#helmet identification chart

[umseb]

all of sebastian vettel's helmets from 2005 to 2022 📷 @.f1hlm / twitter

[pencil-peach]

G Witch Onscreen Text: Episode 1

This is the second part of a project where I try my best to document and discuss all of the (relatively important) text that appears on monitors and screens in G Witch. Cause I can.

<< Click here to see the one I did on the Prologue

ooOOooohhh beneath the cut lie the HORRORS....

Just to give you an idea of how needlessly hard they went on the monitor text, when Suletta is rescuing Miorine, she mentions that she's almost out of oxygen, and then, when she brings her into Aerial's cockpit, on her helmet, you can faintly see text displaying the amount of oxygen.

And THEN, when she starts talking to Miorine, the text on her helmet changes AGAIN to display that the comm link has been established

WHY DID THEY DO THAT????

Well clearly they did it cause they knew my stupid ass would eventually document it. Anyway, let us begin.

TEXT: I am a HARO. You can ask me anything! (The only text on the icons I can make out are MAP and SCHOOL, unfortunately.)

This is the HARO navigation bot Suletta meets when first coming to Asticassia, and we know that it's Haro Navigation System Ver. 3.0! If that's something that interests you....

TEXT: MOBILE CRAFT FUTURE TECHNOLOGY SIZE 6.6m 18.8t

Not much of note, it's just a hologram of a mobile craft. Exciting if you like mobile crafts. (I like mobile crafts)

When the Docks containing the Demi Trainers are locked, the display says LOCKED. When they're in use, the display says IN OPERATION.

TEXT: (Left) PILOTING DEPARTMENT KP001 GUEL JETURK MO-0032G GUEL'S DILANZA 26 WINS 0 LOSS 0 TIE

(Right) PILOTING DEPARTMENT KP029 PARKER EASTCOTT TKG-328 KAPELL-KUU 2 WINS 1 LOSS 1 TIE

The Battle Display for the first duel we see in the show, and from this we can see that Guel currently stands undefeated with 26 wins! Double digits! No wonder he's the ace pilot at Asticassia...too bad he's a dick.

This is the graph that's shown during the Benerit Group board meeting, detailing the earnings of the groups members for the current period.

Interestingly, the 3 highest earners are: Peil Technologies - 8000 Grassley Defense Systems - 8100 Jeturk Heavy Machinery - 8300

So, funnily enough, at the beginning of the story, Jeturk Heavy Machinery is actually the most successful company within the group. It explains why Vim Jeturk felt so comfortable in his plot to assassinate Delling, and goes to show how quickly he fell from the top position after Guel lost to Suletta all those times.

Fun Fact by the way, Prospera's first appearance in the show proper is during this meeting.

She seems kind of annoyed about something.

TEXT: DUEL COMMENCING FIRST TO BREAK MS BLADE ANTENNA IS THE WINNER

We don't see it very often, but during a duel, a display stating the win condition of the duel is broadcast for the benefit of the spectators.

When Miorine boards Aerial for the duel, we get a look at its system control menu.

Top to bottom, left to right, the options are: COCKPIT VOICE RECORDER IDENTIFICATION FRIEND FLIGHT DATA RECORDER NAVIGATION DISPLAY WEAPON SELECTION CONDITION MONITOR COMMUNICATION SYSTEM GROUND POWER UNIT INSTRUMENT FLIGHT RULE SIMULATOR INSTRUMENT APPROACH CHART INSTRUMENT LANDING SYSTEM APPROACH POINT RAM AIR TURBINE

We also get a brief look at the Weapon Selection Sub-Menu

TEXT: SELECT YOUR WEAPON BEAM SABER BEAM RIFLE BEAM VULCAN

I think a lot of the main settings are interesting (what the hell is "Identification Friend?") but what's really interesting to me is that Aerial's Gundbits don't seem to be selectable via the Weapon Menu.

We also get a brief glimpse at the Red Dilanza's control menu.

No idea what I'm looking at, to be totally honest, but yknow. It's nice!

TEXT: EMERGENCY BUTTON

When Suletta intrudes into the duel and gets back in Aerial, we see that it has an emergency button (seemingly somewhere on its foot) that opens the cockpit.

TEXT: COMMUNICATION MODE -OUTERCOM-

When Suletta headbutts Miorine and they start arguing about Aerial, Aerial's comms system gets set to OUTERCOM mode, which explains why everyone outside of Aerial can hear the argument.

This could have been done by accident when Suletta headbutted Miorine, but I like to believe that Eri herself did this on purpose.

Just so it isn't left unsaid, Aerial's Permet ID is XVX-016, and when a combatant in a duel is the Holder, the Holder Symbol is displayed on their Duel Card.

When Suletta is telling Miorine about her mother's motto, the GUND-Bits appear on the monitor and come online as Aerial 'speaks.' This, combined with the fact that the GUND-Bits aren't accessible via the Weapon Select menu, implied all the way back in episode one that it's Eri who controls them. Although interestingly, it seems that, internally, the GUND-Bits are referred to as GUNBITS.

I obviously won't transcribe the two pages of this book, but the book El4n is reading here is actually The World as Will and Representation by German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer. We actually see its title in a later episode, and the main ideas present in this work are extremely important when it comes to understanding El4n's character. But that's a story for another post.

TEXT:

YOU ARE THE WINNER OF THE DUEL.

thanks!

TEXT: HOLDER REGISTRATION [SETTINGS]

I always thought it was a little funny how the transferring of the holder title was just like, an option on their phones and not an automatic process.

ADDENDUM:

Thank you to @the-eeveekins for pointing out that Aerial is currently running SYS Ver E.S (Ericht Samaya) as opposed to 2.0 in the Lfrith!

I didn't even notice!! That's crazy!!! Thank you so much!

Also I realize I should probably point out that we see that Nika's ID is LM236 in this photo. She never duels so there's never a moment where she says it out loud.

And that's all for episode 1! Not too much super interesting, but there's still a lot to see and think about if you're paying attention! (Like, why does Aerial have a Cockpit Voice Recorder at all, actually? We know that Suletta often talks with Aerial in the cockpit about personal stuff so...you don't think that....Prospera....?)

Click here to go to Episode 2! >>

Click here to go to the Masterpost!

[literaturereviewhelp]

Introduction   The role of radiology in autopsy has been extended to include multidetector computed tomography (CT) and magnetic resonance (MR) imaging. According to Thali et al (2003), the term Virtual Autopsy or Virtopsy refers to the technique of postmortem imaging with multidetector CT and/ or MR imaging. Conventionally, in forensic investigation and autopsy, the use of full-body radiography is well established and routinely applied to document “fractures, injury patterns, occult injuries, and foreign body and metallic fragmentation localization” (Levy, Abbott, Mallack et al, 2006, p.522). Full body radiography also helps in identification of human remains when conventional methods such as fingerprinting or DNA analysis cannot be used, or are not available. Thesis Statement: The purpose of this paper is to investigate the new development of virtual autopsy in forensic science, and identify its advantages and disadvantages over conventional autopsy procedures that have been employed until recently. Virtual Autopsy with the Help of Multidetector Computed Tomography The application of imaging methods for non-invasive documentation and analysis of relevant forensic findings in living and dead persons has not kept abreast of enormous technical development of imaging methods. Forensic radiology is now a rapidly growing interdisciplinary subspeciality of both forensic medicine and radiology. The new modalities that are now increasingly being promoted for use in forensic investigations include Computer Tomography (CT) including spiral multislice, and Magnetic Reso-nance Imaging or MRI (Thali et al, 2007). The VIRTOPSY project aims to utilize radiological scanning to upgrade low-tech documentation and autopsy procedures in the contemporary high-tech field of medicine. The purpose of this is to improve scientific value, and to increase significance and quality in the forensic field. The term VIRTOPSY is the combination of the terms virtual and autopsy.   OR Human—machine interfaces consist of the multimodal devices used to present information to VT users. For multimodal VT applications, advances in peripheral connections to the computer are the single largest issue. When an input device is connected, such as а body or limb tracker, а serial port is generally utilized, а port typically designed for character input and not high-speed data transfer. А solution to the input device connectivity issue that is available on commodity computing is the great unsolved problem. At some point, this input-port speed problem needs to be solved, and that resolution must be included on mass-marketed PCs or their descendents. Visual displays, especially head-mounted displays (HMDs), have come down substantially in weight but are still hindered by cumbersome designs, obstructive tethers, suboptimal resolution, and insufficient field of view, see the “HMD/VR—Helmet Comparison Chart, ” Bungert, 2001. ) Recent advances in wearable computer displays (е.g., Microvision, MicroOptical), which can incorporate miniature LCDs directly into conventional eyeglasses or helmets, should ease cumbersome design and further reduce weight (Lieberman, 1999). There are several low- to mid-cost HMDs (InterSense's InterTrax i-glasses, Olympus Eye-Trek FMD, Interactive Imaging Systems' VFX3D, Sony Cybermind, Sony Glasstron, and Kaiser ProViewXL) that are lightweight (approximately 39 g to 1,000 g) providing а true resolution of only about 60 K pixels.. For multimodal VT applications, advances in peripheral connections to the computer are the single largest issue. When an input device is connected, such as body or limb tracker, serial port is generally utilized, port typically designed for character input and not high-speed data transfer. solution to the input device connectivity issue that is available on commodity computing is the great unsolved problem. At some point, this input-port speed problem needs to be solved, and that resolution must be included on mass-marketed PCs or their descendents. Visual displays, especially head-mounted displays (HMDs), have come down substantially in weight but are still hindered by cumbersome designs, obstructive tethers, suboptimal resolution, and insufficient field of view, see the "HMD/VR-Helmet Comparison Chart, " Bungert, 2001. ) Recent advances in wearable computer displays (.g., Microvision, MicroOptical), which can incorporate miniature LCDs directly into conventional eyeglasses or helmets, should ease cumbersome design and further reduce weight (Lieberman, 1999).   Read the full article

[rentalscooters]

Unleashing Adventure: The Ultimate Guide To Renting A Motorbike

The Allure of Renting a Motorbike

Renting a motorbike transcends being a mere mode of transport—it's an open invitation to adventure. Here's why:

- Freedom to Explore: Unrestricted by guided tours or public transit schedules, a rented motorbike empowers you to chart your course, taking spontaneous detours and unearthing hidden treasures off the trodden path.

- Immersive Experience: Riding a motorbike immerses you in the sensory tapestry of your surroundings—the panoramic vistas, the hum of the engine, and the scents wafting through the air—creating a profound connection with the destination.

- Versatility and Access: Maneuverability is key; motorbikes glide effortlessly through narrow streets, access remote locales, and traverse scenic routes inaccessible to larger vehicles, granting you access to unparalleled vistas and intimate encounters with nature.

Advantages of Renting a Motorbike

Flexibility in Exploration

- Tailored Itinerary: With a motorbike at your disposal, you dictate your journey—pausing whenever the scenery beckons, capturing breathtaking moments and relishing every sight at your leisure.

Cost-Efficiency

- Budget-Savvy: Opting for a motorbike rental often proves more economical, especially for solo or duo travelers, bypassing the expenses linked with multiple tickets or group tours.

Cultural Connection

- Local Engagement: Riding a motorbike sparks interactions with locals, offering an unfiltered, genuine experience steeped in the region's culture and everyday life.

 Considerations Before Renting

License and Adherence to Regulations

- Valid License: Ensure possession of a motorcycle license recognized in your intended rental region.

- Compliance with Local Regulations: Acquaint yourself with traffic laws, including mandatory helmet use and any specific licensing prerequisites for tourists.

Research and Safety Measures

- Prudent Selection: Conduct thorough research on reputable rental companies, scrutinizing reviews and ensuring they maintain a fleet of well-maintained, reliable bikes.

- Prioritize Safety: Equip yourself with appropriate safety gear—helmets, gloves, and protective clothing—to mitigate risks and ensure a secure ride.

The Rental Process: Step-by-Step

Booking

- Advance Reservations: Secure your rental by reaching out to the agency in advance, especially during peak seasons, ensuring availability.

- Documentation: Assemble necessary documents—valid identification, motorcycle license, passport, and preferred payment method—to facilitate a smooth rental process.

Inspection and Trial Run

- Comprehensive Assessment: Before setting off, meticulously inspect the motorbike for any pre-existing damages, documenting them through photos or videos.

- Test Drive: Take a brief test ride to acquaint yourself with the bike's handling, ensuring it aligns with your comfort and proficiency level.

During the Rental Period

- Routine Maintenance Checks: Regularly inspect tire pressure, brakes, and fluid levels to ensure optimal performance. Promptly report any issues to the rental agency.

- Safety First: Adhere rigorously to traffic regulations, don safety gear, and diligently secure the bike when not in use.

Returning the Bike

- Fuel Replenishment: Return the motorbike with a full tank to evade additional refueling charges.

- Final Assessment: Conduct a conclusive inspection alongside a rental agency representative to verify the bike's condition aligns with the initial examination.

Final Thoughts: Embrace the Adventure!

Renting a motorbike isn't merely a mode of transportation; it's an avenue for crafting indelible memories and embracing the allure of exploration. By prioritizing safety, adhering to regulations, and selecting a trustworthy rental agency, embarking on a journey astride a rented motorbike transcends the ordinary—it becomes an exhilarating odyssey teeming with freedom and discovery. Don't delay—embrace the thrill and set forth on your next expedition astride the handlebars of adventure!

[upennmanuscripts]

The Early History of the Lewis Psalter

Fifty-two discoveries from the BiblioPhilly project, No. 17/52

   Gallican Psalter with Canticles, Litany, and Prayers (he Lewis Psalter), Philadelphia, Free Library of Philadelphia, Lewis E 85, fols. 1v–2r (historiated initial B with King David Playing the Harp and King David Slaying Goliath; blank page with later prayer to Saint Martial)

One of the glorious treasures of Philadelphia is the so-called Lewis Psalter (Free Library of Philadelphia, Lewis E 185), produced in Paris in the first half of the thirteenth century, likely between around 1225 and 1230. Digitizing and cataloguing this sumptuous book anew was a real thrill, made much easier by the existence of Elizabeth A. Peterson’s excellent Ph.D. dissertation which describes the content all 150 of the manuscript’s historiated Psalm initials (the manuscript is in fact one of only eight surviving French manuscripts from the period to include illustrations for every psalm).[1]

Unlike some of its better-documented sister manuscripts, however, very little is known about the original user(s) and subsequent owners of the Lewis Psalter. Some later inscriptions within the book might help provide a clue as to where the book was prior to its reappearance in the nineteenth century in the collection of Henry Gee Barnard of Yorkshire (1789–1858). To begin with, an inscription on folio 2r, previously described as a prayer to Saint Martial, written in a what looks like a late-sixteenth-century cursive hand, reads:

Sanctus Martialis discipulus Chri[sti] virgo.

Crux enim domini armatura v[est]ra invicta contra satanam galea / custodiens caput. Lorica protegens pectus, clipeus tela maligni / repellens; gladius iniquitatem et angelicas insidias p[ervers]sae potestat[is] / sibi propinquare sinens nullo modo. Hoc solo signa celestis victoria / data est nobis et per crucem baptisma sanctificatum est

or, translated roughly into English:

Saint Martial, virgin disciple of Christ

The Cross of our Lord is the invincible armor against Satan: a helmet protecting the head, chainmail protecting the chest, a shield repelling evil darts, a sword warding off all approach of iniquity and of the perverse power of evil angels. This, the only sign of celestial victory, is given to us and is blessed by the baptism of the Cross.

Lewis E 85, fol. 2r (with detail of inscription of prayer to Saint Martial)

This unusual text is not in fact a prayer to Saint Martial, the venerated third-century Bishop of Limoges known as the “Apostle of Aquitaine,” but instead an excerpt from Saint Martial’s apocryphal letter to the people of Bordeaux. The text of this letter is preserved in a twelfth-century manuscript from Limoges now at the Bibliothèque nationale de France (ms. lat. 5296A), with the passage discussing the cross appearing on folio 38v. Of course, our early anotator might have been familiar with this passage through another source. The text was widely available in print by the early seventeenth century at the latest.

   Vita sancti Martialis, discipuli Christi: authore Aureliano, successore illius atque discipulo. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, ms. lat. 5296A, fol. 38v (Saint Martial’s letter to the people of Bordeaux, with detail of excerpt concerning the Cross)

Another note, on folio 32r of the psalter, is written in the same hand: “Psalmodia, carmen est celeste: et eos a quibus colitur sedulo, ex hominibus in angelos transfigurat,” or, “the recitation of the Psalms is a heavenly song, and transforms those who carefully recite them from men into angels.” The author of the short fragment of text is Louis de Blois (1506–1566), an influential sixteenth-century Flemish Benedictine mystic. The rather lofty phrase stems from one of de Blois’ best known works, the Sacellum animae fidelis or Sanctuary of the Faithful Soul (Louis of Blois, Sacellum animae fidelis, 1575, p. 333).

Perhaps the presence of this quote alongside the excerpt from Saint Martial will one day help clarify this great manuscript’s obscure early history. In any event, it would seem to confirm the manuscript’s presence in a Benedictine institution in the sixteenth century. Given these two pieces of evidence, might we imagine that the book was among the possessions of the Benedictine Monastery of Saint Martial in Limoges, dissolved in the wake of the French Revolution? Raymond Gaucelm, whose abbacy lasted from 1225 to 1245, was known to have been responsible for enriching the foundation’s treasury considerably[2] as well as embarking on ambitious renovation campaigns, and his dates would accord perfectly with those assigned to the Lewis Psalter. Could he have been responsible for commissioning the Psalter, or at least bringing it from Paris to the Limousin? Given the fragility of the evidence, this remains merely a hypothetical, though tantalizing, suggestion. More research into Saint Martial’s early library inventories, which do survive, might provide more information.

Lewis E 85, fol. 32r (with detail of inscription with extract from Louis de Blois)

Finally, there is additional evidence to suggest that the Lewis Psalter was used liturgically early in its life, a finding that makes it more likely to have been housed within a monastic institution, rather than having been owned by a high-ranking aristocrat. Written in a different fifteenth- or sixteenth-century hand, a prayer simply entitled “Oratio” on fol. 191v, not previously identified, in fact consists of the Collects for the fifth and seventh Sundays after Trinity. The final word, misinterpreted as the proper name “J. Credor,” is simply the incipit of the Credo:

Lewis E 85, fol. 191v (with detail of inscription with Collects for the fifth and seventh Sundays after Trinity)

While by no means conclusive, we can hope that the identification and transcription of these later additions might help shed light on the history of this wonderful book.

[1] Peterson, Elizabeth A., “Iconography of the Historiated Psalm Initials in the Thirteenth Century French Fully-Illustrated Psalter Group” Ph.D. Dissertation., University of Pittsburgh, 1991. See also Peterson, “Accidents and Adaptations in Transmission among Fully-Illustrated French Psalters in the Thirteenth Century,” Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 50 (1987), pp. 375-84; and Peterson, “The Textual Basis for Visual Errors in French Gothic Psalter Illustration,” in The Early Medieval Bible: Its Production, Decoration, and Use, ed. Richard Gameson, Cambridge Studies in Palaeography and Codicology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 177-204.

[2] Duplès-Agier, Henri, “Le trésor de Saint-Martial de Limoges au treizième siècle,” Bibliothèque de l’école des chartes 16 (1855): 28-35.

from WordPress http://bibliophilly.pacscl.org/a-catchphrase-by-a-sixteenth-century-mystic-in-the-lewis-psalter/

[magnumversum]

Guy Red: Project August

Guy Red’s iconic, recognizable, fuzzy scarlet vest fluttered in the breeze, revealing his brawny shoulders and forceps; his worn, mahogany boots revealed burly thighs. His red tee fluttered beneath his vest; and his burly abdomen showed underneath his torn apart, jam-coloured tee shirt; and beneath his sleek red motorcycle helmet was a messy, tangled head of fuzz combed into prickly spikes resembling plump sea urchins; his muddy, worn polyester, chili boots rested on foot pedals; his motorcycle bumbled off a ramp, passing through an enormous, searing, blistering hoop set aflame. His exposed steel flesh-replacement charred upon contact with the fiery blazes. He said, “My name is Rasheb Nevim, but you can call me Guy Red.

“Through local sources, news outlets, and my hard, tough skull, I have tracked down you, Mercassi Pascalli, to this abandoned circus house in downtown Los Angeles. Now you’re a dead man, Pascalli.”

“You’re a dead man too, Nevim. And you’re making a mistake, because there are fifty assault rifles and seven turrets pointed at your dinghy stormtrooper helmet and knock-off BMW.”

Several tarnished gizmos and gadgets beeped and buzzed, concealed within Guy Red’s magnetic appendages: holographic computer panels flickered above his sleeve, tracking heart rate, blood pressure, and blood sugar data was projected on various charts and graphs; heat signatures read beneath his helmet, flickering red; mini turrets extruded from his bulky thighs, and nanoscopic bullets pierced from the cartridge; beneath the motorcycle engine, scarlet rockets furiously propelled his bike into the starry atmosphere. “Son of a bitch.”

“You son of a bitch!” Mercassi cried. He yanked an assault rifle from his bouncer’s arms, pulled the trigger and emptied it. “Get back here!”

Guy Red promptly answered to a call, “What is it, Miss Dmarani?” Multiple blurry holograms projected onto his helmet: projections of eight scrapped blueprints, and seven juvenile detention centers in Kentucky; projections of nine veterinarian clinics and three garages in Idaho; several photos and some identification cards of bodies found in an old warehouse in Alaska; two storage units and a gym in Florida; and four sickening, gruesome images of a crime scene in Vancouver: fifteen butchered wolves; nine adults and six children slaughtered and garnished with salt, adorned with fruits in their mouths; and finally, a blurry projection of a charcoal mutt besmeared in stitches and mud. “Miss Dmarani, what the hell is this stuff?”

Rena said, “This is all a part of something titled Project August… to be frank with you, we’re not sure exactly what this is. We suspect they’re making sacrifices to some sort of idol.”

Guy Red ejaculated, “This is disgusting…”

“Suss out the wrongdoers, and report back to me,” hissed Rena. “I’ll be watching this situation… very closely, from afar.”

“Yes ma’am.” The motorcycle engines sputtered; Guy Red’s motorcycle helmet flashed red with sporadic, overdramatic words, urgently begging him to land the motorcycle. Pascalli and his accompaniment made themselves known with vociferous screams and rude, mocking hand gestures and gnashing of teeth, beckoning him to fight them. Numerous holographic images flashed on his motorcycle; error messages covered his visor, and his motorcycle crashed into a snow-capped mountain.

Guy Red staggered to his feet, finding his cybernetic patella in flames. Resilient, he announced quietly, “I will not fall.”

An assembly of mutilated things with tattered clothes pressed towards him, introducing their chief. “What help do you need, degenerate?”

“I am not a degenerate. I am Rasheb Nevim.”

The council assembled around the chief mischievously chortled. “And I am Count Dracula: the true vampire; and this is The Headless Horseman: the man who cannot think of mercy; and this is Frankenstein: the freak experiment; and this is Akhurh: the undead ruler of Egypt; and here is The Gill Man: the sea beast that preys on swimmers like a shark; and the horrific thing behind us is Zillo: the mythical beast that killed King Kong.”

“I’m not supposed to be here.” Guy Red’s mechanical fingers, isolated from their joints, lunged at them like a cluster of feral tarantulas; blazes spewed from his feigned digits. Overheating fried the wires controlling remote management, severing connection to his artificial hands. Guy Red’s digits were lost within the mounting snow.

“Oh, you won’t need those anymore,” muttered Frankenstein.

Zillo towered over Guy Red, writhing slightly as charring burns settled on his belly. “You won’t be needing your life anymore.”

Guy Red waved away the buzzing warning panels flashing, only bombarded with more blinding lights and deafening noises. “Oh what the hell? Bring out the big guns.”

Somewhat comically oversized Napalm bombs deployed from his shoulders, and a sentient computer blurted, “Munitions ready, sir.”

“Fire away, then.” Turrets deployed from his shoulders, spraying the perimeter in empty shells, and leaving smoky bullet holes in the undead pharaoh and toothy vampire; nuclear missiles deployed from his calves, setting the snowtops ablaze. Hints of smoke were absorbed into Guy Red’s filtering system, causing his breathing apparatus to falter, and he almost choked on the ashes of the late Count. Guy Red staggered over to his motorcycle.

Just as quickly as sparks materialized, they fizzled away; the cracked panels displayed static images. Helicopters chortled like vipers behind the peak, in the dewy tundras; they swarmed around the mountain crest. Familiar pilots bellowed at him. Guy Red lugged his mangled bike onto the chopper, as a familiar mutt barked from the cockpit, “You’re late to the party.”

“I got held up,” Guy Red complained to her. “I never figured out what Project August was.”

The biker, Guy Blue wore a scorched azure jacket, and a deep-blue vest and boots and motorcycle helmet, and rode a navy-blue motor-bike; he wore blue mittens and sapphire overalls; denim smoke billowed from his motorcycle engines, and monitors flashed on his helmet. Grenades exploded, lobbed from canisters hidden somewhere within the seating arrangements. Behind the first biker, a second biker cheered him on.

This biker wore a similarly colored blueberry shirt and a spruce hood, and peacock-blue goggles. The first biker muttered, “I survived the fire for nothing.”

The other biker, Lady Blue comforted him, resting her chin on Guy Blue’s shoulders. “You didn’t die for nothing; we have motives to kill.”

[transparentpeanutdragon]

Learning Lotor |  2.5k  [Read on Ao3]

At the end of the war Keith sees in Lotor what Shiro saw in him.

There’s no way he can let him rot in a prison cell after that. --- Or, Keith finally gets to know Lotor a little, having missed his opportunity to do so while he was away from the team. The results are unexpected, for both parties.

Piece for the amazing Mixed Blood, Keitor Zine that everyone should be swarming right now. go check it out if you haven’t already! 

[Read on Ao3]

Read Here Below

 It takes years to quell the Galra. It takes a week to get Lotor to trial. By then, everyone is eager to have one of the biggest threats to the new, fragile peace in the universe gone.

 The ship transporting him from Holding and to Intergalactic Court must be secure. There can be no greater comfort, no greater security, than the capable lions of Voltron for the job.

 Unfortunately, no amount of insistence on their busy schedules, nor assurances in allied forces and other strong assets is enough to convince them. That’s how Keith finds himself taking a week from the team, just to transport Lotor, incarcerated in a pod, via the Black Lion.

 He was never there to bond with Lotor. He never got to work alongside him, or plan with him like the others did. No broken bread, no formalities or introductions. He’d been on the outskirts all along with the Blade of Marmora. Unintentionally becoming Voltrons Ace in the Hole in the end.

 He never thought about how confused their opponents must have been about it-- About how Voltron had still been formed successfully despite taking out Shiro,-- Until he meets with Lotor to transport him for the first time, and his expression changes minutely.

 His brows raise, his eyes widen-- Not in surprise, but in recognition. No doubt in bits and pieces, in waiting carefully behind the cell to see who was it , if not Takashi Shirogane.

 Maybe he remembers him as the random blade operative at the Kral Zera, crashing into him mid-jump. He looks like he wants to open his mouth, full of scorn, address him not by his name but as You and bleed all his secrets dry-- Each one containing his demise. Each one the reason he is here today.

 And yet, he says nothing.

  “I always wondered why the current Paladins armor did not match their Lions.” Lotor croaks, his voice nothing of the smooth and liquid textile it was the last time he heard it. It shocks Keith from his daze, making him jump a little more in his seat than he’d like to admit.

 Quickly, Lotors clears his throat and starts coughing. Adjusting. It’s been three days since they started their trip, but who knows how many more since he’d actually spoken. It’s oddly scarier like that, knowing Lotors mouth is his most dangerous weapon.

 Keith reminds himself that Lotors Pod comes equipped with a Muzzle, if he needs it.

 His brain supplies him that he won’t be talking to anyone for quite some time soon, either.

 “Your Green and Yellow Paladins, they match just fine. Just like the paladins of old. But your Blue and Black Paladins-- And then Allura, in Pink. I never quite got around to asking about it.”

 And then there’s you.” He pauses, drawing in a breath. Keith adjusts his hands on Blacks controls, and feels the Lion coaxing him gently in his mind.

  And then there’s me, He thinks.

 The air grows still with Lotors admission, and stiller with Keith’s silence. If Lotor is used to fulfilling and exceeding expectations of others, then Keith is used to fulfilling and exceeding expectation of himself. He doesn’t Have to answer.

 Lotor seems to get the hint, and continues. “Might there be a story there?” He asks. “It’s such a small inconsistency, really. Dull even, one might think, in a grander perspective. Perhaps it was just preferential, but it couldn’t help but bother me, for some reason.

 “I thought initially, the Red Armor might simply be preserved. It was, after all, originally belonging to King Alfor, who Allura could only give so many respects to. Perhaps his armor was one of them. But then I later would find the armor you wear now, hanging on display, awaiting another wearer. No casket near, no ceremonial Altean respects decorating it. Nothing.”

 “Primitive Humans might simply lack the proper coronial receptors, I thought-

 -And then..”

 “There’s me.” Keith interrupted, not needing any of Lotors preambles to know where this was heading.

 “And then you came along.” Lotor confirmed.

 “If you’re wondering how many-”

 “No.” Lotor interrupts now, and then coughs again. Keith holds steady to his Lion, their connection strong, and keeps his eyes ahead on their environment. “I seek not battle strategies, or winning secrets. I have been incarcerated for pheebs. Do not make a fool out of me.” His voices seethes with indignation, the frown escaping his lips and into his voice.

 “Then what are you asking for?” Keith snaps.

 “A story.”

 It’s such a simple answer it makes Keith stop, for a minute. The immediate, obvious response, is that this is just what Lotor wants. And then Blacks reminds him, a gentle calm in his mind, that he’s there too. Keith stays silent, and thinks it over.

 This is, essentially, the last conversations Lotor will ever have. He goes over every detail of the story in his mind, looking for anything valuable besides what the Galra already know. That they are from Earth. That they are of the same species. That they are close. All things known. Not new by any stretch.

 The only thing Lotor doesn’t know, is him. Personally. And there’s no real way to take advantage of that. Not when that person is Keith Kogane.

 “We did match, at one point.” He starts.

 There’s a tentative pause, after that. An interested, “ Oh ?” Like Lotor is licking the words up. He wonders if his governess deprived him of bedtime stories. What made him so thirsty for even trivial knowledge, like this.

 “Pidge, Lance, Hunk, Shiro-- And Me. None of us even knew Aliens existed until about seven pheebs ago. We were all shot into space at once, thrust into the war and became paladins. Originally, I was chosen by the Red Lion. Lance was chosen by Blue.” Keith shrugs in his seat, though Lotor cannot see it. “Things happened. I left the team before they allied with you.”

 “And you came back-- After the alliance broke?” Lotor asks, like he’s trying to grasp air. Like details are the bane of his existence, angry for the answers he does not have. Keith decides right then and there that it was all worth it, to be the trump card. Voltrons Ace in the Hole. To be the unexpected answer that caused him so many problems. To be once forgotten, and now never more important. To know he is the cause of all Lotor’s failure, right then there. Keith decides right then, that he likes it.

 His hands leave the controls, his cockpit seat swinging back and swirling around to face Lotor, dead on. “No,” He says, assured. Calm. Mouth a smirk to meet Lotor’s scowl. “I came back before it broke, to break it myself.”

  Lotor pieces more and more of it together as Keith talks, and Keith talks like an informal dictionary. He cites mission dates for Lotor to chart star maps to. He gives names like he should give identification numbers. Slowly, in the middle of the two weeks, Lotor learns a What. Not a Who.

 Keith thought that was what he wanted.

 “You’re… Galra.” Lotors breath is audible through his security pod. His voice says First Fireworks and New Life and World Wonders. When Keith turns to look back at him in his pod, his face matches, and he doesn’t know how to feel about that.

 He’d been in the middle of changing his armor. His helmet heavy on his shoulders, his suit in need of cleaning. His face was bright and uncovered, unlike the rest of his body.

“How can you tell?” Keith asked tentatively.

 “Your eyes.” Lotor answers reverently. Nears towards the glass like Keith is a specimen captured, rather than he himself. “I was ordained with information during my time with the rest of your team. Your species does not naturally exhibit hues of that color in the Iris.”

 “And?” Keith says, almost defensively.

 “It’s beautiful.”

 It catches him off guard, is what it does. Sends his skin prickling, his mind questioning. After a moment he turns with resolution, reaching for the controls on Lotor’s pod,-- “Wait!” Keith stops. His hand hovers over the controls. Lotor continues, “Violet is the most prominent hue of our people. Yet even in known hybrids, does it rarely end up in our eyes. Usually it infects the skin, the nails. The hair. I did not mean any offense.” Keith sighs, lowering his hand. “You mean your species.” Keith corrects, and Lotors face crumples into something not disdain, nor anger. Sympathy? Empathy? It’s… sentimental, of a sort. Keith tries to turn away, his Helmet too far from his skin now.

 “On Earth, it’s not rare for orphans to have defects.” To be broken. To be freaks. To be doomed from birth. Keith rezips his suit, and dons his helmet.turns his back to Lotor.  “There’s nothing rare about it.”

 “On Daibazaal, we believed that our lightened eyes were meant to guide us towards it. That those without were unlucky. Yet to receive it. I’m not speaking on behalf of the Galra.”

 Keith turns then, locking eyes with Lotor once more beyond his visor. “Then who’s half are you speaking on?”

 “My own.”

 Lotor places a long gloved hand over the glass in front of him. Keith is confused.

 “Our species is complex. Resilient. Advanced. Most hybrids are rare to begin with, and do not breed well. Outcasted for existing alone. I was no different. Beauty is not a color, paladin. It is a difference. A strength brought on from it.” For a moment, Keith stares in dawning comprehension. He’s calling him beautiful not because he’s galra, not because he’s a hybrid, but because of how he is, who is, in order to be despite it. That his eyes signify that. Lotor isn’t the first to compliment them, but he’s definitely the first to phrase it like that . And Keith hates the way it captivates his attention for a moment. And that one moment turns out to be all Lotor needs to notice yet another thing about him. His brows raising, his expression becoming more endeared than admiring.

 “Oh my,” He says, “Is that a blush?” Keith's hand shoots out and taps the controls quicker than he can breathe, causing a dark veil to cover the glass cell holding Lotor, blinding him. Behind it, a joyed charmed laughter comes fourth, and Keith quickly makes his way back to Blacks chair, trying to tune it out.

 “Did you just-” Lotor chuckles. Keith's ears burn inside his helmet. “Did you just blind me, to hide your face ?”

  It is the last day of their journey together. And now Keith knows why his team hates him. It’s because they like him. And it hurts, to like someone who is not up to any good.

 And now, he’s beginning to like him too.

 “You’re awfully small, for a half breed.”

 He regrets saying anything at all. Black is a steady support inside of his mind, kneading biscuits into his back mentally. Lotors voice, however, is a little bit louder.

 “It’s aggravating in one way. That someone of such small stature should defeat his larger brethren. In another way-- It’s cute.”

 It’s clear now, more than ever, he was never planning to escape. He never fooled himself into thinking he could. He’s just having fun with his last weeks before his inevitable life sentence. And Keith, humiliatingly, has been exploited for that fun. It’s a small price to pay in the long run, he tells himself. But it’s steadily getting harder to not respond to than Lance himself, and he finds himself watching the estimated time ‘till coordinates reached with anticipation.

 But his cheeks are burning again, and he’s not cruel enough to keep Lotor blinded forever. He’s not sure how much longer he can keep this up. Until Lotor says,

 “I was the same way.”

 It derails Keith's attention perfectly, to his chagrin. “How?” He asks, unable to keep the wonder out of his voice. Lotor is at least 8 feet tall. There’s no way he was ever stuck at this height.

 “Alteans don’t reach much bigger heights than humans, I’m afraid. My father's genes just happened to be particularly dominant, I suppose. They kicked in after a couple extra years, and some particularly brusque environments. Perhaps yours will too.”

 Keith rolls his eyes. “Environments like quintessence camps?”

 Lotor chuckles, laughing off the remark. “Environments like communities. Comfortable ones, enriched with copious contact. Since our species is so aggressive, being raised to battle, from battle, it actually activates growth hormones. I heard that your species activates those same hormones from similar, but less aggressive practices.”

 Oh. Well. That explained a lot. Keith groaned. “I think I got into more fistfights than hugs when I was a kid. And we’re not supposed to fight.”

 “I’m not telling you to seek more conflict. You want to grow into more a human, rather than more of a Galra, don’t you?”

 “I-” Keith stops short, unsure if he knows exactly what Lotor is implying now. “But you just said you-”

 “I know what I said. And quite frankly, I would’ve proffered the less violent route as the other half of my heritage would have it been. I had not affection nor much kindness in my rearing either, after all.”

 “You’re telling me if I want to be taller… I just need to.. Ask for more hugs?”

 “Yes. Although I think it might be better to ask for them because you want them, rather than to become a little taller.”

 Keith's eyes widened at that, his face pinkening at the call out. “I, No, I have-” He sputtered. This was embarrassing. “I have-”

 “Not enough, from what I can see.” Says Lotor, Close . Closer than he’s ever been before. Right in Keiths ear.

 The breath on his skin is a death fortune that Keith can’t move fast enough for, sure he’ll see god before he can turn around in time to face Lotor.

 And somehow he does.

 In the time Keith takes to brandish his sword and get up and out of his chair, Lotor uses it to pull off his helmet and take Keiths unarmed hand-- and pull it close, close and closer, until they’re chest to chest.

 And instead of a hit, a jab, a knee, or a strangle, Lotors arms pull at his back until their chests are flushed. And there is nothing aggressive about it.

 He could stab him, right now. He could end Lotor right there, if need be. And yet, he’s frozen once more. Confused again, as Lotor gentles him into a more comfortable position.

 “There we are,” He says, no longer constrained or muffled by his glass prison. Smooth and practiced from the weeks journey on board the Black Lion. One of his hands trails up and down the small of his back, exposed and without armor, sending Keith comfortable shivers up and down his spine, trying to relax him.

 Lotor could just as easily pick up his bayard, his marmora blade, and end him here too, if he wanted. And yet, Keith remains still. Unsure if he wants to anymore.

 “This ought to help you stand a little taller, hm?” He says, and when Keith looks up, Lotors eyes eagerly turn towards his own, devouring.

  Lotor spends the remainder of the time with him outside his portable holding cell, and when that time is up, he goes right back in. No questions, no objections. No fights or pleas out. He goes willingly. Keith fixes the broken mechanism Lotor used to escape it. He delivers Lotor to his Court to remain incarcerated until trial.

 When that trial comes, Keith is there to testify on his behalf.

 The rest of his team is shocked and upset. But Lotor gets out with a lighter sentence, provided with mandatory therapy and the possibility to not spend fifty whole years if he behaves better. He’s allowed to take him out on visits, and slowly, he becomes better at learning Lotor. And Lotor comes to learn the ace in the hole.

[concordeducations]

7 Basic Quality Tools For Work Place Problems & Opportunities

The seven basic quality tools, which are the foundation of many workplace problem solving approaches, consist of: 1. The tally sheet or check sheet, which quantifies how often something occurs. 2. The histogram presents information from a tally sheet in the form of a bar chart. 3. The Pareto chart is a special histogram that helps focus attention on the vital few issues rather than the trivial many. 4. The cause and effect diagram is a brainstorming tool that helps a team identify potential root causes of a problem. 5. The process flowchart supports the process orientation of ISO 9001 and similar standards. 6. The scatter diagram allows graphical exploration of the relationship between two variables, such as a process condition and a critical to quality measurement. 7.  The control chart is a visual control that shows whether a process has deviated from its target (nominal).

Why Should You Attend Attendees will learn the applications as well as the mechanics of the seven basic quality tools. Attendees will learn, for example, not just the mechanics of a process flowchart but also what they can do with it in the workplace such as (1) support structure analysis in process FMEA, (2) support value stream analysis and the related Shingo process map that forces many wastes to become visible, and (3) support problem solving including root cause analysis. The concentration diagram meanwhile shows how the tally sheet can go well beyond just making marks on a sheet to show how often something occurs, a task which is now generally handled by computers. These seven basic quality tools can do a lot more than one might assume from their initial appearance.

Areas Covered in the Session  Attendees will learn the function and application of the seven basic quality tools.  » Check sheet or tally sheet 1. The concentration diagram or "measles chart" is a special form of this that highlights concentrations of defects or other characteristics to focus attention on them.  » Pareto Chart 1. This is a special kind of histogram that sorts characteristics (such as defects) from most important to least important, thus supporting focus on the vital few versus the trivial many. It can be weighted by the cost (or demerits) of the defects in case not all are of equal importance.  » Histogram 1. This has many applications including graphical display of a quality measurement to assess the assumption that it follows a normal or "bell curve" distribution. Many do not even though this is the textbook assumption.  » Cause and effect or "fishbone" diagram 1. This supports team problem solving efforts by facilitating the identification of a problem's potential root causes, and is synergistic with the Five Whys. Follow the potential root cause to ask "why" until no further answer can be found, in which case the likely root cause has been discovered. 2. A designed experiment can test the hypothesis that something is a root cause. The starting assumption is that the factor (e.g. material or method) is not a root cause, and the experiment can prove beyond a quantified reasonable doubt (usually 5%) that it is. 3. The cause and effect diagram also helps identify control factors for control plans.  » Scatter diagrams 1. The scatter diagram explores graphically the relationship between two variables x and y, where y might be a critical to quality characteristic. 2. Correlation does not however always mean causation. As an example, the incidence of head wounds ("quality characteristic") during the First World War increased after soldiers were issued the Brodie ("tin Kelly") helmet to replace their uniform caps (input variable, cap versus helmet) which could lead to the incorrect conclusion that wearing the Brodie helmet increases your risk of head injury. What really happened was that soldiers who would have otherwise been killed outright due to lack of a helmet survived to receive medical treatment. We must therefore always be careful when we interpret these charts.  » Control Chart 1. Control charts are visual controls that make the status of a process obvious without the need to read and interpret tables of numbers. » Process Flow Chart 1. Process flow charts document a process visually and support the process orientation of ISO 9001 and similar standards. 2.Process flow charts also support structure analysis in failure mode effects analysis (FMEA) and also value stream analysis.

Who Will Benefit   » All quality practitioners and operations managers

To Register (or) for more details please click on this below link:

https://bit.ly/3mtCzh9

Email: support@abideedict.com

Toll Free No:1-844-511-8858

Tel: +1-913-871-1466

[hrtiu]

The Return

Just watched Loki today and it’s got my feeling nostalgic for the 100k Loki x OC fic I wrote between Infinity War and Endgame 😌 Anyway this definitely doesn’t fit on the sacred timeline but it was fun to write! Here’s the first chapter in case anyone is interested.

Six months after half of humanity disappeared in what later came to be known as “The Snap,” the victims of that bizarre event suddenly reappeared. It happened just as the world was finally beginning to right itself from that traumatic event—just as people began to accept that those who were missing were truly gone. Not that anyone could ever truly recover from something like that. Families torn in half, children lost, friends, colleagues, regular faces about town. Half the world’s heads of states, half of its business executives, half of its doctors, half of its children, half of its everything—all gone. The world would never be the same, but it had finally begun to reach some kind of functioning state again when just as inexplicably as they left the earth, all of the missing people returned.

The hospital was very busy that day. Thankfully, people reappeared in mostly sensible places. Nobody materialized thousands of feet in the air, or directly in front of oncoming traffic, or anything like that. Still, the reappearances were abrupt and disorienting, and sometimes led to mishaps directly afterwards. One way or another, a decent number of the returned ended up in the hospital, where nurses like Alice Wakefield helped them get sorted out.

For Alice that day had been filled with taking peoples’ names and information, trying to find empty beds or chairs, contacting family members, and sorting out the people who actually needed urgent medical attention from those who were just looking for a place to regroup. For several weeks the hospital was in chaos, having accidentally become the primary meeting place for families seeking out their missing loved ones.

Some people were ready to get back into the swing of things just as soon as they rematerialized. Esther Diaz, another nurse and Alice’s supervisor, headed right back to the hospital the same day she returned, the saintly woman recognizing immediately that the hospital would be overburdened. Other people took longer to readjust. Whatever had happened to them had been harrowing, and some patients wouldn’t tell the nurses their personal information, or couldn’t even bring themselves to speak, for days after the event.

Michael was one of those people who took longer to recover. Michael probably wasn’t his real name, but Alice called him that because his slicked-back dark hair reminded her of Michael Corleone, and the name stuck. From the time a paramedic team brought him into the hospital, Michael hadn’t spoken a single word, to anybody. And while other patients gradually opened up or were found by their families, Michael stayed in his hospital room, silent and haunted.

Two months after The Return, the hospital had mostly returned to normal. That is to say, most of the people who had disappeared during The Snap had now found their way back to their homes. Obviously no one on earth was quite the same as they were pre-Snap. Alice made her rounds, and for the first time in weeks, the majority of her patients were people brought in for routine medical assistance. She helped with some stitches, a bad flu, a broken leg, and one small child who had accidentally stapled their finger before she went to check on Michael.

“Good morning, Mikey, how’s it going?” Alice said, using her best chipper nurse voice. He didn’t respond, of course.

Alice walked over to his bedside and checked his chart. Everything seemed normal. She turned her head over towards Mike and sighed. He looked just like he always did: wan and tired, his sunken features highlighting his high cheekbones. His eyes were open, but did not focus on anything. His stringy, shoulder-length black hair was cut in a style that needed attention to look good, and he certainly hadn’t put any effort into maintaining it. In a spurt of dark humor, Alice thought to herself that he rather looked like a vampire, or perhaps a well-preserved zombie.

“Let’s go for a walk, huh?” she said, moving to the other side of the bed and pulling the covers back. With a little encouragement, he moved his long legs off the bed and set his feet on the floor. Alice put her shoulder under his arm, and helped him up. Michael’s responsiveness to instructions and physical queues was about the limit of his interactions, but at least it meant he was relatively easy to move around.

Alice led Michael out of his room and into the hallway, where they often did laps around the ward to help Michael get a little bit of activity into his day. Today, though, Alice led him outside of the ward to a terrace on the third floor, where they could get some sunshine and privacy. It was a lovely spring day, and some of the trees on the hospital grounds below had already started flowering. Alice made sure Michael was steady on his feet before moving out from under his shoulder and standing in front of him.

“Michael,” she said, and his eyes, which had been staring off into the distance, flicked towards her. That was a good sign.

“Now, I know Michael probably isn’t your real name, unless I got really lucky with my nickname. Do you want to tell me your real name?” Alice said.

He just kept staring, his thin lips showing no sign of movement.

“It would be really helpful for us to know your name, Michael. I feel bad using this fake name all the time.”

More silence. His light blue eyes seemed to bore into hers, and despite the hospital gown he somehow managed to exude an aura of cool authority. It was a little intimidating, to be honest.

“What about family? Do you have any family? Anyone we can let know you’re here?”

At that, the corner of his mouth twitched. At least, Alice thought it did—it had been the tiniest of movements. Still, it was the most anybody had gotten out of him in months.

“Yeah? You must have some family. Maybe nearby? How about… How about you write down their names?” she said, pulling a notepad and pen out of her scrubs, “Or an address? Or phone number?”

She held the notepad and pen out to Michael, but he made no motion to grab them. His eyes didn’t even focus on them. His pale blue eyes continued to look at her, until they gradually started to slide away again. She was losing him.

Alice took him by the hand and led him over to a bench on the far side of the terrace. She sat down next to him, then angled herself so she could face him.

“Look, Michael. You’ve been here for two months already. Physically, you’re fine. As a hospital, there’s not much more we can do for you here. Because of the… event, we’ve been allowing people to stay here longer than usual, but we can’t keep you here indefinitely. My superiors said they will have to discharge you by the end of the week,” Alice said, willing him to understand his predicament.

Michael looked at her for a long moment, then turned his head back towards the hospital grounds.

“If you don’t want to talk, you can just nod yes or no, how about that?” Alice said, hearing the desperation build in her voice. She had tried all of these tactics—pen and paper, nodding and shaking, etc—before, but she refused to give up. She did not want to imagine what would happen to Michael if he were left on his own.

“Do you remember your name?” she asked. She waited a generous amount of time for him to shake or nod his head, but he kept looking straight forward.

“Do you have family? ...Do you know where you’re from? ...We’re in New York right now, do you know where that is?”

Nothing. Defeated, Alice hung her head and she forced the water she could already feel building behind her eyes to halt, absolutely refusing to cry. She knew the tears weren’t just about her current predicament. Everyone had been pushed to their emotional limits lately, and it wasn’t uncommon for people in the hospital to break down. In general, people were understanding of these kinds of breakdowns. What did you expect when half of the world suddenly went missing? Still, Alice hadn’t lost as much as most people, and she didn’t want Michael to see her frustration.

Alice decided to focus on something productive instead of the roadblocks. She wracked her brain for any clues they might have as to Michael’s identity.

When he’d arrived at the hospital, he’d been wearing an odd dark blue leather jacket of sorts, with matching pants. The shoulders and arms of the jacket were padded, and Alice figured they were probably for riding a motorcycle, although he hadn’t had a helmet with him. He’d also had a yellow-blue blanket. It almost looked like a cape, but Alice figured it couldn’t possibly have been a cape, unless he’d just escaped from a movie set or convention. Other than the jacket, pants, blanket, and a pair of shiny black boots, he’d had nothing. No wallet, no cellphone, no money, no form of identification. Perhaps he’d been a courier, perhaps he’d been a professional racer, perhaps he’d just owned a motorcycle as a hobby. There was no way of knowing, and virtually no other clues. He looked like he might be in his mid-thirties, but he also had the kind of face that could be a lot older, so Alice didn’t even have a good sense of his age. He was a mystery that refused to be solved.

Michael waited as she stewed, his features betraying no impatience or frustration or any emotion at all. Eventually, they stood and walked around the terrace a little more before Alice took Michael back to his room. Esther caught her eye as she helped him into his room.

“Any luck?” Esther asked.

Alice just shook her head, and Esther raised her eyebrows with a sad half-smile. They were both worried about their mystery patient. It wasn’t uncommon for homeless people to end up in the hospital, and it was always difficult discharging them knowing they had no place to go, but somehow this felt different. Michael had been disintegrated, then brought back to life, and it seemed no one cared.

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