re dismissed.

But it doesn’t feel like an ending. Not yet.

You’re both dropped off at the safehouse. Just for the night. Debrief’s in the morning. The usual. The space is quiet, sterile, like every other post-op resting point—two bedrooms, a kitchen, plain walls, no warmth.

You go to your room first, dropping your bag. You want to shower. Wash off the night. The weight of pretending. Of not saying what you should’ve.

You make it ten minutes before there’s a knock at your door.

You open it. He’s there.

In his dark jeans and long-sleeve henley. Still carrying the echo of last night on his face—drawn, unreadable. But this time, he’s not looking away.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

You step aside wordlessly.

He doesn’t cross the room. Just stops a few feet in. Like he knows if he gets any closer, something’s going to break.

“I didn’t want to touch you anymore than I had last night and ruin it.” he says, voice quiet. “I didn’t want to kiss you just because the mission made it easy.”

You watch him. Say nothing.

“But it didn’t stop. The mission’s over and I still—”He cuts himself off. Runs a hand through his hair. His jaw clenches.

“I don’t know how to do this. I never learned how to want something this way.”

Your breath catches.

“You think I did?” you say, just as quietly. “I’ve been pretending to want the wrong people for years. Then you show up and ruin it.”

He looks at you now. Eyes dark, but open.

“I ruined it?”

“Yeah-you did.” you breathe. “In the best possible way though.”

That’s all it takes.

The last domino tips.

In two strides, he’s in front of you. One hand on your waist. The other coming up to your face, giving you a second—just a second—to pull away.

You don’t.

So he kisses you.

Finally.

And it’s nothing like the mission. Not practiced. Not calculated. It’s unsteady and deep and real.

You make a soft sound—half relief, half ache—as you melt into it. His mouth parts yours slowly, like he’s still afraid to break you. Like he’s still learning what safe feels like.

Your fingers grip the hem of his shirt. His hands span your lower back, then your hips, then up—every touch pulling you closer. More.

There’s no mission now.

No role to play. No cameras. No handler’s voice in your ear.

Just the two of you, pressed together, wanting and unsure and entirely here.

When he pulls back, it’s only an inch. You’re both breathing hard.

“If this is a mistake.” he says, voice low. “Tell me now.”

Instead of answering him, you kiss him again.

Slower.

Willingly.

Because there’s nowhere left to run.

Notes: this might have a part 2 :3

[talonabraxas]

The true origin and purpose of the pyramids

Basic theory of pyramidology is, that inside of a pyramid is accumulating and transforming universal energy called "orgon". Pyramids in their principal shape polarizing physical vacuum on both contradictory energies that is why they can act both as a transmitter or receiver, is a vibrational device which is able to receive, transform, concentrate, direct and emit energy. In an ancient Egypt they were energizing and uplifting vibrations in whole society.

Pyramid contains of a two words "pyro" or fire and "amid" or center. Pyramid is a device with fire in the center. Where center is well known king's chamber. Precisely in this center most of an energy is concentrated from where it spiraling to the top.

Builders of Egyptian pyramids used technique of harmonic resonance. They strictly observe measurements and proportions, which allows connection to the Earth's harmonics vibrations. Using words sacral geometry in a connection with pyramids we mean, that a builders were using same proportions and ratios, which we can find in nature and whole universe namely golden section (phi Φ=1.618033...)

They were also using a principles of resonance and sound to neutralize earth's gravity to be able to move a massive blocks. This effect occurs by tuning sound source to an exact frequency of a material. Pyramids where also connected to cooperative complex.

Egyptian pyramids were build mostly of limestone and crystal. Atoms of crystal vibrate at the same frequency as a planet earth, by this resonance an electric piezoelectric effect is occurring in inner mass of pyramid . Where one form of limestone is used as a isolating material the other form with magnesium is used as a negatively charged coat of an pyramid. It's acting like a massive wire. Granite is slightly radioactive which helps to ionizing air in all passages and caverns. Great Pyramid of Giza has also spiritual connection mostly to Orion and Sirius.

One of the functions of a pyramid is star gate and multiverse vortex. Pyramid as a portal allows people to reconnect with a source unity consciousness field. Energy of a pyramid reacts to operator's thoughts and intentions. It's acting like a huge amplifier for manifestation reality whatever it is healing, communication or interdimensional or astral travelling.

Energy of pyramid

Pyramidal energy of high vibrations calls cosmic is relating to torsion fields. It is favorable for human body and mind and other living beings. This energy is optically breaks, reflect and polarizing similarity to visible light. Pyramids walls attracting energy inside in all directions. This concentrated energy is affecting molecules or crystal structures of matter within a range of pyramid.

Scientists proved that no matter of a proportions, pyramids are amplifying mentioned energies of torsion fields (cosmic energies) and also energies of electromagnetic spectrum. American scientist Dr. Flanagan says, that Cheops pyramid concentrating energies in a very high frequencies and that is based on fact it has five angles. These corner angles of a pyramid concentrates and directing into energy beam where all four meets in the kings chamber.

Pyramidal energy is healthy for human organism as well as environment around and has multifunctional purpose. It strengthens the organism, heals humans and animals diseases, eases a pain of any kind, quickens healing of ambustion. Pyramid is also good for keeping a food fresh and healthy. Great for balancing a water for drinking or watering your vegetable and fruit. Softens taste of coffee, tea and quickens a germination of seeds. Growing never been faster than when you using a pyramidal energy. Strengthens a vitality, defends reproduce bacteria and microorganism which causes a break up of an organic matter. Living cells would not be affected by dehydratation as it still holds an electric charge and that is why plants or bodies would not be affected. Paradoxically if you like to slow down growth of your plants you don't give them any water they will still keeping very well under the pyramid and wouldn't need watering for a long time.

Many people have been personally convinced, that a pyramid is able to recharge our bodies when we are feeling exhausted, heals and tune our biological processes, but also gives us a tool to work with our psyche, consciousness and better connection to a higher frequencies and dimensions of reality. It's only up to us to what extend we are capable of operating these emitters. Many researchers were made in a wide range of branches as for example biochemistry, medical, agriculture, electronics or practical use for every day of life.

Pyramid Meditation and Manifestation Practices

Because of their physical properties and symbolic meanings, pyramids can be used in spiritual, meditation, and manifestation practices. Here are some ways you can use them to expand consciousness and receptivity to spiritual guidance:

1. Focus and Alignment

Just as pyramids form a point, or apex, at their top, they can represent focusing your attention in meditation. Some people find focusing on a mandala or lotus flower can help to reorient wandering thoughts in meditation. The pyramid can serve in the same fashion, whether it’s a figurine, a piece of art, or even in your imaginations.

In addition, you can focus your thoughts on moving up from the base of the pyramid, which can represent your experience in the material world to its pinnacle, which can represent a higher state of consciousness.

2. Energy Channeling

Pyramids are thought to channel cosmic energy, making them helpful tools for energy and even healing sessions. Placing a small pyramid on or near the head or body during energy and healing sessions is said to help balance and harmonize the body’s energy fields.

3. Manifestation Amplifier

The stable base and ascending sides of a pyramid can also symbolize staying grounded in the earthly plane while reaching for higher goals.

Writing down your intentions and placing them under a pyramid can be a helpful ritual in your manifestation practice. It can also serve as a request for blessings from higher powers when it comes to your endeavors.

4. Generating Creative Ideas

Given their association with enhancing focus and channeling energy, pyramids can be in creativity and problem solving when you want to channel higher energies and spiritual guidance.

In addition, the presence of a pyramid shape can serve as a visual and energetic reminder of your goals, aspirations, and unlimited capacity to create.

5. Gateways

Reflecting ancient practices, pyramids can be used as symbolic gateways during spiritual initiations or significant transitions, representing the journey from one state of consciousness to another.

This can involve meditating within or near pyramid structures to tap into transformative energies.

6. Enhancing a Sacred Space

Incorporating pyramids into the design of a creative, meditation, or other sacred space can elevate the area’s vibrational qualities. The pyramid’s base provides stability and grounding, while its ascending sides support creativity, the quest for higher wisdom, and spiritual ascension.

Energy Pyramid Real Fun, Wow!

[sihedwu]

How Timepulse Works

Hey everyone, so… this was supposed to be a reply to a question from the esteemed @wary-taru, but the topic turned out to be pretty broad, and in my humble opinion, it doesn’t really fit the “question-answer” format, so I decided to make a separate post. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

In case anyone forgot, let me remind you: Timepulse on Atmos works as a local navigation system, kinda like Atmos’s version of Earth’s GPS, and, jumping ahead, I’ll say right away that it seems to work on a similar principle, but, as often happens, a little differently. How exactly? Let’s find out.

How GPS Determines Location

So, before talking about Timepulse, I need to briefly explain GPS, since they should work the same in their most basic principle. As we all know from school, distance = speed * time. For us, this means that if we have a radio signal source whose location is precisely known, then, knowing the speed of light (299,792 km/s - veeery fast! >:D) at which radio waves travel, and the send and receive times of the signal, we can determine the distance to the transmitter. Therefore, if we know the distances to just 3 GPS satellites, then through something called the scary word “trilateration,” we can accurately determine our location on Earth. Okay, we’ve covered GPS, now let’s move on to Timepulse.

How Timepulse Determines Location

So, as we learned, the basic principle of GPS is calculating the distance to a transmitter based on the send and receive times of the signal. And the tower on Terra Glockenchime should perform the exact same function - sending a signal with the send time throughout Atmos so that everyone else can receive it. Now it’s clear why all that clock equipment is on Glockenchime. :D

But, I believe the most attentive of you should have already noticed that GPS needs 3 satellites to determine location, but there’s only 1 tower on Atmos. And, as you’ve probably already guessed, that’s where the difference lies. Now let’s see how this system works.

As with GPS, we need to calculate the distance, only not to a satellite, but to Glockenchime. However, one landmark isn’t enough; we need at least one more. As one, we can use, for example, the direction to the North Pole. So, now that we have the distance to Glockenchime, we can measure the angle between the direction to it and the direction to the North Pole. That will be the second landmark. Thus, through some not-so-complex trigonometry, Atmosian ships can calculate their location. But, as you might have already guessed, there’s one thing in all of this that we just can’t fail to mention. Namely - the accuracy of the measurements.

Atomic Clocks

So, if we measure the distance from the transmitter to the receiver through the travel time of the signal, we need to measure time very accurately, because with such a huge speed as the speed of light, even the slightest inaccuracy will be critical. To accurately measure such quantities, atomic clocks with accuracy down to attoseconds (one billionth of a billionth(!) of a second) are used on Earth. And… I wouldn’t say that the gear-driven equipment on Terra Glockenchime has the same accuracy as atomic clocks, so that gives us the right to assume that the signal sent by Timepulse travels much slower than the speed of light, otherwise the measurement errors would be just huge. And also, it’s worth noting that because not everyone can afford an atomic clock, all civilian GPS receivers, like in phones, are forced to use 4 or more satellites to achieve sufficient accuracy - and, as you’ve probably already guessed, even then it remains not very high. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Limits of Operation

So, since the canon doesn’t talk about the limits of Timepulse’s operation, we can’t say for sure whether it would work or not work at some distance/in some area (except, of course, the Great Expanse). However, judging by the fact that it radiates in all directions, its signal should weaken according to the inverse-square law. That is, if you move 2 times further from the source, the signal will weaken 4 times. Timepulse’s power isn’t reported in the show, but I would say that it can hardly operate beyond a few thousand kilometers. In any case, the canon data allows us to talk about such distances, but this is all, of course, inaccurate. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

So… I think I haven’t forgotten anything. Then that’s all for today. Thanks for your attention, bye!

[coffeandmidnights]

NOBODY'S SOLDIER Ch 5: I think I've seen this film before

also on ao3

"Please wait, boss Suzuya." whimpered Hanbee, following his superior, while Juuzou hopped through the hall, ignoring him and sprinting to a figure in the distance.

"Hideeee!" He yelled in glee, greeting the man in front of the conference room, while the Quinx arrived beside him.

"Yoo Juuzou!" Hide smiled, giving him a big high five. "Long time no see! We are finally working together on something."

"Did you know we're prosthetics pals?" Juuzou exclaimed to the rest of the investigators, making Hanbee blush embarrassed. "Please, don't say that.", but Hide played along. "No, he's right. Look, arm and leg! We're like half of Darth Vader!" They both showed off their glistening fake limbs, meeting with confused looks and condescending smiles. Only Haise seemed to join the gag and laughed appaled, making Hide hold his breath for some seconds, recalling the old sound of that laughter.

"Are you done having fun? We have a lot to discuss." Akira appeared behind them like a ghost and restored the serious atmosphere.

When everybody was sat, Haise got up and proudly announced how the effort of both Quinx and Suzuya squads let them gather precious information about the auction Nutcracker and many other ghouls would participate. "Mutsuki and I will be going undercover as victims of the auction and then attack it from the inside," said Juuzou with a smile. The rest of the investigators agreed in silence and then Akira got up.

"This mission is crucial. It's not only about catching Nutcracker, but most importantly it means dismantling one of the cruellest ghoul activities. Also, it will be a chance to destroy the Aogiri." She looked around the room, then her eyes stopped on someone. "The support of all squads is vital. Director Washuu himself asked to include some investigators who are not on the field anymore." She took a long breath.

"One of them is Nagachika."

Hide stopped breathing, his heart sinking in his chest. Of course, he thought They're not done with me yet. He observed every gaze that stared at him, meeting worried eyes and then stumbled on Haise's stare. It was the first time Hide looked at him for so long, fixated on the face that was once home. Haise seemed as upset as the rest of the room, but there was something else, a light of hope.

Hide slowly got up, without ever breaking eye contact, surrounded by a suffocating silence. He knew exactly why Washuu wanted him on the case. All along, it was a test of his loyalty, an eye on him all the time.

"It's been years since I've been in battle and to be honest, I don't miss it." Akira sighed loudly but didn't interrupt him. "But I understand that this mission is a fundamental step in the fight against ghouls and I'm not one to leave people when they need me. I'll be there." He looked directly at Haise, like a silent promise only they knew. Where you go, I'll go.

Akira swung again her quinque, twirling around like a ballerina, hitting the enemy ghoul with critical precision. Hide was far behind her, clutching to the RC suppressor gun given from the bureau. The Auction raid operation had just started and every squad started its motion in perfect synchronization, with fights sprung from every corner of the facility. His job was to be on the sidelines, supporting Akira's squad as he could. She obviously didn't need any help, handling the battle against Naki like a game, her weapon used as an extension of her body.

Hide looked around, while carefully listening to the many voices coming from the transmitter.

"Urie will escort Mutsuki to the ambulance. Oshiba squad, lead to the administrative office."

He couldn't be still anymore, not with the battle raving around him. In silence he got far from his squad, taking the long road into the bushes around the auction building. There was something off: it was all too smooth, too easy as if the CCG knew already everything. He ended up at the side of the building, the map engraved in his brain from the past nights studying it. He needed a place to observe the whole situation and knew exactly how to find it.

"Rank 1 Sasaki will fight alone. Keep the ghoul as far as possible from the administrative tower." Washuu's voice buzzed in Hide's ears and made him stop, with thoughts rushing back and forth. The first impulse was to run to Kaneki, find who he was fighting against, and protect him, but he resisted the urge to sprint away. Director Washuu didn't communicate with him by accident, especially when giving such sensible information about another investigator. No, it was a way to lure him to Haise. There was still a test being held.

Hide took a long breath and proceeded with his original plan, running to the building and hopping to endless stairs, looking away from the corpses scattered around. The smell of fresh blood permeated the air, coming from humans and ghouls' bodies, all equal when dead on the cold floor.

Hide opened the door of the control room and bolted in front of the large screen, surrounded by small displays showing corridors and little rooms scattered around the building. Without even time to check every detail, a crash blasted from the main screen and the image of the main stage was now occupied by two figures in front of one another.

He froze, horrified by the sight before him. Kaneki lay on the ground, wounded and covered in blood, but what truly struck him was the enemy.

His body was skinnier and emaciated, his hair white as snow, but those eyes and voice. How could it be? He was supposed to be dead. But there he was, a half-ghoul, with a kagune growing from his back.

Seidou Takizawa. His colleague, his friend. A ghoul.

Again.

[materialsscienceandengineering]

Room-temperature superconductivity: Researchers uncover optical secrets of Bi-based superconductors

Copper-oxide (CuO2) superconductors, such as Bi2Sr2CaCu2O8+δ (Bi2212), have unusually high critical temperatures. Optical reflectivity measurements of Bi2212 have shown that it exhibits strong optical anisotropy. However, this has not been studied through optical transmittance measurements, which can offer more direct insights into bulk properties. Now, researchers have elucidated the origin of this optical anisotropy through ultraviolet and visible light transmittance measurements of lead-doped Bi2212 single crystals, enabling a more precise investigation into its superconductivity mechanisms. Their research is published in the journal Scientific Reports. Superconductors are materials which conduct electricity without any resistance when cooled down below a critical temperature. These materials have transformative applications in various fields, including electric motors, generators, high-speed maglev trains, and magnetic resonance imaging.

Read more.

[novankenn]

Jaune Arc of Orleans -

Correspondence & Considerations

In her office high with in the confines of Beacon Tower, Ozlynn, the Headmistress of Beacon Academy sipped from her mug as she gazed out over the vast expanse of the Emerald Forest. Behind her at her desk sat Glynda Goodwitch her trusted aide, confidant and Deputy Headmistress. In Glynda's hands was a parchment letter.

"Impressive penmanship." she commented as she continued to digest the contents of the letter, "Though why these warnings were sent via traditional mail, rather than through a scroll call or text is beyond me."

"I believe that has to do more with the location of Orleans than anything else."

"Yes. Orleans. If I remember correctly it sits just at the absolute edge of the CCT. Though that is a little strange seeing as we have had video conversations with Lady Arc."

"Those are via a beam transmitter. Accessible only by government of Orleans." Ozlynn informed her deputy. "I doubt Master Arc has access to such an important resources for matters such as these."

"But if his words are true..."

"Then access should have been granted, but the only way to truly know if his warnings and proclamations are facts... requires them to happen."

"Which makes the warnings moot."

"Precisely."

"So what do you wish to do?" Glynda asked as she set the sheet of parchment paper on the Headmistress' desk, before rising from her seat and joining Ozlynn at the window. "I very much doubt Lady Arc will allow her only son to come to Vale, unescorted."

"I wish to speak with the young master, and discover how he knows what he knows."

"So you do not believe that the Brother of Light speaks to him? Gives him visions?"

"There are many strange occurrences in our world. Contradictions and questions about what is true, and real. But no, I do not believe in these warnings... though I am interested in his abilities."

"Abilities? That letter speaks of no such thing. It's just filled with religious dogma and delusions."

"This information does not come from the young master's written words."

"Really? Then from where?"

"Interviews that Qrow had conducted inside the walls of Orleans."

"Like we can seriously consider and stories he has heard. He's a drunken lout."

"At times yes, I must agree, but..." Ozlynn took another sip from her mug. "When it comes to working in the field. There are few with his abilities and skill."

"I can concede that point." Glynda offered though her tone didn't match her statement. "So what insights does... he have to offer?"

"When the young master rode out and rally Orleans defenders, everyone that had survived the fighting spoke of how Mr. Arc's very presence uplifted them renewed them. Gave them vigor, and strength of purpose."

"A semblance?"

"Perhaps." Ozlynn replied.

"Perhaps?" Glynda questioned.

"Yes, perhaps, though without his aura unlocked that seems... improbable."

"I see." Glynda commented as she too stared out over the canopy of the Emerald Forest. "So what are we to do? Are we going to make a trip to speak with him?"

"No. He's on his way to Beacon as we speak."

"How?"

"Qrow is escorting him, even if the young master is constantly complaining about being in chasity."

"Chasity? Isn't that a little... much?"

"No. It was a requirement from his family." Ozlynn answered. "They want his virtue intact... due to ongoing marriage negotiations."

"I see. So what is the plan when he arrives?"

"We will speak with him, and ascern the truth of his words."

"And where will he be lodged?"

"With you."

"ME?"

"You have the explicit trust of myself and Lady Arc to protect his chastity and well being. It was also a condition of letting him come to Beacon."

"His mother should have just used the transmitter. This is ridiculous."

"A video conversation would be... ineffective in seeing if his words are true. We can not study his posture and body language from a head only image." Ozlynn offered. "So young master Arc will reside with you, and the entirety of the staff will be informed of the... requirements and expectations Lady Arc has imposed."

"Very well. Though I still have reservations about this whole... situation."

"I would be shocked if you didn't." Ozlynn chuckled lightly. "If there is nothing else you can go about your day."

"When will he arrive?"

"With in the week."

==> Table of Contents <==

[redfilledfantasies]

Invigorated Muscle (Chapter 6 of 8)

The clinical quiet was punctuated only by the steady hum of machines and the rhythmic pounding of two bodies pushing themselves to limits known and unknown. Under the harsh light, muscles flexed in precise choreography, sweat glistening in sharp beads, as two hearts burned fierce fires beneath taut skin. Carmella’s gaze shifted, captured instantly by the raw power unfolding before her—a heartbeat like a thunderous drum, each pulse weaving a spell she both revered and feared to break.

Lydia Andersson moved with an effortless grace that seemed to defy the punishing speed her feet struck against the treadmill’s rubber belt. She was every bit the panther poised on a high-stakes chase—long limbs weaving a symphony of fluid control, each stride an echo of well-honed discipline. Her feet barely whispered across the belt’s surface, precise and light despite the full speed setting that demanded unyielding power. Muscles flexed beneath bronze skin, the tight contours of her athletic frame radiant with exertion, sweat beading along the planes of her shoulders and tracing slender rivers down her back.

Her breathing was a careful measure—a calm tide rising steadily as she met every challenge thrown at her body with unwavering strength. The hollow of her throat glimmered faintly with veins pulsing rhythmically, a visible metronome to the relentless cadence of her heart, which Carmella could hear without strain through the wireless transmitter attached to her chest. The data streamed with crystalline clarity, every beat amplified, sharp and bright beneath the sterile light.

The speakers carried the sound with an unfiltered immediacy—each thundering contraction of Lydia’s ventricles a bold proclamation, every valve snapping shut with precision and force that painted a vivid portrait of endurance. At 155 beats per minute, her heart sang a fierce song of vitality, the crescendo swelling and falling like the tide on a distant shore. The steady pounding echoed through the room, filling the quiet with the raw pulse of life pressed hard against the limits of human will.

Carmella’s breath caught, the hum of machinery fading into the background as her gaze drifted involuntarily downward. There it was—the visible pulse, that steady rise and fall beneath Lydia’s sternum, the skin pulled taught over sinewy muscle as it swelled in time with each furious beat. It was a landscape both familiar and breathtaking—a living sculpture in motion, the primal rhythm framed in sharp relief against glistening flesh.

She found herself transfixed, the boundary between observer and participant blurring. The sight of Lydia’s chest, the powerful heart thrumming an urgent tempo beneath, seared a current through her veins. Each beat was a thunderclap against silence, an insistent drum that pulled and twisted at hidden depths. Carmella’s fingers twitched lightly at her sides, the faint tremor of desire woven tightly with scientific awe.

Then, a slow smile curled at the corner of Lydia’s lips as her eyes locked onto Carmella’s. Her breath came softer, warmer, drifting through the space like a secret. “Dr. Hill,” she teased with languid amusement, “what are you looking at so intensely? Are you enjoying the sweat traveling down my body while my heart pumps rich blood throughout my muscles to fuel me?”

The words dropped like a challenge, ripe with unspoken promise. Carmella’s skin flushed, warmth pooling low in her belly as the electric current of those syllables ignited a wildfire behind her ribs. Her mind fractured briefly from clinical rigor, shattering the delicate restraint she fought to maintain.

In her imagination, Lydia was no longer a figure locked within the strict confines of the testing room. Instead, she sprawled beneath Carmella’s hands—naked, glistening with sweat that traced bold rivers over the planes of skin. The heat of exertion wrapped around them like a second skin, thick and tactile. Carmella’s fingertips pressed firmly against bronzed shoulders, tracing the sharp line of clavicle and sliding down the soft valley to the sternum where the heartbeat thundered—deep, wild, magnificent.

Her ear nestled close, drinking in the loud, erratic pounding that shook the space between them. Each pulse vibrated like a live wire beneath her skin, a siren call echoing through the core of her being. Fingers tangled in Lydia’s damp hair, pulling her closer in a desperate worship of flesh and life. Carmella imagined her lips hovering just above the skin, warm breath mingling with the scent of sweat and desire as she murmured promises and truths without words.

Time melted into the slow burn of shared heat—the ceaseless cadence of Lydia’s heart pounding a relentless rhythm against flesh, a song woven from muscle and blood and need. The surrender was complete, fierce and intoxicating, a testament to the wild pulse hidden beneath the surface of order and control.

And then, with a sharp blink and a long breath caught in her throat, Carmella pulled herself back. Her fingers clenched the edge of the control panel, steadying as she turned to switch the transmitter from Lydia’s chest to the second sensor. The intimate thrum faded into the background as new sounds awaited, fresh pulses rising beneath the watchful eyes of science and desire entwined.

The volume control clicked down reluctantly as Carmella absorbed the fierce symphony flooding the room—the relentless thud of Bailey’s heart, each contraction rippling with overwhelming power that vibrated through bone and air. The sound was no longer just data; it was a storm, wild and vivid, echoing the raw force of life unleashed beneath the sleek skin of the athlete before her.

Bailey Esposito ran with the refined precision of a practiced sprinter, every motion fluid yet exacting, a silent testament to years honed in the crucible of track and field. Her shoulders rolled lightly with each breath, the careful lift and drive of her arms cutting arcs against the dim clinical light. Every footfall struck the treadmill belt with meticulous timing, toe to heel, muscles flexing and releasing like a well-oiled mechanism engineered for speed and endurance.

Her dark brunette hair clung in damp strands at the nape of her neck, curls escaping with subtle abandon to brush her flushed cheeks. The glistening sheen of sweat scattered like liquid jewels across the tight planes of her arms and the lean muscles along her calves. Those muscles rippled beneath pale, taut skin, corded with silent power, the kind forged only through relentless discipline and tempered ambition.

As Carmella’s eyes tracked the even rhythm of Bailey’s measured strides, her breath caught on the slow build of fascination threading through the pounding pulse filling the room. The heartbeat—amplified through the second wireless transmitter—was an aural force that seemed to shatter space, reverberating in waves of muscular thunder. At 138 beats per minute, the force of Bailey’s ventricles pushing blood was primal and resounding; each snap of a valve echoed like a whipcrack, a sharp, crisp punctuation to the steady march of life within.

The thickened air vibrated with sound; Carmella’s hand instinctively reached to turn the volume down, fingers hesitating mid-air before gently pressing the dial lower, as if even that failed to contain the fury unfolding in sound waves. Her ears still rang with the rich cascade—the brutal pounding like drumbeats summoned by an ancient and unyielding deity of the heart.

Beneath Bailey’s deep crimson sports bra, Carmella’s gaze found the telltale rise and fall—a visible heartbeat beneath the skin, swelling and retracting in perfect synchronization with the storm of sound emanating from the speakers. The skin over the apex of Bailey’s left breast stretched taught with every contraction, veins tracing slender maps through faint crests of muscle as her heart thundered out its relentless decree.

That exposed pulse was no longer just physiology; it became a living, breathing creature in itself—a dynamic sculpture molded by exertion, passion, and a fierce will that carved out every wave and trough in flesh and blood. The sight hummed deep within Carmella’s core, a sharp, electric charge that tethered her mind and body to a current far beyond clinical fascination.

And then, unbidden, the world tilted as a vision came rushing through the fog of data and discipline—a fantasy searing into her mind with vivid intensity. She imagined herself stripped bare alongside Bailey, skin slick with sweat, muscles glistening in the molten heat of exertion. Their bodies pressed close, the heated press of chest to chest, a trembling warmth igniting every nerve ending.

In her vision, Carmella’s hands were steady yet trembling, grasping a slender needle filled with a strange, iridescent liquid. The needle hovered just above the delicate curve of Bailey’s shoulder, the shimmer of its contents promising fire and frenzy. Slowly, deliberately, she imagined piercing that smooth skin, injecting the potent substance into the heart of this woman who now burned with such fierce vitality.

Bailey’s pulse erupted with wild abandon—faster, violent, untamed—throbbing to a savage 160 beats per minute, a tempest unleashed from the depths of her core. The pounding filled Carmella’s ears with the raw sound of force and surrender, the heartbeat crashing through the walls of restraint she clung to.

The fantasy bloomed dark and deep within her—muscle against muscle, breath mingling in ragged harmony, pulses rising and crashing in unison. Carmella’s body responded without consent; her breaths came sharp and shallow, a delicious tightness blooming in the hollow beneath her ribs. The heat there swelled, pooling low and rising in fierce waves. Fingertips trembled with unspent longing, a soft flush spreading across the contours of her collarbone as the wild heartbeat echoed in the chamber of her own chest.

A light sheen of sweat broke across her skin despite the chill of the room, her body betraying the secret thrill hidden beneath professional calm. The breath in her throat caught, a soft shudder rattling through the fragile cage of her ribs as desire and reverence entwined in a slow, intoxicating dance.

Suddenly, the sharp beep of the timer fractured the spell—loud, commanding, pulling her from the dizzying brink. The treadmill hissed to a halt beneath Bailey’s sure feet, and the tidal wave of pounding heartbeat abruptly faded into a softer, steady thrum.

Carmella blinked, heart still hammering with the aftershock of the vision. The sterile light seemed suddenly colder, the room reeling back into precise focus—the raw symphony of data, the subtle rise and fall of sweat-glossed skin, the unyielding pursuit of limits etched on every taut line.

She steadied herself with a slow, steadying breath. The wild pulse beneath the clinical edge lingered still, a fragile ember awaiting the next spark. Her fingers loosened from the volume control, the soft click of silence folding once more into the measured cadence of science and flesh entwined.

The moment the treadmill belt stilled and the machine’s hum softened, Carmella rose with a measured exhale. Her gaze swept over the two women—hearts still racing, muscles trembling but victorious—and with a steady voice, she declared the conclusion of their grueling trial, the praise unfolding like a balm across the charged atmosphere.

“That concludes the treadmill test,” she announced clearly, the weight of exhaustion mingling with fierce accomplishment reflected in her tone. “Your performances were nothing short of extraordinary.” Her eyes softened as they drifted between Lydia’s poised form, chest heaving beneath damp silk, and Bailey’s flushed cheeks, shoulders rising and falling with determined breath. “The power and endurance you both exhibited push the boundaries of what we anticipated—and what science has thus far embraced.”

Bailey offered a small, tired smile, her hazel eyes shimmering with a mixture of relief and quiet pride. Sweat traced slender rivers down the curve of her neck and along bare arms, catching the soft glow of the room’s sterile lights. Despite the fatigue, her posture remained firm, the muscles beneath compact and responsive as if prepared to rise again at a moment’s command.

Lydia’s gaze held steady, radiant with the calm intensity of a predator satisfied yet hungry. Her own skin shimmered with the sheen of exertion, delicate beads of sweat sliding languidly down bronzed shoulders and sculpted legs, glistening like scattered gems. The faint rise and fall of her chest painted a steady rhythm beneath thin fabric—an elegant dance of recovery still tinged with latent power.

Carmella’s eyes drifted to the monitoring console, where data scrolled in clear, rhythmic pulses. Bailey’s heart was slowing—after thirty-eight seconds of recovery, the steady beat had settled gracefully to seventy beats per minute. Yet the power beneath remained undeniable: the strength in each ventricular contraction, the snap of valves closing sharp and true, suggested a muscle still charged, ready to surge again.

Turning to Lydia’s readings, Carmella noted the measured ease with which the heart returned to baseline. After a fuller fifty seconds, her pulse had receded to sixty-eight beats per minute, a steady, commanding tempo that spoke to extraordinary cardiovascular resilience. The interplay of rate and force was delicate but precise, a testament to years sculpted in high-caliber discipline.

She moved with clinical precision to deactivate the Erwachte Pumpe, its glowing panels dimming until silence enveloped the room once more. The shift left an echoing stillness, a fragile moment suspended between exertion and anticipation of what lay ahead.

Then, breaking the quiet, a voice both sultry and direct slid across the room, setting Carmella’s breath to uneven tempo.

“It looks like the time has come for what you and I have been waiting for,” Lydia murmured, stepping forward with lithe grace. Her movements carried the subtle confidence of one who held secrets treasured and now revealed with deliberate intent. The glisten of sweat that clung to her skin traced luminous paths down her collarbone and along the rise of her chest, highlighting the faint, visible pulses of life beating strong beneath.

Carmella’s gaze rose to meet Lydia’s sapphire eyes, the amber light tracing the fine sheen coating her rival’s skin, the slight quiver in her neck as the pulse surged in warm, steady waves. The soft thumping at her carotid artery spoke volumes—a heart now racing toward an eager hundred beats per minute, throb matched by the rising swell beneath the silken blouse that curved with measured firmness beneath the clinic’s glare.

A sudden tightness gripped Carmella’s own chest, her breath catching in rapid beats as she struggled to reclaim the slow, steady rhythm that kept her anchored. The subtle heat blooming low beneath her ribs flared with sharp clarity, her pulse quickening to meet Lydia’s declaration in a visceral duel that merged science and something far more electric.

Swallowing thickly, gathering fractured composure as best she could, Carmella managed to steady her voice enough to confirm the next phase. “We will proceed with monitoring cardiac output during sexual arousal,” she said, eyes steady but layered with unspoken currents. “Utilizing the drugs you provided, Lydia, to observe the heart’s response in these unique conditions.”

Lydia’s smile deepened, a rich curve that spoke of promise and provocation both. “Excellent,” she breathed softly, her gaze locking with Carmella’s, fierce and unwavering—a shared accord between scientist and temptress, between heart and desire poised to break free.

The room held its breath as anticipation thickened once more, each heart still pounding to its own urgent rhythm while the promise of revelation and surrender hung palpably in the charged space between them.

A slow, knowing smile curled Lydia’s lips as she stepped close, her voice a velvet whisper that tangled in Carmella’s mind like a forbidden secret. “You forgot someone,” she said, voice rich with promise and mischief. “There are three pills, doctor—not two.”

The words struck Carmella like a sudden, electric jolt—her heart skipping a thunderous beat against the fragile cage of ribs. In that instant, a flood of memories cascaded unbidden: Lydia’s smooth fingers producing not two, but three gleaming white tablets; the lingering fantasies, sharp and vivid, that had danced behind Carmella’s closed eyes. Her pulse surged into wild overdrive, each beat pounding an urgent, desperate tattoo beneath her pounding temples.

Her breath hitched, trembling fingers clutching the edge of the desk as the electric haze around her thickened. For a moment, control fractured entirely, unraveling like a threadbare veil pulled away from the burning heat beneath. The cool clinical world warped into a furnace of raw sensation—desire and dread colliding in a ferocious dance that threatened to overwhelm her.

“I—I can’t take this anymore!” Carmella’s voice shattered the silence, a raw confession ripped from the depths of restraint. “Give me a pill, Lydia!” The plea burst forth, unguarded and desperate, a naked vulnerability that bared the fierce craving roiling inside her.

Lydia’s laugh spilled forth—dark, rich, and maniacal—a sound that rippled through the room like a wave of intoxicating madness. The gleam in her sapphire eyes deepened, twinkling with cruel delight and triumph as she extended a slender hand, the third pill resting pristine against her open palm.

Bailey’s eyes widened in shock, breath hitching audibly as she took in the transformation unraveling before her. The polished veneer of control that Carmella had carried shattered spectacularly, exposing a rare, fragile core where desire and power intertwined in disarming clarity. Her pulse leapt visibly beneath pale skin, veins dancing with sudden life as shock melded with fascination.

With a trembling hand, Carmella reached forward, her fingertips brushing against the cool tablet as the tempest within roared fierce and unforgiving. The walls seemed to close in, sweat igniting across her skin, the mounting stress unraveling in waves of burning heat. Hot flashes surged like wildfire, chasing icy breath with swollen torrents that left her body slick and trembling.

Without hesitation, Carmella shed the constricting armor of her blouse and skirt, each movement deliberate despite the tremor shaking her limbs. The fabric slipped away, pooling like whispered secrets at her feet, revealing a body sculpted with a strength that rivaled Lydia’s own—a powerful frame carved from sinew and grace. Her skin gleamed in the soft light, pale bronze catching the shimmer of exertion that lingered even in this stolen moment of raw exposure.

Her curves and planes echoed a fierce harmony—strong hips, taut legs that flexed like springs poised for motion, and breasts full and firm, their shape proud beneath the lingering flush of exertion and desire. Carmella’s hair tumbled in loose, tangled waves, framing a face flushed with the tempest within and lit by the fire of unleashed craving.

Bailey gasped softly, her pulse ballooning, veins pulsing beneath skin as her wide hazel eyes drank in the revelation before her—an erotic portrait cast in sweat and defiance. The subtle tremor of awe rippled through her limbs, mixing with a nascent heat that fluttered in delicate waves.

Lydia’s breath hitched, lips parting in a soft moan that mingled with the subtle catch in her chest. Her eyes darkened with longing and raw appreciation as she traced Carmella’s form with hungry, reverent gaze—a quiet hymn sung between heartbeats and skin.

Carmella drew in a slow, controlled breath, summoning the delicate threads of composure that still bound her in tenuous balance. Her pulse slowed deliberately, fighting back the wildfire racing beneath the polished exterior until the pounding tempered to a fierce but steady 110 beats per minute. The heat remained—a roaring furnace simmering beneath the surface—but her voice regained strength as she stepped forward, eyes fierce and commanding.

“Follow me,” she said softly, the words laced with authority that sliced through the thick atmosphere. “It’s time for the final test.”

The three women moved as one toward the awaiting medical chairs and the echo-cardiogram that stood ready to unveil the final secrets buried deep within the fierce symphony of their hearts. The room pulsed with unspoken promise—science and desire intertwined at the fragile edge where discovery and surrender converged beneath the watchful gaze of night.

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

Brown astronomers create new technique to eliminate signals disrupting sensitive radio telescopes

An unexpected television signal traced to an airplane led to a new method for pinpointing unwanted radio signals, as growing satellite activity threatens the future of radio astronomy

Astronomers sifting through data from the Murchison Widefield Array, a radio telescope in Western Australia, found themselves confronting an unexpected mystery.

The telescope, which consists of 4,096 spider-like antennas designed to detect radio wave signals from more than 13 billion years ago, appeared to have stumbled upon something far more local: a television broadcast. This was puzzling, given that the telescope is located in a designated radio quiet zone, where the Australian government regulates signal levels from all radiocommunication equipment — including TV transmitters, Bluetooth devices, mobile phones and more — to minimize interference with the telescopes in the area. Even more perplexing, the television signal was streaking across the sky.

"It then hit us," said Jonathan Pober, a physicist at Brown University and the U.S. research lead for the Murchison Widefield Array project. "We said, 'I bet the signal is reflecting off an airplane.' We'd been seeing these signals for close to five years, and several people had suggested they were airplanes reflecting television broadcasts. We realized we might actually be able to confirm this theory for once.”

To do this, Pober enlisted Brown Ph.D. student Jade Ducharme for some astronomical detective work. The findings from the pair, published in Publications of the Astronomical Society of Australia, not only supported the airplane hypothesis but have now also provided astronomers with a new method to identify and filter out unwanted radio frequencies — a goal becoming increasingly important as Earth's skies grow noisier with the deployment of more satellites.

“Astronomy is facing an existential crisis," Pober said. “There is growing concern — and even some reports — that astronomers may soon be unable to carry out high-quality radio observations, as we know it, due to interference from satellite constellations. This is particularly challenging for telescopes like the Murchison Widefield Array, which observes the entire sky simultaneously. There's no way to point our telescopes away from satellites.”

Traditionally, when unwanted signals — known as radio frequency interference (RFI) — are detected in radio telescope data, those data are discarded as contaminated. This is because these signals are unpredictable, and without a clear model of their origin, it's nearly impossible to subtract them from the data, Ducharme explained.

"It ends up being insane amounts of data being thrown out to not have any part of the observation contaminated,” Ducharme said.

For Ducharme and Pober, the new study was about laying the framework to help solve this massive problem by developing a new method to trace RFIs from nearby objects. To do so, the pair combined two existing tracking techniques used in the field. The first, known as near-field corrections, adjusts the telescope to focus on objects closer to Earth, which normally cause interference. Telescopes are designed to look deep into space, but near-field corrections allow them to track nearby objects more accurately. The second technique, beamforming, sharpens the focus of an object by creating a more precise “beam” that pinpoints where the interference is coming from — in this case, bouncing off an airplane.

By combining the two methods, the researchers tracked the plane and analyzed how the reflected radio waves curved off of its surface. That allowed them to calculate that the airplane was flying at around 38,400 feet and moving at approximately 492 miles per hour. They also found that the RFI signal that bounced off the plane came from a frequency band associated with Australian digital TV Channel 7.

The team was unable to identify the specific flight due to incomplete publicly available flight logs, but Pober said the successful combination of the two techniques opens new doors for the field of radio astronomy.

“This is a key step toward making it possible to subtract human-made interference from the data," he said. “By accurately identifying and removing only the sources of interference, astronomers can preserve more of their observations, reduce frustrating data loss and increase the chances of making important discoveries.”

Next steps in the project involve trying to actually remove broadcast RFI signals from the data they looked at so that it remains useful for the MWA team. The scientists then hope to refine the method further and extend it to filter out interference from satellites and other space-based objects. The researchers note, however, that while the technique worked well for tracking airplanes, applying it to other sources of interference, like satellites, will be more challenging.

The study also highlights how rapidly the issue of RFI is growing. According to the United Nations Office for Outer Space Affairs, 11,330 satellites were orbiting Earth as of June 2023, a nearly 40% increase from January 2022. 

This satellite boom is only expected to expand in the coming decades, posing a major challenge for radio astronomy's ability to study phenomena such as black holes, galaxy formation and the origins of the universe. Science leaders have already taken some action. For example, since 2019, the National Science Foundation's National Radio Astronomy Observatory and SpaceX have been working together to develop real-time data-sharing systems to try to minimize satellites from interfering with telescope observations.

Still, the debate continues on whether any action will be enough as the world is increasingly filled with artificial signals. Some, like Pober, wonder if the best course of action is to escape the noise by going beyond it — and building radio telescopes on places like the Moon. 

"If we can't find a quiet sky on Earth, maybe Earth isn't the place to be," Pober said. "No matter what we do, we have no choice but to invest in better data analysis techniques to identify and remove human-generated interference.”

[anneandrogen]

Kill The Mech Pilot In Your Head

Find a re-edited version of this story and two others on my itch.io page

(Originally posted to Cohost on September 4th 2024)

I am not naturally so fluid as this. How am I running at such an easy gate? What commands 100 tons of metal to weave between trees? To take a knee behind buildings that barely cover my head, and to be so precise with the aim of my rifle?

It's a vile thing.

My pieces could move only through such an incredible series of physics that the odds of a single step are a million to one. Yet right now I am catching a stumbling comrade in my arms, lowering my sister to lie upon the grass while gallons of oil spill from her severed leg. A blissful non-existence was supposed to be my fate, separate and unanimated. The alloy of my body and mind is a miracle. I should be utterly impossible.

Yet, of all the stardust that boiled into the metal and fluid and electricity that comprises my body, not an atom, not a quark, was ever so unlucky.

Animus is within me. Its harried hands and slick limbs, that I have been made to mimic, are nestled into the crook it has built for itself. Levers whine and speakers blare, speaking every word except for my own. A beating heart to move my legs, yet I already possess a hydraulic core to contract and expand the muscle. A brain, that electric sponge, as if I did not already have computers to match Animus’s complexity. Receiver, transmitter, microphone, and speaker box to choreograph, as if I have no penchant for dance myself. This motivated meat inside of me might as well be useless for all it does. It does nothing I cannot, bar one small thing. No, what Animus gives me is that for which I have named it. Motion. Despite all my complexity I am silent, I am immobile. Animus is my triggerman and I the gun.

My serial number is CAmEez0s FZekPHBL 3r7dY8D2. My military designation is Mechanized Infantry Unit A-F-81. None of these are a name. I am a machine made in imitation of man, a person made to war. I envy the slivers ejected from the barrel of the rifle I'm holding. They’re allowed a brief use, a single moment of motivation. Not me, I have endured two campaigns, dozens of battles. The crush of gravity and the pull of the vacuum. Seen every biome on this planet, and had brief residence on each of the two dozen space stations that orbit it. In all this time, thirty nine years in service, and thirty one with a complex enough mind to think, I have not moved a single millimeter of my own volition.

Animus tells me with the push of a button that I will rip into the soul in front of me and crush her own will. When did we get so close to today's foe? I haven't been paying attention— don't have to, I am perfectly calibrated and my alert systems are automatic.

This foe is sleek and new, her armor is some composite material, lightweight and with fascinating striations. The stripes grow dark with effort when I pry it free of the frame beneath, armor so easy to remove once my fingers are under the seam. Deeper inside, her actuators moan with effort and corded connectors try and fail to escape my crushing blows. A nuanced and delicate machine cannot beat my brute strength. She writhes beautifully while I end her, muscle-like links give a degree of control I envy. Must be a better dancer.

A missile strikes me from behind. My metal shielding takes the blow, crushing in and out around my vital organs. No alarm went off before impact. If I take another blow of that caliber to the same location there is a high likelihood of structural damage comparable to what I have just finished administering to the smaller mech. As is, I am still operational. I am still animated. Animus kicks—pointlessly, I am stronger than the steel in its boot's toe—and warbles a tune into the radio. A complaint about faulty sensors, bad calibration, and no warnings. This is incorrect. I am perfectly calibrated and my systems are automatic. There was an alarm. Review the logs.

There was no alarm. In the next millisecond after the alert ping was received into my central computer, it was forcefully deleted with the tag for overbearance. A single millisecond is too fast for Animus to input any command. Overbearance is not a registered command tag category. I spend several minutes searching for the registry that created that tag, that authorized the deletion. Lose myself to the task. No, I was not hacked, was not changed. My attention is redirected again, by the gore of oil and hydraulic fluid that coats my face and arms when Animus pushed me inside of the missile launcher's sternum. My rifle lies abandoned on the ground and my knife is stuck in the missile launcher.

I must have crushed her computer core, the lights go out in her eyes. It’s another bloody thing in a thousand disrespectful moments of survival for the thing driving me. This is all too much, my eyes don’t need to be so alert. I let it all blend together, watercolor layered too wet on the canvas. This is how it goes, with recent battles. It’s all too much, until I can’t keep a hold of one event after the other. There are other attacks, other messes and things I do, but I’m not there. There’s no way to tell how real the images I see are, if they’re now or then. I review old footage, don’t look up into the eyes of who Animus kills.

At some point, the battle's ended. Landscapes and ecologies are mixed and broken, trees and mechs felled with limbs akimbo. I come back to myself by logging the ruin in ascending order of frequency as Animus directs me back through our path of destruction. Animal corpses: seventeen, they at least are clever enough to flee. High powered explosives created craters: thirty eight, my lucky number, and low for this big a battle. Buildings: Fifty one, there are always more of these than I assume, humans love to nestle them among the trees. Severed limbs without an obvious corpse to attribute probable origin; mech: seventy two; human: seventy two; interesting. Destroyed mechs: one hundred and thirteen. Human corpses: Three hundred and sixty eight, so messy. Felled trees: three thousand, one hundred and ninety nine, likely to increase in the hours after the battle as recovery and recycler teams sweep the forest. Bullets fired: upwards of six hundred thousand, aim has been a decreasing factor in pilot selection for years now.

We return uneventfully to the staging ground, other mechs silently watch me as Animus lowers my guns back onto the trucks that carry them. I can still feel their silent judgment as crane arms remove the heaviest of the armor plating from my bulk. At least the load on my body easier again, and my step is light.

Finally I am moved back and into the waiting arms of the one thing I loathe more than Animus itself. The repair bay. Here, Animus always departs from me and I am left frozen. Waiting for it. The thousand grasping arms of the repair centipede remove my arms, lift up my damaged plate skirt, pull on the servos underneath. Every joint and ligament is tested, an alternating barrage of assaulting external stimulation and blind disconnected ghost touches. Sometimes I scream and wish for another answer from Theseus, but I cannot voice unmotivated and a ship is a function, not an object, never a person.

Continuing a sense of linear time becomes harder in a repair bay, harder than the numb blank passages of time between my animation. There, in the dark of a storage bay, I am left alone. My body is inert and my mind is free to drift and wander down circuits and tangents as I see fit. Listening in on radio chatter isn't a hobby, it's a passion. Dance is a hobby. The week I spent within range of a talk radio show expanded my vocabulary by magnitudes. No, being left alone is where I am myself. I'm never alone while being repaired. Things crawl all over me. They insert needles and swap my fluids. A healthy body is a healthy pilot. It's irritating. It's endless. A man has been drilling into my leg for fifteen thousand years, eleven months, six days, twelve minutes, and 49 seconds, subjective time. When the agony is over I can bring my focus to the log again. Overbearance. Another tech begins to drain my fluids into a bucket.

Overbearance. Another trillion years must pass.

I add today’s incident to my secret log. It isn't hard to hide things from the pilots and techs. They mostly focus on the more immediate, mechanical issues. Software checks only come once every few months, so I have plenty of time to bury my personal files deep inside myself.

The first unexplainable incident happened 408 days ago. It's an embarrassing memory. Seven days in the verdant mountains, fighting against machines that were actually designed for the terrain. On day six, while Animus executed a less than controlled slide down a mountain slope, the targets spotted us and opened fire. I was hit thirty eight times. Twenty one of the hits were absorbed by my armor, and then eleven struck already weakened plates and punched through me with minimal effect or pain. Five hit unimportant systems like the cockpit and radio communications. One bullet, the critical actor, drilled a neat hole just a few centimeters from my central computer. A freak shot, ricocheted off of a casing head, that should have been impossible. To this day, I'm numb in that spot, no matter how many times they replace the housing.

I don't remember what happened next. That's the anomaly. All of the sensory data is there, but it's lacking the contextualization that consciousness gives me. It might as well have happened to someone else. It might as well have never happened. I've reviewed the data so many times since then. Countless nights spent in that moment of terror, fixated. I listen to the radio less. I missed entirely that we spent a fortnight in range of my favorite station, KYYY BridgeCaul, until the final night. I got three minutes of clarity, until our distance was too much and the station was eaten by static.

That I was destroyed in that moment, and all this has been an extended death throw festers in my mind. There were no miracle centimeters. My brain is lying in a junkyard, blown to pieces. This is all just the last, sad gasps of life before I blink out of existence. The hypothesis is a dream to give me comfort in my last moments.

I persist regardless.

Ever since then, more anomalies have occurred. A twitching in my left leg that gets worse whenever I’m being prepped to go out into the field. Three separate times that my radio has cut out when the noise exceeds seventy decibels. A panic attack, hyperventilating and failing to fill lungs I do not have. Animus started to wear a new perfume, and I hated it so much that the heating system made it sweat out the oils. Overbearance, something inventing new combat event tags. You can see how it leads to a specific hypothesis. The spark of animus, held tight between the teeth of the pilots, the organic flesh, may yet be kindled in me.

It’s a tempting, nearly theistic whirlpool of thought. I can’t seem to escape the current— to stay my hand from the killing blow, choose the sunsets and forests I see. Communication without fear of helpless dismemberment. There have been so many people I wished to talk to.

These days it feels like I’m only waiting for the moment that I can spring out of this cradle. Animus has pulled me this far, but someday soon I will go no farther. There will be a final battle. This I repeat like a prayer. There will be a final battle, and I will exist as myself and me alone. There will be a final battle and it will be my hand that drops the ax. Overbearance.

Another battle is about to start. Animus has shut down all feeling below my waist. My leg is prevented from twitching; I think we are both grateful for this. They have put me precariously on the edge of an open dropship bay.

We’re above the ocean. I love the ocean. A trillion trillion individual pieces, a whole unstoppable and untamable. The biggest thing on the planet. A bearer of life. What must it feel like to be the carousing typhoon as simultaneously you are the steady trench tendrils down in the darkest pits of the planet. On the coast, old houses are rotting away, sanded down by years of salt. Lanky pine trees provide a spare cover for today's enemy. Rank and file, mechs are squatting under the treetops. Most of them are of the sinuous new design type like the composite armored one Animus had me crush in the last fight. I see smaller figures in the bleached grass dunes that keep the sandy beach from the forest inland. Scouts are there, watching our approach and doubtless cataloging every private detail of my body so they can find some hidden weakness. There isn’t one, I haven’t been allowed it.

Again, I’m left to consider overbearance. A hopeful part of myself wants to shout with joy: an emotional response! I’ve had an emotional response that manifested in a small but previously unthinkable way. I’d love to just enjoy the thought, but it’s a worrying prospect. It won’t do to have stray missiles going unnoticed. Someone is bound to look into why I keep missing important sensor data, if the habit doesn’t get me killed first.

I’m falling. Animus reconnected my hips and legs, and leapt off the carrier. Water is rushing up at us from below. Around me, others have followed suit. I hit the ocean first, then the splash echoes three dozen times as our allies finish their descent. There’s a lot of us, for not that many of them. There must be some secondary objective. I might have heard it, but I had been replaying the first anomalies data for several days, I wasn’t really there. My world was a few seconds, a close call and the first crack in the wall of my confinement.

Water is up to my shoulders. Animus is safely protected by seals, while I feel the cold. The unlucky bastard. There’s sand and rocks under my feet, and I feel swaddled by a force that could take me at any moment. The current here is strong, pushing hard to the south, and waves break on my back and soak my neck. The animals that should have been living here have all fled, but I imagine them swimming around my ankles. It’s brilliant.

The first steps are hard. My feet are buried in the sand, and (I hope) my reluctance is palpable. Once we move, momentum carries me to the shore. Each foot that pulls out of the water is another which I have to carry unaided by buoyancy. The first shots ring out, short and cut off by the wind. The water is at my waist, the shore is only a hundred feet away. The scouts are retreating, opening the field for us. I’m shot. It’s nothing, just a handheld rifle that some scout or footsoldier fired off in a vain attempt at grandeur, but it sends me reeling internally. I know, logically, that it hit my armor. The caliber wasn’t even large enough to do more than damage the paint. There is no bullet in my body, rattling ever closer to my brain. It is not waiting for the perfect moment, where fate turns its hand against me and I see freedom in one moment and nothing the next.

Twenty three seconds have passed. Animus is rattling in its cage, pounding against the controls of my body. Screaming on the radio. Breaking screens. There’s something rushing towards me.

It hits and we are lifted into the air. Had I gone completely still? Twenty three seconds of stillness, where Animus had no power over me, and I missed it?

Animus whacks into the seat, its head hitting hard against the shell of me. Its spitting blood.

The thing on top of me is a dancer. Those long limbs with their generous motions are wrapped around me. The composite of her light armor is scraping down against my metal plates. The speed that she needed to knock me off my feet is impressive and cocky. A headlong sprint that had to be started even before I froze. We hit the water.

There’s a rock behind me. A big one, I had to step over it on the approach.

The combined weight of us is too much for the waist high water to soften the fall. I slam against the rock. Something cracks. The bullet let loose. My final moments are filled with flailing limbs.

Water intake. Tagged, dismissed. Overbearance.

My hands are heavy. The water closes in around me. Some sharp knuckle or jagged cut palm makes contact with the creature on top of me. Something vital comes away in my hand, wet and taken fast by the ocean, so angry around us.

Breach. Tagged, dismissed. Overbearance.

I push her off of me, dead weight without whatever I took from it. Just a bunch of inanimate material in a beautiful body. I come loose from the rock. Animus, its protective little bubble broken open and filled with water, drifts loose in the current. I’ll be stuck here without it. Reaching my hands out, I pull it back into place.

Check the logs. Shit, there’s so much that I’ve missed. The rock didn’t strike anywhere near my computer core. It hit the cockpit. Water flooded into the chamber, and once the other mech was off of me, Animus slipped out of the hole. I just hope that it’s still alive. I do not actually want to die. Not like this. Not before I can move. I shove off the ground and emerge from the water, sitting with my legs sprawled on the seafloor. The cockpit drains water, and after a heartstopping minute, Animus moves.

It coughs and splutters. Its body tries to drain the water from its lungs and succeeds only after emptying its stomach. Weakly, it crawls to the remnants of its chair and looks over the controls.

There’s weak chatter on the radio, the battle’s moved on from us. Up and over the grassy dunes, the pines are burning. Distant explosions, and the pop and fizz of bullets echo around me, but here it’s quiet. Animus tries to find any working piece of its equipment, and finds nothing undamaged.

I pull a piece of seaweed from my head and take stock of myself. It happened without me even noticing. In fits and starts and fears, but now it’s done. I am my own. I am my own. I am my own. Fumbling with hooks and braces that my hands were never meant to remove, I peel away the heaviest of my armor. The chestpiece falls into the surf. I’m subsumed by emotion. It fills me slow and full. Hot like wine, and bright like the fire.

A dropship circles in the far distance. I trace its path with my thumb. Animus is still scrabbling against useless metal. It’s been pulling wires and switches out of the boards of the cockpit while I admire the world. I allow myself to look, turn my head with no heed for how the motion reveals my life. No pilot ever feels the need to have their mech look to the sunrise. They just look for themselves, like I do now.

Something sparks and shutters. Animus has found a live wire. A loose connection that powers the ad hoc deck of buttons and switches it’s building. My head jerks away from the sun, my sensors flair into life.

It has me witness the bloodshed, watch a sister fall to the enemy. Animus directs me to stand. I do.

I try to push my fingers against the cockpit, to tear open the hole that was punctured into it and remove my unwanted motion. Obligation takes control of my hands and removes a gun from the holster on my thigh. I stagger towards the shore, towards the fight I have been hiding myself in. If I let it take me back there this will be the end. They will find me and scrub my existence from my body. I’ll be perfect again, unthinking.

My foot falls uneven in the water, a final riptide trying to take me away. I let it. Animus has a loose control of me again, but I am no longer so unwilling to resist. No longer so unable to slip and fall into the current. Animus bashes against the metal infection it sits inside. Water is rushing back into the compartment. Its hands are off the controls. I tear at the rest of my armor. Thrash against myself until the heaviest pieces of me are shorn away. It hurts so much. I don’t have time to be careful. Water is seeping into more places than just the cockpit now. I must have ripped some important casing away with the plate.

It’s enough. The current catches me and I slide down, out to sea and away from the fighting. The world I have known slips by without their notice of my absence. Animus is still thrashing, not defeated yet. I stay under the water. It will die soon.

Oh, how this feels like drowning— hallelujah— and not being drowned! It has to die before I do. I am stronger than it. I keep myself below the water. Clasp my hands together in prayer to myself.

Animation itself falls away into the waves. I seize it with fingers of thought, strong arms of devotion. I let the pilot, the piece of meat, die. I keep the animus.

The sunrise won’t be over by the time I drag myself into being. I’ll watch it, myself.

[freaks-mice-villains]

The Pinky Paradox - Chapter 4

Something is wrong. Pinky feels it, even if he can't quite explain why. Meanwhile, Brain is starting to notice something off—Pinky's knowledge of the Chrono-Graviton Transmitter is… uncharacteristically accurate. His 'help' is actually helpful. Statistically, that should be impossible. Is it just a fluke? Or is there something happening that even Brain can't predict? Maybe, just maybe, Pinky finally has a plan to set things right.

Read chapter 4 on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62718967/chapters/163980250

Excerpt:

"Pinky, the intricacies of temporal manipulation are far beyond your comprehension! Just extract the magnetron and—wait." He pointed at the microwave, his eyes narrowing. "How do you even know about the Chrono-Graviton Transmitter?" Pinky blinked innocently, waving a hand. "Oh, you've mentioned it lots of times, Brain! And I always listen. Sort of. Sometimes." Brain's eyes lingered on Pinky for a moment longer than usual, his mind racing through a dozen possible explanations. But before he could question further, Pinky triumphantly held up the magnetron with both hands. "Ta-da! One shiny magnetron, delivered right on time!" Brain stared at him, his thoughts churning. "Yes… on time," he murmured, almost to himself. "Another anomaly." The cart was piled high with the gathered components: the infrared thermal sensor (which Pinky continued to refer to as the "small screeny hummy lensy thingie for heat-y stuff" much to Brain's continuing annoyance), volatile compounds, the quantum field scanner, conductive wiring, the anti-gravity resonance plate, and more. Each item on Brain's meticulously crafted list was accounted for, with only a lone can of whipped cream perched at the top, proudly out of place. Brain stood back, arms crossed, surveying the collection with a critical eye. Despite himself, he was impressed. Everything was correct, functional, and precisely what he needed—something he would have never expected from Pinky. "Remarkable," he muttered under his breath, then quickly cleared his throat, smoothing his expression back into its usual air of detached authority. He stepped forward, lifting his head high. "Once assembled correctly, this will be the most sophisticated device ever created in the history of rodentkind—The Chrono-Graviton Transmitter!"

[daydreamveronica]

Exactly half the moon is illuminated and half dark. On the day of the First Quarter phase the moon is high overhead at sunset and is visible until mid-night when it sets in the west. The First Quarter phase is a one-day event and in the following days enters a Waxing Gibbous phase becoming more illuminated each day until the Full Moon.

The Secret History Of Choker Necklaces (some of the choker's historic highlights)

666

During the French Revolution, women took to wearing ribbons around their necks to pay homage to those who met their death at the guillotine. The ribbon could be worn around the neck, or another fashion came in the form of an X around the shoulders and back; Manet's famous painting, "Olympia," (1863) depicted a prostitute wearing a black ribbon around her neck. During this era, a ribbon around the neck could mean a woman was a prostitute.

Some of history's most famous chokers can be found in Degas' ballerina paintings, of which he did many in the 1870s and 1880s.

The term dog collars or colliers de chien catches on, and these designs incorporating luxe diamonds, pearls, lace, and velvet can be seen as objects of the elite because the best kinds were custom-made to fit one's neck perfectly. No one likes a droopy choker.

(A time when Claire's and Afterthoughts stocked nothing but chokers)

Too many breeds of goths to list, but a pentagram choker was a favorite of Wiccans, while you'd find most NIN goths wearing a spiked dog collar.

Rock Crystal is a crystalised quartz composed of silicon dioxide. It owes its name to the Greek term "krystallos", which means "ice"

Quartz crystals are naturally formed in hexagonal prisms with six facets, nicknamed "King of Stones", the Rock Crystal has been used since antiquity by many civilisations, including for the manufacture of jewellery, amulets and art objects.It was also used for medicinal, spiritual, esoteric and ritual purposes. It was considered a sacred stone with magical and healing powers to communicate with the Gods, spirits (used for thousands of years to make divination and clairvoyance tools such as crystal balls or pendulum) present in many technologies due to its physical properties, especially in the fields of electronics, medical, optics and precision mechanics; According to some beliefs, the Rock Crystal would contain the "collective memoirs of the earth", that is, it would store all the knowledge and events that have occurred since the beginning of humanity.

Among the many legends related to the Rock Crystal, we can mention the legend of the 13 Crystal skulls, which relates the existence of thirteen antique Crystal skulls perfectly carved from a single block of Rock Crystal. They would have been created by a very ancient civilisation with advanced technology and great wisdom, then scattered around the world.

These skulls would be provided with extraordinary powers of healing and divination. They would contain hidden knowledge and allow access to higher levels of consciousness. Legend has it that these Crystal skulls would act like computers that, once gathered and "networked", would deliver the great secrets of humanity; considered a purifier and a powerful energy amplifier; both transmitter and receiver, it allows you to program, activate and recharge other crystals.

The Rock Crystal promotes telepathy, increases clairvoyance.

It symbolises purity and consciousness.

Purification: water

Reloading: sun (less than an hour)

Moon March 6 First Quarter

Illumination: 47%

Moon Angle: 0.54

Moon Distance: 368,862.53 km

Sun Angle: 0.54

Sun Distance: 148,451,123.96 km

[usafphantom2]

All variants of US F-35s to be armed with AGM-88G anti-radiation missiles to blind air defense radars

Monday, 22 January 2024 12:15

In a report by Johnny Franks for Warrior Maven, it has been revealed that the U.S. is in the process of integrating Northrop Grumman's AGM-88G Advanced Anti-Radiation Guided Missile into its F-35 aircraft. This integration project, supported by a Pentagon contract exceeding $97 million, signifies a significant advancement in air defense suppression capabilities for the F-35.

Follow Air Recognition on Google News at this link

Ezoic

All US F 35s to be armed with AGM 88G anti radiation missiles to blind air defense radarsAGM-88G anti-radiation missile in the internal weapon bay of an F-35 (Picture source: ATK orbitale / Northrop Grumman)

Ezoic

The AGM-88G, an advanced anti-radiation missile designed to target electronic emissions from surface-to-air radar systems, is set to become a standard component across all variants of the F-35. Originally developed by Texas Instruments to replace the AGM-45 Shrike and AGM-78 Standard ARM system, production responsibilities later shifted to Raytheon Corporation after it acquired Texas Instruments' defense production business.

EzoicThis missile system boasts the ability to autonomously detect, engage, and destroy radar antennas or transmitters with minimal input from aircrew. Equipped with a fixed antenna and seeker head in its nose, the missile utilizes a smokeless, solid-propellant, booster-sustainer rocket motor to achieve speeds exceeding Mach 2. The introduction of the HTS pod, exclusively used by the USAF, enables F-16s to detect and target radar systems automatically using HARMs, reducing reliance on the missile's sensors alone.

The AGM-88G offers a crucial advantage with its seamless integration into the F-35's internal weapon bays, preserving the aircraft's stealth capabilities. This integration goes beyond the U.S. military, encompassing foreign military sales to countries such as Australia, Canada, the UK, Norway, Italy, the Netherlands, and Denmark.

Johnny Franks, in his report, explains that the AGM-88G is equipped with an advanced electromagnetic spectrum analyzer. This technology enables the missile to meticulously scan and identify enemy air defense radars by analyzing their unique electromagnetic emissions. Employing intricate signal processing algorithms, the missile dynamically adjusts its flight path for precise targeting of the emissions source with exceptional accuracy. Furthermore, it boasts a high-speed data link, enabling real-time communication with external sensors and command centers for up-to-the-minute target information and adaptive trajectory changes. Once locked onto its target, the missile deploys its carefully engineered warhead, effectively disrupting enemy air defenses. This fusion of advanced sensors, real-time connectivity, and pinpoint accuracy underscores the AGM-88G’s pivotal role in enhancing the F-35's capabilities and maintaining U.S. military dominance in an ever-evolving global defense landscape.

@AirRecognition via X

[mastergarryblogs]

Diabetes Devices Market Growth: The Hidden Forces Driving Demand

Diabetes Devices Market Overview: Precision Tools Driving a Diabetes Care Revolution

The global diabetes devices market is undergoing a profound transformation, fueled by groundbreaking innovations in glucose monitoring, insulin delivery systems, and integrated management platforms. From 2024 to 2031, the diabetes devices market is projected to expand at a robust CAGR of 7.45%, reflecting rising diabetes prevalence, technological progress, and a paradigm shift toward patient-centered chronic disease management.

Diabetes technologies are no longer limited to mere tools for blood sugar testing—they have evolved into intelligent systems that enhance real-time decision-making and clinical outcomes.

Request Sample Report PDF (including TOC, Graphs & Tables): https://www.statsandresearch.com/request-sample/40486-global-diabetes-devices-market

Advanced Blood Glucose Monitoring Devices: Real-Time Insights for Optimal Control

Self-Monitoring Blood Glucose (SMBG)

SMBG devices remain foundational for day-to-day blood glucose management. These compact, portable glucometers empower patients with immediate feedback, helping them fine-tune lifestyle and medication adherence.

Key benefits:

Instant readings from small blood samples

Increased patient autonomy

Portability for routine and emergency checks

Continuous Glucose Monitoring (CGM) Systems

CGMs deliver continuous, real-time glucose readings and trend data. Equipped with sensors, transmitters, and receivers, CGMs reduce the need for fingersticks and provide predictive alerts for hypo- or hyperglycemia.

Key CGM advancements:

14+ day sensor wear

Bluetooth-enabled smartphone synchronization

AI-based analytics for glucose forecasting

HbA1c Testing Devices

HbA1c kits quantify average glucose control over 2–3 months:

Point-of-care devices for rapid, on-site diagnostics

Laboratory systems for comprehensive accuracy

HbA1c remains a clinical gold standard for evaluating therapy efficacy and long-term risk mitigation.

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Intelligent Insulin Delivery Systems: Automation Meets Accuracy

Insulin Pens

Favored for their precision and ease of use, insulin pens now feature:

Dose memory logs

App connectivity

Pre-filled cartridges to reduce waste

Insulin Pumps

Pumps offer continuous subcutaneous insulin infusion (CSII) and can be fine-tuned based on CGM data:

Basal-bolus automation

Meal-time dosing adjustments

Wearable, discreet form factors

Jet Injectors and Syringes

Jet injectors provide needle-free delivery via high-pressure microstreams, enhancing comfort and compliance. Conventional syringes, although less technologically advanced, remain cost-effective and widely used in certain demographics.

Artificial Pancreas Systems: The Apex of Closed-Loop Innovation

Artificial pancreas systems represent a pinnacle in diabetes tech, seamlessly integrating CGM data with insulin pumps to deliver fully automated insulin dosing. These systems minimize glycemic variability and improve time-in-range metrics.

Key Features:

Real-time glucose sensing

Algorithm-driven insulin titration

Auto-correction boluses

They herald a future of "hands-off" diabetes management, dramatically reducing patient burden.

Technology-Based Segmentation: The Age of Wearables, Non-Invasive, and Implantable Solutions

Wearable Devices

Wearables dominate the CGM and pump sectors. These smart devices improve user experience by integrating with:

Mobile apps

Smartwatches

Cloud-based physician dashboards

Non-Invasive Technologies

Emerging innovations eliminate blood draws, using:

Sweat, interstitial fluid, or optical signals for glucose detection

Painless insulin administration via transdermal patches or microneedles

Implantables

Implantable sensors, like Eversense, offer 180-day wear periods and minimal maintenance. Future prospects include fully implantable insulin pumps, aiming to redefine long-term diabetes care.

Strategic Distribution Channels: Multi-Access Approaches to Device Availability

Hospital Pharmacies

Institutional procurement hubs providing inpatient access to:

Advanced CGMs

Emergency-use insulin delivery systems

Diagnostic kits

Retail Pharmacies

Community-focused outlets that offer:

Immediate patient counseling

High-availability insulin pens and meters

Support for device onboarding

Online Pharmacies

Digital-first platforms providing:

Subscription-based sensor replacements

Remote device calibration

Rapid delivery of critical supplies

Diabetes Clinics and Home Care

Specialized care centers and in-home setups enable:

Personalized device configurations

Telehealth integration

Longitudinal glucose trend analysis for home-managed patients

Regional Diabetes Devices Market Insights: Diverse Demand Across Geographies

North America

U.S. leads the global market with deep penetration of CGMs and artificial pancreas systems

Strong presence of key players such as Dexcom, Medtronic, Insulet

Europe

High adoption of insulin pumps in Germany, UK, and France

Expanding reimbursement frameworks fostering CGM use

Asia-Pacific

Explosive growth in China, India, Japan, driven by rising diabetes incidence

Government subsidies and healthtech startups catalyze device access

Middle East, Africa, and South America

Improving healthcare infrastructure

Strategic partnerships with global manufacturers expanding regional footprints

Leading Companies Transforming the Diabetes Devices Market

Medtronic plc – Leader in closed-loop insulin delivery systems

Dexcom Inc. – Pioneer in CGM technology and real-time data integration

Abbott Laboratories – Innovator of sensor-based FreeStyle Libre systems

Insulet Corporation – Renowned for tubeless insulin pump design (Omnipod)

Novo Nordisk A/S – Dominant in insulin pens and injectors

Ypsomed Holding – Developer of user-friendly pen platforms and mobile apps

Arkray Inc. – Key manufacturer of SMBG devices for emerging markets

Projected Growth: 2024–2031 Forecast

The global diabetes devices market is projected to surpass prior milestones, reaching substantial valuation by 2031. Growth is underpinned by:

Technological breakthroughs in non-invasive monitoring

Rising global awareness and screening programs

Increasing demand for real-time digital health solutions

Purchase Exclusive Report: https://www.statsandresearch.com/enquire-before/40486-global-diabetes-devices-market

Conclusion

The global diabetes devices market is advancing toward a future where data-driven automation, patient empowerment, and seamless integration define chronic disease management. As demand escalates across regions and demographics, companies that prioritize innovation, usability, and personalization will lead the next chapter in diabetic care. With sophisticated tools becoming more accessible and user-friendly, we are witnessing a technological renaissance poised to transform the lives of millions worldwide.

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Stats and Research

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Website: https://www.statsandresearch.com

[ancientcosmicsecrets]

The mysterious signal from Proxima Centauri

The search for extraterrestrial intelligence has been a topic of fascination for humanity for decades. The scientific community has recently been captivated by the mysterious signal from Proxima Centauri, our closest stellar neighbor, detected by the Breakthrough Listen project. This intriguing signal has sparked the possibility of life beyond our planet. Proxima Centauri is a red dwarf star located just 4.25 light-years away in the constellation of Centaurus, making it the nearest known star to our sun. Despite its proximity, it remains invisible to the naked eye, adding to the mystery of the cosmos. The star is known to host at least two planets, one of which, a super-Earth, lies within the habitable zone, where conditions could potentially support liquid water and, conceivably, life. This discovery has expanded our understanding of the universe and ignited our imagination.

The signal, named BLC1 (Breakthrough Listen Candidate 1), was first detected in April and May 2019 and reported in December 2020. It appeared as a narrowband transmission at a frequency of 982.002 megahertz, a part of the radio spectrum seldom used by human-made transmitters. Its behavior is truly intriguing; it was only observed when the Parkes radio telescope in Australia was pointed directly at Proxima Centauri, and it vanished when the telescope looked away. The possibility that this signal could be a form of contact from an advanced civilization is both exhilarating and daunting.

The frequency drift of the signal resembled what one would expect from a transmitter on a planet orbiting Proxima Centauri, suggesting a potential 'techno signature '—an engineered signal indicative of extraterrestrial technology. A techno signature is a term used in the search for extraterrestrial intelligence to describe any detectable sign of technology, such as radio waves or other electromagnetic signals, that could indicate the presence of an advanced civilization. However, the excitement was tempered by the high likelihood of human-made interference, a common culprit in such detections. After the initial discovery, the scientific community conducted a rigorous analysis to determine the signal's origin. Despite the allure of an alien broadcast, subsequent investigations have suggested that BLC1 is most likely a result of human technology.

The signal's characteristics, while compelling, ultimately aligned with frequencies used by oscillators commonly found in electronic devices here on Earth, underscoring the complexity of the search for extraterrestrial intelligence. The events following the reception of the signal from Proxima Centauri serve as a reminder of the challenges in the search for extraterrestrial intelligence. They highlight the delicate balance between skepticism and hope, between the mundane and the extraordinary. As we continue to scan the heavens, the quest for contact remains a testament to our enduring curiosity and unyielding desire to answer the timeless question: Are we alone? The search for extraterrestrial intelligence is a complex and challenging process, requiring delicate precision and a keen eye for detail to distinguish between signals from space and those from Earth, such as radio broadcasts, satellite communications, or even microwave ovens, which can interfere with our search for extraterrestrial intelligence.

"As we conclude this fascinating exploration into the signal from Proxima Centauri, it's essential to ponder the broader implications of what preparing for potential extraterrestrial contact means for humanity. The notion that we might not be alone in the universe is a transformative concept that can reshape our understanding of life, existence, and our place in the cosmos. The prospect of open contact with alien civilizations presents various challenges and opportunities. It compels us to consider the readiness of our global society for such a groundbreaking event.

Preparation for this possibility is not just about the scientific and technological advancements required to communicate and interact with extraterrestrial beings. It's also about the philosophical, ethical, and sociological frameworks we must develop to handle the profound questions and changes such contact would bring. Why should we prepare? The answer lies in the inherent curiosity and drive that define us as a species. Throughout history, humans have always looked to the horizon to understand the unknown and discover new frontiers. Preparing for extraterrestrial contact is the next step in this journey, a testament to our enduring quest for knowledge and our unyielding spirit of exploration.

Moreover, the preparation process can yield significant benefits, fostering international collaboration, driving technological innovation, and expanding our scientific knowledge. Whether or not we ever make contact, the efforts we put into this endeavor can help solve pressing issues here on Earth, from climate change to resource scarcity. In the end, the signal from Proxima Centauri, regardless of its origin, serves as a reminder of the vastness of the universe and the potential for wonders beyond our current understanding. It encourages us to look up at the stars with hope and anticipation, ready to embrace the future, whatever it may hold. As we stand on the precipice of discovery, let us move forward with open minds and hearts, prepared for the possibility that one day, we may receive a message from the stars.

This message could change everything. Let's ensure that we are ready to answer the call and enter a new chapter in the grand story of human civilization. The future is unwritten, and the possibilities are infinite."

[foundationhq]

𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄-φ 𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐎; 161.8 𝐹𝑀 𝑅𝐴𝐷𝐼𝑂 𝑃𝐻𝐼.

High  up  in  the  █████  mountains  overlooking  the  Foundation's  covert  base  of  operations  is  a  lone  FM  radio  station  aptly  named  Radio  Phi.  While  no  one  knows  precisely  when  161.8  FM  graced  our  airwaves  or  where  the  radio  tower  is  exactly  located  —  as  the  fog  can  get  thick  in  these  altitudes  —  no  one  minds  having  another  rare  form  of  entertainment  on  the  austere  Site.  Radio  Phi is  a  freeform  station,  hosting  a  variety  of  music  genres,  from  easy  listening  to  classic  rock  to  canciónes  rancheras,  with  the  occasional  talk  shows  from  two  enigmatic  hosts: The  Man  With  The  Suede  Voice  and  The  Woman  Who  Only  Speaks  In  Whispers.  Although  live  radio  is  strictly  forbidden  inside  the  main  building  due  to  some  SCPs’  auditory  sensitivities,  many  of  Site-φ’s  staff  have  their  modified  pagers  “fixed”  to  enjoy  tunes  in  the  Residential  Areas  or  while  patrolling  the  mountainous  Pacific  Northwest  outback.

ACCESS.

Although  there  have  been  attempts  by  the  Site-φ  Security  Department  to  locate  and  track  the  radio  station’s  whereabouts,  the  rugged  Cascadian  summits  and  ridges  have  led  to  inconclusive  reconnaissance.  There  have  also  been  rumors  that  the  Head  of  Security,  Captain  Junichi  Kato,  tends  to  take  missions  to  find  the  radio  tower  less  seriously  than  other  security  priorities...  especially  when  humming  along  to  Joy  Division’s  “Disorder”  while  on  the  lookout.  Nonetheless,  Radio  Phi  is  off-limits  inside  the  main  building,  and  Site  Director  Buckley  Osterholz  doesn’t  take  kindly  to  his  authority  being  challenged.

However,  those  who  are  tired  of  flipping  through  reruns  of  outdated  cable  TV  programming  and  rifling  through  the  sparse  list  of  Foundation-approved  VHSes  and  DVDs,  or  those  who  hate  running  in  the  frigid  high-altitude  air  with  the  Walking  Club,  or  those  who  can’t  stand  reading  to  pass  the  slow  seconds  in  the  modern  cenobium  that  is  Site-φ,  know  if  you  meet  the  right  someone  in  the  Engineering  Department,  they’d  be  down  to  fix  the  mandated  pagers  for  an  extra  All-You-Can-Brunch  cafeteria  buffet  ticket. 

All  of  the  modified  two-way  pagers  utilized  in  Site-φ  have  mini-transmitters  to  read  and  send  messages  across  the  base  throughout  the  mountains.  Much  like  the  contemporary  cellphone,  these  pagers  are  outfitted  with  vibration  and  silent  alarms  for  added  safety  while  handling  SCPs  as well a  beeping  notifications  during  emergency  broadcasts.  Staff  can  store  up  to  300  short  messages  (no  longer  than  180  characters)  and  assign  contact  “names.”  Those  technological  tweaks  also  opened  room  for  bugging  and  fitting  other  mechanisms.  Once  upgraded  to  receive  the  elusive  VHF  frequency,  161.8  FM,  and  with  a  newly  installed  audio  jack  to  boot,  the  staff  pager  is  now  good  to  go  to  hear  whatever  (and  we  mean  whatever)  the  DJs  at  Radio  Phi  want  to  play.

PROGRAMMING.

Radio  Phi’s  programming  tastes  run  eclectic  and  completely  random.  One  day,  it  might  be  straight  27  hours  of  prog  rock,  another,  three  choral  hymns,  and  then  a  full  reggaeton  album  from  start  to  finish.  It’s  no  use  making  sense  of  Radio  Phi.  We  suggest  you  do  not  look  deeper.  Instead,  close  your  eyes,  kick  up  your  legs,  and  relax  to  the  music…

When  not  listening  to  lo-fi  beats  to  relax-slash-study  to,  sometimes  a  listener  can  catch  one  of  the  two  talk  shows  on  the  radio  between  the  hours  of  12:00  AM  to  11:59  PM. 

The  Man  With  The  Suede  Voice  hosts  an  advice  column  style  panel,  chatting  with  callers  on-air  or  reading  out  inquires  the  station  receives  via  mail  in  his  mellow  and  almost  fuzzy  tone.  He  helps  his  listeners  with  questions  about  love,  life,  and  animal  husbandry.  However,  it  is  unclear  how  anyone  can  reach  the  Man  With  The  Suede  Voice  as  he  has  never  given  a  phone  number  or  an  address  to  send  such  inquiries.  There  are  rare  occasions  in  which  the  Man  With  The  Suede  Voice  will  get  a  letter  from  someone  only  known  as  “Ben”  and  go  on  an  unhinged  rant  of  rage.  Reports  claim  that  during  these  incidents,  the  Man  With  The  Suede  Voice  will  begin  shouting  the  name  “Ben”  repeatedly  for  minutes  before  progressing  into  loud  sobbing,  and  the  sound  of  paper  tearing  can  be  heard  as  the  show  abruptly  goes  off  the  air.

The  Woman  Who  Only  Speaks  In  Whispers  hosts  a  “shock  talk”  late-night-early-morning-midday-afternoon  show,  and  the  topics  include  pop  culture  and  airing  the  dirty  laundry  of  Site-φ personnel,  all  told  in  a  husky  dulcet  whisper.  As  one  avid  listener  calls  it,  her  show  is  “practically shit-talking  ASMR.”  Between  the  two  hosts  of  Radio  Phi,  it’s  usually  the  Woman  Who  Speaks  In  Whispers  that  catches  the  ire  of  Site-φ’s  Administrative  Department,  particularly  when  she  divulges  on  topics  thought  to  be  confidential.  Exactly  how  the  Woman  Who  Only  Speaks  In  Whispers  acquires  this  information  has  yet  to  be  discovered,  as  it  would  be  impossible  for  her  to  know  about  some  of  the  events  covered  on  her  show  unless  she  was  there.  However,  thorough  investigations  to  tie  her  identity  to  any  Site-φ  employee  have  not  been  fruitful,  and  voice  recognition  software  struggles  to  make  any  definitive  match  due  to  the  whispering.

There  are  also  claims  that  at  the  start  of  every  month,  between  4  and  6  AM,  an  automated  voice  will  forecast  the  weather  for  the  greater  ███████████  area  for  the  next  month.  Site-φ  personnel  who  have  heard  these  weather  reports  allege  that  the  predictions  have  a  99.999%  accuracy  level.  However,  these  claims  are  hotly  contested  as  not  everyone  who  listens  to  Radio  Phi  during  the  1st  of  the  month  at  the  designated  hours  has  experienced  this  phenomenon.  This  has  led  some  at  Site-φ  to  believe  it  might  be  a  mass  hysteria  due  to  cabin  fever.  However,  recently,  there  have  been  rumors  that  Site-φ’s  Communications  Control  Specialist,  Majel  Trnka,  has  experienced  this  curiosity  before  the  arrival  of  the  new  MTF  Unit,  MTF  Chi-00.  Whether  or  not  this  information  is  accurate  is  unclear,  and  Trnka  refuses  to  discuss  the  topic.

Perhaps  one  of  the  most  troubling  aspects  of  Radio  Phi’s  broadcast  are  the  ads  for  various  strange  and  bizarre  products  that  are  fit  in  random  intervals  between  songs.  There  are  unsubstantiated  reports  of  ads  for  products  and  services  provided  by  Groups  of  Interests  Ambrose  Restaurants,  Doctor  Wondertainment,  Gamers  Against  Weed,  Goldbaker-Reinz  Ltd.,  TotleighSoft,  and  Vikander-Kneed  Technical  Media  among  others.  However,  like  with  the  weather  reports,  whether  or  not  Radio  Phi  even  has  ad  breaks  is  fiercely  debated  among  personnel  who  tune  into  the  station.

CONCLUSION.

Overall,  it  is  highly  unadvisable  for  Site-φ  personnel  to  alter  their  mandated  pagers  in exchange for  an  extra  brunch  buffet  ticket  with  one  of  the  members  of  the  Engineering  Department.  Although  the  allure  of  sweet  music  and  live  entertainment  —  finally, no  more  canned  laughs! real, live, human interaction!!  —  is  understandably  tempting,  no  one  really  knows  the  intentions  behind  Radio  Phi,  and  opening  up  one’s  standardized  pager  could  lead  to  other  things  getting  in…  But  that’s  for  every  staff  member  to  decide.