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loves-alibi · 4 months ago

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skyglow - chapter 1

futuristic au pairing: ex-partner!simon riley x detective!reader summary: Someone's trying to get ahold of you. wordcount: 4.4k warnings: reader is a recovering addict (of a fake drug), reader is described as "out of shape" (in terms of having lost muscle. nothing else is described, nor will it ever be included), mentions of past short-term memory loss (fake drug side effect), descriptions of past drug use, mention of past withdrawals, past family death, mention of drinking

prologue series masterlist

January 3, 2180

An angry buzz fills your apartment, followed by a sweet, robotic voice.

“Good morning,” it says, “Front doorbell rang.”

“Dismiss,” you grunt, swinging your legs over the side of your bed. “What time is it?”

“Five thirty-two am,” says Alice, your household virtual assistant. “I could tell the visitor that you’re unavailable?”

“No,” you rub your eyes, making your way to the front door. “I’m already up…”

You tap the display screen next to the door and up pops the live feed to the electronic peep-hole. There’s a man at your door, young-ish and tired. He’s in a familiar uniform, a fact you realize with a curse.

You swing the door open and smile politely, though it probably looks more like a grimace. “Good morning, officer,” you greet, “What can I do for you?”

The officer straightens his posture like he hadn’t expected you to actually open the door. “Welfare check. An anonymous report was made.” Report, not call. You frown. “Said you weren’t answering your calls.”

“Come on in,” you don’t bother to watch whether the officer actually follows as you stride to the phone hanging next to the fridge. “Calls, you said?”

The officer grunts in confirmation, and you get to work scanning all the incoming calls from the last few weeks. The fluorescent light on the receiver pad burns your eyes, not yet used to being awake so early. Why couldn’t this run have been made later?

“Take a look,” you say, “All the calls I’ve missed have been robo-scams— that or I’ve called them back within a day.”

The cop shakes his head, “Thank you, ma’am—“ Ma’am? How old does this guy think you are? “But it’s watch calls that you’ve been missing.”

You laugh, but the cop doesn’t find it nearly as amusing as you do. “Watch calls?"

The Wristwatch Transceiver Device, an invention from Konni Industries, before they got into the android business, was intended to be used in factories where walkie talkies proved tedious and bulky. The WTD provided an easier alternative, lift your wrist and speak! However, as androids began to operate manufacturing centers, the WTD itself became tedious, with androids able to communicate wirelessly and instantaneously through their build in network. Konni Industries, not wanting to let go of a possible income stream, began selling the devices to law enforcement agencies, where it took like wildfire.

That was all, of course, over fifty years ago. And in the nearly eighty years since Konni industries first produced the WTD, it has never been used for communication outside of work.

You shake your head at the cop, flashing your watch-less wrists. "Sorry, but you have the wrong person.”

“No, lieutenant, I don’t think I do.”

You freeze at the honorific. Lieutenant. It makes your heart hurt and head spin. Nobody’s called you that in almost two years now. And anybody that would have called you that hasn’t heard your voice in a long time.

Someone’s been calling your watch, and that same someone put in a welfare check for you. There’s a very short list of names that come to mind. Gary, Johnny, John, Kyle, or—

No, not him. Seeing your face would be the last thing he wants. If he caught wind of it, he’d stop the wellness check before that officer could even hop in his patrol car.

Speaking of the devil… the officer is fixing you with an unimpressed look. You should sort him out so you can go back to bed.

“Listen,” you say, “I’m fine. You checked— I’m well. If I promise to check my watch, will you go?”

The officer furrows his brows. You’re familiar with welfare check protocols, and if you were him, you wouldn’t head out so fast. One look around your apartment shows just how "well" you’re doing. Old takeout boxes crowd the counter. Practically every surface that isn’t your couch or the spot on the coffee table where you kick your feet up is dusty. And despite living in it 24/7, even you can tell how stale the air smells.

Nevertheless, the officer nods. “But if you don’t respond to that watch, I’m coming back.”

Ushering him out, you groan like a petulant child, “I know. I know.” The door slams Shut behind him, and after a moment the hissing of its locks clicking into place fills the air.

Through the live feed, you watch the officer disappear down the hallway, his figure shrinking and shrinking until the only thing left for you to stress over is your old service watch and the fact that someone’s trying to contact you on it. You don’t know where the watch is. You don’t know if you even have it anymore.

Any thought of going back to bed is gone as you turn your apartment inside out. Eventually , the lighting turns from the neon blues, purples, and pinks of London’s evening skyline to the explosive orange and red of sunrise. It isn’t until the sun is high in the sky that you find the thing, fallen behind your junk drawer. So that’s why it hasn’t been closing.

Luckily the charger still works. So you swipe a pile of scraped-clean food containers and overdue bills onto the floor and set the charging watch down.

The minutes tick by slowly, as each one passes you wonder if the watch will finally light up.

That watch has sat untouched for a long time. After Price dismissed you, you tossed it aside and didn’t dare to look back. It was too painful to think about. Even now, the though of it lighting up is nauseating.

Once upon a time, you had been tethered to this thing. Every step you made, every breath you took was dependent on this watch.

Delicate fingers pick up the device, rotating it enough to get a good look at it, without disconnecting it from the charger. You had kept it in good shape while in the force, always managing to get lucky and not have to get a replacement. This one lasted you from the moment you joined to the moment you were dismissed by Price. And it even lasted until now, as you wait in your kitchen, slowly brightening as the sun peaks through London's countless skyrises.

Someone was trying to reach you. Someone who worked with you. And they're only doing it through your—

The watch face lights up. Then, a familiar ding! Another ding! And another ding! Three missed calls, each of them from Captain Price.

A shaking finger navigates the user interface. The muscle memory is there, albeit faded, and you eventually find the list of unread messages. The newest plays first.

"Price again," his familiar voice has your spine straightening. It's weird. You never thought you'd hear the old geezer again. "If you're screening these messages, I'd advise you to pick up. If not, then I'd advise you to take a listen. I'll see you this afternoon, lieutenant."

This afternoon? Confusion strikes you in a way you haven't felt in the months since getting straight. Except now your confusion isn't distracted by the euphoric rush of blink. No, you're just plain confused because you certainly did not plan a meeting with John Price.

You hit play on the next message. "Price. Noticed you haven't called back. How about we talk in person? Come to my office on Monday at 2pm."

The roll of your eyes is involuntary, and if memory serves you right… yup. According to the screensaver idling on your television, Monday is today. And 2pm is in five hours. Five hours to pull your shit together and sit yourself across from John Price, whose last words to you were, "I'm sorry, lieutenant. I'd have it any other way if I could."

Price's last remaining message, the first he sent, plays: "It's Price. Call me when you get a chance."

You chuckle at his initial simplicity, your amusement fading as another message catches your eyes. Your watch had only gone off three times when you turned it on, this one you had received before shutting it off for the last time. It's from Simon. 11:28pm, March 28, 2178. The day you were dismissed.

You don't think you could stomach hearing his voice just yet. It's unavoidable, you'd probably run into him on the way to Prices office, but for now you opt to read the transcript.

Hi. It's… it's me. Sorry to do this, but I know you've blocked my number.

There's more to the message, but those words alone are enough to have you dropping the watch like it burned you.

You'd have to take this all one step at a time. The first step is getting out of the damn door.

*****

A cup is placed delicately in front of you.

"Tea?"

John Price delicately opens a box. The design of it is familiar. It's a pastry box from the bakery down the road— the nice one with the chocolate biscuits you like. Lo and behold— John pulls out two of the biscuits, laying them delicately on a tissue, and sliding it down the table and in front of you.

Your right hand aches like it does during a rainstorm. Except it's clear skies and sunshine. You're just back in the precinct.

"Thought this might put you in a good mood," John throws you a close-lipped smile, his cheeks rounding in an almost cherubic shape.

"What is this, John?" You spit, though he just laughs. "Two years, and you just decide to call me in?"

John smirks at you over his own cup of tea. "Making amends is my New Year's Resolution."

He hasn't changed one bit since you last saw him. Sure, his clothes are newer and his frown lines have deepened, but that twinkle in his eye— the one that says you've fallen into his trap —is just the same. You've fought your way out of many spats with John. You just hope the last two years hasn't taken away your wits.

"Tea and a biscuit?" You grab the aforementioned items, the tea warming your right hand. It's a soothing feeling. "Well shoot, John, I'd consider amends made. Goodbye."

John is tsk-ing before you can even push yourself an inch of the chair. "No, no, no, lieutenant." Lieutenant, again. Everyone's just waving your old rank around, tauntingyou with what's been lost. "Amends are going to cost me a lot more than a snack."

"What would it cost, then?"

John's chair creaks as he leans forward. "Your old job," he says simply, emphasizing the words by popping a chocolate biscuit into his mouth. Apparently confusion is evident from the face you're making, because he clarifies, "I'm offering you your old job back."

Your old job. It's a ridiculous offer, one that you're unsure how John is able to make. He must know that you won't accept it. No risk, right?

There's a twinkle to his eyes, one you've seen so many times before in the interrogation room. It's the twinkle that comes exactly when John knows that he's about to win. It's unnerving to be at the receiving end of it, especially when you can't figure out why he seems to think you're his cornered prey.

"My old job," you repeat, "You're offering it to me." John nods. "Why?"

John chuckles, "Does it matter?" You level your face, which John takes as his opportunity to continue, "Lots of changes are happening with the new commissioner." Recognition crosses your mind. You remember Alice mentioning a new commissioner a few weeks ago during a morning news recap. The commissioner's name evades you. "I want to make sure the 141 stays on its feet."

Before you can protest, John adds, "And as a show of good faith, the department is willing to extend a signing bonus of eight thousand pounds."

It takes all of your willpower to keep a straight face. Eight thousand pounds. You're practically salivating at the thought. That's three months of rent. Three months. And John knows it, too. In your head, you run the numbers of your finances. Since leaving, you've relied on your grandmother's inheritance, a healthy sum of cash, but not healthy enough to last indefinitely. If your numbers are right, you've only got two more months of rent— and that's only if you play it smart.

Still, this doesn't feel right. It's been two years, more than that actually. You haven't spoken to John in just as long. Sure, Kyle, Johnny, and Gary reached out from time to time, but even that had really just been proof-of-life checks. And Simon… well, you blocked Simon's number before he could try to read out. However, John didn't reach out once, and certainly not about work.

"You never reached out to me."

John shrugs, as though he heard the silent "why" tacked onto the end of your statement. "Does it matter?"

"Considering that this smells like a whole load of fish— yes."

John watches you over the rim of his cup, taking a long, loud sip of his tea. "As your superior, I couldn't contact you after the… termination. That was in the dismissal papers you signed. Technically I broke that clause by reaching out to you now, but I trust that this can stay between us."

You gape at him. You don't remember that clause at all, and you feel your cheeks heat at the thought. Had blink done that much of a number on you? Shit, were you high the day you were terminated? You'd like to think not, that even at your lowest you never came to work with blink in your veins. Yet, the memory of the clause— hell, even the dismissal papers themselves —are murky. Still, it makes you feel a little better to know that your captain hadn't entirely abandoned you.

Still, there is just one more thing.

"I'm not working with Simon again.'

John smiles like he had expected you to say that. "It's a team."

"I'm well aware," you counter. "Which means that there are plenty of others for you to pair me with."

"As you wish." Something akin to mirth shines in John's eyes. You nod at John, and begin to push yourself out of the chair when he tsks. "You're not dismissed yet."

You freeze, lowering back into the chair. John is fidgeting in his own. It's unlike him. He reaches into a desk drawer and pulls out a plastic baggie with a blankly-labeled cup inside of it. Your heart clenches at the familiarity of the bag.

"If it was up to me, I wouldn't have you do this." There's genuine regret on John's face, the only reason why you haven't started cursing him out. "I trust you when you say that you're sober, but… It's protocol."

Your hands tentatively wrap around the test. Shame festers in your chest, rearing its ugly head when you thought you had been given the perfect opportunity to squash it. You shove the drug test in your pocket. It's too big, sticking out clumsily, but it would work.

"Thank you for this."

John smiles, this time without ulterior motives or trickery. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

*****

29 hours after peeing into a cup, your watch lights up with a call. This time, it's on your wrist, when the curt message comes through.

"It's Price. Tests came back. I'll see you tomorrow."

It'll be nice to have something to do. Over the last two years, you had spent so much of your day-to-day on autopilot. At best, you lived out unemployment like a zombie, simply miming the motions of being alive. At worst, you were strung out, too high on blink to remember where you were and how you got there. At least you were happy— felt happy —the blink made sure of that.

Christ, it had been so long. Bending over to strap on your thigh holster, you're reminded of just how out of shape you are. Even that little motion, something that had once been second nature, is foreign. You flex in the mirror, arms and shoulders revealed by your sleeveless turtleneck. Where once there were toned arms, now lacks definition. It's shocking to see. Sure, it makes sense, but you had never noticed how out of shape you had become.

"Alice?" You call into the emptiness of your apartment.

"Good morning. How may I be of assistance?"

"Remind me to go for a run tomorrow— six am."

"Certainly."

It's not much, but you need to start somewhere. The longer you show up to work like this— out of practice and out of shape —the longer the rest of the 141 will be reminded of what happened. Until then, though, you'd have to deal with your physicality, or lack thereof.

There's a thin layer of sweat above your upper lip, not at all unlike the sweat you had endured during withdrawals. It was an ugly experience, difficult to go through alone, though you don't think your pride could have allowed anybody to see you like that. So very vulnerable, you were. It had taken you so long to get sober for that very reason— why struggle through those symptoms when you could instead experience the euphoria of blink.

So many days you spent in clubs, high out of your mind on that pink stuff, dancing to whatever song was on with whoever dared to lay their hands on you. You felt beautiful on those dance floors. You probably were beautiful, until the next morning, when the blink wore off and you were left with hangovers and the consequences of those bad decisions. Your skin itches with in memory of that feeling— of the bliss of being without the burden of remembering. It's the very trap of blink. One line and your worries melt away. Nobody remembers the troubles of their daily lives, at least for a short while. It's what draws public servants to it— why the police department is always ready and eager to test. All it took was a just a little…

Best not to think about that, not when things are finally starting to look up. You vowed yourself to sobriety nine months ago today… or yesterday… or maybe tomorrow. Whatever. You never kept an exact count. It's been six months since you last used. That night wasn't your best moment. The anniversary of your grandmother's death. A reminder that you really are alone. Your family ends with you. No siblings. No cousins. No aunts or uncles. Just you.

The weight of that loneliness is a struggle. It's a privilege to be here when the rest of your family is long gone. Yet, what were you doing with that privilege? For the last two years you've either spent your days in a blink-induced haze or endlessly clicking through TV channels, trying to decide which corporately-produced slop to watch.

On that account, you can't say you're not excited to return. Work would finally give you something else to do. The thought of seeing the team and working with them again brings a sense of ease to your mind that you haven't had for a long time. Since before the Sterlings.

You shake that thought out of your head as a gentle ding brings you back. On your watch is a message from Price.

I'll see you in the office.

Then another message: Don't overthink this.

You smile at the message. And for the first time in a while, you're looking forward to what's to come.

*****

Lt. Simon Riley.

The door's shut, but that doesn't stop you from standing in front of it.

Lt. Simon Riley.

The door's right where it's always been, directly adjacent to yours.

Lt. Simon Riley.

The door's got a new addition, though.

Your fingers twitch at your side to tear that plaque off of the door. Since when is Simon a lieutenant. That's your rank. It has always been your rank as your untouched sign indicates. The Lt. on your plaque is still there, just as pronounced as the Lt. on his.

The screws look tight. A shame. You would have loved to get your fingers on them— untwist them and throw that damn plaque in the dumpster. Or, better yet, melt it down in a forge and shape it into a beautiful ring, so you may always remember your victory here today.

"Look what the cat dragged in."

You would have never guessed that you had missed the sound of a Scot, but it's when his accented voice is so lilted with joy.

"Johnny," you coo, head snapping over to where Johnny and Kyle lean against the door to your office.

"There she is," Kyle grins his award-winning grin, the one with all the teeth and mirth.

You don't launch yourself at them. More like, melt into them. Their strong arms wrap you in a nice, warm hug. You missed being hugged. The last real one must have been from when Nan was still alive. A bitter thought, that is. One that make tears prickle at your eyes. Or maybe that's just because of the way Johnny and Kyle positively wrap you up.

When you finally squirm out of their arms, each one places a hand on a shoulder, holding you steadily at arms' length.

"I missed you. Kyle—" You nod at him, eyes of rich mahogany twinkling at you. Then to those of crystal blue, "Johnny—" Another nod.

Even away from them, you feel energy buzzing underneath your skin, blood pulsing and warming you. Something about this just feels right. Yet beneath the feeling of warmth, churns something more sour. Regret, you dully realize, guilt, perhaps. Like this is all your fault. Well, it is your fault. Though, for the first time in a while the smile on your lips reaches your eyes.

Johnny nudges something with his food— a box. He kicks it your way, and you cringe at the sound of glasses bumping against each other."This is for you—" Kyle nudges Johnny, and he continues. "This is yours. We used—" Another nudge. "—borrowed it."

Hesitantly, you lower to the ground. Johnny and Kyle are watching you with unbridled excitement. "What is it?" You ask while pulling the flaps of the box open.

You peer into the box and gawk. Your crystal whiskey glasses— an antique, late 21st century set that your great-grandmother received as a wedding gift. You'd been looking for that for a while, when apparently it was here all along.

"They got good use, don't worry."

You hum, it's a removed, quiet sound to appease Johnny and Kyle as your mind races. So many celebrations must have happened while you were gone. And for how many of them had the team decided to use these glasses, a piece of yourself that you had allowed to be shared with the team. It's difficult to decide what you should feel. Care that something of you lived on in the 141 despite your absence? Hurt that you weren't there to feel it? Rage, knowing that Simon's lips had touched them?

There was a time when you wouldn't hesitate to shoot the shit with Simon over that crystal. After every case you two would share a glass or two of whiskey. It was more commiseration than anything, two exhausted detectives basking in the quiet, but Simon always said it was better to commiserate than wallow on your own. That was one thing he was right about, even if you conveniently forgot how right it was when you left the team.

Commiserating was how your relationship was born. You and Simon met at particularly depressing points in your respective lives. You having lost your grandmother a few months prior, and him having his own familial troubles. The two of you formed a bond quickly. A sort of trauma response, perhaps.

"Well," Johnny's voice draws your attention. "What are you waiting for?"

He pops open the door. With a pat on your shoulder, Kyle heads down the hall to his own office. Johnny follows him for a few feet before pausing. He's next to Simon's door. His fingers trace the metallic plaque on it. You watch his eyes trail down the hall after Kyle. He calls your name softly, a smile on his lips. "It's good to have you back."

"It's good to be back."

You're left to the unchanged office. Every single thing is now coated with a thin layer of dust. Muscle memory carries you to the old leather desk chair. It creaks as your body lowers into it.

A picture frame lays face-down on the desk. Your fingers brush its back surface. They twitch, as though the picture begs to be set right. It feels a betrayal— making that picture remain unseen, but it took a betrayal to make it so.

Three gentle knocks disturb the stillness of your office. You whirl around and smile.

Gary Sanderson is leaning against your door frame, a devilish smirk tugging at his lips. "Welcome back," he signs.

"Gary," you breathed, unable to control the smile that pulled at your lips. You close the distance between you two in three short strides and pull Gary into a hug. He seems surprised by it at first, but as his body relaxes, two arms slowly wrap around your frame.

After a moment of embrace, Gary taps your shoulder twice, signaling you to pull away. "You look bad," he signs.

"Oh fuck off," you plop down in the desk chair, its old leather creaking at you in anger.

"Be nice," he scolds, "We have to work together after all." Gary throw himself in the chair on the other side of your desk and throws his legs up like he owns the place.

"So I've been told," the smile on your face betrays the playful flatness of your tone.

Gary procures from his suit jacket a crisp manila folder. He tosses it on the desk as a wave of warmth washes over you. "Are you ready to start?" He signs.

The words come out of you before you can even consider them, as though your body knows you're ready before your brain: "Let's get to work."

dividers found here

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod fanfic #cod fanfiction #skyglow tag

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apas-95 · 1 year ago

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I like the sorta implied worldbuilding in the original Matrix about the activities of the resistance - human settlement is apparently restricted to significant depths, and in order to tap in to the Matrix (in the original it's not entirely clear whether the Matrix refers solely to the human-facing simulation or the larger machine network as a whole), it's necessary for a transceiver to ascend up to an appropriate broadcast depth. The fact that the Nebuchadnezzar only ever accesses local construct programs until specifically being ordered to ascend to broadcast depth implies most time is spent far from the surface - the excursion into the Matrix being dangerous, and, ultimately, leading to the deaths of the crew within the Matrix, and the triangulation of the ship's pirate signal. It's never directly stated, but the fact that the ship consists basically entirely of a Matrix-interfacing computer core and a defensive EMP implies the resistance have a fun sorta 'shoot and scoot' EW doctrine. It's certainly interesting - that, while having ships and weapons, their actions are principally non-kinetic (at least outside the context of the Matrix itself, wherein they are apparently considered internationally-wanted terrorists and engage in firefights when confronted).

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utopicwork · 10 months ago

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Hello, would it be too much bother to ask exactly how PierMesh is a new Internet?

Is it a new Internet in the sense that it's an alternative to IP, but still relies on extant links between computers? I've heard of -punk projects for standalone internets before, but I never really got how they could be fully independent. At some point they still rely on the same physical infrastructure that the Internet uses, which the new indie internets might not have - like are cables going to be laid to each PierMesh node or something?

Sorry if this is obvious from any of the about sections, or in the code.

Thanks for reading this super rambly ask!

Oh that's easy: the people using PierMesh will run the hardware that forms the PierMesh internet, we use LoRa transceivers (and will use some other transceivers as I free up time to implement more) which are lightweight, cheap and transmit up to 254 km over the air. That way we're not dependent on the current internet in any way but I have interop set up so we can use it if we want.

Here's more about LoRa from Meshtastic who provides the current firmware we use:

So tldr: no we don't need to run cabling (though people might want to run some light cabling in their case for easier access to the antenna) it's all done over the air

Edit: oh also by necessity I'm having to redo a lot of the network stack so there's also some differences there

#piermesh #lora #meshtastic

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yanban-san · 2 years ago

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Obscurity - AU-Tober #1

Going to try to do the Au-tober thingy by @marchy-emmet. :) Here's the first one! Not beta read at all. 🥲

(Tags: implied x-reader, Submas, SFW)

Gear Station runs like finely tuned machinery. Like the perfect rhythm of a well wound clock, everything moves in pace to it's beat and purpose- Never too far, never late, never early, but precise and exact- Though the passengers and customers of the station and it's network may forever be in disarray, the station itself, and all of it's trains and rail lines, were never found in any state other than perfection, it seemed.

The trains ran all across Unova- Everywhere. Anywhere. Always bustling, almost always packed full of busy people and young pokemon trainers- Except a few lines.

The Battle lines.

The Battle Subway was a bit of a novelty, a tourist attraction. "But isn't that rather dangerous?" People would say, envisioning a harsh, intense pokemon battle taking place on a train-

And yet, that's what happened. Multiple times. And the Battle Subway was no more worse for wear.

"It was a fine experience," A trainer would remark. "That last battle was tough, though."

And the last battles were tough. Impossibly so.

"The last trainer…. was kind of strange, though." "Oh, the name? I can't remember that-" "It was just some guy, right?"

But the two who held the last battles of the Battle Subway were far from just 'some guys'.

They were the Subway Bosses.

Emmet hummed as he flipped through one of his social pages on pidget. No notifications, not that that bothered him. It was normal- In person, and online, he and his brother blurred into the background of existence it seemed- And no one paid them any heed to an almost alarming degree.

But still, he thought- And his hand hovered over an app on his X-transceiver. Applink. Applin-link. A dating app.

He hesitated, and clicked it open.

No messages.

Sighing heavily, he sat down at his desk and continued to write, hand combing through his thin, wiry silver hair. Was it too much to ask that he and his brother find someone? Surely there was someone out there who would find them charming, and, more importantly, remember them. Notice them.

Though they did have one further problem, Emmet continued to think on as he walked to the break room. It was lunch time- And he was at least looking forward to the sandwiches he and his brother had made this morning.

"Good afternoon!" He called out, entering the break room. None of the Depot Agents acknowledged him, many already chatting among each other or going to grab snacks and drinks from the vending machines or the large fridges-

Emmet sighed.

"They usually take notice of us when we're together, brother."

Emmet turned his head. Ingo. His fellow in suffering this stupid, stupid curse.

"…Good afternoon, Brother."

Ingo patted his younger twin on the shoulder, and the two of them grabbed their sandwiches, sat down, and waited. They weren't hidden- Sitting in the middle of the lunch room, and they certainly should have been noticed- Their coats were certainly noticeable- Their whole affect was striking…

But no one did.

No one ever did.

It really was like a supernatural curse, it seemed- Though it'd gone on as long as the two had been alive, it seemed.

Emmet's sandwich was gone quickly- As was Ingo's. They normally didn't socialize or particularly interact with the staff of Gear Station- They did their work, rode the train back to Anville Town, and-

Woke up for the next day.

No notifications on the X-Transceivers as they readied themselves, and headed down to the station.

"Good morning," Ingo greeted. The ticket master of the Anville stop yawned, turning to his coffee.

"Good Morning!" Ingo called out again, raising his voice. The poor worker jumped in his chair, before taking note of the two imposing men in front of him.

"O-Oh dear, uh… Good… Morning?" He blinked, looking at the two- Wearing Gear Station emblems on their hats-

"I am Emmet, and we need to get on the train."

"O-Oh right, the- Subway Bosses- Sorry Sir, didn't notice you there."

As always. "No worries." Ingo replied. No use admonishing the poor young man- He'd forget it by the following day, anyway.

At least in the confines of a subway cart they were more noticeable. It was difficult not to notice them there, given that the two of them standing side-by-side practically created a visual wall that couldn't be seen through. Something about them was particularly intimidating in this setting- Perhaps that was how they became bosses here, after all.

How did they, though? Ingo sometimes wondered- He couldn't quite remember himself, either. Perhaps an artifact of whatever caused them to be ignored, forgotten, and obscured was causing them to forget themselves. He couldn't remember how long he and Emmet had worked at Gear Station- Nor how they'd risen to the position that they'd found themselves in.

Were they ghosts? Ingo wondered- No, they seemed corporeal enough. There weren't any reports or news articles of two conductors dying either, that they could point to for evidence. Though the thought made his heart sink and his stomach grow cold. If ever he did find out what happened- Why they were like this- he hoped it wouldn't be something so… macabre. The thought made him quite melancholy.

It was in silent moments like this, riding to Gear Station, that Emmet usually found his voice- And his voice was often on the subject of their predicament, or, often enough, his pokemon- Battling took his mind off their problems, and strategizing was something he and his brother greatly enjoyed.

"Do you think Chandelure cursed us?"

Ingo scoffed. "Absolutely not. Chandelure is good, she wouldn't have done something like this-"

And Ingo's beloved companion let herself out of her pokeball, floating in front of the two.

"Maybe she did something on accident?"

The lantern-light shook itself, a sad look on it's face. Emmet felt a little guilty for his words- And apologized. The singing, glassy ghost pokemon floated in front of the two, swinging contentedly from side to side- If she could fix what ailed her trainer, she would, but she did not know- The fires of human souls were all the same to her, and Ingo and his brother looked no different to her than the multitudes of trainers she did battle against, or the commuters on the twin's beloved trains. There wasn't much to be done, it seemed- Perhaps this was just their fate.

Ingo sighed, and it wasn't long before the train pulled into Gear Station. The familiar sound of the announcer over the tanoy heralded the end of their ride, and the two stepped out and off, and to work that day.

Ignored, as always.

Luckily, the agents seemed to remember their existence, at least as their "bosses", when things needed to be done. And so, they rarely had trouble with getting their actual, bureaucratic work done for the day. Ingo couldn't complain- The office work they were used to was boring, yes, but the work of Gear Station made him and Emmet happy. That was one thing he could remember- He loved trains, and Emmet did too- But Emmet did love his pokemon and getting to battle with them every day.

Their existence at least, was peaceful, if lonely. Ingo remembered when the Gym Leader of Nimbasa had come to their line once upon a time- And they'd actually managed to hold a conversation with her. They even exchanged numbers, with the intent to train together on occasion.

She never answered- And Ingo was inclined now to think it a product of their curse, rather than her just ghosting them. He looked up from his work, feeling his neck crick as he did so. Ah, he'd been far too focused on the documents he'd been filling out and signing. Emmet groaned, and Ingo could see his leg bouncing in rapid annoyance at whatever he was focusing on.

"Emmet, why don't we take lunch early today?"

"I verrry much agree." He answered shortly, immediately standing up. Well then, there was his answer.

"I don't want to sit in the cafeteria today though. Depressing. Verry much so."

Ingo shrugged. They could eat in the common area, under the glass roof of the gallery off the atrium and amid the indoor garden of Gear Station. Yes, that sounded nice. Watch pokemon and their trainers pass by, enjoy their meals- They did do that on occasion, when the reality of sitting alone in the cafeteria, ignored by their own employees and coworkers hit a little too hard.

The two made their way over to the pretty side station- The glass roof letting in sunlight, sparkling and casting gridded shadows of the great iron beams holding the glass above them- Broken up only by the dappling of leaves of great bushes and trees. The seating wasn't too full, so the two went off to order their meals from one of the eateries in the market adjacent to Gear Station- That connected through this very gallery. The heavenly smell of stir fries and curries and grease and sweets was lesser over here, but the twins could still smell it, and the aroma only became more and more intense as they approached the market- Making both of their stomachs growl.

"I want curry." Emmet announced, and off he marched to go and acquire the food- Ingo following after him. The two moved around people, rather than anyone moving around them, in spite of their height and rather foreboding appearance. And soon they stood in line, though that did not stop someone behind them from bumping into them- "Oh sorry, I didn't quite… see you there," They would hastily answer, suddenly feeling strange they didn't notice the two striking individuals in front of them- Only for the same thing to happen again. And again. And a few more times for good measure.

Up until the twins got up to finally place their order- And waited. The staff were busy- Waiting for someone to come up to the counter to order at their stall within the market.

"Excuse me!" Ingo yelled, rather loudly. It was the only way to get anyone's attention, it seemed-

But this time, no one noticed.

"Excuse us," Emmet also attempted to grab the poor cashier's attention, but they still didn't notice- Focusing instead on fiddling with something under the counter, as if blind not only to the twins but to the few people waiting behind them as well.

And you were getting impatient yourself- The two in front of you were certainly… intimidating, you thought- But- Had they offended the cashier? Could the Cashier not hear them? You weren't one to normally intervene, but… Well, you were hungry yourself.

"Excuse me," You interjected.

The twins ignored you. "Ahem, Excuse me," You interjected a bit more forcefully, and tapped the shoulder of the one in black. The market was quite loud- Perhaps they just couldn't hear you. But the way the one in black jumped- The obstinate frown on his face made him looked downright horrified. You hadn't meant to frighten him-

"Are you talking to me?" He asked, almost incredulously. Your own face matched his- Confusion and a sharp frown. "Well, yes. Is there something the matter? I'd like to order my lunch."

The two looked at each other. The one in white, a pleasant smile on his face, answered you first. "That's what we're trying to do. You seem good at getting people's attention. Here. Speak to them, please."

Your curiosity stopped you from rebuking the request- This was certainly strange. You'd seen a few people run into the pair, but you'd chalked it up to people not paying attention in the bustle of the market and just getting pushed around- Which happened.

"Alright, what did you two want to order?" You asked, as the cashier cheerfully turned to you, smile on her face, and suddenly jumped in shock as you addressed the two men flanking you- And a minute later, you had three order tickets, and a few more minutes later, you had your lunch- And they had theirs. "Let us pay for you. It's the least we can do," The one in black offered- And before you could really utter out any objection, he offered you a bill of money that more than covered your meal.

"Glad I could uh, be of help-" I guess, you thought. What a strange pair- Twins, evidently, and to you, at least, they were the most striking pair in the entire market- And all of Gear Station. Well, no matter. You should really be getting home, and so you went to bid them farewell.

"Actually, would you- I'm terribly sorry to inconvenience you, but would you take your stop with us?" The one in black asked.

The one in white stood at your other side. "Yes! Please. We would like to talk to you, a little bit."

You considered it a moment. Their silver eyes sparkled at you, filled with a strange emotion- An almost hopeful look.

"Okay, sure. Who are you two, anyway? I feel like I've seen you… on the trains before. Aren't you two trainers?"

"I am Emmet, and this is my brother, Ingo."

Ingo bowed lightly. "We're quite glad to hear you've heard of us before, too."

"Yup! Verrry glad!"

It was going to be the first of many lunches shared with the strange bosses of Gear Station.

#Submas #Submas au #Submas AUber #x Reader #Emmet #Ingo #Obscurity #Submas x Reader #Ingo x reader #Emmet x Reader #emmet/reader #ingo/reader

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savage-daughter-of-nikitie · 2 months ago

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From Alt National Parks Service

Every day, it just gets worse. Now Elon’s staff is moving to hide their actions — by secretly using Starlink.

At the General Services Administration (GSA) headquarters, a device on the rooftop patio: a rectangular unit with a wire trailing down the building and into the GSA administrator’s office window.

Turns out, it was a Starlink transceiver — quietly connected to Musk’s private satellite network. The device and raised serious concerns. Why? Because this setup violates federal laws designed to protect public data.

Musk’s people are bypassing government systems entirely now — operating in the shadows, using his own infrastructure. This is not efficiency. This is a takeover.

#fdt

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sonic-wildfire · 7 months ago

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Bosses

Occasionally, Sonic will come across abandoned Badniks that he must defeat in battle in order to progress. During this time, the in-game timer slows down to half-speed (except on hard difficulty, where the timer will continue at regular speed).

Interested in learning more about Sonic Icebound? Visit this document to read up!

Further information on Icebound's bosses below the cut:

E-109 Kappa

(Sketch and description courtesy of stellar.seeker on Discord)

The game’s first boss, encountered right before the player traverses the Transantarctic Mountains. Originally meant for deep-sea resource gathering expeditions in the Antarctic, Eggman's defeat and subsequent disappearance at the end of Forces cut it off from the network. Left to its own devices, the super-Badnik slowly developed sapience, and then went mad from its isolation.

Due to not being as long-abandoned as the others on the continent (known collectively as Scrapniks), it's still in decent shape, but has taken parts from other Badniks to make itself more dangerous. Among the various parts it has taken include a high-powered speaker that emits a high amount of infrasonic noise, which is known to trigger the brain’s fear response. In turn, this exacerbates Sonic's paranoia and weakens his attack strength and accuracy.

E-110 Lambda

(Sketch courtesy of TomtomtheMultitasker7238 on Discord)

The game’s second boss, encountered deep inside a glacier cave system. With a small and nimble build, Lambda relies on stealth and speed to win fights. Part of a group of other Badniks that conducted caving expeditions, Lambda became disoriented in the winding cave system and got lost, unable to find their way out and with no means of reaching Eggman.

It treats anything that moves as a threat but refuses to make the first move. Its elite agility enables it to dodge quick attacks, but Lambda also has little attack strength. Because of this, it prefers to whittle down enemies rather than try to deal large amounts of damage at once. Sonic’s saving grace is the fact the narrower passages of the caves make it more difficult for Lambda to dodge, but the robot will become extremely aggressive very quickly if it is cornered.

E-111 Iota

The game’s third boss, encountered near the summit of Mount Sidley. Iota got its start as a sentient sentry gun, originally meant to guard a prime Eggman base in the Weiss Amphitheater (a two-nautical mile wide caldera on Sidley’s south-central face) below. After the events of Adventure 2 and the resulting political fallout, Eggman left the Sidley-Weiss base to rot in favor of a new base closer to the Ross Ice Shelf. With Iota among those left behind, it refuses to abandon its post and still believes the base to be in active use.

It has a very high attack power and can make quick work of Sonic if the latter is not careful, and has near-perfect accuracy. However, its movement speed is slow and can also decrease its accuracy. Furthermore, it has weak spots in its armor that Sonic can take advantage of by using his speed for quick hits. Its arms wield rocket launchers that it only uses when in extreme peril. It does even more damage than the normal bullet-based weaponry it uses at the cost of a significant decrease in accuracy.

After the fight against E-111 Iota, Sonic’s radio transceiver dies and loses all communication with Tails. It becomes unusable until the game’s final boss; attempts to use it beforehand will return static noise to Sonic.

Simulacrum

The game’s final boss, encountered just before Sonic gets to the evacuation site. Simulacrum is not a truly physical being; rather, it is a manifestation of Sonic’s own paranoia and fears of isolation. This boss has two regular phases, taking on a different form in each: one as Tails, one as Knuckles. In these states, Simulacrum will occasionally go semi-visible if the player moves towards them, with their location only denoted by a bright, thin outline of them.

The first three phases consist of guiding Sonic through a vast icy labyrinth with multiple twists and turns. Simulacrum will attempt to misdirect the player by impersonating one of Sonic’s friends depending on which phase the boss is in. Meanwhile, Tails (and later, Knuckles) will attempt to guide the player along the correct path to get out of the labyrinth. Instructions from both Simulacrum and Sonic’s friends are similar but have subtle differences that Sonic will need to decipher in order to choose the correct path. Choosing the wrong path will ultimately steer the player into one of many snow-covered pitfalls.

After the first three phases, Simulacrum will enter a fourth and final phase where they take on the form of the aurora australis (also known as the Southern Lights). Sonic will be sent to the top of a large hill where he will have to outrun a fast-moving avalanche, dodging obstacles in the process. When Sonic emerges from the crevasse, the player will then complete a series of quick-time events to defeat Simulacrum and get to the evacuation site where Tails is waiting (unless the in-game timer runs out before Simulacrum is defeated, in which case a cutscene plays where Sonic will arrive at the evacuation site only to be told by Tails that extreme weather conditions and poor visibility forced them to call off the rescue mission).

@sonic-au-collision

#sonic icebound

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