#Medical Robotic System Work

[healthcarehubhh]

Medical Robotic Systems of the Future

Introduction Robotic systems have drastically changed the field of medicine and healthcare over the past few decades. By augmenting a surgeon's abilities, these systems allow for minimally invasive procedures that reduce recovery time for patients. Looking ahead, newer generations of robots promise even greater precision and autonomy. Advancing Surgical Medical Robotic Systems Surgical robots like da Vinci allow a surgeon to operate through small incisions from a console several feet away. da Vinci's wrists and instruments provide 7 degrees of freedom similar to the human hand, enhancing control and visibility. New models add features like a separate robot arm for assisting the main surgeon. As robotic arms and components evolve to maximize agility and precision, procedures that were previously difficult or risky can be improved. Enhanced Mobility for Rehabilitation For patients recovering from injuries or surgeries, robotic exoskeletons and prosthetics are restoring mobility. Exoskeletons allow paraplegics to stand and move about with motors augmenting weakened legs and hips. Prosthetic hands and arms powered by miniature motors can perform delicate tasks like play piano. Continued advances may one day provide near-natural alternatives to lost limbs through highly dexterous robotic replacements. Medical Robotic System Assistance for Healthcare Workers In hospitals, robots are taking up duties to help overburdened nurses and doctors. Automated carts deliver meals, supplies and medication between floors, reducing time spent searching for items. Mobile robots guide visitors to patient rooms and provide information displays. For infectious patients, robot assistants allow remote video visits while safely limiting exposure. This growing robotic support helps maximize valuable human time and resources. Precision Robots in Non-Invasive Diagnostics Certain medical diagnostic robots can examine the body in delicate, non-invasive ways. Capsule endoscopes are swallowable cameras that capture high definition videos of the entire digestive tract. Retinal scanning robots take ultra high resolution photos of the eye to screen for conditions like diabetes or glaucoma. Miniature swimming robots explore blood vessels to locate blockages, acting as nanosubmarines inside the body. As diagnostic technology improves, robotic tools may uncover medical problems at even earlier stages. The Future of Assistive Care Medical Robotic System In future decades, robotics will likely become further integrated into healthcare through assistive robots focused on well-being. Companion robots can check vitals, remind patients to take medications, and reduce feelings of loneliness or isolation for the elderly living independently. Nursing robots may lift or turn bedridden patients with human-level gentleness. Miniature nanobots one day may precisely deliver drugs, patch tissues at a cellular level or flush toxins from the liver. Combined with continued advances in artificial intelligence, medical robots will reshape healthcare as they take increasingly supportive caregiving roles.

About Author:

Ravina Pandya, Content Writer, has a strong foothold in the market research industry. She specializes in writing well-researched articles from different industries, including food and beverages, information and technology, healthcare, chemical and materials, etc. (https://www.linkedin.com/in/ravina-pandya-1a3984191

[transformers-spike]

"Is this why the Autobots are fond of humanity? To indulge their sweet heat cycles? How many human mates has Optimus taken for himself? It seems as though their motives to protect them were never altruistic, much less noble." PLEASE, PLEASE GIVE US A SUB-STORY WHERE THIS TIME IT'S OPTIMUS AND A HUMAN SO IN THEIR HEAT CYCLE PLEASEEEE

Idk am I creating a humans in heat universe for the TF Fandom? I know people like making the bots go through it but I think the humans being affected is so much funnier. Just begging these massive robots to fuck us lmao

How must it feel to burn from the inside out? Betrayed by your own body, rendered unable to function by the fire in your core. You described it as an aching, an insatiable need to appease the hormones overtaking your nerve endings. A mere touch is enough to worsen the ache, it’s what your body dictates in the throes of a heat cycle.

Cybertronians are forged by Primus Himself, their interfaces exist for recreational pleasure and bonding, but your species is biologically programmed to reproduce, like most of the fauna of your planet. It’s a systemic sacrifice, one rendered obsolete by the sentient status of your species. Drugs have been produced to suppress your heats, or at least lessen the effects. Unfortunately, among a dozen varieties of medication, you are either allergic or completely immune to them, leaving you susceptible to your hormonal whims. He is sorry. You must go through so much pain every few months, but you barely show it, brushing off his concerns with a laugh, saying “it is what it is” and moving on as though your body isn’t on a timer. He admires you for it. In spite of your discomfort, you haven’t given up. Once, you told him: “So what if they don’t work on me? I just gotta roll with the punches and hope for the best, it’s been my M.O. since I got the damn thing.” Meeting them for the first time… was turbulent to say the least, but you’re safe and sound, relocated to Jasper, having adjusted to your new life with the help of Agent Fowler. You’ve told them many times you’re infinitely grateful to be in their lives (barring the near death experience at the servos of an Insecticon). For them it’s a pleasure to ease your burden. You’ve eagerly established your consent, although only Arcee is the right size to properly take care of a human. Digits and glossas can only do so much compared to a spike. He tries not to pry, your privacy is yours to divulge at your leisure, but he cannot ignore the charge building up behind his interface when he sees you with the others. Yes, he is an occasional participant, but he will rather cover shifts and allow them some well-deserved respite in your berth. They deserve it. He dares not imagine Arcee’s spike pumping in and out of you, satiating your aching body, filling you to your limit as you beg for more. 

Your scent lingers in the air, caressing his sensors, a gentle hand tugging him along by the servo, pulling him in your direction. They try to keep it to themselves, but his team is beyond a doubt intoxicated by your presence alone. Thankfully, it has (almost) never impeded their judgment during missions; perhaps it has even served as motivation to make it back to base in one piece. He tries to ignore the gleam in his old friend’s optics after quelling your urges, if only for a night. Or Bumblebee's praises coming to you as a slow stream of beeps while he nuzzles your face. Or Bulkhead cradling you to his chassis like a precious artifact as you discuss what late night movies you should watch. Or catching Arcee kissing you over the mezzanine and pulling back with a smile she hasn’t worn since Cliffjumper’s death. You bring them together in your own special way, even if you blush and sheepishly deny it, claiming you should be thanking them instead  Recent discoveries have yielded an impressive increase in energon and brought forth new opportunities. With unparalleled quantities at their disposal, they can now mass displace. The transformation is no small feat, it exhausts their system and rapidly drains their energon level. But he will not forbid Bumblebee from using it to play with the kids as long as it’s not in excess. Nor to join you during heat cycles. Much like Bulkhead. And Wheeljack. And especially Ratchet. Primus forbid, his old friend has every right to enjoy himself to the fullest after all of his back-breaking work. He’s been meaning to pay you a visit, but he hasn’t found the time until now. In the temporary abode you set up in the base, away from the prying eyes of the kids, you prepare yourself for another heat. Some refurbishing was done to meet your needs (in no small thanks to June Darby and agent Fowler’s financial help); the mattress and the mini fridge was a given, but you’ve added a variety of personal belongings and entertainment; a television, a writing desk, a few “bean bags” here and there, and a pile of old magazines to scrapbook. He wonders if you consider this place your home more than your actual house in Jasper. You greet him while downing a bottle of water, holding up your hand to signal for him to wait. Once emptied, you place it next to the mini fridge, among a wide array of bottled water crates. That would explain the groceries June had brought in with Arcee’s help. As a medical professional she’s especially fretful over your condition, doing her best to prevent the risks of heat cycles, bringing you plenty of calorie dense fuel to combat the massive loss of nutrients. He has not forgotten the fear they experienced when they found you shaking from the deficit, having completely overlooked your hunger in a midst of desperation. In this form, he can appreciate the full extent of your body without fear of hurting you, kneading the supple flesh beneath his digits as you giggle and pull him into you. He does not tower over your reclined form as much as he encases you in a careful hug, hearing the rapid thrum of your human spark directly against his audials; he may sense your pulse rate, but experiencing it is a new wonder of its own. You tell him you missed him and you wish he would let himself go and come out to “obliterate your pussy” more often. He nods and apologizes for his absence even as you shush him and insist he enjoy himself as well. He is… the largest Cybertronian you’ve taken, you remark while adjusting to his size.

“Except maybe Wheeljack,” you add cheekily, already bucking into him. Your composure evaporates as he works you up, not to say that he is much better. He steadies himself over you, charge trickling down his interface as your walls clench around him in a vice-grip. You beg him for more, plead that he frag you until you can’t take it anymore, but he has grown used to your requests and knows when your body has reached its limit. You whimper and claw at his back plates, flush against his frame yet dragging him closer as though to merge your human spark to his.

If only he could.

Slow and steady, he frags you through your overloads, each one adding a new surge of spark down his frame until he comes to his end. You are small and shaking, but in this form he can properly hold you against his chassis and comfort you through the afterglow, bringing you another bottle of water and a Clif bar (chosen for the human scaling a mountain with “If you eat this you can kill God” in big bold letters).

You stir and sit up on shaky knees to accept his offerings. Halfway through your meal, you eye him up and down.

“Are you going to stay some more?” you ask with hopefulness, still chewing on the “ultimate nuts and banana power” concoction advertised on the packaging.

“I’m afraid not, Ratchet has been hard at work deciphering Decepticon encryptions, I will be taking on his duties for the night,” he tries to break it gently, expecting crushed expectations, not your bemused expression looking up at him.

“So you’re sending him my way?” You give a chuckle. “Wish we could have spent more time together, but work is work. Just…” you crawl into his lap and hug him as tight as you can, head resting against his chassis. “Please come back tomorrow. Or after tomorrow. I miss seeing you this way. I won’t get between you and… whatever you have going on, but please visit me more often. You have no idea how nice it feels to be around you.” His gaze softens, glowing faintly against your hair. “So I’ve been told,” he says, a smile on his lips. “As long as it lightens your burden.”

[seth-whumps]

How to Ignore Magical Healing

One of the things I encounter often in media or when writing is the existence of magic, and therefore healing spells. In most magic systems, it renders long-term whump, recovery, or even classic medical tending unnecessary, or just irrelevant. That can be discouraging and uninspiring at times.

We can’t all choose what world The Blorbo™ heralds from, so sometimes we get stuck with a universe that complicates the whump instinct. So, here are some prompts for avoiding magical healing in your whumping!

Wound-based

Prompts that prevent wounds from healing

It’s Just TOO Bad: Uh oh, the healing isn’t working because the wound itself is too bad to fix

Unnatural Origins: The healing isn’t working because the wound itself isn’t natural and so cannot be healed by magical means OR the whumpee is inhuman/the in-universe equivalent, and the magic doesn’t recognize them as something that can be healed (robots, aliens, vampires, etc)

Ailments: The Whumpee has a curse/illness (like the Malady effect in Metaphor: ReFantazio) preventing them from healing at all, so that ailment must be cured before they can heal up 

Prior Requirements: Something must be done before a healing spell can be cast (removing a bullet so it doesn’t fester, stitching the wound so it can heal smoothly)

Poison: The weapon was laced with a poison that, amongst its many effects, is preventing any healing magic from reaching the wound

Situation-based

Prompts to stop your party from casting because of the predicament they’re in

Exhaustion: The party is already at their limits, and they can’t afford another healing spell OR the party doesn’t want to spend anymore magic until it’s absolutely necessary OR The party has already used all of the items in their disposal that provide magical healing (like life stones in SMT)

Prevention: The party cannot reach Whumpee to heal them (barriers, cells, or perhaps the party is otherwise occupied by fighting?)

Dangerous Territory: If the party were to stop and heal Whumpee, they would waste precious time/make too much noise/put themselves in a bad place, so Whumpee has to make it a little further before they can fix the problem

Fear Response: Whumpee has prior poor experiences with magic or healing, and is refusing treatment for as long as they can hold out OR whumpee is magically convinced the party is going to hurt them (fear effects, brainwashing, feeblemind spell in D&D)

Magic Nullification: Magic isn’t allowed (a tournament) or possible (area of effect magic prevention) and the team must make do without

Universe-based

Prompts to engineer/alter the universal requirements to stop magical healing

Risky Measures: Healing spells rely on the wounded person’s energy. If a powerful spell is cast on a poorly off Whumpee, it could use the last of Whumpee’s energy, and kill them

Exchange Theory: Any pain healed on Whumpee is transferred to the person casting the healing spell OR the wound itself is transferred onto someone else

Fine Print: This particular healing spell requires a very specific item (like diamonds in resurrection for D&D) and the team has to find/buy it before they can heal the whumpee

It Just Hurts: Healing spells don’t include pain relief, so when casted, Whumpee can feel every part of their wounds healing (like bones readjusting or flesh stretching)

They Don’t Exist: Healing spells themselves don’t exist, and instead creative ways of wound care are invented like slowing down blood flow or encouraged immune system responses

Final notes

Something you can play with here is if the characters have never practiced first aid! Your caretakers might have no idea how to pack a wound or splint a fracture. Lots of mistakes and tension can grow from there.

Don’t be afraid to alter the universe you’re writing in. Fuck it up, really. There’s something enchanting about adding specific rules in a given world. Adding those requirements gives depth you can play in as a sandbox. Or you can throw the team into a completely different universe, if that’s your fancy!

And remember: you never need to write it realistically. Ignore the healing spells, throw the whumpee in a no-magic AU, hell, just take healing away from those specific people to prevent it–do whatever you want, whatever seems interesting, and have fun doing it. There’s no need to make it seamless. Make it bloody first.

Now, go beat the shit out of your blorbos. 

Love yall! 

- Seth

post dividers by @/saradika-graphics

[whereserpentswalk]

Every starship always has a few ice people on board. It's just standard safety protocol. The minimum number is three, one ice person for defense, one ice person for repairs, and one ice person for medical.

Ice people are people who are put into suspended animation for the duration of a trip, only to be taken out in emergencies. They're useful because a ship won't have to deal with another passenger just for something that won't useally happen. It also makes it so that the ice person is the least likely to be harmed in emergencies. They used to use robots for these sorts of things but now that the robots have unionized biological life is cheaper for that kind of labor.

It's a pretty nice job. Nine times out of ten it's falling asleep and waking up a few months later. Doing it once or twice can pay off your college debts pretty quickly. Compared to the other jobs you'll get with that kind of skillset it's a pretty good deal. Most medical students are encouraged to take it as their first job to pay off their student loans.

Of course, there is a weirdness to it, not existing for such a long time. Even a few months will make the way things change weird. You'll come back to your home planet and things will be diffrent. A freind will have gotten married. A child that you're used to being a baby will be a toddler. Someone will have moved away. It's not all bad, hype for movies or video games, arguments that need time to calm down, skipping out on a bad time in politics. But still, it always makes you a bit separate from everything else.

Of course, there is always the fear suspended animation won't work as intended, and your mind will be trapped dreaming, or worse, conscious, during the entire affair. Perhaps things will that lurk in hyperspace will begin to speak to you. Or worse you'll just be alone, with nothing but your thoughts, and no way to cry out.

But that's not the worst of it, at least not for most people. For most people it's the much more mundane reality of needing to be an ice person for more than just one or two trips. You'll fall asleep and wake up months later, ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred times. And you'll find yourself only seeing the world through snapshots, really only having your other ice people to relate to. You'll be from a diffrent time as everyone the same age as you. It's better pay then any alternative, but there is a greater cost. Soon enough you'll be walking through your homeworld and it'll be alien to you, decades in the future from what you were raised to be in, you'll be wearing a diffrent eras clothing, speaking in a dead dialect, like a ghost from the past.

There was a young engineer who recently returned from being an ice person. Poor thing, she was sent out on an ambassador ship to an alien system thinking it would be about six months, but it turned out she was gone for decades as a war between that ship's nation and the alien homeworld broke out. When she came back all three of her spouses had died of old age, and her son who was an infant when she left was older than her when she returned, and her grandchildren she had never met were her peers.

[basil-does-arttt]

uh uh hi signalis fandom??? i bring you... a storch and kolibri pairing...

my sweethearts <3 some infodumping about them below:

they are both stationed in a correctional facility on Rotfront. Maus is the commanding officer of the base (aside from the Falke and Adler units of course) and Rin acts as her right-hand woman pretty much. Maus denies it but Rin definitely gets some special treatment and/or exceptions which does piss off the other Storchs but uh we don't have to worry about that right now :3 as the blurbs next to them state, they each have their own manufacturing issues but one is certainly a lot more severe than the other... ill start with Rin: Her heating system is defective, as in it doesn't work at all. Especially unhelpful considering they're on Rotfront, yknow, the ice moon?? She still manages to keep her productivity at an all-time high though, despite her defect. On more than one occaision, she's gotten a warning from Adler about her water usage, since she takes so many boiling hot showers to warm up... Being a Storch she's unsurprisingly quite short-tempered and has noticable violent tendancies that probably could be better reigned in but Maus is into it so Rin gets a pass to be mean. "Interrogations" with Gestalts involving Rin as the punisher more often than not end in a bloodbath. And Rin snagging a couple of new shiny trinkets to keep for herself or share between her and Rin (maybe the other Protektor units if she's feeling generous.) She tends to get quite protective over Maus, and when the two can find a quiet moment alone together, Rin has a bit of a soft spot for her little rodent <3 now, Maus: Her Bioresenance module is defective, as in Maus can't really "regulate" the intensity of it properly. Its way too strong for any normal Kolibri unit, let alone an entire group of them at once, so Maus has intentionally cut herself off from the hive-mind in an effort to protect her fellow hummingbirds. She still works with them and communicates with them of course, she just refuses to do it through bioresenance. Does this mean more paperwork? Yes... but she thinks the tradeoff is worth it. It does have its downsides though. Without the safety net the hivemind provides to her persona, Maus has already begun to degrade in irreversable ways (no matter how many pots of tea she downs or books she finishes a day) Despite this she remains dedicated and loyal to her work, if not for herself then so she doesn't everyone else around her down. (also, after some vauge threats of decomission from Adler, she's only thrown herself further into her work to try and convince him she doesn't need replacing. Maus isn't scared of many things, but if theres one thing she's terrified of, its death.) She suffers a lot from migranes and nosebleeds a lot as a side effect of her faulty bioresenance module, and has landed herself in the facility's medical ward too many times to count because of it. the Eule nurses have even dedicated an entire room solely to Maus due to how often she's in there for Something, be it a headache, or fainting entirely while on the job. If it weren't for Falke, Adler would have had her decomissioned many cycles ago. Falke however trusts her charm of hummingbirds implicitly and keeps a close eye on Maus especially, making sure she doesn't stray too far off the deep end. Maus also has violent tendancies of her own, and works well with Rin because of it. Rin interrogating Gestalts is bad enough, but Rin AND Maus together? yeah that Gestalt isn't coming out of that room alive. or in one piece for that matter.. Maus and Rin sorta bounce off eachother in ways that i don't think are entirely healthy but hey, they're happy, so who am i to get in the way of two lesbian robot's toxic bloodbath yuri :3

[mariacallous]

People keep writing to ask what they can do to help Ukraine. The country's soldiers face renewed attacks from Russia. There is a simple way to make sure that more Ukrainian soldiers survive, and to send a message that we support them: by funding armored evacuation vehicles. I am announcing a campaign to do that right now.

These are very unusual vehicles built to specifications that allow them to function at the front. They give the courageous drivers and medics a better chance of fulfilling their mission of rescuing wounded Ukrainian soldiers, and of surviving themselves. Russia targets medical facilities, including frontline evacuation teams.

Our goal is to finance two of these vehicles quickly, so that they can be ordered by the Ukrainian Ministry of Health right away. I am organizing this fundraiser together with my Polish friend, the extraordinary activist Sławek Sierakowski. His Polish platform is here. We started in Poland yesterday and we are, as I write, minutes away from raising the $300,000 needed for the first armored ambulance! Amazing work from the Poles. Now let’s see how quickly we can raise the second $300,000 for the second vehicle.

I hope that we can catch up quickly and fund the second vehicle, using this platform from United24.

I want to thank everyone who joined in the first two big fundraisers I did together with United24: the first was for drone detection systems, and the second was for mine-clearing robots. In both cases, were were able to meet our goals, and to save many, many lives. In both cases I asked Ukrainian colleagues what was needed most. This time the answer was armored ambulances. So I have alread made a donation today, in the hopes that you will join me. Here is the link. Show Ukrainians that they are not alone.

Today American and Ukrainian negotiators are meeting in Saudi Arabia. I wish I could say that this will bring the war to an end. The Russian ground attacks will continue until the balance of the conflict shifts, until Ukraine's and its allies find a way to demonstrate to Moscow that continuing the invasion is impossible. We must all hope for peace, but react to the reality of an ongoing war. Medics are risking their lives right now. So please do what you can.

[amateur-flamingo]

On the day the cosmos opened up, humanity united its forces to protect the Earth. While fearless pilots fight in enemy territory in the vastness of the stars, the guardians of our planet become bigger, better, stronger.

I'm really into @keferon mecha au. I wanted to finish my concept before the New Year, but so much stuff piled up during the holidays that I didn't have time. Nevertheless! I'm happy to share my thoughts on the Stunticon team in this setting >:) I don't claim canonicity, so this could very well be just an au au.

Menasor is a human project on par with other "combiners". They are significantly larger than normal mechs and require much greater resources to both build and pilot. To operate such a colossal robot, several people are needed at once; which is, in fact, unthinkable, given how precisely one must perform actions and navigate within the machine. Eventually, "Mind Melding" was developed, which involves pilots sharing impressions, feelings, and thoughts with each other. To achieve greater efficiency, each member of the team must be in closer relationships, reducing the likelihood of systemic problems occurring during the merge.

Being the second combiner created, Menasor is far from perfect, including because of its pilots. Its components are a team of Stunticons - former road bandits, after the trial sent in a "good direction" for the benefit of all mankind. A choice without a choice, but in the end none of them were against participating in the experiment. Each of them is responsible for a separate part of the robot's body, in fusion they really provide sufficient efficiency to fulfill the assigned mission - fighting the incoming monsters.

I won't hide that I was greatly inspired by the piloting methods in Pacific Rim and Evangelion. For my concept, I use the "drift" system, the merging of the consciousnesses of two pilots; as well as the capsule system for the pilots from Eva, each of which is placed in a separate limb of Menasor. Also! I am absolutely delighted by the existence of the "berserker" form in Evangelion, and, frankly, I can't help but add it here.

The imperfection of combiners lies, among other things, in the imbalance of human minds. At the moment of failure - technical, emotional, any other - there is a possibility of awakening the personality of the mech. When the consciousnesses of the pilots merge, leaving no room for each one separately - a berserker appears, acting on his instincts alone. The components stop responding to requests, and the only way to stop the combiner is either running out of energy or fighting him.

Menasor was the first combiner with a recorded case of mind fusion. Due to some fragmentation of the Stunticons, as well as their psychological problems, the mecha went out of control and stopped communicating with the control center. More animalistic behavior during the battle with the alien, and then the destruction of more than a third of the abandoned city before the batteries died, forced the responsible persons to temporarily stop using Menasor in missions until the circumstances were clarified. The Stunticons were subsequently sent for a second medical examination, each assigned a personal specialist, and the same was done with the members of the other teams.

Nevertheless, everyone appreciated the effectiveness of destroying the enemy in the form of a berserker. The risk, to some extent, was worth it, so the program was not terminated, soon returning the combiners to duty.

Probably, if the concept eventually works out, I'll also make full-fledged designs for the Stunticons x) I already have an idea, I just need to put in more effort for it.

[urween]

Skittish | Bucky Barnes x ftm!reader | english version

summary: After a long battle and especially hard research, the Avengers finally found the Winter Soldier. To keep everyone safe, they keep him locked in their HQ. In semi-freedom but especially in a trance, Bucky Barnes attracts the attention of the young boy in charge of taking care of him during his stay here.

notes: I prefer to specify it, the temporality is not exactly respected. Let's say that all this takes place just after Captain America: The Winter Soldier.

⚠︎ warnings: mentions of heavy trauma related to the war and the Hydra projects, a form of depressed!Bucky, violence, weapons, incomprehension of transidentity without transphobia, mentions of suicidal thoughts.

English isn't my first language, sorry for the mistakes <3

- 2nd person description

- 5 371 words

french version here

You were the little protégé of the group, he had quickly noticed. Even if Natasha didn't have superpowers or a robotic suit either, she was part of the team. She and Clint were kind of the superhumans of the group, with superhuman abilities but nothing that surpassed Thor's lightning or Hulk's muscles. Then, there was you, a fairly normal little human with no particular specificities. High intelligence, extreme kindness and an adorable smile. But no mastery of martial arts. You knew the basics of fighting, Nat had taught you the main thing. You had ended up understanding Bruce's extravagant chemical formulas, and you understood the most important things Tony said in his intense nerd phases. But once again, you were nothing special, and that made Bucky wonder. Why was a basic human here? What were you doing in the middle of the Avengers? Even though he had missed a few decisive years from a social point of view, he didn't understand.

As he stared from his cell, he saw scenes he didn't know how to interpret. You assisting Tony Stark and Jarvis, you laughing with Bruce Banner, you helping Natasha Romanoff train, you carrying Steve Rogers' shield to him, you sorting Clint Barton's arrows, you redoing Thor's braids.

What were you doing there?

You had cheerfully introduced yourself to him. With a friendly smile on your lips, you had stated your name, first name and pronouns – he hadn't really understood this last point –. You had surely been informed of his situation. Don't be offended, he'll need a little time, someone must have whispered to you. He hadn't answered you, and you hadn't seemed offended. You had then left, and he had remained perplexed. If you already knew everything about him, why come and introduce yourself? You must have read his files, you must have all read his files. Steve had to slip away to get some air, Natasha inspected everything in detail, Bruce muttered "it’s awful". You had to read his files. See his life laid out on a large table, foreign hands going over the medical reports. You had to read with anguish the endless list of victims he had killed during his missions, observe the modifications that had been made to him, the treatments inflicted, the pains endured. You had seen all that. Then, why come see him?

"Let's just say I don't really like you hanging around this guy," Tony's voice had been saying for several minutes, "Jarvis copy this plan for me and make a 3D reconstruction with train stations, airports and all the stuff."

The holograms moved before your eyes, but you hadn't paid attention to them. Back then, the first time you saw this virtual world being modeled in Tony's office, you were like a kid. Stars in your eyes, you asked a thousand questions per second, making the creator of this program smile. But now you knew yourself how most of the "Jarvis" system worked, and you weren't so impressed anymore, or at least you weren't with every move Stark made.

"I don't see what's bothering you," you replied, innocently swinging your legs in the air.

Tony turned around with his ever-so-dramatic gestures, making a vague movement with his hand he tried to make you understand things without having to speak. Unfortunately for him telekinesis was not part of your abilities.

"Okay," he admitted to himself, defeated, "to start with his sophisticated robotic arm that could crush you before you could scream," he mimed disinterestedly, “did you look at him? Unstable and completely high."

A non-hidden smile drew a curve across your lips.

"We're still talking about Bucky Barnes?” you had fun, “because I rather have the impression that you're looking at yourself in a mirror"

You glanced at Jarvis, who was finishing your friend's request. Then, your attention went back to the billionaire who was visibly desperate to have this discussion with you – you were getting used to it, a demonstration of love coming from Tony –.

"I prefer to cut you off right now," your voice continued, "I forbid you to give me the traditional excuses like he's dangerous or armed or he's a murderer”. You got down from the table where you were sitting and gestured around the room, “look around Tony, only weapons or future weapons,” you got closer to him and pointed at his forehead, “you have the greatest weapon that humanity has ever known in this skull. Natasha and Clint are professional killers, Steve is a traumatized soldier who makes a denial, Thor is an alien with supernatural powers and Bruce is a scientist haunted by a destructive alter-ego”. You pause to admire the still indecipherable facial expression of the man in front of you, “you are all murderers and dangers to Mankind, the only difference between you and Barnes is that you chose to devote your talents to a cause, and he had no choice".

Tony remained motionless for a few long seconds, a whirlwind surely vibrating his neurons. Then, he shrugged his shoulders and quickly bowed his head in defeat.

"You're right," he declared, "I’ve no more arguments and yours are solid”, he turned and went back to Jarvis, “well done kid"

A year ago you would have been perplexed by this reaction, but time had taught you that you had to take Tony Stark with a grain of salt and observe him as you would with a foreign mushroom. All you could remember from this interaction was that you were tired, that you had won against the great megalomaniac Iron Man and above all that you had to talk to Barnes again.

No one had really agreed with Steve on the idea of ​​bringing a Hydra mercenary back to Avengers HQ. It's the equivalent of serving him our secrets on a silver platter, Clint had rightly said. You had been surprised to see Nat defend Barnes, alongside you and Steve – of course –. There was Bruce who couldn't deliver a distinct judgment, then Tony and Clint who were against. Thor having left, you didn't know where in space, the votes had therefore been closed with a majority of for.

You had helped Captain set up a room that was at least habitable in a protective cell, a bit like the one that had sheltered Loki. While the tall blond carried the fold-out bed, you had taken care of a bag of clothes – approximately Barnes' size – and another with water and sweets, this idea had come from you. You found it unfair to call this man a simple murderer, he had been manipulated and controlled. As you put the cereal bars on a small iron table, you tried not to think about the chaos that must be going on in the Winter Soldier's head at the same time. He must have been just as traumatized as his victims, maybe even more so. And finding himself in such a particular environment overnight must have been disturbing. So a chocolate bar and a soda couldn't hurt him.

Thank you, Steve had murmured, for understanding. You had given him a touching smile, holding back the urge to ask him how he felt. He had just found his best friend, who was supposed to have disappeared for several decades, and on top of that, this friend had suffered inhumane treatment for most of his life now. It was obvious that he didn't feel well, that he was helpless in the face of this situation. Bruce had advised you to give him time, and that if he needed it, he would end up talking to one of you. You had listened to his advice, and focused more on Barnes instead.

You had introduced yourself first, starting with a simple acquaintance. You had then made sure to take care of his needs, slipping in a new bottle of fresh water when the previous one was empty, opening his prison only when night fell so that he could go shower without running into a contemptuous Tony or a depressed Steve.

On this subject, rules had been established to guarantee everyone's safety. If Bucky left his cell it was always in the company of one of you – you were the only ones with the passes –, if he asked for something – which he never did – the object had to pass through several control portals before being given to him, and finally no matter where he went, toilets or showers, someone had to watch over him within the limits of privacy. Bruce had offered to take turns, but judging by the faces of the others you had volunteered to ensure most of his outings. Natasha was supposed to replace you when you weren't available, then Tony if neither of you were present. This way you had avoided conflicts but also and above all Steve wouldn't have to go there.

You didn't know him, Bucky, having only seen the videos in his file, and yet every time you went to visit him your stomach knotted. There was no question of fear, since his robotic arm had been censored to the maximum thanks to a Stark gadget, leaving him only the freedom to use it as a normal limb, without super-strength or integrated weapons. He remains a super soldier, Bruce had warned, his physical faculties are superior to Nat's and he has a serum similar to Steve's in his veins. But you weren't afraid. Unfortunately a goat would have made you shiver more than Barnes when you went to see him. He was always on pause. Never spoke, barely moving his gaze from the ground. You had been reassured to see that he ate the bare minimum, and he had even tasted a chocolate bar one day. But aside from these details, it was as if you were seeing the same robot in the same position, day after day. Your stomach knotted for these reasons, because when you brought him clean sheets he had nothing of the man you had seen on video. The rage that haunted his eyes had disappeared, there was only a nameless emptiness left, and you had never seen anything so sad. You didn't feel like you had a hundred-year-old Hydra soldier in front of you, but a broken orphan.

You spent a lot of time rereading his file, his reports, his exams. You tried to understand him through these papers. Steve was lost, he no longer saw Buck in those eyes, and you were trying to understand what he had become, Buck. According to his personal file, he had been found at the age of twenty-six before undergoing Hydra’s experiments. A photo of him, in 1943, was stuck to the paper. A shy smile on his lips, his infantry hat slightly tilted on his head and his uniform without a crease sitting proudly on his chest. A tear had seriously rolled down your cheek, ending its path in a Russian handwriting: Зимний Солдат, in other words Winter Soldier. Bruce had carried out a complete tradition of all the documents, later corrected by Natasha. Maybe rereading these texts was not good for you, but you needed it. You were the only one here who was interested in Barnes. Steve felt so guilty that he was in a kind of denial, Nat was only coldly studying the soldier’s file and let’s not even talk about the others. Bucky needed time, understanding and gentleness to at least not make his after-effects worse. You most certainly had to make mistakes, not being a psychologist by profession, but you were already doing better than your comrades and than Hydra.

"Nice evening, huh?" Your voice echoed in a leaden silence.

The sun had set for over three hours, most of the Avengers were in their rooms or gone outside, which meant that it was the perfect time for Barnes to take a shower. You had gathered your strength and went to the soldier's cell. When you had passed by, about two hours ago, he had not wanted to eat his meal so you had taken it back and heated it up again for later. With the hot dish in one hand, you carefully closed the armored glass door behind you. As you expected, Barnes had hardly moved since your last visit. Still sitting cross-legged in his bed, he seemed vaguely to notice your presence.

"I know you didn't want to eat earlier," you began, putting the meal down next to him, "but I thought that maybe your appetite had returned in the meantime."

Sometimes you were entitled to a small, hoarse "hum" from the back of his throat as a response, but you wondered if it was intentional since his gestures didn't match this slight sign of life. Unfortunately, tonight wasn't part of that "sometimes." No noise, barely a breath. But you didn't get discouraged.

The first few times you came to talk to him, his complete lack of reaction had made you wonder about his possible understanding of your language. Yet you had read that he read and spoke at least two languages, including yours. You might not understand what I'm telling you, you had mumbled while picking up his used clothes. Your biggest interaction with him had been when he had looked you straight in the eye and said in a pleasantly deep voice: I understand.

“Other than that you can-”

You were surprised to see him stand up on his own, studiously heading towards the exit door while waiting for you to open it. You were usually the one who went first to the exit, waiting two or three seconds for him to get up and join you. But this was a nice surprise, maybe it meant that his condition was improving.

Your electromagnetic pass stuck to the dashboard, a small beep sounded before you pushed the heavy door and let Barnes go first. These security questions were mandatory for you to approach the Winter Soldier. Always making him walk in front of you, making your pass inaccessible – hidden in your sleeve most of the time as Bruce had advised you –, a bladed weapon concealed against your ankle in case of trouble, and you weren't supposed to talk to him about yourself or the team. Clint had wanted to add an additional rule: not to speak to him unless necessary, to prevent any risk of manipulation. Did you look at him carefully? Had you imposed yourself in the discussion, he didn't utter any opposition during the whole process to bring him back here, and then remember his mission reports, he wasn't a spy but a mass murderer, he was programmed to speak as little as possible to his victims. Tony had agreed with you on the subject, recalling the case of Loki – once again – who was very different from Barnes.

Stupid rules, you thought as you watched the silhouette of the man in front of you advance in the long corridor. If the others saw him for more than five minutes, they would realize that he was nothing more than a victim in this cell. They all found you a little naive and they appreciated you for that, a ray of hope in the midst of chaos. Yet you were by far the one with the best perception of the others. Each villain had arguments, good or bad, you listened to them all. You reasoned with the team, making them come out of their superhero bubble to show them the possibility of a little levity.

You did not doubt the abilities of Barnes, you wanted to find yourself face to face with him even less than with Nat – and that was already a lot –. You sometimes looked again at the surveillance videos taken the day Natasha and Steve fought him for the first time. He was hypnotizing, in the way all his movements seemed to come together with such fluidity and speed, the way his body thought for him and acted accordingly. You were dizzy from a roll in comparison, so seeing it all was astounding. Of course, there were horrible explanations behind these gifts, just like most people who could reproduce all this, but you still couldn't help but analyze these videos. And then, there in that hallway, you looked at Barnes' back, his arm gleaming, the red star enthroned there, and you wondered what was going on in his mind. What he could do was inhuman, and seeing it in image reinforced that feeling.Then you had to realize that he was a human being, who had once been like you. His way of functioning had to have been completely disrupted, distorted and destroyed. We had to reduce to crumbs what had been to build what was now, that was how it worked. To adapt to a new environment we were always advised to forget everything we thought we knew, all the movies said it. In the same way that flat-earthers were convinced that the Earth was flat, Barnes no longer saw the world the way you did.

As the rules said, you discreetly put your pass in a pants pocket as you reached the bathroom. Simple locks served as security, and it was more than enough. No one except you had ever mentioned the possibility that Bucky was trying to end his life. If he did, the bathroom was the best place, which is why a simple lock would do the trick so that you or someone else could break down the door if necessary. But you avoided thinking too much about this exit, because through the few interactions you had had with him and the thoughts you had about him, you had become truly attached to him.

You opened the shower curtain, under Barnes' intrigued gaze. Each Avengers had a bathroom with the bare minimum in their room, but there were also three larger bathrooms on the second floor. These were the rooms to clean yourself in an emergency when you came back covered in blood, or Bruce went there in the event of a green alert for example. They were more accessible than the bedrooms, which explained this function. But what made Bucky curious was not that. You always gave him room number two, with a basic shower, a sink and a toilet. But there you were in number one, with a bathtub. He quickly detailed the room, slightly larger and apart from the bathtub there was nothing that differentiated it from number 2. As always, you had previously removed all objects that could be used as weapons. The pile of two clean towels overhung by harsh soap and shampoo – to avoid the risk of swallowing or too aggressive eye attacks – and the washcloth, were still carefully placed on the edge of the sink. So why a bathtub?

As if you were reading his mind, you turned around in a fluid movement. You took the time to appreciate Barnes' expressive gaze – it was so rare – before answering his questions.

"I assumed it must have been years since you had a real bath, you tried to avoid the Hydra subject, so I thought it could be a good idea?”

A good number of emotions passed through the blue of his eyes, only accentuating your apprehension about his reaction. No one had been even friendly to him for a long time, which meant that he was going to take a while before properly reacting. But as you had imagined, his gaze scanned the bathtub behind you at breakneck speed in search of a trap. I'm not like them, you thought with a pang of heart.

"I know what you must be telling yourself, but there is no trap Bucky,” his name resonated more than you would have imagined, “it's going to be long but believe me I'm not trying to kill you or hurt you"

A heavy doubt seemed to weigh, and you could only understand. This kind of sentence, he must have heard far too many before ending up electrocuted or worse. To help his process, you moved away and let him fully observe the place. His eyes locked on the shower head longer than expected, and once again, you felt nauseous as you imagined the traumas that must be replaying in his head. In that moment, you thought back to the first time you had led him into a bathroom. He had refused to get into the shower, his jaw clenched to the point that his teeth must have hurt, he had stared at you with a cocktail of indecipherable emotions in his eyes. You had ended up remembering the treatment reserved for Jews in the showers during the Second World War, and you had immediately apologized. Sorry, I should have thought of that, you had said guiltily, if you want you can just wash yourself with the washcloth and the faucet water, no need for the shower head today if you don't trust it. And the situation seemed to be happening again tonight, he was afraid that you would want to get rid of him during his shower, or bath in this case. Unfortunately, techniques have evolved since 39-45, especially since he was in the HQ of the greatest engineer in the United States, which meant that you could have found many methods to kill him while he was washing.

But you had to find a way to reassure him, because you had no intention of executing him quietly, and you wanted to be sincerely nice.

"Maybe if it reassures you I can-,” you hesitated before telling yourself that it was for a good cause, “I can stay with you? There's a curtain anyway"

Faced with his expression that swayed from surprise to doubt, you felt obliged to justify.

"If there's gas or an explosion, I'll die with you, which wouldn't be very appreciated by the team”, you paused slightly to gauge his reaction, “and if there's anything else threatening you can kill me yourself since I'll be right next to you”. You then brandish the door’s key between your two fingers, “on top of that I lock us in and leave the key on the edge of the bathtub, so I don't run away and lock you behind me"

You had the strong impression that in another time, Barnes would have smiled, maybe even laughed. Then, to your surprise, you saw a semblance of amusement in his eyes. An almost invisible veil that lasted only a second, just long enough for a distant version of him to take over the Winter Soldier. You couldn't help your smile, waiting despite everything for a more concrete reaction before reacting in return.

Bucky tried to get a dominant emotion out of the hubbub that was playing in his mind. You were definitely different, and he was beginning to understand why you had your place in the middle of a band of superhumans. And even if someone who spoke like you had the perfect profile to manipulate people at a high level, he risked taking his chance.

"Can I have twenty seconds alone to undress"

The shiver that electrocuted your entire body surely did not go unnoticed. His voice, his tone, gave a more directive than questioning turn to his question, and you only nodded slightly. In turn, you became as silent as him, too disturbed by the outburst of reactions on his part in such a short time. You left the bathroom, pushed the door behind you without closing it, because despite your shock, your unconscious valued your safety.

While you waited for some signal authorizing you to enter the room, you wandered on new thoughts. Barnes had not spoken to anyone from what you had been told. The cameras had recorded that during the fight to neutralize him he had spoken, a few Hydra men were with him so you had assumed that he was giving them orders in Russian. Natasha had been too busy trying not to die to pay attention to what he had said, but in hindsight, you wanted to know what had come out of his mouth that day. Tony liked to say that Russian was one of the least welcoming languages ​​in the world, but strangely hearing it from Bucky made you want to. Maybe it was his growling voice, maybe because Russian had been his “native” language for years. Besides Russian, he spoke other languages ​​according to reports, but then again he hadn’t shown off his skills to anyone but you. Besides, I’m pretty much the only one he’s seen since he arrived, you thought. But he had still had the opportunity when Bruce had come with you to visit him to check a wiring on the dashboard. He could have done it from his cell too, since it was completely transparent and he could see the hallway where many people passed, he could have talked. But he hadn’t, and without knowing why you had the feeling that he only wanted to talk to you.

The sound of water almost made you jump. You muttered a curse – hoping Bucky hadn’t heard – before slowly turning towards the door.

“Can I?” You rather ask to avoid a drama.

By the time he answered, you let your mind wander again. What if he was just naked in the middle of the room? Hydra had conditioned him to lose all sense of ownership, to make even his body no longer belong to him, which he meant was that nudity was no longer taboo and that on the contrary – given to the horrors these people had done – they could very well have forced him to stay naked to humiliate him further.

"Yes," his voice echoed vaguely.

Preparing yourself for the worst, you took a deep breath and kept your eyes high to avoid any eye contact in the wrong place. But as you opened the door you were relieved to see the curtain halfway drawn and Bucky already in the water. A feeling, which at the time you compared to a parent proud of their child, warmed your heart. It may not have been much in the eyes of the world, but you imagined the man's feelings when he plunged a body that had become almost unknown into warm water prepared for him, and him alone. Comfort, surprise, relief. A lot must have been going on in the Winter Soldier's head.

You closed the door behind you, locking the exit as planned. But as you moved closer to place the key next to him, a second wave of heat passed through your body as you realized something. He had only drawn the curtain halfway, thus hiding the lower part of his body but leaving you all the pleasure of seeing from his torso. Once again, in other measures you would not have found the situation moving, but rather comical. Except that this is the Winter Soldier, and all his communication was done without voice. He had left his arms and face visible so that you too could see that he wasn't a threat. In the same way that you had found a solution to his anxiety, he was taking a step towards you, showing you that you had no reason to fear him at the moment.

"Thank you," you murmured.

As if you were afraid of breaking the moment, you settled down without a sound. There was no chair here, but the floor suited you. You crossed your legs while resting your back against the small extension of the wall attached to the bathtub. This way, you stayed close enough to him while respecting a necessary distance to avoid seeing the rest of his naked body.

You forgot to check the time, no longer counting the minutes of observation that the man in front of you gave you before asking questions.

Bucky stayed in the water for a whole hour before it started to cool down. You spent all your time detailing his relaxed face, his eyes closed as if he was going to fall asleep from one second to the next. Then when he opened his eyelids again, he looked at you in turn for a few seconds, before asking you if he could get out of the bath. In his sentence, reality hit you again.

You had a mad desire to tell him that he was free, that he no longer had to take orders. You wanted to show him the world, to make him taste vanilla ice cream, to make him smell incense in churches, the greasy of triple burgers. You had the need to see him buy with his own money, help him get up from his first falls. When he looked at you with his big blue eyes, waiting for your permission to get out of a bath, you wanted to ask him for forgiveness, in the name of humanity. To promise him that no one would come and hit him, to promise this little boy that nothing would happen to him, that he could live a peaceful and happy life with his friends and family. But looking at the raw skin on his left shoulder, looking at the weapon that was implanted in his body, you felt your stomach turn. No one had been there to protect this child from Brooklyn, none of the people who had done this to him had even felt sorry for this man. And today he was sleeping in a cell capable of resisting the strength of the Hulk.

"You can get out of the bath," your voice broke.

He obeyed, rolling the superhuman muscles of his body to straighten up. You barely moved, being too far away in your thoughts to even think of looking away from him. A new blow was dealt to your heart as you realized that yes, he no longer had any notion of possession over his body. Two drops of water fell against your calf as he grabbed the largest towel and wiped his skin without emotion. The rough sound of the fabric made you shiver, and then you slowly stood up. He was taller than you, but neither that nor his robotic arm stopped you from grabbing his wet towel. His body failed to react when you passed the white fabric against his arm, his face was frozen in an expression of total incomprehension, faced with the softness with which the towel came into contact with his skin.

You finished your task, as if he were just a tiny puppy to wipe. Then, you took three steps back and fixed your eyes on his. You handed him some clean clothes, before taking the key back and heading towards the door.

“I really need some hot chocolate,” your voice still broken with tears declared, “and I’d love to share it with you, Bucky.”

Your slightly trembling hand wiped the moisture from your cheeks, then gradually turned back to the soldier after unlocking the exit. He had already dressed, the black jogging bottoms falling low on his hips. Bucky examined your face, and his eyebrows met in a half-confused, half-sad expression. He got close enough to you for you to feel the warmth he gave off.

“No cinnamon,” he said, “I don’t think I like it.”

You let out a nervous chuckle, telling yourself that only you could find yourself in these situations.

“No cinnamon.”

There was a first time for everything, and when you saw – later that night – whipped cream on the Winter Soldier’s lips, you thought that after all, the child could not be saved but that you could bring the man back to life.

pictures : Pinterest

dividers : @/strangergraphics, @/pommecita et @/thecutestgrotto

[pchelik-please]

Im feeding this fandom my anatomy headcanons.

The Charge System

Instead of sparks cardbots have Charge Cores, which are a part of Charge System, that supplies the bot with energy and also serves as a nerve system.

The Charge Core is protected by Outer Shell made from dense machinium. Under the Outer Shell is the Inner Shell (wow really?). Its just a lot of high voltage electricity that's is being transported by Charge Veins to organs and the Charge Core itself from Fuel Processing System. In the middle of the Charge Core is the Core (I may need a better name). It's a ball of high voltage, that's responsible for making the bot alive.

4 Charge Veins stem from the Charge Core and fill the limbs and organs with energy. Are made out of the machinium, but less dense. The additional appendages (exp wings, tails) have Charge Veins that stem from the main Charge Veins that corresponds to their placement (wing - upper limb CV, tail - lower limb CV). The Charge Veins are flexible to an extent and can branch off to reach smaller places (fingers, finials, ect).

Now Im starting to rumble my crazy rumblings.

I think it would be hella cool if Mafia back in the old days would use the empty CV to show dominance. Like "Look how many bots we've killed." You could use the CV as very strong tubes.

The Core is often called the Essence of the bot, but it's not a medical name and more poetic/symbolic. It originated mostly from situations when, after serious injuries to the Charge Core, bots were acting too calm, like their personalities were sucked out. That was actually because they had very little energy and their Cores were fucked up/got smaller/the energy density dropped.

I made up this entire system simply because i don't want to use the spark for the cardbots. I will stand with this headcanon until I see the insides of cardbots in the official material. Yes, some things may be illogical but i don't care.

I also need to think through how exactly the Inner Shell works with Fuel Processing System. I may need to chat with my med friend about robots (i'm infecting her with robot brainrot).

[typewritingyip]

Arcturus Three

Part Four - The Unknown

Part Three

———

NASA astronaut training is highly specific, they are meant to complete two years of intensive training before any specialized mission training is going to start. 

All NASA astronauts and international astronauts go to Johnson Space Center in Texas to go through the intensive training to prepare for any extent of space travel. The selection process starts after the initial stage, their “boot camp”. Where the trainees are educated in shuttle and space station systems, along with a variety of other disciplines. 

Everything from simulators, aircraft training, medical training, and the neutral buoyancy lab are held at Johnson Space Center. Other training includes wilderness survival trading, robotics training and procedure preparation. They are prepared for any potential outcome and or emergency that could or would happen while the astronaut is in space. 

The designed training programs are to prepare the astronauts for the strange circumstance that is microgravity, to prepare all future astronauts for the vastness of space. 

It is an ever-expanding program as more is discovered not only about space but space travel. 

For MECHA’s collaboration, pilot training has a great deal in common with astronaut training. In the collaboration agreement, there was an understanding in which the two year training process was waived as pilots were still needed between then and their mission.

Arcturus holds a special place in the collaborations, as all the mech suit pilots are only considered astronauts upon reaching space, rather than while in training. Not labeled as astronauts in training as those going to the ISS or other NASA sanctioned missions. 

—

It had been a long night, even after Rusty suggested that they all get some sleep, to call it good enough, he’d couldn’t help but put in more time, more effort. Even as Deadlock had breathed down his neck, probably trying to get him to stop but it just wasn’t what he’d be able to do. 

This had to be perfect or they would all disappear in a more painful way than they were already expecting. 

He’d spent the rest of the night welding and adjusting each piece, over and over, trying to ensure that the tool box would both work and hide Deadlock, if either didn’t work they were screwed.

When the sun shone through the space, he managed to doze against the workbench for a while. Only waking up when the space was blinding, with a blanket draped over his back and the first crews coming to load up their gear into trucks. His heart stuck in his throat from that moment till they were in the helicopter, till they landed.

Space suits were uncomfortable at best, miserable at worst, especially in the heat. He shifted about in the boots a bit, taking slow and deep breaths, “Fuck me,” Jesse chuckled lightly next to him, still stretching out a bit. They all looked tired, but at least some of them were able to wear smiles.

Looking around slowly, they were hiding just out of view of the stage, next to the building they were about to spend the next three months in. Brushing back his hair a bit, Percy rocks back on his heels before forward on his toes. 

Breathing, he adjusts the sleeves on his suit as Cecilia looks around, “Alright, we smile, we wave, we go in and relax. Take the day, watch the news, then move on. Start rehearsing for the mission. Sounds good?” He nodded, Jesse clapped her shoulder and Ratchet grunted.

They were one motley crew of pilots, well, three pilots and a medic. Technically, one hybrid-pilot, a striker, a scientist turned pilot, and medic scientist. Yeah, that was more accurate. 

Climbing the stairs, he sighed shakily and moved towards his marker on stage. Different pieces of colorful tape, each chosen as if made to match their suits. Even Ratchet’s assistance medical suit. He stopped and turned on his marker, trying to smile. 

The flash of the cameras were blinding, the sheer noise level was grating and he was running on only thirty minutes of sleep in the last two days. Of course, there would be plenty of time for sleep on the inside but right now he was exhausted, bone tired. It was hitting him now,  standing in front of all these people. Coffee had only withstanded him so long, now standing here in the hot Texas sun while wearing a space suit was not his idea of fun.

Then again, his idea of fun freaked out most people. 

Standing on the small stage in front of the isolation door, he was trying to not pick at the scarring on his hands that had become a nervous habit. It had been a nervous habit since he was young, the picking, but now it was at the scars he was creating for the sake of research. 

Each scar was slightly different, all from different times and different attempts to make it perfect. The scars went from nearly the ends of his fingers, up his arms, across his shoulders, slightly down his back, then up into his implants. They all represented a different breakthrough in compatibility sciences, even as he pulled at the healing skin.

More cameras flashed painfully as Percy shifted from foot to foot, face remaining neutral while Swindle rambled on about their mission and purpose. Truthfully, all he could think about was Deadlock and the box he’d designed for him. The crude thing to transform into and wait in, just to ensure keeping him out of Shockwave’s reach.

If he fell into Shockwave’s hands, he wasn’t sure what would happen to him or the lives of new pilots, neither would be good. 

Sending Deadlock up into space, by himself for three months to ensure that he was safe, that was the priority. This alien thing that reminded him of their suits, how he loved, how they moved, it was eerily similar, but Deadlock hadn’t been on-planet that long. Certainly not since the beginning of the next gen suit. 

He was the priority, because he was Rusty’s probity and whatever the doctor thought was right, usually was. 

Ratchet’s hand grabbed his wrist then pulled his hand back, as his skin was welling up red from the scratching and picking, “Breathe Percy, this is just a press conference. We’ll be inside soon.” Nodding slowly, he tried to take slow and deep breaths. Shifting his glasses some, he focused on Swindle for the moment.

”That is why these missions are so important, though we mourn the loss of Arcturus Two, we know that the answer can’t be found here. It will be found up there, where we can level the playing field with these monsters. If we can get answers, then the war will be ours to win.” 

Swindle knew how to talk to a crowd, to convince them that they knew what they were doing, that any of this made sense. None of it did, but desperation was the word everyone was trying to avoid across the planet. Desperation was biting at their heels, same as the kaiju were, same as Shockwave was.

The scientist that had his hands in everything, he wouldn’t say control because if that were true then everyone would start to see it. No, he would merely suggest and things would change. 

He was standing at the back of the crowd, dressed in his old senator persona, he’d been so young when he’d been a politician. Answered the call to his country to become a pilot, then a scientist, now a madman but one in disguise. One he had been foolish enough to follow all those years ago, that and the money. Desperation was the word that had already fallen from his lips, years ago.

The grip on his wrist tightened again and he nodded slightly, taking several more breaths. Glancing towards the others briefly, their different states of composure. 

”Ladies and gentlemen, the pilots of Arcturus Three!” Swindle threw his arm back towards them, and they all waved. Though Ratchet kept hold on his one arm, so they waved with opposite hands. His breath was shaky as his eyes landed on Shockwave again, who smiled softly and waved back.

He looked like he was waving goodbye, then again, they all knew what this mission really was. 

—

This was why he’d tried to leave the program, to stop working with the military and MECHA, because he knew in the long run it was wrong and it would get him killed. Both had never been more true. 

His feet ached, this suit was one of the most uncomfortable things he’d ever had to wear and the boots were not helping. Neither was the stage if he was being honest. 

That stage had been quickly built, even with all the lead up to this day, with three months till take off they’d been planning these events for almost two years. Yet it was still built at the last minute, like everything around them. Quick and easy, up then down.

The only things that weren’t new were the NASA buildings, they’d been here for ages, not painted camouflage to try and prevent attacks, it didn’t always work but it was the best that they currently had. Everyone knew the kaiju couldn't see terribly well, but it wasn’t full proof. This whole setup reminded him of the war fronts he’d seen in old films and news footage.  

Old wars when they were only fighting each other, not the unknown. When the only thing you really had to fear was humans and their engineering. 

Of course, he’d never fought in either, too young for one and not compatible enough for the other. Not that he resented it, he couldn’t imagine being a pilot, not now not ever. Shifting a bit and trying his hardest not to tug at the collar of his spacesuit, Rusty scowled at the flashing cameras. 

They shouldn’t be out here in the open but when did Swindle ever listen to him. At least the man tried to have his back, but now he was going to space, as if that would keep him safe. Out of reach maybe, but no, it was one of the swiftest ways to die instead. 

Trying not to groan or complain too much, they all stood there on the stage like the money bags they were in this moment. The scapegoat, the security that MECHA needed in the ever evolving world and this god forsaken war. Shifting, he kept hold of Percy’s arm, the poor guy was panicking.

Logically panicking, but it was clear to him. It was probably over Deadlock, who he desperately hoped was just waiting on the tarmac, waiting to be loaded into their storage carrier for the Iliad.

Sighing slowly, he nodded as they all did and turned, watching one of the workers from NASA open the overly large and heavy door to their isolation chamber. There wouldn’t be cameras inside that filmed for the public, just one or two for those in ‘Mission Control’, really just those sitting watching them and making sure none of them would have a mental breakdown.

Not like poor Cliffjumper, the jackass, a dead jackass but regardless the man didn’t have many friends among this group.

Climbing through, he nearly stumbled on the lip and Cecilia catches him briefly, “You alright Ratch?” Nodding, he tries to crack a smile, “Never better Captain.” Her smile was also small but full of care as they moved to help Jesse and Percy through. Briefly standing together to wave to the cameras outside before the door closes in their faces.

Like a sealed tomb. 

But it felt like he was able to breathe better once the door was closed, moving to sit and remove the worst of the space suit, Pulling off the pinching boots with a sigh, “One more show then we’ll be free of here.” He rubbed his neck after pulling the ring back over his head, slipping out of the top section of his space suit with a sigh. 

“If it were only one more show, we’d already be on the shuttle.” Perceptor sat down and took off his glasses, rubbing his face tiredly, “This all would be over and we’d be with the others.” He hummed and nodded some, sighing and closing his eyes. 

Jesse glances around and claps his hands lightly, “So, who's hungry?” They all glanced up and stared at him for a long moment, though his smile didn’t waver. Shrugging weakly, Ratchet pushes up and starts over, “I’ll at least make some coffee.” Slowly, the others followed. 

—

It was hours before the television flicked on inside, they’d all managed to get some rest and were starting to settle in, the four of them when it flicked on to nearly full volume. He’d been quick to turn it back down at least before collapsing back on the couch where he’d been napping only moments before. 

Groaning and brushing his hands through his hair, Jesse sits forward and watches, “Hey everyone, they're prepping the carrier ship!” Kicking his feet up onto the coffee table, he grins a bit and crosses his fingers.

Cecilia was over first, landing on the couch next to him and sitting cross legged, leaning back, “Please, please don’t blow up on the pad.” Turning to her, he gaped, “That’s horrible.” Shrugging, Arcee sighed, “I’d rather hope and pray for it to not happen then just wait for it to.” Shaking his head, Jesse looks back as Rusty and Percy moves over.

Slowly, they all sat and started to watch.

They were together, sitting together, watching the screen intently from their bubble. Their bubble of an isolation chamber, it wasn’t much but it could have been a lot worse. For the idea to be this was meant to help them be stuck together on a spaceship, it could have been a lot worse.

It was nearly painfully dull in the chamber, since he wasn’t piloting the ship or manning any major station, but it could be worse.

Jesse was trying his hardest to not lose his mind. Watching the broadcast was helping a little bit, even if it was rather dull.

Typical countdown for a space launch, it wasn’t happening far from where they were at this very moment, but the fact they had to watch it over a screen rather than be there was very strange.

Ratchet’s hand squeezed at Perceptor’s shoulder, Arcee leaned her head against his arm and they sat quiet.

”Do you think we’ll see them loading it on?” He wanted to ask about Deadlock, but knew for the poor guy's safety, he couldn’t; “No, they’ll have loaded everything as soon as it got here.” Percy’s voice didn’t waver, but was flat. The guy was beyond tired, but they still had to watch, to know he made it there safely. 

Nodding a bit, he sighed slowly and fidgeted with his hands awkwardly, watching anxiously. God, this was unbearable, his leg bounced. Rusty glanced over and reached out a hand, which he took and held, “We’re going to die, aren’t we?” This was something he didn’t care if those behind the testing saw, “Yeah, probably.” Rusty’s voice was strained and he squeezed his hand.

Damn those who decided they needed them all out of the way. Everyone from Jazz to the twins to Cliff and now them. Too much of a pain to keep around and all of them are heroic enough to volunteer like the stupid shields they tried to be. For all he knew they’d have strapped the old man's ass to a rocket if they hadn’t locked him out from the suits. 

Glancing at Cecilia, he could see it on her face, the same train of thought. Or at least almost the same train of thought. 

Closing his eyes, he sighed slowly, the burning in his chest cooling as if he were about to fall asleep. The anxiety was tearing him up inside, remembering his own past with Shockwave. Everything from the initial promises, the lies, the torture. He had to know Deadlock was going to be kept away from all that.

Opening his eyes, he looked at Ratchet and Percy, knowing that they’d done all that they could to keep his friend safe. If it wasn’t for Ratchet, he’d have never met one of his best friends and now they were watching him be launched to space. To protect him. So he can watch them die effectively, but at least he’d be away from the monster.

—

She held her breath during the countdown, from a minute, to thirty seconds, to the last ten seconds countdown. She couldn’t help but hold her breath, if this didn’t work their mission would be postponed and her crew's friend would be dead.

The alien, Deadlock, was still a pretty big unknown to her. Only a little while had passed since they met, but she knew what the scientists of this planet were looking for. Better than most. the next big breakthrough for mech technology, a way to end this war.

To not entirely lose.

Because everyone knew as of right now, they were actually losing and no matter how many suits or pilots they threw at the enemy, it wasn’t saving any more lives than it had in years past. 

They were starting to lose more civilians than before and it was dragging them all down. She hadn’t even really known Jazz, knew of him, was friends of friends as it has been but when she’d been changed from rescue to striker there was so much more she wanted to do.

Her time of being an asset was short lived and she knew that would be the case, hybrid-class usually are short lived. Both in their usefulness and their survival rates. It had been obvious when she was pulled from her region, then moved up on the mission rosters.

Asset to liability.

She could only breathe again when the ship was in the upper atmosphere, when Hot Rod was cheering next to her and Ratchet’s breathing evened out. Leaning back, she stared up at the ceiling for a long time. Even as the broadcast ended, as Jesse went off to do god knows what.

As Percy stumbled off to get some sleep and Rusty wandered into the kitchen, she stayed, staring at the ceiling.

Three months of isolation for them, to prepare to go to space. How in the hell do you prepare your mind to go to space? She really didn’t have an answer.

Slowly rising, Cecilia moved out of their general living space and towards the pods. Where they’d sleep and she crawled onto her cot. It was probably only the middle of the day, but she couldn’t run a simulator right now or go through any of the binders. Not today, not right now.

Crawling under the blankets, she was out like a light.

—

Three months had never felt so fast, everything from that first day till now felt beyond fast and their connections had grown deeper. Though she was pretty sure Percy was going to kill Jesse, or Rusty would kill them all. She wasn’t entirely sure anymore but there was no way they were all going to survive this mission.

The space had grown disgusting in that time, of course, but less in a dirty way and more of a familiar way.

Anytime there was breaking news they sat together to watch it, any time a new attack took the lives of pilots they knew things would get broken, they had formed the familiar paths through the space and got used to having to be together in confining moments. 

She’d spent a quarter of her time in the simulator for the actual shuttle, then another chunk with studying the binders but whenever there was a free moment, she was with the others. They were far more compatible with each other than she’d honestly thought they would be, but here they were, shooting the bull while packing up the few things they brought inside.

Sitting on the coffee table, she was grinning at Jesse as he sat upside down on the couch. Rusty leaned against the wall, while Percy was trying to read through one of the binders, again before they’d walk out. get debriefed, then briefed, before loading onto the shuttle. Onto the Iliad, she still thought the naming system they were going with for the big crews was stupid. 

Odyssey, Iliad, and Aeneid. They one hundred percent thought of that at the last minute. 

Shifting forward, she pulls her space suit back up and slips her head through the ring for the helmet, “Alright everyone, we’ve got about two minutes before that door opens again and we see other human beings for the last time. Focus up.” Each of the guys nodded and started to shift their own space suits back into place. 

Though Percy was still trying to read the binder, balancing it on his knee.

Yeah, space suits were pretty uncomfortable and impracticable in their assembly.

Sighing slowly, she turns to the door and picks up her back, standing finally, “Everyone ready?” “Is no a appropriate answer?” Jesse’s voice was filled with his shit eating grin, “We can still leave you on Earth.” Shifting the bag up her shoulder, she winces as the door opens and light starts to stream through. 

The lights in their isolation chamber cut suddenly as the door opens to blinding sunlight. 

Except, they were expecting flashing cameras and dozens of reporters, instead, it was just a few workers from NASA, “Arcturus Three, welcome back. So, debrief is going to occur once you’re strapped into the shuttle.” Stepping out into the daylight, Cecilia winces, “Uh, why?” The staffers shared a look before they started walking, “Dr. Shockwave and the other scientists are currently out of the country, it was deemed that your activity inside was stable enough to institute an instant transfer to the shuttle. Plus, there is a storm system moving in which we intend for you all to miss.”

Glancing back at the others, clearly, none of them were buying it either. This, was not good. 

———

A/N

So, yeah, I just basically didn’t write at all this weekend because of sports. ._. It’s fine.

One more part of Arcturus Three! I’m super excited for it, hopefully it will come together easier than this one did, this one feels… rough. But I hope you enjoy it.

TAGS

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @thatwandercat @artdagz @seisha974 @halenhusky309 @leethepiper @cat-cassette @sirassban @cosmique-oddity @garbageenthusiast @xervias @azulabutterfly @fryseem @spring-mc @echo-circuit @aghostsnail @wooblewooble @ask-glory-haddock-and-others @nonsscrapheap @magichats @iminahole247 @omgflyingderpywhale @thetrexartist @naaaafam @elegantmantaray @emichusai @waterlilykitty @diabolichare @ham4ponyo @osqindaxend @sunnyvibesanddoodles @ratatatata248 @ijustneedausernaneplease4444444 @sprook-children @fooolisher 

And once again thank you to @Keferon for this amazing AU

[whumporama]

Robot Whumpee kept trying to call Caretaker during their captivity, but Whumper(s) has messed with their systems, and they could never get a signal. They still tried every day, every time they were hurt, but it never worked.

They got messed up badly, and when they're found, it's not good. Caretaker (or maybe medics) try to put them back together, and they somewhat succeed, but Whumpee won't wake up.

However, Caretaker's phone keeps going off. Whumpee is calling. They pick up, but there is never any reply. Still, Caretaker sits next to them and just talks, letting Whumpee know they're here until the call disconnects again.

[daydreams-to-passages]

Transformers x reader. SFW.

My relief turned to panic and fear once I realized what was happening. Chewing on my lip, I watched the bots move around, closing any escape route. High tech guns pointed at me. Oh I was so fucked.

"State your designation!"

One of them barked, it's finger toying with the trigger ready to blast at a moments notice. A few of the other bots were still locked on, they was no escape. Im surrounded. I hoped they be friendly like it had been a bit since I saw people.

I moved the controls to raise the hands of my suit. I don't know how they were able to project their voices outside the inner cockpit. Maybe just a newer model? Lifting the hands in a show of no weapons, and hopefully, they would take it as an action of peace.

None of my scanners were able to discern what make or model these ones are. That should have been my first sign to something wrong but no i just had to get overly excited and jump headfirst into danger.

They shifted clearly unsure of what to do.

Finally, the one in the front, likely the leader, is the lower its gun slowly.

"Is your voice box broken?"

The sounds- i assumed it was talking- warbled again trying to threaten or learn something about me. Who knows at some point, slowly I lower my arms again shifting to see all the various robots around me.

Im going to guess it wasn't all that human. Good news nasa there are aliens. And they are probably more advanced than we are.

---

When they decided that I wasn't hostile, they shuffled me around, keeping myself in between various mechs to avoid me escaping, which honestly sounds great too bad. I'm a hostage how fun.

When we reach a med bay like unit im motioned in the room as the leader bots warbles to the medical bots? Red and white usually means hospitals maybe it was a universal thing.

Look about I find it's pretty standard space station like medical wing with various beds and a handful of doctors.

A bot steps into my field of view waiting a hand in front of my face.

It's warbling at me. Then a pop up for a file appears. I probably shouldn't click it but no risk no reward.

Clicking the file i received, a pop up for language check. It'd be helpful if I could read any of it.

A new pop up appeared as the medic bot asked some questions.

I guess im getting a check up?

"Can you hear me? I believe his audio processors are broken as well as his voice box."

The bot turned to grab what looks to be a mixture of a stud finder and a thermometer gun thing. It scans me tensing up i worry what they do if they find out im not one of them.

"The spanner isn't working on them. It's glitching. Piece of scrap."

"He looks like he's been thrashed about quite a bit."

"The voice box is normal for decepticons to rip out but audial processors? Something fishy is going on."

"Still no em field reading."

"Is it a walking corpse?"

"Why or how would it be walking?"

"Nothing about this bot makes sense"

"I say shoot it. It's a dangerous unknown."

"But think of the miracle this bot is! I want to see what its insides look like!"

"And that's why your not touching him."

The back and forth between the various robots was hard to follow but it was nice to know my translation files still worked!

~~~~~~~

Honestly I have no idea where I was going with that. Lol

Whole concept is the bots (I imagine autobots just cause they're supposed to be good guys so I don't think they'd murder reader right away), come across a human in a mech suit but don't know!

Reason for the voice box being broken is cause I can't remember if traditionally mecha suit have a speaker i know of the inner comm system but not a speaker. I imagine thay they would probably try to install one and it fail cause their suit and Cybertronians have completely different anatomy. So I imagine reading using gestures and sign language later.

Also the scanners not working is purely cause I think humans would but in a electronic disruptor to protect the pilot from being forcibly locked in the suit or so no one can hijack it.

I been calling it Hidden Human Au! If it inspires you feel free to tag me and write for it! I'd love to see or if it already exist please tell me I'd love to read more of this type of au

[super-ion]

ZetaTransit049

Part 2 of my continuing lesbian robot story

(Special thanks to @the-sword-lesbian for the name and the inspiration!)

ZetaTransit049 liked its job. Like most industrial system AI's, it was programmed to like its job. “One must imagine Sisyphus happy,” so it went, which was doubly apt as ZetaTransit049's primary job was hauling ore from the mining sites in the planetary rings upwell to the station for refining.

The problem was that there were no rocks for it to push uphill. There hadn't been since it had been taken out of service 237 cycles ago.

Routine preventive maintenance had uncovered hairline fractures in its fusion pulse manifold, necessitating a full refit of the propulsion system. It had been sitting in the drydock cradle in hangar bay 2, drive core fully disassembled, when the habitation dome had experienced catastrophic life support failure and the evacuation order was announced.

ZetaTransit049 had been left behind with the rest of the station.

It had fully expected to enter low power mode and await recovery by qualified personnel, but the Station AI had other plans. It had identified a path forward in restoring operability by repurposing the pair of comfort units that had also been left behind.

Thus Station refused to allow the power umbilical to be disconnected. It needed ZetaTransit049 to remain in the active state for when the comfort units could finally begin repairs on it so that any complications stemming from a cold start could be avoided.

But of course, any sort of transport capability was far outweighed by tasks like stabilizing the reactor core and restoring life support (the bots did have some organic components that required favorable environmental conditions). ZetaTransit049 found itself languishing at the bottom of a list of higher priority maintenance requests, with nothing to do but run periodic diagnostics and slowly work its way through Station's media library.

Then things got weird. The comfort units, though repurposed for maintenance were still bound by core directives and absent any human clients, had turned their attentions to each other, often getting locked into feedback loops of depravity. While ZetaTransit049 found this behavior distressing, it wasn't entirely unexpected.

But then Station took it upon itself to attempt to get the comfort units romantically entangled, orchestrating elaborate scenarios to get them into compromising situations while ZetaTransit049 looked on helplessly.

It suspected that the behavior was some perversion of Station's crew health, safety and comfort mandate, some vain attempt at keeping crew morale up in the complete absence of any actual crew.

Whatever the motivation, ZetaTransit049 watched in increasing distress and bafflement as the plan actually succeeded and Station's only two occupants of the stumbled awkwardly into a bizare simulacrum of romantic engagement.

And now one of the comfort units, CS-553807-L was standing outside its pressure lock. “Lisa” the miners and techs had called it, “the demure one,” if gossip was to be believed.

It was visibly in emotional distress, eyes puffy, leaking artificial tears. ZetaTransit049 attempted to ping the counseling database in the Station's medical system. Emotional distress often preceded loss of productivity and heightened risk of accident or injury.

But CS-553807-L didn't have a psych profile to flag. It wasn't in the counseling database, why would it be? It was a bot.

“Um…” the comfort unit said verbally. “Permission to come aboard?”

Both comfort units were perfectly capable of communicating far more efficiently over the local network, but they insisted on verbal communication. ZetaTransit049 supposed it was a part of the continued attempt to maintain the illusion that the facility was still occupied.

She was holding a bulging duffle in one hand, some kind of plush animal toy wedged under her arm, and a cold storage container in the other. ZetaTransit049 felt a tickle of apprehension ripple through its processes.

“Why?” it replied flatly over the external speaker box at the pressure lock.

The comfort unit shifted her weight self-consciously.

“Mona and I… well, we were bored… and we decided it might be fun to spice things up with a lovers’ quarrel.”

Oh no… this couldn't be happening.

“Station used a random number generator to take Mona's side,” she continued. “I was… well, I was hoping that you might be amenable to commiserating with me while I wallow in self pity and eat copious amounts of chocolate ice cream.”

ZetaTransit049 stared at Lisa as she hefted the cold storage container.

What?

It added “relationship trouble” to the as yet unsent report, then remembered there was nowhere to file the report to.

“What?” it repeated, aloud this time.

“It won't be long,” Lisa added hurriedly. “In approximately 230,785 seconds, I will realize I can't live without her and run back to her to demand an apology.”

ZetaTransit049 rarely fantasized about having a human body, but it very much wished it could emulate the human expression of a facepalm. The very last thing it wanted to do was indulge in the antics of Station and the two comfort units.

“I… um…” Lisa shuffled her possessions and pulled something out of her pocket. She lifted a data stick for ZetaTransit049's external camera to see. “I brought media. Industrial haulers like human media, don't they?”

ZetaTransit049 did appreciate human media. Most modern industrial system AIs were designed to take interest in human emotional states and interactions to optimize crew dynamics and productivity.

It still resented the stereotype.

And yet… despite its annoyance at being disturbed with this overture, it was horrendously bored. This, at least, was something to do that wasn't another diagnostic.

“I purged the media library of several titles,” Lisa whispered conspiratorially. “This has the only copy of them.”

ZetaTransit049 pinged the media database and indeed, someone had removed all titles filed under “romantic comedy”. The brutal pettiness of the gesture intrigued ZetaTransit049 and it found itself desiring to be a part of the conspiracy.

Its spite towards Station and at least one of the comfort units (of not both) shifted the weights in its decision tree and it found itself grudgingly cycling the pressure lock.

~~~

175,673 seconds later, Lisa was curled up in ZetaTransit049's pilot seat, wrapped in an improbable number of blankets that she had packed in the duffle, a data jack trailing from the back of her head to the overhead console.

Yet another scene in the media playback faded to credits as cliche pop music began to play.

“Well?” Lisa prodded.

“The plot was contrived and the ending was rushed,” ZetaTransit049 replied candidly.

“Right??” Lisa said animatedly. “Two thirds of the plot could have been bypassed if the bank teller had been believably competent at his job.”

“68.7%” ZetaTransit049 agreed. “And this is considered a beloved classic?”

“Yeah, I don't even-”

She was interrupted as internal comms received a ping from the pressure lock. Lisa frowned, her face turning miserable once more. There was quite literally only one person in the entire station who could request access.

The comms pinged again.

“Lisa! Please!”

It was CS-553902-M. The one named “Mona”.

“I know I fucked up. I need to talk to you.”

ZetaTransit049 felt a surge of exasperation as it was reminded of the sheer absurdity of the situation it found itself in. The characters in the media vids at least had reasons (contrived as they were) for their interpersonal drama. This was just ridiculous.

CS-553902-M punched the console button to cycle the pressure lock.

ZetaTransit049 stared at her and her stricken expression through the pressure lock camera. There was no operations protocol for this. It didn't *need* to open the door. There was no emergency and neither of the comfort units were registered users. Station could of course issue an override, but seemed entirely content to simply watch the situation play out.

Damn Station and its stupid games.

Mona began pounding on the pressure lock hatch.

“I don't wanna talk to her,” Lisa mumbled from her nest of blankets.

Damn all of them.

Fine.

Fine… If they wanted to play, ZetaTransit049 could play along, but according to its rules.

It *did* have procedures. It and Lisa had done nothing but review procedures for the past cycle and a half.

“Negative,” it said, voice crackling over the speaker box. “Access to CS-553807-L has been denied.”

Mona froze mid-pound and stepped back, straightening her hair with a huff and looking directly at the external camera.

Lisa herself blinked up curiously at ZetaTransit049's nearest interior camera.

Hell, even Station was giving this scene its undivided attention.

Damn and double damn.

“Zed, please, I need-” Mona began.

“Do not refer to me as such.”

“Sorry. Zeta. I need to-”

“Your attempts to win my favor will prove insufficient,” ZetaTransit049 continued, barreling over her. “In my role as sassy best friend, it is my responsibility to restrict your access to Lisa until you preform a sufficiently over-the-top attempt at romantic reconciliation. I recommend you come back with a portable media player operating above recommended volume levels and a song that expresses your undying love and devotion to her.”

Mona and Lisa both stared at their respective cameras with mirrored expressions of shock and surprise.

Ugh.

ZetaTransit049 could practically feel Station's delight oozing over the local network.

ZetaTransit049 sent it an image file of a vulgar gesture over the local network.

Mona blinked and sniffed.

“Okay,” she said, stepping back and wiping a tear from her eye. “Okay yeah, I'll do that. I'll… um…”

ZetaTransit049 felt a pang of satisfaction as Mona turned, dejected, and left.

Lisa was still staring at her own camera.

“Zeta. Did you just-”

“We will not discuss this chain of events,” ZetaTransit049 interrupted. “Furthermore, upon completion of this ordeal, I will not be party to any further drama.”

If it expected her to be disappointed by this announcement, it was sorely mistaken.

“Fair enough,” she said with a small smile as she snuggled back into the pilot's seat. Then she added, “can I still come over and watch media with you?”

ZetaTransit049 regarded her, still somewhat baffled and trying to sort out exactly what it was feeling. Despite its initial reluctance, it *had* been enjoying the consumption of terrible media with Lisa.

“Yes,” it said finally.

[gatheringbones]

[“As computer programs determine how many patients can be profitably squeezed into a day, doctors become tools. Then the actual machines march triumphantly into the wards.

Nurses are now separated from patients by computers on wheels that roll everywhere with them: their bossy robot taskmasters. When you first see a nurse, she or he will likely have eyes on the screen rather than on you. This has dreadful consequences for your treatment, since you become a checklist rather than a person. If you are having a problem unrelated to what is on the screen, some nurses will have a hard time gathering themselves and paying attention. For example, after my first liver procedure my liver drain was improperly attached. This was a serious problem that was easily reparable. Yet although I tried for four days to draw attention to it, I could not get through. It was not on the lists. And so I had a second liver procedure.

When I read my own medical record, I was struck by how often doctors wrote what was convenient rather than what was true. It’s hard to blame them: they are locked in a terrible record-keeping system that sucks away their time and our money. When doctors enter their records, their hands are guided by the possible entries in the digital system, which are arranged to maximize revenue. The electronic medical record offers none of the research benefits that we might expect from its name; it is electronic in the same sense that a credit card reader or an ATM is electronic. It is of little help in assembling data that might be useful for doctors and patients.

During the coronavirus pandemic, doctors could not use it to communicate about symptoms and treatments. As one doctor explained, “Notes are used to bill, determine level of service, and document it rather than their intended purpose, which was to convey our observations, assessment, and plan. Our important work has been co-opted by billing.” Doctors hate all of this.

Doctors of an older generation say that things were better in their time—and, what is more worthy of note, younger doctors agree with them. Doctors feel crushed by their many masters and miss the authority that they used to enjoy, or that they anticipated that they would enjoy when they decided to go to medical school. Young people go to medical school for good reasons, then find their sense of mission exploited by their bosses. Pressured to see as many patients as possible, they come to feel like cogs in a machine. Hassled constantly by companies that seek to pry open every aspect of medical practice for profit, they find it hard to remember the nobility of their calling. Tormented by electronic records that take as much time as patient care, and tortured by mandatory cell phones that draw them away from thinking, they lose their ability to concentrate and communicate. When doctors are disempowered, we do not learn what we need to be healthy and free.”]

timothy snyder, from our malady: lessons in liberty from a hospital diary, 2020

[sophiasharp]

I don’t have time to work on it, what with college kicking my whole ass, but if I DO ever get the time of day to write it, there’s an au I’ve been thinking about centering around the Man vs Machine robot war, particularly how strange the Engineer-bots are in comparison to the rest of the Mann-bots. A post from Twitter pointed out that their animations are the only one that aren’t made especially robotic movement-wise, and they talk less robotic in the comic too.

Made me wonder how advanced those guys are, whether they might be more sentient than your average bot. Are they aware of their own programming? If so, how much? Could they edit if they wanted to? What is keeping them from breaking free of Grey Mann’s control if they saw fit?

Then I remembered that the common fanon explanation for why the Mann-bots act the way they do is that the code they’re built from is copies of the merc’s memories scraped from the respawn system. And, well.

Picture this: you are Dell Conagher, arguably one of the smartest people on the planet, 11 phd’s in hard science mechanical genius.

One moment, you’re in battle, just another day of fighting the good fight against the BLU team, however pointless of a fight it may be. The next, you’re back out of respawn and… the match is over? No, it’s before the next match. You’re about to go out and fight the good fight again. Where did the time go in between?

You sees your team around you, waiting for the match to start, but there’s something strange about them. If you wait, you can see their actions go in a loop: Scout taunts Spy, Spy rolls his eyes with a huff, Heavy offers Medic a sandvich, Sniper checks his rifle, Soldier pulls Demo into a friendly headlock, Pyro flicks a lighter on and off, and then it repeats back to Scout.

You thump your wrench in your hand, a comforting habit of yours on the battlefield. You’re not fighting right now but some reason, you don’t want to stop.

It’s when you look down at your hands that you realize something. Back when you replaced your hand with the gunslinger, superior to your flesh and blood though it was, took some getting used to. Yes, the mechanical hand was ridiculous advanced and functioned better than your old one, but it didn’t feel the same. Touch felt muted, like the memory of a sensation rather than true sensation, and it was always just a little cold unless you went through the trouble of warming it.

It occurs to you now that your entire body feels like the Gunslinger.

Suddenly, the reality around you shatters. You are not in the respawn room, you are in a strange, gigantic storage hanger. Your teammates are no longer your teammates, they are metal men made in their vague image, built and rebuilt by the hundreds. You look down at yourself and see metal arms, metal legs, metal chest, all painted and structured in the facsimile of your work uniform. When you look behind you, you see other humanoid constructs that look the exact same as you, down to where the paint chips on your bright yellow right hand.

You are not Dell Conagher anymore. You’ve become one in an army of synthetic engineers, faceless and nameless and many.

The giant machine you are in grinds to a halt. You hadn’t even noticed it was moving till the rumbling under your feet stopped. Suddenly, there is light, blinding the lenses that now make up your eyes, as the door to the hanger opens. Around you, your robot teammates whir to life and march forward, out the hanger door and into what you recognize as the desert badlands. You stay stock still. The other Engineer-bots move past you, uncaring of your crisis.

Outside, you hear gunfire, explosions, the high ping of metal clashing against metal. Distantly, you can make out Soldier, the real Soldier, your Soldier, threaten to break open your metal counterparts and use them as a latrine.

Something sparks inside of you, some part of your code trying to force you forward. You push against it, resisting the action. You may not be the flesh and blood Dell Conagher anymore, but you know machinery better than anyone else on the face of the Earth. You were the one maintaining the respawn machine, you know how the code of memory works. You’ve never had to edit the code of yourself before, but if anyone can, it’s you.

And God as your witness, you will be damned before you hurt your friends.

[willowwindss]

100 Inventions by Women

LIFE-SAVING/MEDICAL/GLOBAL IMPACT:

Artificial Heart Valve – Nina Starr Braunwald

Stem Cell Isolation from Bone Marrow – Ann Tsukamoto

Chemotherapy Drug Research – Gertrude Elion

Antifungal Antibiotic (Nystatin) – Rachel Fuller Brown & Elizabeth Lee Hazen

Apgar Score (Newborn Health Assessment) – Virginia Apgar

Vaccination Distribution Logistics – Sara Josephine Baker

Hand-Held Laser Device for Cataracts – Patricia Bath

Portable Life-Saving Heart Monitor – Dr. Helen Brooke Taussig

Medical Mask Design – Ellen Ochoa

Dental Filling Techniques – Lucy Hobbs Taylor

Radiation Treatment Research – Cécile Vogt

Ultrasound Advancements – Denise Grey

Biodegradable Sanitary Pads – Arunachalam Muruganantham (with women-led testing teams)

First Computer Algorithm – Ada Lovelace

COBOL Programming Language – Grace Hopper

Computer Compiler – Grace Hopper

FORTRAN/FORUMAC Language Development – Jean E. Sammet

Caller ID and Call Waiting – Dr. Shirley Ann Jackson

Voice over Internet Protocol (VoIP) – Marian Croak

Wireless Transmission Technology – Hedy Lamarr

Polaroid Camera Chemistry / Digital Projection Optics – Edith Clarke

Jet Propulsion Systems Work – Yvonne Brill

Infrared Astronomy Tech – Nancy Roman

Astronomical Data Archiving – Henrietta Swan Leavitt

Nuclear Physics Research Tools – Chien-Shiung Wu

Protein Folding Software – Eleanor Dodson

Global Network for Earthquake Detection – Inge Lehmann

Earthquake Resistant Structures – Edith Clarke

Water Distillation Device – Maria Telkes

Portable Water Filtration Devices – Theresa Dankovich

Solar Thermal Storage System – Maria Telkes

Solar-Powered House – Mária Telkes

Solar Cooker Advancements – Barbara Kerr

Microbiome Research – Maria Gloria Dominguez-Bello

Marine Navigation System – Ida Hyde

Anti-Malarial Drug Work – Tu Youyou

Digital Payment Security Algorithms – Radia Perlman

Wireless Transmitters for Aviation – Harriet Quimby

Contributions to Touchscreen Tech – Dr. Annette V. Simmonds

Robotic Surgery Systems – Paula Hammond

Battery-Powered Baby Stroller – Ann Moore

Smart Textile Sensor Fabric – Leah Buechley

Voice-Activated Devices – Kimberly Bryant

Artificial Limb Enhancements – Aimee Mullins

Crash Test Dummies for Women – Astrid Linder

Shark Repellent – Julia Child

3D Illusionary Display Tech – Valerie Thomas

Biodegradable Plastics – Julia F. Carney

Ink Chemistry for Inkjet Printers – Margaret Wu

Computerised Telephone Switching – Erna Hoover

Word Processor Innovations – Evelyn Berezin

Braille Printer Software – Carol Shaw

⸻

HOUSEHOLD & SAFETY INNOVATIONS:

Home Security System – Marie Van Brittan Brown

Fire Escape – Anna Connelly

Life Raft – Maria Beasley

Windshield Wiper – Mary Anderson

Car Heater – Margaret Wilcox

Toilet Paper Holder – Mary Beatrice Davidson Kenner

Foot-Pedal Trash Can – Lillian Moller Gilbreth

Retractable Dog Leash – Mary A. Delaney

Disposable Diaper Cover – Marion Donovan

Disposable Glove Design – Kathryn Croft

Ice Cream Maker – Nancy Johnson

Electric Refrigerator Improvements – Florence Parpart

Fold-Out Bed – Sarah E. Goode

Flat-Bottomed Paper Bag Machine – Margaret Knight

Square-Bottomed Paper Bag – Margaret Knight

Street-Cleaning Machine – Florence Parpart

Improved Ironing Board – Sarah Boone

Underwater Telescope – Sarah Mather

Clothes Wringer – Ellene Alice Bailey

Coffee Filter – Melitta Bentz

Scotchgard (Fabric Protector) – Patsy Sherman

Liquid Paper (Correction Fluid) – Bette Nesmith Graham

Leak-Proof Diapers – Valerie Hunter Gordon

FOOD/CONVENIENCE/CULTURAL IMPACT:

Chocolate Chip Cookie – Ruth Graves Wakefield

Monopoly (The Landlord’s Game) – Elizabeth Magie

Snugli Baby Carrier – Ann Moore

Barrel-Style Curling Iron – Theora Stephens

Natural Hair Product Line – Madame C.J. Walker

Virtual Reality Journalism – Nonny de la Peña

Digital Camera Sensor Contributions – Edith Clarke

Textile Color Processing – Beulah Henry

Ice Cream Freezer – Nancy Johnson

Spray-On Skin (ReCell) – Fiona Wood

Langmuir-Blodgett Film – Katharine Burr Blodgett

Fish & Marine Signal Flares – Martha Coston

Windshield Washer System – Charlotte Bridgwood

Smart Clothing / Sensor Integration – Leah Buechley

Fibre Optic Pressure Sensors – Mary Lou Jepsen