#printing equipment setup

[asestimationsconsultants]

The Value of a Residential Estimating Service in 3D Printed Home Construction

The rise of 3D printed homes is revolutionizing the construction industry. By using additive manufacturing technology, builders can create homes with greater precision, less waste, and reduced labor costs. However, while the technology promises cost savings, the unique nature of 3D printed homes requires specialized budgeting and planning to ensure projects are financially viable. A residential estimating service plays a crucial role in this process by helping to forecast accurate costs, accounting for the intricacies and potential challenges that arise in 3D printed home construction.

As 3D printing technology continues to evolve, homeowners and developers need reliable estimating services to navigate the complexities of this innovative construction method. These services help ensure that projects stay within budget while meeting quality standards and project timelines.

Understanding 3D Printed Home Construction

3D printing in home construction involves the use of a printer to create walls, floors, and other structural components layer by layer. The primary materials used in 3D printing for homes include concrete, clay, or composites, with printers capable of creating intricate designs that traditional methods cannot easily replicate.

While 3D printing offers numerous advantages—such as rapid construction, reduced labor, and customization options—its costs can vary significantly. Factors such as material choice, print size, project complexity, and technology specifications all impact the overall cost of a 3D printed home.

Budgeting for 3D Printing Materials

One of the primary considerations in estimating the cost of 3D printed homes is the material used. The quality, type, and quantity of the material play a major role in determining the total cost of the build. Concrete, often used in 3D printing due to its strength and durability, is typically more affordable than other materials, but the cost can still fluctuate depending on the supplier and local availability.

A residential estimating service helps clients understand the cost implications of using various 3D printing materials. The estimator will provide a detailed breakdown of material costs, considering factors such as material waste, transportation, and handling fees. Since the technology is still relatively new, these costs may not always be predictable, making an expert estimator’s role all the more vital in forecasting potential variances.

Labor and Printing Time Considerations

While 3D printing eliminates many manual construction tasks, such as bricklaying and framing, there are still labor costs associated with setup, monitoring the printing process, and post-printing tasks. The process of setting up the printer, maintaining equipment, and overseeing quality control requires skilled labor. The printing itself, although automated, is not instantaneous and can take days or even weeks depending on the complexity of the design.

A residential estimating service accounts for these labor costs and the printing time, which can be significantly different from traditional construction projects. The estimator can calculate labor costs for monitoring, troubleshooting, and finishing tasks, ensuring that these costs are incorporated into the budget. They also take into account any additional time required for material delivery, setup, and calibration.

Design Flexibility and Customization

One of the most attractive aspects of 3D printed homes is their design flexibility. With the ability to create complex, customized shapes and structures, 3D printing allows for architectural freedom that traditional construction methods often cannot achieve.

However, this flexibility can impact the budget. More intricate designs may require more material or longer printing times, leading to higher costs. A residential estimating service evaluates the design’s complexity and integrates these factors into the overall estimate. By balancing custom features with cost constraints, the estimator ensures that the project’s design vision aligns with the budget.

Site Preparation and Foundation Costs

Although 3D printing reduces the amount of manual labor required during construction, site preparation remains a crucial part of the process. Depending on the location, this could involve clearing the land, leveling the site, and ensuring the foundation is properly prepared to support the printed structure.

For a 3D printed home, the foundation typically consists of a reinforced concrete slab, which must be poured and cured before printing can begin. The residential estimating service accounts for these additional costs and provides a clear picture of what needs to be done to prepare the site. This includes evaluating soil conditions, assessing the need for grading, and determining the cost of the foundation installation.

Regulatory and Permit Costs

Like traditional construction, 3D printed homes must comply with local building codes and regulations. In some areas, building codes may not yet address 3D printed structures, making it necessary to consult with local authorities and engineers to ensure that the construction meets safety and code standards.

The residential estimating service plays a key role in navigating these regulatory challenges. The estimator helps identify the necessary permits, certifications, and inspections required for a 3D printed home, and factors these into the overall project budget. This helps avoid costly delays caused by missing permits or non-compliance with regulations.

Maintenance and Long-Term Durability

While 3D printed homes offer a unique and innovative building solution, homeowners and builders must also consider the long-term durability and maintenance of the materials used. 3D printed homes are generally built to last, but depending on the material used, they may require specific maintenance or repairs over time.

A residential estimating service can factor in the cost of maintaining the home in the future. For example, if the home is constructed with concrete or composite materials, the estimator will consider the potential for cracking, erosion, or other wear-and-tear issues. This long-term perspective helps homeowners budget for future repairs or upgrades that may be needed after construction.

Conclusion

The rise of 3D printed homes presents both exciting opportunities and unique challenges. While the technology promises cost savings and design freedom, accurately budgeting for a 3D printed home requires a detailed understanding of the materials, labor, site preparation, and regulatory considerations involved. A residential estimating service offers valuable expertise in these areas, helping homeowners and developers navigate the complexities of 3D printed home construction while staying on budget.

By providing a clear, comprehensive estimate, residential estimators ensure that all aspects of the project—from the initial design to the final finishing touches—are accounted for. With their help, homeowners can confidently embrace this innovative construction method while avoiding unexpected costs or delays.

[memoiresofaneternaldreamer]

Till Death Do Us Part | Pt. 2

Pairing: Assassin! Choi Seungcheol x Assassin! F. Reader

Themes: Smut | Angst | (Fake) Marriage | Based on the movie 'Mr. & Mrs. Smith' | Undercover Assassins | Hidden Identities | T.W.: mentions of blood, violence, guns

Wordcount: 13.8K

Playlist: 'Control' - CHVRN | 'Keep on Breathing' - The Glitch Mob, Tula | 'Fantasies' - Llynks | 'Madness' - Ruelle | 'Gomd' - Sickick

Smut Warnings: Explicit sexual acts - Oral (M. Receiving) - Slight Edging (M. Receiving) - Dominant! Reader - Dominant! Seungcheol - Rough play: titty slapping, spanking, hair pulling, biting, etc. - PIV - Unprotected intercourse

This story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors do not interact.

Previous Chapter: Till Death Do Us Part

Mingyu’s safe house—once just a sprawl of mismatched furniture and half-used equipment—is now a makeshift war room. Tables have been dragged together, boxes repurposed into makeshift desks, wires and monitors hooked into power grids and backup batteries. Satellite phones and burner lines hum quietly from one corner. The walls are lined with maps, a printed blueprint of Argos HQ taped alongside Lim’s Seoul office, red strings and pins ready to mark last known locations.

And at the heart of it all: an arsenal.

You and Seungcheol move slowly around the centrepiece—an open metal table now covered in weapons. Rifles. Semi-autos. Silencers. Flashbangs. Knives of every shape and finish. Armoured vests, gloves, scopes, smoke bombs. Clips and magazines neatly sorted by size. The smell of metal and oil clings to everything.

He holds up a new M1911 with a low whistle.

“Wonwoo really stocked you up,” you murmur, brushing your fingers across the matte finish of a karambit.

“Yeah,” Seungcheol says, inspecting the sightline. “He’s had a shopping problem ever since Rio. Said it’s cheaper than therapy.”

You smirk faintly and continue checking the gear. Methodical. Quiet. Efficient. Neither of you speaks much, but you don’t need to. There’s a rhythm to it—familiar. Rehearsed. Like slipping back into who you were long before this whole mess started.

Meanwhile, across the room, Reina is hunched over her own setup. She arrived just before sunrise, lugging in two black military-grade cases full of tech. Laptops, signal jammers, USB injectors, three satellite uplinks, and something you’re pretty sure was once a military drone antenna.

She hadn’t knocked—just used the side code to get in. You didn't bother asking her how she knew it.

Mingyu’s been following her around ever since.

“You know,” he says, peering over her shoulder as she boots up her third laptop. “I already had a full system here. Secure grid, scrambled line, full backup redundancy. You didn’t need to drag your entire tech department here.”

Reina doesn’t even look at him. “Yours were outdated.”

His mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again. “Outdated?!” he scoffs. “Excuse you, this setup got us through the Jakarta op.”

“Exactly.”

Mingyu rolls his eyes, but a grin pulls at the edge of his mouth. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” she replies sweetly, “you still dream of me.”

He clears his throat at Reina’s comment and turns back to his cables, ears slightly turning pink.

You and Seungcheol exchange a glance. You don’t comment.

Instead, you turn toward the weaponry again.

“This is yours,” Seungcheol mutters, holding out a matte black Glock with a suppressor. “The grip should fit your hand.”

You take it and weigh it in your palm. “Perfect.”

He checks the mag, then hands you two more. “Loaded with subsonics. Just in case.”

You nod and pocket them. “You keeping the SIG?”

“Wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

Everything else—body armour, tactical pouches, spare knives—you both split evenly. There’s no talk of splitting up now. Only of surviving. Only of fighting.

A beep cuts through the room. Then another.

Reina taps a few keys on her main laptop. “We’re live.”

The screens fill—one by one—with pixelated faces.

The girls appear on the left monitor: Samira, Bora, Jiwoo. All in different rooms, different countries, some underground. Some clearly on the move. But they’re alive.

The boys fill the right screen: Woozi, Joshua, and Wonwoo.

Hyerim is the last to appear. She’s pale and looks like she hasn’t slept in two days. Woozi, on the screen beside her, still seems reluctant—but he’s here.

Everyone watches you.

You and Seungcheol stand in front of the cameras, side by side. Calm. Focused. The tension in the room is nearly unbearable.

Then Samira lets out a breath. “Holy shit. You’re alive.”

“I didn’t think I’d actually see your face again,” Jiwoo says, trying to smile, though her voice shakes.

“Same here,” Joshua says from the other side. “We’ve been locked down. No signals. No reassurances. Just... radio silence.”

You nod once. “We didn’t know who made it either. Not until now.”

Seungcheol steps forward. “We’re glad you’re here. All of you.”

He pauses, then continues. “Here’s what we know. Argos and Lim & Associates—”

“—have been playing us all along,” you finish. “Feeding each other contracts, setting us up to compete for bigger bounties. Splitting profits while turning us into pawns.”

A wave of muttering breaks out across the feeds.

“They tried to kill us to tie up loose ends,” Seungcheol says. “They failed.”

“But not for lack of trying,” you add grimly. “They’ll keep coming. And you know what that means.”

“It means we’re next,” Bora says softly.

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Then Samira speaks. “So what do we do? We scatter? Lay low? Build new identities?”

“Start hitting back?” Woozi suggests. “They want a war; we give them one.”

“We go public,” Jiwoo says. “Leak what we know to the international market. Force their hand. They won’t survive the exposure.”

Everyone talks over each other—ideas flying in every direction, voices rising with panic or adrenaline. Reina tries to corral them. Mingyu scowls and leans toward his mic.

You hold up your hand. “Enough.” Everyone quiets.

You take a step closer to the screen, eyes scanning each and every face—some scared, some angry, some simply tired.

“I know everyone has ideas,” you say. “But we need a plan. We can’t move blindly. Because each and every one of you is now at risk. And I’m telling you right now—I’m not sacrificing a single one of you to end this. Not now. Not ever.”

Silence.

Then Bora speaks, hesitant. “Then... maybe we break up. Cut contact completely. And you two? Go separate. Give yourselves better odds.”

Seungcheol answers before you can. “Mingyu already said the same thing.” He glances at you, then looks directly at the screen. “But it’s not happening.”

You step in, firm. “We’re not running.”

A long silence.

Then Hyerim’s voice cuts through it like a match-striking flame.

“Then let’s figure out a way to end this.”

The war room comes alive.

Monitors hum. Fingers fly across keyboards. Maps are spread across the walls with satellite feeds casting flickering lights over weapons and half-drunk coffee mugs. Mingyu and Reina hover on opposite ends of the room, syncing laptops, pinning strings between photos, placing red dots on global maps, and drawing lines connecting targets, histories, and lies.

It’s like HQ—only grittier.

Samira calls out coordinates from her safehouse in Morocco, eyes glued to her private satellite feed. “Director Oh just pinged in Bucharest. He’s changed IDs three times since the system crash but the credit trail doesn’t lie.”

Joshua’s already working on the second. “Mr. Kwon used one of his shell companies to rent a private jet from Rome three hours ago. Flight plan had a false lead to London but I think he diverted.” His screen blinks. “He’s in Dubai.”

“That’s two,” Seungcheol mutters beside you. He’s standing with his arms folded over his chest, tension in every line of his body. “What about Lim? Or my boss?”

You shake your head, eyes moving across the chaotic network of images and data Reina has laid out. “Too clean. Nothing in her old aliases. Nothing recent.”

“Same for Director Kang,” Woozi chimes in reluctantly. “If he’s off-grid, he’s really off-grid. No comms. No cards. He vanished.”

“They’re ghosts,” Hyerim says, frowning into her screen. “Exactly like they trained us to be.”

Seungcheol exhales through his nose. “Then we think like ghosts.”

You push away from the table and begin pacing.

“Madame Lim always had a thing for private residencies in Luxembourg. Kwon once mentioned her ties to an old estate there. Untraceable ownership but still under her maiden alias. She called it her ‘shadow base’.”

“Wait—” Jiwoo perks up from behind her camera. “You mean the one with the mirrored façade?”

You nod slowly. “That’s the one.”

“Kang has that obsession with old nuclear command bunkers,” Seungcheol murmurs beside you. “Always said he’d retire into one. He’s got property in the rural mountains between China and Laos.”

Wonwoo immediately types. “I’ve got a heat signal matching that description. Subterranean. Shielded comms. I’d bet on it.”

“Add it to the board,” you say.

One by one, the map fills in.

Red string now links Director Oh to Bucharest. Kwon to a luxury Dubai apartment. Madame Lim to Luxembourg. Director Kang to a mountain facility on the China-Laos border. Four red Xs appear in real time.

It’s already dark outside. You can see your reflection in the glass. Exhaustion pulls at your features, but no one slows down.

Then Woozi finally says what everyone’s thinking.

“So now what? We found them. What do we do next?”

Seungcheol’s voice is calm. Final.

“We kill them. All of them.”

You look at him, but don’t stop him. You feel the same.

But Hyerim shakes her head. “Killing them is one thing,” she says. “But it doesn’t erase the bounties. What are you gonna do, kill every mercenary that comes after you, too?”

A tense silence. You feel the weight of it settle in your chest.

Then Joshua jumps in. “Can’t we just remove the bounties once they’re dead? Wipe the system?”

Reina cuts him off. “Not that simple. They were posted through a specialised encrypted program. Those bounties require live biometric confirmation from the original posters to cancel.”

“So you’re saying we need to access that program,” Wonwoo says, leaning forward.

Reina nods once. “Not just access. We need them alive, long enough to scan in and delete the data.”

Mingyu groans, tossing a stress ball up and catching it again. “Damn. Who the hell built something like that?”

Silence.

Then Reina mutters quietly, “I did.” All heads turn.

You sigh, rubbing your eyes. “Of course you did.”

Seungcheol laughs under his breath. Just once.

You straighten, moving closer to the table. “Reina—can you track the origin posts? Figure out who initiated the bounties?”

She nods, fingers flying across her keyboard. “Give me a second...”

Everyone waits, watching the screen update line by line.

“Got it.” Her voice sharpens. “Your bounty, Gwisin—was posted by Madame Lim. S.Coups’? Director Kang.”

Seungcheol lets out a breath through his teeth. “Then we kill Oh and Kwon first. Quietly. Cut their links. Secure the network. Then we go for the real kill.”

“We have to be fast,” you add. “Coordinated. No screw-ups. The moment one of them gets wind, they’ll vanish for good or trigger dead-man protocols.”

The team nods.

Then Jiwoo’s voice cuts through the line—softer, but clear.

“Yeah... but even if you manage to find them, somehow disable the bounties and kill them...You two can’t take on every gun in the field already on the way to you. Not alone.”

You glance at Seungcheol, jaw tight. He’s thinking it too.

The silence stretches.

Then Samira speaks.

“What if we give the mercs something else to chase?”

Everyone turns to her.

You frown. “What do you mean?”

Samira leans in closer to her camera. “I’ve been tracking Jackal on the side. He’s still alive. Ricardo has him in one of his desert compounds. Hidden, but not unreachable.”

You freeze. Your mind starts spinning.

“Wait,” you say. “Reina, Mingyu—can you check if the original Jackal bounty is still live? The twelve million one?”

They’re already typing.

Mingyu shakes his head. “It’s dormant. Was put on hold after you both missed the retrieval.”

Seungcheol speaks then. “Can you reactivate it?”

Reina nods. “That bounty wasn’t encrypted. Global market. I can make it live again.”

Your voice is calm. Calculated. “Then do it. That should drag most mercenaries away from us. Especially if we leak intel about his location.”

Everyone falls silent again.

Then Seungcheol looks up. His voice is low.

“Let’s go to work.”

Bucharest is colder than expected.

You ride in on a black motorcycle, wind snapping at your borrowed jacket, face tucked beneath the visor of a matte helmet. The sun is just beginning to dip past the skyline, turning the haze of the city into a sheet of golden shadow. You keep to the alleys. Avoid open roads. Your fake ID has already been scanned twice, and thanks to Mingyu’s surprisingly competent alias work, no alarms were triggered.

You’ll file that under surprising things you’re not commenting on.

Much like the fact that Reina never left his safe house.

She’s now patching in from his personal terminal.

Jiwoo, however, is in Athens, and operating her own satellite rig.

“Gwisin, target is stationary,” Reina’s voice says in your comms, sharp as ever. “Upper floor of the building at coordinates 46.7691, 23.5899. Minimal guards. Two confirmed exits.”

“Copy that,” you whisper, crouched behind the gun.

You’ve scoped this place earlier—ten hours ago, to be exact. Found your perch on the fifth floor, shattered window perfectly angled toward the balcony where Oh takes his evening smoke. You’ve lined your sniper rifle up and calibrated for wind, trajectory, and velocity.

Now all you need is the target.

“Any movement yet?” you murmur.

Jiwoo responds. “Nothing yet. He’s still inside.”

You wait.

Time passes slowly in moments like these. The only rhythm is your breath, the slow clench and flex of your fingers around the rifle, and the occasional murmured updates from the girls. You watch out for Oh through your scope—his reflection in the window. Reading. Moving papers.

Then—footsteps.

You freeze.

Your breath stills, and your hands lift off the rifle slowly.

The building is supposed to be empty. You were thorough.

You immediately abandon your post, sliding silently back into the darkness behind you. You blend into it, breath stilling, spine flush to the wall.

Jiwoo’s voice crackles in your ear.

“He’s heading to the door. Looks like he’s prepping to move. You’ll have a clear—”

“I’ve got company,” you whisper, tight and low. “Hold your positions. Do not lose track of Oh.”

There’s a pause.

Then Reina says, “Copy. We’re holding.”

You draw your karambit.

Light floods faintly from beneath the hallway door.

Three shadows. Boots. You clock their cadence, their height, their coordination.

The Vasile triplets.

Mercenaries-for-hire. Romanian. Silent hitters. Raised together. Kill together. And now, they think they’re here to kill you.

The first one enters, rifle low. His head turns. That’s all the opening you need. You move like the wind, slicing your karambit clean across his throat. He drops without a sound.

The second shouts, raising his gun, but you’re already behind the nearest wall. You draw the silenced pistol at your hip and shoot once—chest shot. He stumbles, gasps, drops.

The third one charges you—clever, hand-to-hand. You duck his swing and slam your elbow into his ribcage. He knees you in the thigh. Pain pulses through your leg, but you keep your balance. You twist around him and slam your boot into his kneecap. He falls. You follow him to the floor and drive your blade through his neck, slicing upwards.

Silence falls again.

Blood pools quietly between broken cracks of flooring.

Then—

“Gwisin,” Jiwoo’s voice crackles, “Oh’s outside. He’s walking.”

You groan under your breath. “Of course he is.”

You sprint for the window. Your rifle is abandoned. So are the bodies.

You swing your leg out onto the fire escape and slide down the cold metal, the sound of your boots thudding against the wall as you descend. At the base, you toss the ladder down and emerge into an alley, breathing hard.

Your hand slips into your side pocket. A small black GPS device flashes with Oh’s blinking signal.

You speak into the comms. “Jiwoo, Reina—I need a city redirect. Get him into the northeast corner. I’ll meet him there.”

Reina clicks into action. “Hacking local lights now. You’ve got two minutes before I trigger.”

“Give me three,” you respond.

You’re walking fast now, weaving through market streets and narrow alleys, always a shadow. You guide Reina through every junction.

Traffic halts suddenly at your command. Oh is forced off his original path.

He walks. Alone. No security. You smile.

“He’s close,” you murmur. “Jiwoo, clear?”

“Clear,” she answers. “No cameras. No civilians. You’re good.”

You double back through a quieter route, entering the side street from the far end. Oh is still walking, checking his phone; his pace is fast, but he looks distracted.

You drop your eyes, tuck your blade into your sleeve, and walk straight toward him. Thirty steps. Twenty. Ten.

He passes you.

You spin, arm over his shoulder, blade slicing deep and fast across his throat in one clean arc.

His blood sprays silently across the brick walls. He collapses without a sound.

You wipe the blade on your pants, spin it once on your finger, and slip it into your jacket.

“It’s done,” you whisper into your comm.

“Confirmed,” Jiwoo replies after a beat, voice hushed.

Reina exhales. “One down, three to go.”

You walk away without looking back.

The first head has rolled.

Dubai is a city that refuses to sleep.

Glass towers claw at the sky, each one gleaming with its own brand of opulence. Gold trims, velvet ropes, and secrets buried under mirrored floors. For a man who wants to disappear, it’s a living nightmare.

Which is, of course, why Mr. Kwon chose it.

Seungcheol adjusts the cuff of his suit as he walks through the private entrance of Elara, one of Dubai’s most exclusive high-end clubs, his steps confident and deliberate. A different kind of camouflage. He’s not invisible here—not in this white-pressed designer shirt and sleek black jacket. He doesn’t blend in. He owns the room.

“Mingyu?” he murmurs, the comm in his ear catching his voice beneath the music.

“You’re clear. VIP is in the left wing. Same booth as his last visit. And yeah, Kwon’s already six drinks in,” Mingyu answers from the other end, back at their makeshift satellite station in his safe house.

“Woozi?”

“Confirming no other threats have pinged in your area. You’re solo,” comes the clipped reply. Good.

Seungcheol adjusts his stance slightly as he moves toward the main floor. The lights pulse golden. Music throbs under his shoes like a second heartbeat. The crowd is decadent—diamonds and champagne, cleavage and cologne. And in the centre of it all sits Mr. Kwon.

VIP booth. Surrounded by women.

Seungcheol signals a passing waiter and flashes a smile. “Your finest bottle of Boërl & Kroff. Send it to the gentleman in the booth. No note.”

The waiter nods, takes the cash, and slips away. Seconds later, Kwon is laughing and downing champagne straight from the bottle, frothy and bubbling down his chin. The women cheer; one of them straddles his thigh. Seungcheol watches it all unfold from across the room, a quiet predator sipping a scotch he’ll never finish.

You cross his mind unbidden. The rifle in your hands. The quiet precision of your kills. He wonders—Have you done it yet? Are you safe?

He shakes the thought away.

Focus.

Time ticks forward slowly. Kwon grows drunker, heavier-lidded. Then, finally, he rises—stumbling slightly, laughing, waving the women off.

Bathroom break.

Seungcheol downs his drink and follows.

The hallway is dimly lit. Long. Opulent in design but silent. The door to the bathroom swings open, and Seungcheol slips in a few moments later.

Inside, Kwon is already at the sink. Washing his hands like he’s preparing for a goddamn sermon. He’s humming.

When he looks up, he catches Seungcheol’s reflection in the mirror.

The moment of recognition is quick. Seungcheol is quicker.

His arm wraps around Kwon’s neck, cutting off the air, holding tight. Kwon thrashes once, twice, tries to claw at him, tries to scream—but it’s too late. His body slumps, and Seungcheol lowers him to the tile.

“Goodnight,” he mutters coldly.

The second the body hits the floor, Seungcheol straightens his suit, slicks his hair back with one sweep, and checks his reflection in the mirror. His muscles strain again. It’s almost poetic now.

He turns toward the exit. Left leads back to the party. Right leads out.

He turns right.

He only makes it ten feet before a gold chain lashes around his ankle like a striking snake. He hits the floor hard, forearms slamming into tile, the wind knocked from his chest.

The chain yanks.

He rolls—just in time.

A figure charges at him with the elegance of a dancer and the savagery of a cobra. Full force, she lands on top of him.

They wrestle—hands, knees, elbows. She’s fast. Precise. Smiling.

“Hello, darling,” she purrs, her accent unmistakable. “Still breaking hearts?”

“Varsha,” he growls. “Didn’t expect you to come crawling back.”

She slams her fist into his ribs.

He kicks upward, rolling her off. They separate, both springing to their feet at once—Seungcheol doing a clean kick-up, landing squarely in a fighter’s stance.

She twirls the chain in one hand. Her snake bracelet, coiled and ready.

“Heard you were married now,” she says, circling. “Shame.”

“Shame you don’t know when to quit,” he mutters.

They lunge at the same time.

She swings the chain—he ducks, grabs the end mid-air, and yanks.

She flies forward, caught off guard, and he spins her into the wall. Her head cracks against a mirror.

She recovers. Slashes at his face. He blocks with his forearm, the chain cutting into his skin. He counters.

A blade slides from the inside of his sleeve—his last resort.

He plunges it deep into her gut before she can wrench away. Her breath hitches. Blood trickles out of her mouth.

He leans in, twisting the knife once before pulling it out and stabbing it in again.

“Should’ve stayed a one-night stand.” She collapses.

The comms buzz in his ear, and Seungcheol finally registers the noise.

“Hyung—what the hell was that noise?” Woozi demands.

Seungcheol breathes hard, blood dripping from his hand. He wipes the blade on his pants.

“Target’s down,” he says. “And so is the unexpected company.”

“Tell me that wasn’t Varsha?” Mingyu asks, incredulous.

“Yeah.”

“Holy shit.”

Seungcheol crouches beside the body for one second, then stands.

His suit is wrinkled, blood-streaked. His forearm stings. But the mission’s done.

The second head has rolled.

“Director Kwon is confirmed dead,” Reina says, her voice in your earpiece over the static of the line.

You’re crouched on the edge of a building rooftop in Bucharest, the skyline painted grey behind you, your breath cooling in the early evening air.

“Seungcheol did it in a club bathroom—clean choke. No witnesses, no trail,” she continues.

You exhale, tension loosening from your shoulders, the adrenaline of your own mission slowly bleeding out of your system.

“Good,” you reply, voice soft.

“I’ve just updated your travel packet. New alias, new flight plan. Small private jet’s waiting for you twenty clicks out of town. That should land you in Luang Namtha before midnight. From there, quad into the jungle—Seungcheol’s safehouse is mapped.”

“That where we regroup?”

“Yeah. Wonwoo’s sending another weapons crate to the site tomorrow. You’ll need it before you move on Kang.”

“Copy that,” you murmur. “I’ll move soon.”

You’re about to kill the comm when you hear it.

A low voice in the background—Mingyu’s, unmistakably.

“I can’t believe Varsha, of all people, showed up.”

You freeze, head tilting slightly.

“Kind of crazy that she’s still breathing after all these years. Woozi, remember her? That whole mess in Tangier? And now she tried to choke Seungcheol in a Dubai nightclub? Crazy bitch.”

A pause.

Then Mingyu again, voice casual, joking—too joking.

“Guess some flings really don’t take rejection well. But at least Cheol’s still got it, huh?”

Your blood runs cold. Then hot.

Varsha.

You’ve heard the name before. Not often, not clearly—It’s been passed around the underground like an urban legend: exotic, lethal, likes to strangle her targets with some kind of metal chain disguised as jewellery. A merc. A black widow.

And apparently, your husband’s slept with her.

Your jaw clenches.

You hang up the call with Reina before she can hear your tone shift.

It takes hours to get through immigration, over the Laos border, and deeper into the jungle. Your boots are caked in water and mud by the time you reach the last marker—an overgrown path with an old iron sign buried beneath moss and vines. The GPS flashes green in your hand.

Safehouse reached.

Your heartbeat picks up as you walk forward past the thick of the trees. You push through the foliage, parting vines and leaves until you finally see it—an old concrete structure, half-buried in the landscape but clearly maintained.

And standing in front of it, looking far too calm and far too attractive in a grey tactical shirt and jungle-worn cargo pants—Seungcheol.

His eyes light up the second he sees you.

He takes a step forward, and you feel your chest tighten, all that tension from the last few days crumbling in an instant.

God, he’s alive.

He walks right up to you, takes your face in his hands, and kisses you—hard.

It’s frantic, hungry, grateful. All heat and breath and want. You melt into it for a second, eyes fluttering shut, fingers curling into his shirt.

And then—

The name echoes again.

Varsha.

You snap out of it, pushing him back with one hand to his chest.

And then you slap him. Hard.

“Ow—!” he groans, jerking his head. “What the hell was that for?”

You don’t even let him recover.

You shove him again, your words tumbling out like bullets. “Who is Varsha, huh? And how long have you been sleeping with her?”

He blinks. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Choi—” You hit his chest. “Who is she? When did you sleep with her? Was it before the wedding or after? The last time you were in Dubai? How long has this been going on?!”

“Okay, wow—” he starts, reaching for you.

You slap his hands away.

“You smug, lying, arrogant—God, you’re unbelievable. You brag to your friends like some frat boy, and then just... what? Hide it from me? Your wife?”

“Babe—”

“No!” You push him again. “Don’t you ‘babe’ me. And don’t touch me. Not after this. I’ll find that bitch and kill her myself. Right after I kill you.”

He tries again, grabbing for your arms.

You swat at him like a feral cat.

“Jesus, okay, stop—” he groans, catching your wrists and holding them in place. “Stop—just—stop hitting me for one second—”

“Why? You can’t take it? Was she better? Did she use the—”

He lets out a laugh then, loud and full-bodied.

And then he pulls you flush against him, hands still locked around your waist, gripping you tight enough you can’t wriggle free.

“You don't have to kill her,” he says, voice rough with amusement. “I already did.”

You freeze.

“...what?”

His mouth quirks. “She came at me in the club. Chained my ankle. Thought she could collect my bounty. I stabbed her. Right through the gut. She’s dead.”

You stare at him, blinking.

He raises an eyebrow. “What? You didn’t think I was out there making out with her, did you?”

You open your mouth. Close it. Look away, completely mortified.

He smirks.

“Oh my God,” you mutter, avoiding his gaze. “I’m such an idiot.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just tilts your chin up with one hand, waiting until your eyes meet his again.

And instead of teasing you further, he leans down—close enough that his breath ghosts against your lips.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” he murmurs.

You scoff. “I’m not jealous.”

“You literally said you’d kill her.”

“That’s not the same thing—”

He laughs again.

You roll your eyes but don’t move away. Not even when he leans in, brushing his lips over yours with a feather-light touch. Not even when he whispers against your mouth.

“Trust me, baby, you’re the only one I want.”

You sigh, letting your forehead press to his.

“Good,” you whisper back.

And then he kisses you again.

The second Seungcheol’s mouth slants over yours again, something raw and almost reckless rises between you. Whatever apology you didn’t say for your blow-up burns off your tongue as your teeth sink into his lower lip instead. His hissed inhale at the sting makes something low in your stomach coil and thrum.

He pulls you closer like he’s starved. But you’re the one who can’t get enough.

The world narrows to your tongues fighting for dominance, teeth clashing and mouths bruising. You don’t even register the door closing behind you, or your boots tracking mud into the safe house. Seungcheol blindly stumbles back into the small main room, dragging you with him, hands gripping your hips like he needs the grounding.

You hit a wall. A stack of crates topples. Neither of you flinch.

He chuckles against your mouth when it crashes to the floor.

“Careful,” he murmurs, breathless. “You’re gonna wreck the place.”

You bite his bottom lip again. “I don’t care.”

Another kiss. Another half-step, and suddenly, he falls into a chair, dragging you with him.

You straddle his lap without hesitation, your thighs bracketing his hips, and your clothed core presses against the thick, growing bulge in his pants. His hands slide up your sides beneath your shirt, rough and warm, and you grind down on him with purpose. He groans into your mouth at the friction—one hand tightening on your waist while the other fists the hem of your shirt and yanks it up and over your head.

You break the kiss just long enough to let it go, arms flying overhead, before your lips crash back to his. Your hands are already at his belt, clumsily undoing the clasp, fingers fumbling with impatience as his hands work to undo your bra.

His mouth trails from your lips down your neck. “Jesus. You’re—”

“Shut up.”

He laughs. “Yes, ma’am.”

You finally get his belt open, unzipping his pants while he kisses along the curve of your jaw and down your collarbone as he pushes your bra straps down. His hips buck slightly when your hand slides inside the waistband of his boxers, brushing against his hard length. You lean back, just enough to push his chest down into the chair.

“Don’t move,” you mutter, fingers splayed on his sternum. “And don’t touch.”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow at your warning but obliges. You slide off his lap, dropping to your knees between his legs. His eyes darken instantly.

“Baby, what—”

“Shut. Up.”

You slap his hands away when he tries to touch you, and he groans, watching as you reach for his waistband and tug everything down and off—pants, underwear, all at once. His cock springs free, flushed and thick and already hard, bobbing slightly against his abdomen.

You don’t tease. Not yet.

You lean in and envelop him in your mouth.

His strangled groan echoes around the room as your mouth closes over the head of his cock, wet and hot and needy. You drag your tongue slowly along the underside of his shaft, taking your time, then hollow your cheeks and suck him deeper, feeling the stretch in your jaw and the way his body tenses instantly.

“Fuck—” he chokes out, hands fisting the edge of the chair. “Holy shit.”

You bob your head, tongue swirling, alternating suction with slow drags, and soon he’s groaning again, hips jerking subtly up into your mouth before he forces himself to still.

You take your time—too much time.

Your hand joins your ministrations, wrapping around the base of his cock, pumping slowly while your mouth works the head. You stroke in rhythm with your lips, twisting, flicking your tongue, pulling back to suck hard at the tip before going deep again.

“God, you’re gonna kill me,” he mutters, one hand falling into your hair despite your warning.

You let him tug, guide, just enough to make your scalp sting.

He starts panting, the tension in his thighs ratcheting up.

“Baby—shit—I’m close—”

You immediately pull off. He gasps at the sudden loss of contact, body twitching at the near-orgasm, hands still in your hair.

You look at him as you start stroking him again—slow, deliberate, not letting him tip over.

His head thunks back against the chair. “You’re fucking evil.”

You smirk. “And yet, you married me.”

He groans, head turning to the side like he’s trying to focus on anything else. But it doesn’t help. Your hand never stops. But it’s not enough. Not fast enough, not tight enough. Minutes tick by. You go down again.

He jerks up so fast you nearly choke. Your lips wrap around his tip again, and you find a new rhythm—suck, stroke, lick, repeat.

He’s shaking when he groans, “Gonna come—fuck—”

You stop. Again.

“Fucking hell!” he barks, hands flying to the armrests.

You glance up with innocent eyes. “Something wrong, baby?”

“Don’t make me—” He grits his teeth, cheeks flushed and body glistening with sweat. “Do not make me beg.”

You smirk, pumping him once—twice—slowly. He groans, head falling forward. “You’re gonna pay for this—”

“Shut up and take it.”

The third time you take him in your mouth, you don’t wait for the warning.

You edge him again, stopping just as his thighs start to tremble and the base of his spine tenses in that telltale way. You pull off. Again.

A string of saliva connects your mouth to the tip of his cock.

He’s not groaning anymore. He’s whining. Your big, bad assassin husband is actually whining.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, eyes blown wide with desperation. “Please.”

You tilt your head. “Please what?” He glares. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” You stroke him just once, and he groans. “Be in control?”

His jaw flexes. He looks at you like he wants to throttle you—or fuck you so hard the walls come down.

You lean in close again, lips brushing the tip.

“You’re punishing me, aren’t you?” he rasps. “For Dubai. For Varsha.”

You lick your lips. “Maybe.”

“You’re a fucking menace.”

“But you love it.”

He laughs through a moan. You smile, letting your tongue flick out—just enough to taste him again. And then, you sit back on your heels. Completely still. You don’t touch him. Don’t kiss him. Don’t move.

He stares at you, furious and hard and on the brink of madness.

You rise slowly to your feet, running your thumb across your bottom lip and gathering the saliva and precum gathered at the corner of your mouth.

You lick it clean, smiling.

You don’t expect him to move that fast.

One second you’re still standing in front of him, pleased with yourself, watching Seungcheol’s cock throb with need between his thighs… and the next, he’s out of the chair.

Before you can so much as flinch or retaliate, you’re airborne.

“Hey—” you yelp as he picks you up, manhandling you like you weigh nothing at all, and throws you across the room. Your back hits the mattress with a heavy oomph, limbs bouncing slightly on the bed as the air is knocked from your lungs.

You manage to suck in a breath before his body crashes down on top of yours, caging you in.

“You think you’re funny?” he growls lowly, his nose brushing yours as he pins your wrists above your head. You grin. “Maybe.”

He kisses you like he wants to eat you alive.

The heat from earlier flares again, but it’s darker now, fiercer. His mouth travels fast—biting down on your jaw, your throat, the sensitive spot beneath your ear. You moan, arching beneath him, and he laughs against your skin.

You feel his hand on your chest before you register the slap—his palm hitting your breast hard enough to sting, then immediately squeezing it after.

“Fuck—” you whimper, legs twitching around his hips.

His mouth closes around your nipple in response—hot, wet, rough—and he sucks hard, alternating with his teeth. You cry out, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“Still feeling bratty?” he mutters against your breast.

He doesn’t give you the time to retort—instead, he grabs your hair, yanking your head back to bare your throat, and bites down on your neck instead. The sharp jolt sends sparks straight between your legs.

Your pants are ripped off you in the next heartbeat—tugged down so roughly they take your panties with them, leaving you sprawled naked and gasping on the bed.

He kisses his way down, leaving a trail of saliva and fire along your ribs, your stomach, and your hipbone.

When his mouth hovers over your soaked heat, your legs tremble. His breath ghosts over your core, and you meet his eyes, dark and ravenous, from between your thighs.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he says lowly, voice laced with mocking amusement. “Fingers? Mouth? Or cock?”

You blink, brain fogged with heat.

“What…?”

Seungcheol grins. “Tch. Thought so. Haven’t even touched you yet, and you’re already fucked out. You get to choose, baby. But choose wisely.” He leans closer, nose brushing your clit. “You’ll only get one.”

That finally snaps you out of it.

“Cock,” you whisper, voice hoarse and expectant.

He smirks. “Good choice.”

And then your world flips on its axis. Literally.

He grabs your thighs and flips you with a single motion. You shriek in surprise as you land on your stomach. He yanks you onto all fours.

“Cheol—!” you start, but he’s pushing your face into the mattress, his palm heavy against the back of your head.

“Shut up,” he mutters commandingly. “You asked for this.”

You feel his cock behind you—hard, hot, lined up with your weeping entrance—and then he’s inside you in one brutal, punishing thrust.

You cry out into the bedding, your fingers clawing at the sheets as he splits you open.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groans behind you, his hands bruising your hips.

He doesn’t give you time to adjust.

He starts pounding into you from behind, hips slamming against your ass with heavy, rhythmic force. The sound is obscene—skin on skin, your wetness, your gasps and his growls filling the tiny space.

You’re moaning, whining, helpless against the onslaught of his body.

Every thrust knocks the breath from your lungs. He spanks your ass hard once—then again—and again, until you let out a sob, only to moan even when his palm lands on you again.

Your core clenches wildly around him.

“Fuck— you’re gripping me like a vice,” he mutters, voice low and ragged. “You like this? Huh, baby? Like being used?”

You can only cry out ‘Yes’ in response.

When your legs begin to shake, he grabs your hair and yanks you upright—your back slamming against his chest, his cock still buried deep inside you.

“Open your mouth,” he orders, keeping his grip tight in your hair as his free hand slides in front of your face.

You do without hesitation. Two fingers slide past your lips—rubbing over your tongue, pressing down against it.

“Suck.”

You moan as you obey, your tongue swirling over his fingers, your mouth hot and desperate, sucking on his digits like you did his cock. When he’s satisfied, he pulls them free and slides them down—between your thighs, right to your clit.

You cry out when his slick fingers start rubbing fast, ruthless circles over your pulsing nub.

“Cheol— oh god—fuck—”

“Come on, baby,” he murmurs against your ear. “Come for me. Let me feel it.”

Your fingers dig into his arm as your orgasm suddenly crashes through you. It’s violent. Wild. And takes you by force. Your body locks, clenches, and trembles as the pressure explodes and pleasure rips through your nerves.

Seungcheol doesn’t stop.

He keeps thrusting, keeps circling your clit, keeps fucking you through it—overstimulation already setting in as you scream into the mattress.

He lets you fall forward again, and you collapse bonelessly, face down into the bed. He doesn’t stop. His hands grab your hips, holding you steady as he chases his own release.

He spanks your ass again, the sounds loud and lewd.

“Shit—fuck—fuck,” he growls, hips stuttering.

And then he spills inside you with a loud, broken groan.

Three more thrusts. Shallow. Slow. Making sure every drop stays buried deep. He finally pulls out, breath catching in his throat.

You’re wrecked. Soaked. Glistening. Barely able to move.

He flops down beside you, dragging your twitching body into his arms. You’re gasping, limbs limp, brain swimming—but a giggle bubbles out anyway.

“That was…” you pant, dazed. “Yeah. I should definitely rile you up more often.”

He groans playfully, burying his face into your neck. “Let’s not.”

The jungle is still sleeping when reality decides to wake you up.

The sharp buzz of his satellite phone on the nightstand and the soft, steady beeping from your GPS tracker lighting up beside the bed wake you both from your slumber. The haze of last night’s sweat-slicked limbs and tangled sheets is still warm on your skin, but the moment is gone as fast as it came. Instinct takes over.

Seungcheol grabs the sat phone and answers without hesitation. “Yeah?”

“It’s me,” Wonwoo says, gruff and casual as ever. “Shipment’s dropped. It’s in the clearing three clicks northeast of you. Sent the coordinates to your wife’s tracker.”

“She got it,” Seungcheol replies, throwing a quick glance at you as you nod.

“Good. Stay sharp out there,” Wonwoo mutters. “And… don’t die.”

Seungcheol breathes out. “Right back at you, Woo.”

Wonwoo disconnects, and just like that, the warmth of the bed, the afterglow—it all fades. You look at each other for a heartbeat, and then the switch flips.

Game time.

You both get dressed in practised silence. Vests. Gloves. Boots. Every movement is efficient. Clean. Sharp. Two ghosts suiting up for a kill.

Outside, the air is thick with jungle humidity. You follow Seungcheol as he rounds the side of the safe house, stepping over vines and damp earth until he crouches down and yanks off a heavy tarp.

Underneath it—well hidden—is a weathered military-grade jeep.

“Of course, you had this here,” you mutter, lips twitching slightly.

He grins as he gets in. “Had to leave myself a ride.”

You climb into the passenger seat, pulling your GPS forward. “Take the path north, then veer right at the ridge. The drop is just past the waterline clearing.”

The jeep lurches forward, engine snarling low and quiet, and you both fall into the tense stillness of the mission. Every branch that scrapes the side of the jeep, every call of birds overhead, every bump in the road—it all heightens your senses.

It doesn’t take long before you reach the clearing.

Seungcheol kills the engine, and the world goes eerily quiet except for the rustle of wind through leaves. You step out, weapons drawn, scanning your surroundings. Then you see it.

A dark metal crate sits just ahead, nestled in the grass like a gift from the gods.

Seungcheol breaks it open with a crowbar, and your eyes widen.

Wonwoo went off.

Inside the crate lies a small armoury. Sleek, matte-black rifles. Knives with ceramic edges. Ammo in every calibre. Smoke bombs. Blackout tech. Scoped pistols. Infrared sensors. Heat detectors. New comms gear. Suppressors.

“Damn,” you mutter, running your hand across a silencer. “This is better than Christmas.”

You both start suiting up—checking each item before adding it to your loadout. Sights calibrated. Knives balanced. Comms synced.

You’re just about to zip up your tactical vest when something catches your eye at the bottom of the crate.

A flash drive.

You pick it up. Silver casing with black marker on the side: XOXO, Reina.

Your eyebrows lift. “The hell is this?”

Seungcheol is already watching you, so he throws you his sat phone, and you dial Reina. She answers after three rings, sounding distinctly out of breath.

“Yeah—hello?”

You narrow your eyes. “...You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she replies too fast. “Totally fine. Just finished working out. What’s up?”

You stare into the jungle. “Got your gift.”

Silence.

Then Reina exhales. “Oh. Right. The drive.” Her voice shifts, businesslike. “That’s a virus I wrote to scramble Kang and Lim’s encrypted program. Once you’re in, it’ll override the signal.”

You glance at Seungcheol. “Define ‘in’.”

“As I mentioned, it uses biometric access,” Reina explains. “Voice, retinal, and fingerprint. The print scan is advanced—it monitors heart rate and body temp. If either spike, a fail-safe activates. It’s basically a dead man’s switch.”

Seungcheol groans behind you. “So… a walk in the park.”

Reina snorts. “You’ll have to get Kang to unlock the system without triggering any alarms. Once you’re in, insert the flash drive. It’ll spoof the signal to Lim—make it seem like the bounty’s still live on her end, but dead to the global market. She’ll never know.”

You blink. “That’s… impressive.”

“I know,” Reina says smugly.

You start to thank her, then pause—smirking slightly.

“You know,” you say smugly, “Next time, maybe think twice when you decide to “work out” again. And do it preferably after we’ve walked towards possible death.”

More silence.

Then a very quiet, “God, you’re creepy. Can’t hide shit from you.”

You laugh. “You’re not that subtle, Reina.”

“Whatever,” she mutters, but you can hear the faint smile in her voice. “Good luck. Don’t die.”

“Back at you.” You hang up.

When you turn around, Seungcheol’s watching you with a faint smirk.

“What?” you ask.

He shrugs. “Nothing. Just something about a pot and kettle.”

“I didn’t hear you complain last night.”

He chuckles at your statement, but it fades as the moment quiets.

Your eyes meet, and the atmosphere shifts. Reality settles like a weight on your shoulders.

It’s go time.

The sun rides high above the canopy by the time the wheels of the jeep crunch to a stop beneath the thick shadows of the jungle. You and Seungcheol sit in stillness for a moment, the low hum of the engine dying out as he kills the ignition. Birds call in the distance, muffled by the density of the leaves, and the air is heavy with anticipation.

“We’re close,” you murmur, checking your GPS. “About one klick northeast.”

He nods once, scanning the tree line. “We’ll go on foot from here. We park any closer; we risk setting off possible perimeter sensors.”

Without another word, you both exit the vehicle and disappear into the green.

The jungle is unforgiving—thick vines, hanging moss, and humidity clinging to your skin like a second suit. You pull a machete from your belt, and Seungcheol does the same, both of you slashing carefully through the underbrush, keeping your steps measured and soundless. There’s no conversation, just the rhythm of your shared breaths and blades, and the silent language spoken between trained killers.

After a short climb, you reach a ridge. It crests gently above a natural dip in the earth, and below it, spread across a cleared stretch of jungle floor, lies Kang’s compound.

Modern. Sleek. Built like a fortress with luxury trimmings—glass walls, solar panels, and a central structure acting as an office or control centre. It stands out in the wild like a dagger.

You drop to your stomach near the edge of the ridge, dragging your binoculars from your pack. Beside you, Seungcheol pulls out his own gear—infrared heat sensors, a laser rangefinder. You share what you see in low, practised whispers.

“Two snipers. North and southeast towers,” you murmur. “Both posted high, rifles trained toward the outer edge.”

“Got eyes on two more guards. Heavily armed, center-left of the courtyard near the entrance,” he adds. “Looks like they’re protecting the main path in.”

You tap the side of your lens, switching to thermal.

“Seven more, patrolling inside the compound. Standard rotation—seems like they’re on a ten-minute loop. Armed, but not alert.”

“Visual on Kang?”

You scan the second floor of the compound and freeze when you find the shadowed silhouette of a tall man, pacing across what appears to be an office.

“There,” you whisper, nudging Seungcheol. “Tall, wide shoulders. Movement pattern matches. Looks like he’s talking to someone—”

Seungcheol adjusts his lens. “Confirmed. That’s him.”

You nod and reach into your pack again, pulling out the scrambler. You power it on and set the frequency, watching as the blinking green light turns steady blue.

“Alarms scrambled. Cameras looped. We’ll have a twenty-minute window before their system reboots, and he realizes something’s off.”

“Plenty of time,” Seungcheol replies, cocking your rifle and attaching the silencer and balancing it on a tripod.

You both lie flat on the ridge, shoulder to shoulder. You take the snipers. He watches for movement.

“North tower first,” you whisper.

You adjust the sight, take a breath, and squeeze the trigger. The silencer reduces the crack to a faint hiss, and the sniper in the north tower drops like a ragdoll. One down.

You shift slightly. “Southeast tower.”

Another shot. Another body slumps, this time into the rail, his body tumbling quietly over the edge into the brush.

“Clear,” you mutter. “I’ll move. You take east. I’ll go west.”

Seungcheol nods, already sliding down the hill.

You stay behind a moment longer, disassembling your rifle and pocketing the scrambler. Then you’re on your feet, slipping through the trees silently.

You move fast and low.

By the time you reach the outer edge of the compound, Seungcheol has already taken out the two guards near the courtyard. You spot their bodies tucked neatly behind a stone wall, blood blooming silently across their shirts. You nod to yourself and slip around the west side, coming up behind the greenhouse wing. A guard steps out to smoke. You waste no time.

Karambit to his throat. A gurgled gasp. You pull him into the shadows, wipe the blade, and move on.

Another guard rounds the corner, humming to himself. You take him down in two swift moves—elbow to the windpipe, blade to the kidney. He falls in a twitch.

Inside, the compound is eerily silent. The scrambler continues to work wonders—no alarms, no flickers of suspicion from the guards, still unaware they’re being hunted.

You and Seungcheol clear the floors like ghosts. He moves swiftly on the east side, the occasional thud of a body hitting the tile filtering through your comms. You press into the south corridor, slicing through two more men and dragging them into an empty bathroom.

With every guard down, every hallway cleared, the silence grows heavier. Anticipation coils tighter in your gut.

Finally, you reach the top floor.

And just like that—you’re standing at Kang’s office door.

Seungcheol rounds the corner from the other direction, his face slick with sweat, blood spatters on his cheek, but his eyes sharp. He meets your gaze, and you both press flat against either side of the door. You nod once to each other.

Seungcheol opens the door with a silent push, and you toss a smoke bomb inside.

The hiss of the release is immediate, followed by a fast bloom of dense, grey smoke that overtakes the pristine mahogany of his luxury office. The desk disappears, the floor vanishes beneath haze, and you hear the sound of a chair scraping back sharply.

“What the—?!” Kang’s voice barks in confusion.

You slip inside, silent and focused. You can hear Kang’s movements: stumbling, coughing, his shoes thudding heavily against the floor as he tries to orient himself. There’s a crash—he’s knocked something off his desk—and then a shuffle of panic.

Then silence.

Until the feeling of a cold, steely barrel of a gun chamber touches his forehead.

“Don’t move,” Seungcheol says, voice calm, firm, and ice-sharp.

He freezes.

“Seungcheol?” Kang rasps through the smoke.

Your figure melts from the shadows behind him like a ghost. Your karambit is back in your hand, its curved blade cold and gleaming. You press it to the side of Kang’s throat.

He stiffens instantly.

Your voice is quiet and cold, the edge of your breath brushing his ear. “Hello, Kang. Miss us?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathes out a rough laugh, half-amused, half-appalled. “You two have really lost your minds.”

He tries to move, but you press the blade a hair deeper. A single drop of blood runs down his neck.

He barks another laugh. “The two biggest targets on the global kill list walk right into my compound. I should be flattered. Or furious.”

Seungcheol says nothing, only pressing the gun harder to his forehead.

“I underestimated you, Seungcheol. I knew you were soft, but this? Playing Bonnie and Clyde with your little wife? How’s it feel, huh? Always in her shadow?”

Seungcheol’s eyes narrow. He’s still as stone, but the way his jaw clenches tells you exactly how hard he’s biting back the need to pull the trigger.

Seungcheol finally speaks, voice low, cold. “It feels like I married the only person worth trusting in this goddamn world. And the fact you’re scared of her proves it.”

You smirk.

Leaning closer, you whisper, “Let’s see if we can keep you calm enough to survive the next few minutes, shall we?”

Kang glares. “What do you want?”

“Access,” you say simply. “To your program.”

He scoffs. “You think I’m going to just hand it over?”

You press the karambit harder into the tender skin beneath his jaw, a steady stream of blood oozing from the tip piercing his skin. “No. You’re going to walk us through it. And if you fuck around—if you even flinch the wrong way—you’ll die before the failsafe ever gets a chance to go off.”

Kang huffs through his nose, but walks to the desk with your blade still at his throat. Seungcheol stays close by, his gun never wavering. Kang’s fingers tremble slightly as he wakes up the terminal. The light from the monitor casts strange shadows across his face as he clears his throat and accesses the program.

“Director Kang Hojin,” he states, firm and loud. “Override sequence Omega Black, authorisation Sigma-One-Seven-Delta.”

The system chimes.

Voice scan accepted.

He places his hand on the scanner. Another chime.

Fingerprint accepted.

Then comes the retinal scan. He leans forward towards the webcam. The screen buzzes.

Access denied. Retinal match not found.

Your heart stutters. Seungcheol’s grip on his gun tightens.

Kang lifts his head with a smug look. “Oops.”

You grab his shoulder and force him back down. “Do it again. Don’t blink.”

Kang exhales sharply through his nose and leans forward again. This time, he holds perfectly still.

Retinal scan accepted.

Access granted.

Relief floods you, but you shove it down. No room for error now.

“Bounty logs,” Seungcheol says.

Kang navigates the system with practised fingers, moving through encrypted folders. “Here. This is what you want.”

You reach into your belt and pull out the flash drive. Kang’s eyes flicker to it.

“Plug it in,” Seungcheol says. You do.

The second the drive locks in, the screen flashes. Code scrolls, long strings of green bleeding across black. The virus is doing its job.

“You idiots have no idea what you’ve just done,” Kang growls. “You think Lim won’t find this? You think she didn’t plan for this?”

You say nothing. Seungcheol watches the screen. Progress: 82%.

“Even if you kill me, she’ll never stop. You’re nothing to her. Ants. She’ll make sure the entire world hunts you for sport.”

The progress bar reaches 100%.

Final confirmation: Bounty Deactivated — Market Update Complete.

“You talk too much,” Seungcheol mutters. Then he pulls the trigger.

The bullet hits Kang clean between the eyes. His head snaps back before slumping forward onto the keyboard, blood blooming fast beneath him. The room goes quiet.

You exhale. Slide the flash drive from the port and tuck it back into your belt.

“Let’s go,” Seungcheol says.

You’re two steps toward the door when the monitor flickers red.

On the screen, a new prompt flashes: ALARM ACTIVATED — FAILSAFE INITIATED — DETONATION SEQUENCE: 2:00

“Oh shit,” you whisper.

“Run,” Seungcheol breathes, already grabbing your wrist. “GO!”

Your boots slam against the floor as you both bolt from Kang’s office, weaving past his slumped, lifeless body behind his desk. The halls flash red—emergency lights triggered by the failsafe.

“Where did that come from?!” Seungcheol shouts.

“My scrambler!” you gasp, realisation slamming into you like a truck. “It triggered the reboot. The system finally recognised us.”

01:45.

You skid through the corridor, heart in your throat, legs pumping hard. Down the stairs—two at a time—your boots barely hitting the steps before you’re flying again. You hear Seungcheol right behind you, breath ragged, muttering a string of curses between each inhale.

You nearly slip on the last stair, but Seungcheol grabs your arm and steadies you without stopping. The two of you slam through a side exit and into the open air of the jungle’s edge.

01:02

“Too far,” you choke out. “We parked too far—”

“We’re not making the jeep,” he says, teeth clenched. “Find cover.”

You don’t argue. You veer left, leaping over a fallen tree trunk, ducking under a vine. Your legs burn. The world is loud with your breaths, your pulse in your ears, the scream of your muscles.

00:54

Behind you, the compound hums unnaturally, the kind of silence that feels like something holding its breath. You glance back—just a flash—and see smoke already leaking from the vents on the roof. The timer is real. The end is coming.

“There!” Seungcheol shouts behind you, pointing.

A rock formation, jagged and moss-covered, partially buried under tangled roots. A crevice big enough—maybe.

He speeds up. You do, too.

00:32

You’re panting. Staggering. Tripping over your own feet—but you don’t stop. You can’t.

Then—just as your feet hit the edge of the formation—arms wrap around your waist.

Seungcheol lifts you, spins, and throws the both of you behind the largest boulder.

You crash into the dirt hard, grass in your mouth, Seungcheol’s weight covering you entirely. His arms pin you down, his body a shield.

He curls around you, breath hot against your ear.

“Hold on,” he whispers.

You shut your eyes. You feel his heartbeat.

00:01.

The sky lights orange. Fire screams through the trees. The compound behind you explodes in a catastrophic blast that tears the jungle apart. Glass, steel, smoke and flame shoot into the air like a volcanic eruption.

Debris pelts the ridge. Metal thuds against the boulder you hide behind. The earth shakes.

You cry out once, but it’s swallowed by the roar.

Seungcheol doesn’t move. His arms cage you tighter, shielding every inch of you. His weight grounds you, anchors you to the earth as the fury rages overhead.

Then—

Silence.

Smoke. Crackling. The compound groans as its structure collapses.

Your ears ring. Your skin is coated in ash and dust. You blink slowly, chest heaving.

Seungcheol lifts his head first.

His hair is singed at the edges. There’s a bleeding cut on his arm from fallen debris. But he’s alive.

You roll beneath him slightly, dazed, pupils blown wide as your gaze meets his.

Neither of you speak.

You just reach up with shaking fingers and brush a smear of soot from his cheek.

Then you mouth it:

Thank you.

He lets out a dry chuckle, then shifts beside you, flopping onto his back in the grass with a groan.

The two of you stare up at the sky above. Bits of scorched leaves flutter down like feathers.

The train hums steadily beneath your feet, metal wheels grinding softly against iron tracks as the landscape rolls by in a blur of dusk and shadow. It’s your second train in two days, and the rhythm has become something almost meditative—lulling, even soothing—if not for the weight pressing down on your chest.

Munich was a blur. Quick layover. New platform. A different conductor, different glances, different whispers of German you barely registered through the haze of concentration and caffeine. Now it’s Luxembourg ahead, the final stretch before you disappear into the woods, heading toward a place the rest of the world doesn’t even know exists.

You sit cross-legged on the small fold-out sleeper bunk in your private cabin, flicking through weapons one by one. Cleaning cloths. Fresh rounds. Blade oil. The hum of the train is your only soundtrack.

Across from you, Seungcheol mirrors your movements, his back against the wall, knees up, long fingers reassembling the slide of his pistol with practised ease. It’s not about necessity at this point. Everything’s already ready. It’s about habit. Control. The illusion of it, anyway.

You glance up at him, catching the crease between his brows and the faint tremor in his thumb as he locks the magazine into place. He’s steady. Always has been. But this isn’t like any mission you’ve done before.

He senses your eyes on him and glances up, offering a small, tired smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You ever gonna stop checking that knife?” he asks.

You twirl the karambit around your fingers. “Not tonight.”

He nods like he understands—and he does. Of course, he does.

There’s a long stretch of silence before he speaks again, this time more carefully. “Can you tell me about her?”

You pause, eyes narrowing slightly. “Lim?”

He nods. “I’ve never met her. Never even seen a photo. Only heard what Reina and Jiwoo said. But if I’m going to walk into her house with a bullet chambered, I want to understand who we’re really facing.”

You sit back, the weight of the knife still warm in your palm. You stare out the window for a beat—at the darkening sky, at the streaks of stars beginning to appear above dense silhouettes of trees and valleys—before you speak.

“She’s brilliant,” you say softly, letting the words form with intention. “And terrifying in the most elegant way imaginable. She doesn’t raise her voice. She doesn’t make threats. She makes promises. And she keeps them. Always.”

Seungcheol listens, his jaw tight.

“She recruits people like an art collector would. She studies them. Waits. Makes them feel seen. Then she bends them to her will so subtly they don’t even realize they’ve changed sides. And when she’s done with them… she never gets her hands dirty. You’ll never see it coming.”

You feel his gaze on you, but you keep your eyes on the knife in your hand.

“I watched her take down five agencies from the inside just by turning people against each other. I watched her call a kill order on a pregnant agent because she had doubts about continuing. I saw the body. The husband. The baby didn’t make it.”

You swallow hard.

“She told me once that loyalty was just a leash wrapped in velvet. She said affection was a liability… and love?” You look up now, straight into Seungcheol’s eyes. “Love was a knife people begged to be stabbed with.”

The quiet after your words stretches thin between you, taut and cold. His face is unreadable for a long beat, but his hands are clenched, and you know that fury lives just beneath his skin.

“She gave the order for me to kill you,” you murmur. “When I married you, she knew who you were. She could have given me the order right then and there. But she waited until she was sure of my feelings for you. Until she was sure it would hurt me. She was always ten steps ahead.”

Seungcheol doesn’t flinch, but you see the flicker of pain in his eyes. “And you almost did.”

You nod. “I would’ve. I nearly did. But when I saw your face…” Your voice breaks, just slightly. “I couldn’t do it.”

“So this is it,” he murmurs. “The end of the road.”

You nod slowly. “If we fail, she disappears. The whole web collapses. And people like Reina, Mingyu, Jiwoo, Joshua—they’ll be hunted. You and I?” You give a faint, dry laugh. “We won’t even be worth the cleanup effort. She’ll make an example of us.”

“And if we win?”

You don’t answer him.

Seungcheol leans back against the wall again, exhaling heavily through his nose. “This is the part where I say we can still back out, isn’t it?”

You smile wryly. “That boat in Trinidad still floating?”

He chuckles—a low, humourless sound—but you’re glad to hear it.

“That cabin in the Alps is looking mighty tempting now,” he murmurs, gaze distant. “Just the two of us. Snowed in. No names. No guns.”

You lean your head back against the window, closing your eyes for a second.

He turns toward you again, one corner of his mouth twitching. “We’re idiots.”

“Mm.” You smile. “But we’re in love. That’s worse.”

The silence that follows isn’t tense. It’s… full. Weighty with all the things you aren’t saying, all the possibilities you won’t let yourself dream about right now. Your eyes meet his in the quiet—two people teetering at the edge of something neither of you can control.

No more chances after this.

No more exits.

You sit up slowly, slide the karambit back into your thigh holster, and reach for his hand.

“Till death do us part, right?” you ask, voice steady.

His eyes soften, his fingers tightening around yours like a promise.

“...and probably still after that, too,” he whispers.

The forest is silent. Still. Too still.

You and Seungcheol move like a whisper between the trees, every step calculated, every crunch of damp underbrush softened by instinct and years of experience. The canopy above shivers faintly in the wind, moonlight occasionally slashing through the leaves in silver streaks. Your gear is strapped tight to your body, weapons close. You feel your heartbeat in your throat, steady but forceful. The weight of what’s ahead presses against your ribcage like a warning.

After nearly an hour on foot, there it is.

Lim’s estate.

It rises from the forest, glass and metal shimmering faintly in the dark. But not glass—mirrors. Massive mirrored panels encase the exterior walls, reflecting the surrounding trees and sky so perfectly it makes the entire compound look like a trick of the eye. Almost invisible. Almost unreal.

You crouch down with Seungcheol behind the trunk of a fallen tree, binoculars raised. But they don’t help. The reflections are endless. No windows to see through. No weak spots. You try the thermal sensors, the electromagnetic sweeper, even the pulse radar.

Nothing. Complete blackout.

Seungcheol’s expression hardens beside you. “We’re going in blind.”

You nod once, tension coiling low in your stomach.

At least the scrambler still works. You check the signal and feel a flicker of control return. “No alarms. No cameras,” you murmur.

“But everything else?” he asks.

You meet his gaze. “We’re caught in her web now.”

Just then, movement—a silhouette rounding the west side of the compound. A guard. Walking alone, slow, almost bored. Rifle at his side. Head turning in lazy arcs.

You both recognize it instantly: your window.

You slip over the tree, bodies melting into the foliage. The air feels colder the closer you get to the structure, like something sinister is waiting. You signal. Seungcheol nods, flanking left. You go right.

The guard never sees it coming.

One swift, clean movement—your blade slicing silently, Seungcheol catching the body before it hits the ground. You both drag him into the brush and dart to the wall. A hidden side door. Seungcheol picks the lock, fast and silent, while you cover him.

The door creaks open with a soft hiss.

And then you’re in.

The compound swallows you in darkness. No overhead lights. Just muted emergency bulbs glowing red along the baseboards. The air smells faintly of bleach and expensive perfume.

Together, you move room by room—clinical hallways, offices filled with screens, empty staircases. You kill quickly, efficiently. One by one, the guards fall. They don’t scream. They don’t even know what’s happening until it’s over. You and Seungcheol sweep the entire ground floor, then the first, avoiding the glass-walled atrium and sticking to shadowed corners.

No alarms. No reinforcements. No Lim.

You’re starting to feel a strange sense of unease. Like it’s all too easy.

Then—just as your boot hits the top of the second-floor landing—it happens.

A voice rings out, smooth and cold, echoing through the speakers tucked into every corner.

“Gwisin.” You feel Seungcheol stiffen behind you. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Your body freezes. You’d thought—hoped—you were ahead. But of course not. You warned Seungcheol yourself: she’s always ten steps in front.

The silence that follows is deafening. You look down the hallway. Then, with a mechanical hiss, a door at the end slides open.

A deep, impossible darkness yawns within.

You don’t move. Neither does Seungcheol.

“Come in,” Lim’s voice purrs. “I insist.”

You glance at Seungcheol. His jaw clenches, but he nods once. No turning back now.

You move in sync, every step echoing on the polished black floors. The office is silent, save for your breathing. Then, the door shuts behind you with a hiss of finality, locking you in the dark.

And then—

Bang.

“Agh—!”

The sound of the gunshot is deafening, sharp and shocking in the enclosed space. You scream his name, reaching out, panic clawing at your throat.

“Cheol—!”

He drops beside you, groaning in pain, clutching his leg. You see the blood, dark and hot, pouring from his thigh.

“Stop.” Lim’s voice snaps, sharp now, slicing through the dark like a knife.

“He’s not dead. Yet. But if you take one more step, Gwisin, the next bullet goes through his skull.”

Your hands lift immediately. You straighten slowly, your heart thundering, your chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. Seungcheol grabs your hand as you try to move, fingers slick with blood.

He’s trying to stay conscious. His teeth are clenched, his breathing shallow. But his eyes never leave yours.

“Don’t,” he rasps. “Don’t do this.”

You turn to Lim, face blank. “I’m here,” you say aloud, stepping forward into the dark. “I’ll play your stupid games. Just don’t touch him again.”

The lights flicker to life.

And there she is.

Madame Lim sits in the centre of the room, calm and unbothered, her white suit pristine, her legs crossed as if she were merely waiting for tea. Her hair is swept back, face emotionless, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. A table separates the chair facing hers.

Atop it: a single, silver revolver.

Your stomach drops. Lim smiles slowly.

“You remember how this works.”

You stare at the gun. At the chairs.

And for the first time in a very long time, you feel real, consuming dread curl its claws into your chest.

Russian Roulette.

And you already know—only one of you will be walking away.

Your legs carry you forward, one heavy step after the next, the sound of your boots echoing in the stillness like distant thunder. The pain in your chest doesn’t come from a wound, but it hurts just the same—coiled fury, barely contained. You can feel the heat of Seungcheol’s blood still on your hand, your breath caught somewhere between rage and terror.

The chair is waiting. Empty.

You sit slowly, your knees trembling under the weight of what you’re walking into.

Across from you, Madame Lim lounges in her seat like the queen she’s always pretended to be—composed, elegant, a portrait of detached cruelty. She eyes you with a quiet satisfaction, her red lips curling into something that’s almost… amused.

“Welcome home, darling,” she says smoothly.

You clench your jaw. The mask doesn’t slip.

“I’m here,” you say evenly. “What’s the play?”

Lim’s smirk widens. Slowly, she reaches for the revolver resting on the table between you, her delicate fingers wrapping around the cold metal like it’s a treasured artefact.

She flips it open with a practised snap, turns it so you can see—

One bullet.

She closes the chamber and spins it. The click-click-click of the revolver spinning fills the silence between you, steady and cruel.

Then she sets it down, the handle pointing to the space between you.

“Simple,” she says, voice like silk over broken glass. “We spin the revolver. Whoever the handle lands on takes the first shot. If you win, you get the pleasure of accessing my system, removing your bounty, and tearing my empire apart from the ground up… before you put a bullet through my skull.”

She pauses, lips curling.

“But if I win… I get to watch the life drain from your eyes. I get to see the anguish on Seungcheol’s face when I shoot the love of his life in front of him. Right before I kill him, too. Tragically romantic.”

Your nails dig into your thighs beneath the table, the only outward sign of how close you are to snapping. But your voice remains even.

“You forget I need you alive to access your system. So this is a waste of time. I lose no matter what.”

Lim tuts, rising gracefully from her chair. “Oh no, darling. Quite the contrary.”

She walks toward the far side of the room, the hem of her white suit jacket swaying with each precise step. You glance behind you just once—Seungcheol still lies on the ground, bleeding, pale, but breathing. His eyes find yours, and the look there nearly unravels you.

You turn back to Lim just in time to see her approach her desk and pull out a sleek black laptop.

She returns, sets it down beside the revolver with exaggerated care, and slowly opens it. The screen glows to life. One by one, she performs the biometric logins—retinal, fingerprint, and voice. Just like Kang had.

Then she leans back, smug. “Now, you don’t need me alive anymore.”

You stare at her. And she stares right back, the game finally unfolding, the trap finally sprung.

“Let’s begin,” she says softly.

She takes the revolver, gives it a spin again, and when it stops—

The handle points directly at you.

You inhale deeply, picking it up. The weight of it is intimate and horrifying all at once. One in six. You press it to your temple, finger tightening on the trigger.

Click.

Nothing. Lim smiles, pleased. You slide the revolver across the table.

She picks it up gracefully and points it to her own head, never blinking, never breaking eye contact.

Click.

Still nothing. Your turn again.

You pick it up, ignoring the burn in your lungs, the sweat forming at the back of your neck. Lim is watching you with that same gleaming hunger.

“You always were weak,” she says. “Falling in love. Letting yourself care. You would’ve ruled this world, Gwisin, if you hadn’t gone soft.”

You ignore her. Gun to your temple.

Click.

You breathe out slowly, chest tight. She snatches it next, almost eagerly, her voice rising.

“You should’ve killed him. He was never worth it. Do you know how pathetic you look, crawling around for a man who’d bleed out for you? Do you think he’ll survive this anyway? Or do you just want someone to cry over your corpse?”

Gun raised.

Click.

Still nothing. Now you know. This is it.

If you get the bullet, it’s over. If not—you win.

She leans forward, taunting, her voice a venomous hiss now.

“He’s not going to make it. You’ve already lost, darling. Look at him—pale, dying, weak. Just like your resolve. Like your entire rebellion. You could’ve chosen me. But instead, you’re nothing more than a wife in mourning.”

You cut her off, hand closing around the gun mid-sentence. Her mouth stills, eyes flicking downward as you lift it once more. You don’t speak. You don’t blink. You just pull the trigger.

Click.

Silence. Everything stops. You don’t move. She doesn’t move.

Because that was the fifth shot.

And everyone in the room knows what that means.

The sixth belongs to her.

She smiles—slow, awful, the knowing kind of smile that monsters wear in their final moments.

You gently place the revolver back down, never looking away as you pick up the laptop. You pull the flash drive from your pocket with a trembling hand and plug it in.

Lines of code scroll by. You follow Reina’s instructions to the letter.

The virus deploys.

One by one, every trace of the bounty system begins to dismantle itself. Files corrupt. Names disappear. Targets are wiped clean. You check twice, then a third time. It’s done.

You press one final command, and the entire system shuts down.

No more empires. No more Lim.

Your victory tastes like ash.

You stand slowly, refusing to look at her, and turn toward the man on the floor.

“Cheol…” you whisper, approaching him softly.

That’s when it happens.

“Sorry, darling,” Lim purrs. “Can’t let you win.”

Bang.

You freeze. But the pain never comes.

The thud of a body hitting the floor echoes behind you. And when you turn— She’s there.

Madame Lim.

Shot through the chest.

Seungcheol’s pistol clatters to the ground beside him, his arm falling limp.

He’s panting, eyes fluttering, drained from the blood loss and effort it took to raise the weapon. But he did it. He saved you. Again.

“No— no, no, no, baby, stay with me—”

You scramble to him, sliding to the floor, pressing your hands hard against his thigh. Blood oozes between your fingers. You tear at your shirt, using the fabric to make a quick tourniquet above the wound.

His skin is clammy. Pale.

“Don’t do this to me,” you plead, voice cracking. “Don’t you dare go quiet now, Choi Seungcheol.”

He tries to speak, but no words come out. His eyes close.

“NO!” you scream, pressing harder, doing everything you can to keep him tethered to you. “Stay awake. Please. I can’t— I can’t lose you now.”

You grab your comms, tears streaking down your face.

“Reina! Mingyu! Jiwoo! Anyone!” you cry into the mic. “He’s down—he’s hit! We need extraction now—NOW!”

Static. Then Reina’s voice breaks through, panicked but focused.

“We’re on our way. Hold on. Just hold on.”

You sob, forehead pressed to his as you hold the wound with both hands.

“You promised me,” you whisper. “You said even after death, remember? So don’t you dare let go. Stay. You stay with me.”

The Caribbean sun beats down from a cloudless sky, the wind gentle as it dances through the sails of the boat that floats lazily just off the coast of Trinidad. Seagulls cry in the distance, their wings cutting through the heat as waves lap softly against the hull. The air tastes like salt, and stillness, and peace. For once, the world is quiet.

You lay stretched across a sun-bleached lounge chair on the deck, skin warm, drink sweating in your hand. A lazy breeze rolls over your bare stomach, ruffling your hair. Sunglasses shield your eyes, but you’re not really looking at anything. Just the endless blue horizon.

It’s been six months.

Six months since the compound. Six months since Madame Lim fell. Since you screamed into the comms for someone—anyone—to come and save the man bleeding out in your arms.

And now—this. The boat. His boat.

The one he joked about right before you came up with that ridiculous plan to take on your bosses. The mythical exit plan. A sailboat docked and waiting off the coast of Trinidad for a day that might never come. But it did come.

You take another sip of your drink and close your eyes.

The sun presses hot against your skin. Your breathing slows.

Then— A creak of wood.

Bare feet padding across the deck.

You don’t bother opening your eyes. You know who it is.

Reina’s voice floats out from the cabin, bright and amused. “I swear, this place is turning me into a whole new woman.”

You lift your sunglasses to peer at her. She emerges wearing a bikini that somehow manages to be both functional and designer, two fresh cocktails in her hands.

She walks over and hands you one before plopping down in the chair beside yours with a content sigh.

For a long time, neither of you speaks.

The boat rocks gently, and the sea stretches out in all directions.

Reina swirls her drink, then glances at you. “You know,” she says softly, “Seungcheol was onto something, keeping this boat stashed away.”

You smile, a slow curve of your lips. There’s something bittersweet in it.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “He definitely was.”

The silence between you shifts. Not heavy, not sad. Just full. You both sit with it. With the past. With what you lost. With what you kept.

Then—

“Is that how you talk about me when I’m not around?”

The voice cuts through the stillness like lightning. Familiar. Deep. Teasing.

A shadow moves at the stern of the boat.

Then, emerging from the water with a grin and a sun-drenched gleam in his eyes—

Seungcheol.

Shirtless, drenched, water trailing down his broad chest. His swimming trunks cling to his hips. His hair is dark and wet, pushed back by the sea. His towel is slung casually over one shoulder, and his smile—lazy, wicked, alive—makes your heart skip.

The scar on his leg is visible, faint against his tan skin. He walks with a slight limp still, but he’s upright. Strong. Getting better every day.

You stare, lips parted in a grin that spreads like a sunrise across your face. “You’re supposed to warn a girl before you sneak back on deck.”

He approaches, towel-drying his face, and when he leans over, he kisses you. Softly. Warmly. His lips linger, just long enough to remind you that this—he—is real.

“I heard you talking shit,” he murmurs against your mouth.

You laugh, brushing your fingers through his damp hair. “You heard wrong.”

He slides into the space beside you, pulling your legs gently over his lap, his hand resting casually on your thigh like it belongs there. Because it does.

“When are you coming in for a swim?” he asks, nudging you with a grin. “Water’s perfect.”

“When I feel like it,” you reply, tipping your glass toward him with a lazy clink.

Reina groans. “Ugh. You two are disgusting.”

You and Seungcheol both smirk, not even bothering to deny it.

The three of you laugh, and for a moment, everything is light.

Beep.

A sound breaks from the cabin. Muffled. Sharp. Urgent.

Your heart stutters.

You’re on your feet in an instant. So is Seungcheol. Both of you race below deck, Reina on your heels. You slide into the cabin, heart already pounding in your chest.

There it is.

You recognize it immediately. One of your old encrypted devices, the ones you used when Lim & Associates was still in operation, the one on which your bounties arrived.

You reach for it, hands steady despite the fear unfurling in your gut.

The screen flickers to life. Code scrolls. Then—

A name.

Target: Kim Mingyu.

Alias: Fireball.

Bounty: 3 Million.

Your blood turns to ice.

Seungcheol reads it beside you, lips parting in disbelief. “What…”

Reina appears in the doorway, eyes wide. “What’s going on?”

You turn the screen toward her.

She sees the name. And freezes.

“What the hell did that idiot do now?”

A/N: Andddd, it's here! After how much you guys seemed to love part one, I couldn't not write this second part. Hope you all enjoyed the rollercoaster that was Gwisin and S.Coups. Are you ready for the second storyline? 👀💟

Send me your thoughts - feedback/fangirling is always welcome.

(Collage created by me. Credits to owners of the pictures taken from Pinterest)

[vexwerewolf]

If I could ask you for some advice, what do you think helps the flavour text of a mech or piece of equipment sell a player on the fantasy of using it?

I'm finding it frustratingly difficult to do so with my own homebrew content: I can come up with lore and backstory easily enough, but re-reading it feels dry, and I can't help but contrast it with how the descrptions in official content and other supplements is more evocative, at least for mechs.

Let's observe some corebook Lancer flavour text and examine the various varieties it comes in.

Purely Functional

While it's usually not the most fun type of flavour text, this just tells us what the weapon is, and - if it has any particular tags or on-hit effects - why it's like that. The Hand Cannon is a good example: here's what it is (modified pistol), here's why it does more damage, and here's why it has Loading.

The main advantage of Purely Functional flavour text is that it provides space for other types of flavour text to breathe. Flavour text is a great place for jokes, but it's not good for every piece of flavour text to be a joke - the pauses between notes in music are just as important as the notes.

Obfuscating Vendorspeak

The Bristlecrown Flechette Launcher this is a great example of dark humour that Lancer uses quite often: marketing fast-talk to cover up something really unpleasant. The joke here is based on us understanding precisely what the equipment does mechanically, and then seeing how the manufacturer tries to sell it. There's a bunch of dense technobabble here meant to obfuscate the fact that this weapon fires knives in every direction specifically designed to kill infantry.

Deadpan Weirdness

The joke here relies on describing something extremely weird like it's the most natural thing in the world. Wait, you're telling me that in a world where I can just print new parts if the old ones break, they put DRM on my fucking knife and I have to apologise to the fucking knife maker to get a new one? What the fuck, dude? Why are you acting like this makes any sense?!

My sword uploads fucking what to the Space Internet?!

Third-Act Twist

This type of flavour text disguises itself as something else - most often Purely Functional - and then hits you with Third Act Twist. It makes you go "wait, what?!" It's very classic setup-punchline stuff. You're telling me my mech can rot?!

As a side note, Lancer loves to use this for its NHPs.

WHY DID YOU PUT THAT IN SCARE QUOTES, LUCIFER

Worldbuilding

This is similar to the Purely Functional, but instead of just describing technical specifications of the weapons, it puts the weapon in the broader context of the setting's history. Okay, so we know what this weapon is and what it does - why was it built? What was the original use case, and why? Most importantly, what can the existence of this weapon tell us about the world that build it?

Whimsical Aside

This is the insertion of a light-hearted, humanising little insertion regarding how this piece of equipment gets used in the field. This serves to remind us that soldiers aren't cold, unfeeling killing machines: they can be as emotional, irreverent and silly as the rest of us, and they do things like name their mobile bombs...

... or call resupply drones "mech snacks."

The Ominous Out-Of-Context Quote That Explains Nothing And Only Raises More Questions

As I've said in multiple textmash memes, this is basically Tom and Miguel's shorthand for "this technology is Intensely Fucked Up in a way that it is more fun and scary not to explain." This is essentially Lancer's version of SCP's [REDACTED].

You might think this is the domain of HORUS, and you'd be right, but every single manufacturer indulges in these - although IPS-N had to wait until NRFaW to get theirs:

What the fuck do you mean by that, Lancer?

[broidobe]

𝔯𝔲𝔟𝔶 𝔩𝔦𝔭𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔠𝔨

requested!

☾øystein and the reader share an intense and intimate moment, blending playful teasing with raw desire as they navigate their connection both on and off stage.☽

☾warnigns: smut, power dynamics, mature language, possessive behavior☽

⁎⁺˳✧༚black metal masterlist

the dim glow of the backstage light cast soft shadows over the cramped dressing room. øystein sat on a stool, legs spread, arms crossed over his chest, looking at you with mild skepticism as you fiddled with his makeup kit.

“are you sure you know what you’re doing?” he asked, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

you raised a brow, tapping a brush against your palm. “do you trust me or not?”

a rare chuckle escaped him as he leaned back, letting his black hair cascade over his shoulders. “you have five minutes before the others start yelling for me. don’t make me look like an idiot.”

grinning, you stepped closer, straddling his lap so you could get a better angle to work on his face. he tensed for a moment before relaxing under your touch, his piercing eyes scanning your features as you delicately applied the iconic black-and-white corpse paint.

“stay still,” you murmured, brushing black pigment across his eyelids. “you act all scary, but you’re just a big softie when it’s just us.”

he scoffed, though his lips twitched in amusement. “don’t tell anyone. i have a reputation to uphold.”

as you leaned in to perfect the sharp lines around his mouth, you couldn’t resist planting a kiss on his pale cheek. the faint red lipstick mark stood out against the white paint, a vibrant contrast that caught even him off guard.

“hey,” he muttered, his brows furrowing as he reached up to touch the mark. “what’s this?”

you giggled, stepping back to admire your handiwork. “it’s my signature. consider it a good luck charm.”

he glared half-heartedly, his fingers tracing over the lipstick print as a rare flush of color warmed his cheeks beneath the makeup. “you know they’re going to see this, right? they’ll never let me hear the end of it.” “let them,” you teased. “what are they going to do? you’re euronymous, after all.”

his expression softened as he stood, towering over you. he cupped your face with a hand, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “damn right i am. and you’re mine.”

before you could respond, he pressed his lips to yours in a fierce, possessive kiss, his free hand gripping your waist. the kiss deepened, and his usual stoic demeanor melted into something more primal, more vulnerable—reserved only for you.

when he pulled back, his intense gaze locked onto yours. “you’re not leaving my side tonight,” he said firmly. “if anyone so much as looks at you wrong, they’ll regret it.”

“you’re so dramatic,” you teased, but the warmth in your chest betrayed your words.

he leaned down, his lips grazing your ear. “i mean it.”

as he led you out of the dressing room, his hand stayed firmly wrapped around yours, fingers laced together as if daring anyone to question it. the hallway buzzed with activity—crew members rushing to finalize stage setups, bandmates arguing over equipment—but none of it seemed to faze him. his focus was solely on you.

“you’re sure about the lipstick thing?” you teased, glancing up at him with a mischievous smile.

“i’m not wiping it off,” he replied without hesitation, his tone resolute. “if anyone has a problem, they can deal with me.”

his protectiveness made your heart flutter, though you couldn’t help but poke at him. “you know, they’ll probably tease you about it. ‘oh, euronymous is soft now,’” you said, mocking a dramatic voice.

he smirked, stopping abruptly and pulling you close, his towering frame blocking out the chaos around you. “let them try. they’ll be reminded who they’re dealing with.”

his confidence was magnetic, but beneath it, you could sense something deeper—a quiet vulnerability he only revealed to you. you reached up to brush a strand of black hair from his face, your thumb grazing the edge of the lipstick mark still visible on his cheek. “you’re kind of sweet sometimes,” you said softly, your teasing tone replaced by genuine warmth.

“don’t let it get to your head,” he muttered, though the faint smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

just as the moment lingered, the sharp call of a bandmate broke through. “øystein! get your ass on stage!”

he exhaled sharply, his usual cold demeanor slipping back into place. but before he turned to leave, he caught your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up to meet his.

“you’re staying right here,” he instructed. his voice was low, almost growling, as his intense blue eyes bore into yours. “i’ll find you the second this is over.”

you nodded, unable to form words under his penetrating gaze. with one final kiss—rough, possessive, and lingering—he let you go and disappeared down the hall toward the stage.

watching him walk away, you felt a mix of pride and longing. despite his rough edges and guarded nature, you knew how much he cared for you, even if he didn’t always say it outright.

and as the sound of the crowd’s cheers erupted through the walls, you couldn’t help but smile, the faint lipstick mark on his cheek still lingering as a small, unspoken claim of love in a world that rarely allowed it.

as the stage lights blazed to life, øystein's presence electrified the crowd, his iconic corpse paint a stark contrast to the vibrant lipstick mark on his cheek. you watched from the sidelines, your heart pounding in time with the music as he unleashed his fury upon the instruments.

the performance was a whirlwind of sweat and sound, øystein's intensity drawing the audience in like moths to a flame. you felt your own passion stir, your body swaying to the rhythm as you gazed out at him. his eyes locked onto yours during a particularly frenzied solo, and for an instant, the world around you melted away.

as the final notes faded into chaos, øystein leapt from the stage, his eyes burning with an unquenchable fire. he strode toward you, his movements fluid and predatory, and you felt your breath catch in anticipation.

without a word, he grasped your wrist and pulled you into a dark alleyway beside the venue. the sounds of cheering and applause grew distant as he pinned you against the wall, his lips crashing down onto yours with bruising force.

the kiss was wild and unbridled, his tongue tangling with yours as he devoured you whole. you felt your knees buckle beneath his assault, but he held you fast, his hands roaming over your body like he owned it.

and in that moment, you knew you were his – utterly and completely. as they broke apart for air, øystein's chest heaved with exertion, his eyes blazing like stars in the darkness. "i meant what i said," he growled low in his throat. "you're not leaving my side tonight."

you smiled up at him – or tried to – but it was lost in the crush of another kiss. this one was slower-burning but no less intense; it ignited every nerve ending in your body until all that existed was him: the heat of his skin, the taste of his lips, and the sound of his ragged breathing. the world around you melted away, leaving only the two of you, lost in a sea of desire and passion.

as the kiss deepened, øystein's hands slid down your body, his fingers tracing the curves of your waist and hips. you felt a shiver run down your spine as he pulled you closer, his erection pressing against your belly. the sensation sent a spark of electricity through your veins, and you couldn't help but arch into him, seeking more.

the alleyway around you was dark and deserted, the only sound the distant hum of music and cheering from the venue. but in that moment, it felt like you were alone in the world, with nothing but each other to worry about.

øystein's lips left yours, tracing a path down your neck and shoulder. his teeth grazed your skin, sending shivers down your spine. you felt his hands slide under your shirt, his fingers brushing against your nipples. the touch sent a jolt of pleasure through you, and you couldn't help but moan softly.

"shh," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "not here. not yet." he pulled back, his eyes gleaming with desire in the dim light. for a moment, you just stared at each other, the tension between you almost palpable.

then øystein smiled – a rare sight – and took your hand. "come on," he said low in his throat. "let's get out of here."

as you followed øystein through the winding streets, the city seemed to grow darker and more menacing around you. the buildings loomed above, casting long shadows that stretched and twisted in the flickering streetlights.

you couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement as øystein led you deeper into the unknown. his hand was still wrapped around yours, his fingers intertwined with yours in a tight grip.

finally, they stopped in front of a nondescript door tucked away between two larger buildings. øystein produced a key and unlocked the door, pushing it open with a creak.

he gestured for you to enter, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. you stepped inside, finding yourself in a narrow stairway that plunged down into darkness. the air was thick with the scent of incense and something else - something sweet and musky.

øystein followed close behind, his breath hot against your neck. as you descended the stairs, the sound of music grew louder - a low, pulsing beat that seemed to vibrate through every cell in your body.

at the bottom of the stairs, you found yourself in a small, dimly lit room. the walls were adorned with strange symbols and murals, depicting scenes of darkness and debauchery. the air was heavy with incense, and the smell of sweat and sex hung over everything like a palpable mist.

øystein pushed you forward, his hands on your shoulders guiding you toward a large, four-poster bed that dominated the center of the room. the bed was covered in black silk sheets, and the posts were adorned with intricate carvings that seemed to writhe and twist in the flickering candlelight.

without a word, øystein spun you around and pinned you against one of the posts. his lips crashed down onto yours once more, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth as he devoured you whole.

you felt your knees buckle beneath him as he ground his hips against yours. his erection was like a brand against your belly - hot and insistent - demanding attention.

as you broke apart for air once more he whispered "undress" low in your ear, sending shivers cascading throughout your body.

your hands trembled slightly as you reached for the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head. øystein's eyes watched with an intensity that made your skin prickle with goosebumps as you discarded the garment to the side.

next, you popped the button on your pants, sliding the zipper down with a soft hiss. the sound seemed amplified in the dimly lit room, and øystein's gaze dropped to follow the movement of your hands.

as you pushed your pants down over your hips, his eyes flashed with excitement. you could see the tension in his body, coiled and waiting to spring into action.

you stepped out of your pants, leaving them crumpled on the floor beside your shirt. øystein's gaze roamed over your body, taking in every inch of exposed skin. you felt a shiver run down your spine as he reached out to brush his fingers against the curve of your hip.

as your fingers brushed against the fly of øystein's pants, he let out a low growl of desire. his eyes flashed with intensity as he reached down to grasp your wrist, pulling your hand closer to his erection.

you could feel the heat emanating from his body - a pulsing warmth that seemed to seep into every pore of your being. øystein's fingers wrapped around yours, guiding your hand to the zipper of his pants.

as you pulled the zipper down, øystein's erection sprang free - a thick, pulsing column of flesh that seemed to throb with anticipation. you wrapped your fingers around him, feeling the silky smoothness of his skin and the rigid hardness beneath.

øystein let out a low hiss of pleasure as you began to stroke him - your hand moving up and down in a slow, sensual rhythm. his eyes flashed with desire as he reached out to grasp your hips, pulling you closer to his body.

without another word, øystein spun you around and pushed you against the bed. you felt the softness of the silk sheets against your skin as he followed you down - his body covering yours like a blanket. his lips crashed down onto yours once more - a fierce and savage kiss that seemed to consume every ounce of oxygen in the room. as they kissed, øystein's hands roamed over your body - touching every inch of skin before sliding lower to grasp your thighs.

he pulled your legs apart - spreading them wide as he settled between them. you felt the heat of his erection against your skin - a burning warmth that seemed to seep into every pore of your being.

and then - in one swift motion - øystein thrust inside you. the sensation was like nothing you'd ever felt before - a sudden invasion of heat and pressure that seemed to fill every inch of your body.

you let out a low cry of pleasure as øystein began to move inside you - his hips thrusting back and forth in a slow, sensual rhythm. the sensation was like waves crashing against the shore - each thrust building on the last until you felt like you were drowning in pleasure.

for a second, time seemed to stand still. the only sound was the heavy breathing of the two of you - the only sensation was the warm, pulsing heat that seemed to fill every inch of your body.

as moments ticked by, he slowly withdrew from you - his erection slipping free with a soft wet sound. you felt a pang of loss as he pulled away - but it was quickly replaced by a sense of satisfaction and completion.

øystein collapsed beside you on the bed - his chest heaving with exertion as he wrapped his arms around your body. you felt safe and protected in his grasp - like nothing could ever harm you again.

[fictionfanatic-wren]

The robin games

chapter 5/7. The Robin Games - Chapter 5 - Fictionfanatic_Wren - Batman - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

The small, dimly lit maintenance room was packed wall-to-wall with capes, armor, and confusion. Superman hovered just above the ground, arms crossed. Green Arrow was crouched near the half-eaten protein bar like it was a crime scene. Wonder Woman stood by the door, stone-faced. Hal Jordan paced, while Barry looked like someone had kicked his dog. “Alright,” Dinah said, hands on her hips. “Someone needs to explain why it smells like old coffee, protein bars, and deodorant for teenage boys in here.” “Because someone’s been living here,” Ollie grumbled, holding up the half-unwrapped bar with two fingers. “Look at this. Half-eaten. Not even wrapped properly. There’s coffee residue in the cup holder and prints on the terminal.” “That’s definitely not ours,” Barry added, squinting at the cup. “That’s the mug I’ve been looking for since yesterday. Yesterday, people.” “So someone’s been camping out on the Watchtower without us knowing,” Hal said, turning to Bruce with narrowed eyes. “Care to explain how your billion-dollar security system missed a freeloader living in the walls?” Bruce stood silent, face unreadable. “It didn’t miss them,” he said finally, tone low. “It found them just now.” “That’s not an answer,” Hal shot back. “I’m still processing the data,” Bruce replied smoothly, eyes never leaving the half-powered computer console. Clark floated a little closer, scanning the equipment with his x-ray vision. “There’s a whole tech setup hidden behind the panels,” he reported. “Wires, a motion sensor jammer, even a router spoof. This wasn’t slapped together. This was deliberate.” “So the real question,” Ollie muttered, “is which one of us brought a secret intern onboard.” Barry perked up, hopeful. “Maybe it’s a stowaway from Earth? A well-meaning super-fan?” “With access to League systems?” Diana said, one brow arching. “And the ability to bypass our security and, according to you, eat your pizza?” Barry deflated. “...Yeah, okay, probably not a fan.” “Let’s take stock,” Dinah said, ticking off her fingers. “We’ve had: stolen pizza, missing coffee mugs, glitter bombs in the armory, Green Arrow’s door screaming shame at him, and now someone is nesting in our walls. Someone very skilled.” Hal rubbed his temples. “Okay, real talk. If this is about the laser pointer prank from six months ago, I already apologized, Barry.” “That’s what you want me to think,” Barry snapped, arms flailing. “Maybe this is the long con. The real revenge!” “You are not important enough to sabotage with a long con,” Bruce said flatly, stepping past them to inspect the panel Tim had hastily closed. Everyone froze. “Spooky,” Clark said carefully. “That sounded kinda personal.” “Let’s not fight,” Diana said, sighing. “Let’s focus. Whoever’s here is skilled enough to hide, hack, and infiltrate without being caught for days. We need a plan.” “Oh, I’ve got one,” Ollie muttered. “We burn the whole maintenance wing and flush them out.” “Ollie.” “What? It worked with raccoons.” Bruce straightened from the console. “No fire” he said. “But we lock down non-essential areas. Increase patrols. Motion sensors, heat trackers, and set traps in likely routes.” Everyone nodded, except Barry, who just looked mournfully at his empty mug. “…I miss my coffee.”

Tim Drake moved quickly through the narrow metal duct, his body pressed low and knees aching from the awkward angles. He was running on pure adrenaline now, he’d narrowly escaped being discovered in the maintenance room, but not without losses. His spare toolkit, the laptop charger, and Barry’s coffee mug were all left behind. “Fantastic,” Tim muttered under his breath, the distant hum of voices below fading as he crawled deeper into the Watchtower’s belly. “All because someone decided to trigger an alarm right next to me.” He paused at a junction in the vent, twisting to glance at the corridor below through a slatted grate. Then, Thump. The faintest vibration in the metal above him. He stilled. Every instinct screamed caution. Someone else was in the shaft. Tim slowly reached for a small baton from his belt and turned. From the shadows, a low voice spoke: “You’re incredibly loud for someone who’s supposed to be stealthy.” Tim froze. A small figure crouched just ahead, perched in the shadows like a gargoyle. Damian. The youngest Robin looked perfectly at ease, barely winded, his cloak tucked tightly around his small frame, expression full of judgment. Tim narrowed his eyes. “You tripped the alarm, didn’t you.” Damian tilted his head. “Of course I did. This is a competition. Only the competent deserve to win. You were getting too comfortable.” Tim exhaled sharply, crawling closer so they could talk without echoing. “You little gremlin, I had a whole system running. I was fine until your stunt brought the League breathing down my neck.” Damian’s eyes gleamed in the dim light. “You were growing complacent. And it was funny.” Tim pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know if they’d found my stuff-” “Then you would’ve lost. You should thank me for teaching you the importance of vigilance.” Tim stared at him. “You sound exactly like Bruce when he’s being a hypocrite.” “A compliment.” Tim groaned. “You stole Dick’s gear too, didn’t you?” Damian didn’t answer, but his smug silence spoke volumes. Tim muttered something under his breath that was definitely not appropriate for younger ears. The two stared at each other in silence, crouched in opposite corners of the vent. For a moment, there was a grudging, still tension between them. Then Tim sighed. “Fine. Truce. Just for today. I need a new hiding spot.” Damian raised a brow. “I’m not sharing my camp.” “I don’t want it. Just a direction that isn’t crawling with League members and panic.” Damian considered this. Then he jerked his chin to the left. “Upper deck. Storage vents near the armory. Leaguers don’t patrol there much.” Tim paused, then gave a curt nod. “Thanks.” Damian arched a brow. “Try not to get caught. It would be… disappointing.” Tim rolled his eyes and began crawling away. “Right back at you, gremlin.” Damian smirked as he disappeared into the shadows, already thinking of his next move.

Jason pressed himself against the cool metallic wall, breathing shallowly as he listened to the distant sound of boots echoing through the corridor. Way too many boots. He peeked around the corner. Green Arrow. Black Canary. Flash. All moving in different directions, radios buzzing on their hips. “Maintenance room sweep’s clear,” Dinana’s voice crackled over the comms. “Yeah, but somebody left a thermos of my coffee in there,” Barry hissed. Jason ducked back, swearing under his breath. This was bad. The League was in full lockdown mode now, walking around like a bunch of angry substitute teachers trying to catch kids passing notes. All because of one little triggered alarm and a missing mug. Okay. And maybe the trip wire in the gym. And maybe the slightly rigged training bot that randomly screamed insults at ollie for two hours. And, yeah, okay, a few pranks. He crept backward into a dark corridor that led to the utility crawlspaces. His old hiding spot in the storage bay was now way too risky, at least three League members had passed through in the last hour. Jason muttered to himself as he climbed into an access tunnel. “Could’ve just let Tim or Damian take the fall, but nooo. I had to switch Barry’s toothpaste with marshmallow fluff and now the whole tower’s on DEFCON 1.” He crawled deeper until he found a narrow space behind a ventilation conduit, the metal panels warm against his back. He took off his helmet, wiping sweat from his brow, then pulled a granola bar from his pocket and bit into it like it owed him money. Footsteps passed by again above. Jason closed his eyes, forcing his breathing to slow. This was fine. This was manageable. He’d hide here for a bit, wait for the tension to cool, maybe frame Hal later if things got dire. No one suspected that Red Hood himself was in the watchtower. Yet. But the moment his eyes started to droop, a voice blared from a nearby intercom: “Reminder: motion sensors have been temporarily enhanced in this sector due to recent… incidents. Please report any suspicious movement immediately.” Jason sighed, then shoved the rest of the granola bar into his mouth. “I swear to god, if I find out Tim set this up…”

Watchtower, Sector B1, Personnel Quarters Dick Grayson moved like a shadow, a very annoyed, gearless shadow. His crawlspace hiding spot had been compromised hours ago. And without his tools, he was flying blind in a nest full of superheroes and security systems. Damian had swiped everything from his little rooftop nook, even his emergency chocolate bar. The betrayal stung. "Never trust a ten-year-old with murder training," Dick muttered under his breath as he crept through a dim hallway, every motion smooth but fueled by pure desperation. His Nightwing suit, while flexible, was now a beacon without the signal disruptors. The sleek navy blue made him far too recognizable for someone trying to stay unseen. He needed a disguise. Fast. He turned a corner, and stopped. Room B1-04. The door was heavy, black, and marked only by a biometric scanner and a simple nameplate: RESTRICTED, ACCESS LEVEL 10 Most of the League assumed this room was storage or an unused system control station. But Dick had known the truth since his early Robin years. Batman’s quarters. He hesitated for exactly two seconds. Then: “Desperate times…” Dick bypassed the lock with a quick override Bruce had taught him back when trust between them wasn’t a limited resource, and slipped inside. The room was spartan. Clean. Every corner obsessively organized. A minimalistic bed, a locked trunk, and a closet lined with armor and utility gear. But no personal touches. No photos. No journals. Classic Bruce. Dick moved to the closet. His heart thudded in his ears as he flipped through the suits, mostly standard Bat-armor, backup units, and even one older prototype with an awkward yellow emblem. Finally, he found it: a slimmed-down, stealth-variant Batsuit. Jet black, lightweight. More flexible than the others, probably one Bruce wore for espionage operations. Perfect. Dick stripped off his Nightwing gear in record time and pulled the suit on. It clung to him like a second skin. The cowl, smaller than Bruce’s standard, fit well enough once he adjusted the chin plate. He looked into the darkened windowpane and smirked at the reflection: “Well. I guess I’m Batman now.” He paused. Then shook his head. “Nope. Not saying that out loud again.” Just as he secured the last piece of armor, he heard footsteps outside the hallway.

Dick didn’t expect to be stopped. That was the whole point of wearing the suit. But as soon as he turned the corner, he nearly ran straight into Green Arrow, Canary, and Martian Manhunter, all looking like they’d been mid-conversation until the second he appeared. “Batman,” Ollie said with a nod, stepping aside to let him pass. Dick managed a stiff nod back. “Arrow. Canary. J’onn.” He deepened his voice slightly, not a full growl (he wasn’t going to parody Bruce), but just enough to pass. It seemed to work. At least for a second. Until Green Arrow squinted. “You look… thinner than usual.” “I changed my diet.” Dinah tilted her head. “And you’re walking weird.” “My leg was injured in Gotham. Minor strain. Nothing worth filing.” Martian Manhunter stared. Hard. His glowing eyes narrowed like he was scanning something just off. Dick’s internal panic flared, was the suit giving him away? Heat signature? His height? He subtly adjusted his posture and folded his arms across his chest, classic Bruce. “If there’s nothing else, I need to return to my work.” Canary blinked. “We were going to brief you on the Star City gang forming. You skipped the last two meetings.” “I was busy,” Dick said, already turning to walk past them. “And I read the reports. Proceed without me.” He held his breath as he walked away, back rigid, cape swishing just enough to look dramatic. The moment he turned the next corner and was out of sight, he bolted into the next maintenance shaft like his life depended on it. Inside the vent, he slumped against the wall, yanked off the cowl, and exhaled. “Never again,” he muttered. “I need a double the cookies when i win. And therapy.”

[andmaybegayer]

Last Monday of the Week 2025-05-26

You must believe that it will go on forever

Listening: Listened to the soundtrack from The People's Joker, which you can roughly find here

There are a lot of bangers in this one but I do think I have to put down Back of the Truck

You should definitely watch The People's Joker it is a truly incredible piece of art. It is literally the only piece of Batman media I have ever consumed start to finish.

Reading: A bunch of scattered articles on ocean plastic in an attempt to better understand some of the claims made in a book I read a while ago, still piecing those together.

Also a lot of electronics part specs because I'm trying to do another PCB project and I am in the hell that is finding parts that are cheap, in stock, and well documented. This is a fight you can win but it involves giving up the part of yourself that doesn't understand how Molex names their parts.

Watching: Watched Les Barbouzes/The Great Spy Chase, a French spy comedy film from the 60's where the conceit is "what if five different countries sent their spies to recover some valuable documents at the same time and they all had to play nice while trying to get one over on each other.

It's very funny! Genuinely some incredible comedy in this movie, but also, Le Racisme! Le Racisme is relatively limited and you should still probably watch this.

In addition to this, at bad movie night Rollergator, a movie by a director who has featured here before when he did Legend of the Rollerblade Seven which is the worst movie we've ever run at Bad Movie Night. Rollergator is about a girl who finds a tiny purple gator puppet who raps and also does one Le Racisme (American) when he does impressions as a bit.

The director of these movies (Donald G. Jackson) Made a like million dollars on one movie and then pioneered the concept he called "Zen Filmmaking" which is when you don't write a script and just wander around easily accessible sets freestyling it. The movies he produces are both unwatchably bad and have negative production value, with untraceable plots, inaudible audio, and pointless dialogue. I cannot really recommend that you watch this one.

Playing: A few more levels of Skin Deep, in part because my partner wanted to see it. Playing or talking video games around them (and a few of my other friends) is funny because it makes me feel like the Video Game Ulysses Ogre. I'm all "Aaaah ogre so stupid ogre can only just make use of smoke grenades, ogre not even begin to correctly employ jiggle peeking" meanwhile they're like "yeah I get frustrated at Arkham Asylum on easy."

Also more Echo Point Nova which is rapidly becoming one of my favourite shooters. I feel like I'm not doing myself any favours refusing to use a controller here, aim assist would probably be great, but I am getting shockingly good at playing Clay Pigeon on the hoverboard guys with my shotgun.

Making: 3D printed speaker stands for my PC speakers, which need some work or maybe just some cleverer design to prevent them from leaning way forwards. Still working on it. Continuing to fiddle with various designs for my new desk setup.

Tools and Equipment: I finally bought some noise cancelling wireless earphones and they are kind of killer for the metro. I have previously worn earplugs on the metro but they are way more inconvenient. I have known how good ANC is for a long time but it really cannot be overstated how nice it is to be able to a) listen to music on the metro without blowing your eardrums out and b) just suppress ambient noise for a bit. Sometimes I've been throwing them in if I want to keep listening to a podcast while I boil the kettle or turn on the microwave.

These are the new CMF Buds 2 which were like USD 50-ish? I'm sure if you get a new Sony it's better and these definitely struggle with more variable, less monotonous noises, but they're great for the price.

[onslaughtsixdotcom]

Heartbreaker vs. Craphack

The difference between a heartbreaker and a craphack is, you think a heartbreaker will be finished.

I started using the word "craphack" a few months ago to talk about my in-progress fantasy d20 elfgame. (This is a separate project from CRAWL, which has entered a process of hibernation. Its no longer in active development.)

I had a lot of names for this thing. It really started when the OGL shit hit the fan and I was already seeing how affordable low-run booklet prints were. The idea of creating a booklet with a bunch of my house rules and favourite tables, and getting it printed, became a kind of cool idea. Simultaneously, WotC quickly jettisoned a bunch of the coolest ideas for 5e 2024. Initially I was like: well, let's compile those ideas and I'll make a home game out of what I liked.

I called this document 5e Killer. This stems from a phrase I said in early 2023: If you are a major TTRPG publisher and you aren't already working on your 5e Killer for release in Fall 2024, you're fucking up.

I am not a major TTRPG publisher. But why not do my own? At least for my home game.

Somewhere I got pissed at the limitations of "sticking to 5e." I also realized I was just tinkering with it. I did finish a version of this doc. We are playing my 5e game with it now. (I do not like the changes 2024 5e, or any other base ruleset, has implemented. I like this setup enough.)

But, this wasn't "done." Many core problems I had with 5e were still sort of there. Unsure of how to solve them, I backburnered it and began looking at other systems. Perhaps I would find someone else's heartbreaker and be able to modify that, or find a perfect beginning point I could launch out of.

I spent most of 2024 experimenting with other ideas and doing other projects, including converting my Dungeon23 megadungeon to OSE, writing it up, and running the Kickstarter. I spent a month and a half making an OSE house rules document and compilation in anticipation of printing that out, both for home use and convention play. While doing this I actually started to solidify some more ideas about what I liked and what I wanted out of...all of this.

While doing this, little bits and pieces have always come into focus. I now have a canonical equipment list for basically all fantasy games going forward. I have a d100 magic item list and I'm slowly working on d100 spells (although Skerples may yet beat me to the punch). And, I found Outcast Silver Raiders, a game I initially called my "forever game," about three weeks after I made my first document compiling info for the latest version of my craphack.

The craphack doesn't exist except in my head. There are like 8 versions of half formed thoughts, in Discord self-messages and Affinity Publisher projects and Google Docs. They are, if anything, a dialogue with myself, wherein I repeatedly ask: What do I want out of the game?

I like the idea of hit die as damage die; weapons shouldnt have variable damage.

I like the idea of saving throws existing separately from skill checks, existing separately from attack rolls.

I like having lots and lots of classes and ancestries. About 10 each is a sweet spot for me.

I like games where you always roll high to succeed. I am not a fan of roll under.

Likewise, I like the DM being able to set a difficulty class/target number for the player to hit, even on skill checks. Some doors are harder to open than others, some locks are harder to pick than others. (The Advantage/Disadvantage mechanic exists and is brilliant, but I prefer to use it for situational bonuses: this is an objectively DC15 check but if you do a thing you can have advantage to maybe do it easier.)

I like monsters having simpler statblocks than players do, with their primary stats being hit die and number, AC, and what they can do on their combat turn. I can make them do anything I want outside of that. I'm the DM.

Somewhere I have a table of every monster "type" and their average 5e stats and I want to expand on that to create basically a monster Rosetta stone for this game, combined with established and working power sets, so that I could easily create monsters on the fly during sessions without having to prep them.

I don't mind even the most mundane classes (like fighter and thief) having a few "special abilities," like 5e Action Surge or whatever. But IMO 5e gives you far too many of these, and worse, has too many options. (For my "forever game," I don't think I want subclasses.)

I like OSR vibes for mechanics, but people played heroic games with these same systems for 15 years, and anyone who says otherwise is fucking kidding themselves.

I like and use miniatures but also sometimes use theater of the mind for some encounters, especially against solo non-boss monsters. The system should easily support both.

I like individual initiative. I think there's still some improvement on my "everyone rolls a d6, if the monster beats any players they roll first, btw lower is better" system. I also wish I could use the Initiative Clock but I think it's a little too fiddly.

We don't need bonus actions or minor actions or anything like that. Too much design. You can move and do one other thing.

I like having a defined list of spells and at least semi-Vancian magic with spell slots. I am open to not having spell slots, but spellcasters should still pick from a list of pre-defined spells. No Knave, Cairn, bastards.-style "combine these random words to make a vague spell and work with the DM to figure out what it does" nonsense.

It's REALLY easy to see where all of these ideas sort of overlap and become relevant to how I imagine playing the game and the flow state that I desire. It's rules that don't get in the way and give all players an equal amount of cool shit they can do on their turn besides attacking. It's also easy to see how many games are outright thrown out by what I am imagining: no Cairn, Knave, OSE, Shadowdark, 5e, Five Torches Deep, etc. etc. (The only one that actually does hit the mark is, appropriately, Outcast Silver Raiders.)

So, where does this all coalesce? As I move around pieces and think about this, it might never coalesce. When I was on Take Flight, Cat and I talked about the idea that you might never finish The System, and That's Okay. It can be the old car that your dad tinkers with in the garage every other weekend and says, one day I'll get it all fixed up, I swear. It's his hobby, the same way game design can be your hobby--even if you are also a professional game designer with other projects that definitely are moving forward, being published, that you're doing the work on.

But my craphack exists and I swear one day I'm definitely gonna finish it, for sure.

[genericpuff]

Do you think you might ever open up an online shop for prints for people who can’t make it to conventions?

I've been wanting to open one for a while, I had plans to last year but they got shelved for a bit as I still had a lot left to figure out. One of the biggest hurdles I've been sorta kicking down the road is figuring out shipping, as it's never really been my strongest skill LOL Just the logistics of it all is kinda hard on the brain in addition to every other thing I'd have to setup. I know I can do it, it's just trying to get through that mental block of figuring it all out and getting it setup properly.

Other than that, I also have to make sure I have the proper equipment. I have a printer that's pretty decent, but I'm kind of in the market for something that's a bit more ink-friendly as the one I have currently chugs ink like I chug shorty's on a Friday afternoon LOL So I'm weighing my options when it comes to printing as it's a toss-up between "do my own printing so I can print on demand and not have more stock than I need" and "pay someone else to do my printing for me so I don't have to buy printer ink but potentially have to deal with bulk stock that I can't move". And that's not even getting into the manufacturing costs of my other products like my stickers and keychains - that's all stuff that I usually have to order in bulk, so I'd wanna make sure there's enough interest in buying them before I open a shop for them so I don't wind up with a bunch of unsold merch!

Needless to say, running an online shop is complicated and a ton of work! So I wanna make sure if and when I do open one, I do it right in a way that benefits both buyers and myself for the purpose of self-care :' ) I also wanna get out of the funk I'm currently in as creating standalone illustrations has admittedly gotten harder over the past couple years. Drawing comics is no problem because I have direction through the script, drawing illustrations from scratch on a blank canvas suddenly makes my brain short out @.@

But yeah! TL ; DR yes I would LOVE to open up an online shop for the folks who wanna buy my original art! It's in the works and I hope it's something I can bring to you all soon <3 <3

[hardysigns]

How LED Signage Is Revolutionising Outdoor Advertising

Summary LED signage is changing the face of outdoor advertising by offering brighter displays, lower running costs, better customization, and increased engagement. Businesses across sectors are now turning to digital signage solutions to stand out and connect with audiences more effectively. In this article, we explore how LED technology works, why it’s gaining popularity, and how it compares to traditional outdoor signage. We also discuss the growing demand for digital signage in Staffordshire and how local businesses can benefit from this shift.

What makes LED signage different from traditional signs?

Traditional signs rely on static graphics printed on materials like vinyl or metal. They’re effective but limited. Once printed, the design can’t be changed without replacing the entire sign. LED signage, on the other hand, uses light-emitting diodes (LEDs) to create dynamic content that can be updated anytime.

This technology allows businesses to show video, animations, and real-time updates. You can switch between messages, run multiple ads in rotation, or display time-sensitive offers — all from a remote device.

Why is LED signage gaining popularity?

There are a few key reasons behind the rapid rise of LED signage in outdoor advertising:

Greater visibility — LED signs are brighter and more eye-catching, even in direct sunlight.

Energy efficiency — LEDs use less power than traditional lighting, which reduces running costs.

Durability — Outdoor LED screens are built to withstand weather conditions like rain, wind, and snow.

Remote control — Content can be managed from anywhere via software, saving time and effort.

Dynamic content — Unlike static signs, LED displays can show different messages at different times of day or week.

These benefits make LED signage especially appealing to businesses that want to stay agile and competitive.

How effective is LED signage in driving engagement?

The statistics speak for themselves:

According to the Outdoor Advertising Association of America (OAAA), digital billboards increase brand awareness by 47% compared to static signs.

71% of people say they often look at roadside digital signage (Nielsen).

A study by Intel found that digital displays capture 400% more views than static signage.

This makes LED signage an excellent option for attracting attention in high-traffic areas — whether that’s a city centre, a retail park, or near a major roadway.

Where is LED signage being used?

How does LED signage improve ROI?

LED signage might seem expensive at first, but it pays off in the long run:

Low maintenance — LED lights last up to 100,000 hours, reducing repair and replacement costs.

Targeted messaging — Schedule your ads to run during peak hours for maximum exposure.

Multiple ads on one screen — Rotate different campaigns without printing new material.

Increased foot traffic — Better visibility and engagement often lead to more in-store visits.

These factors combine to offer a much higher return on investment compared to traditional signage.

Is LED signage environmentally friendly?

Yes. One of the lesser-known benefits of LED signage is its lower environmental impact:

LED lights consume 75% less energy than incandescent bulbs.

There’s no need to print and dispose of vinyl or paper graphics regularly.

Content updates are digital, cutting down on waste and transport emissions.

For businesses aiming to reduce their carbon footprint, LED signage is a smart choice.

What does installation and setup look like?

The process usually includes:

Site survey — A technician checks the location and measures dimensions.

Custom design — The digital display is tailored to fit the space and business needs.

Hardware setup — Technicians install the screen, wiring, and mounting equipment.

Software setup — Content management systems (CMS) are installed for easy control.

Training — Businesses learn how to update and schedule their content.

The process is quick and minimally disruptive. Once installed, updates are as easy as sending an email or using a phone app.

What should businesses consider before switching to LED signage?

Before investing in LED signage, think about:

Location — Is the sign in a spot with high visibility and foot traffic?

Size — Make sure it’s large enough to be seen from the intended viewing distance.

Content strategy — Plan your messages to maximise the value of dynamic content.

Compliance — Check local council rules about digital advertising screens.

Budget — Consider long-term cost savings, not just initial setup fees.

Working with an experienced signage provider ensures these points are addressed upfront.

What’s the future of outdoor advertising?

The shift to digital is accelerating. A report from MarketsandMarkets predicts the global digital signage market will grow from $20.8 billion in 2023 to $29.6 billion by 2027. LED technology will be a major driver of that growth.

We’re also seeing trends like:

Interactive signage — Touchscreens and motion sensors to boost engagement.

Real-time data — Displaying weather, news, or social media feeds.

AI integration — Personalised ads based on audience demographics or location.

Outdoor advertising is no longer about putting up a sign and hoping for the best. It’s becoming smarter, more responsive, and more powerful.

Final thoughts

LED signage is transforming how businesses approach outdoor advertising. It offers dynamic content, better visibility, lower long-term costs, and a higher return on investment. For businesses in Staffordshire looking to stay ahead, digital signage Staffordshire is more than just a trend — it’s a strategic advantage.

If you’re ready to upgrade your signage, Hardy Signs in Staffordshire (DE14 1LS) has the experience, technology, and customer-first approach to help you make a lasting impression.

[rainedragon]

do you have any tips for scanning old magazines/catalogs? i'd like to help archive some of the publications i have, but i don't really know where to start ʕ⁠´⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠`⁠ʔ

i'm mostly concerned about binding (especially on glbs) and what scanner specifications to look at, but any other advice or resources would be appreciated too!

So, I'm not actually an archivist, I'm a web developer by trade. I own a relatively inexpensive flatbed printer/scanner, mostly because it was what I could go out to a physical store and buy for relatively cheap when I started out scanning old magazines and catalogs.

For anything that is staple bound, like a magazine, and can be put flat on a table while open, scanning is relatively easy. You just need a flatbed scanner that is bigger than the pages, and a book to put on top of the lid to keep it flat (don't use too heavy of a book or you will damage the scanner 1-2 magazines is usually good. Also, don't forget they are there, open the lid and fling them across the room). Line up a corner of the page on the corner of the scanner and you should be golden. Scan in photo mode if your scanner software has options. Ideally, for things like the GLB, you would either want a copy you can destroy (which I kind of think is what some of the 'latest magazines' scanning farms were doing in the 2010s) and to carefully unbind the whole thing and scan the pages flat (which I have no personal interest in doing because destroying books pains me and I'm not trying to digitize "clean" digital copies for any professional reason). OR, my understanding is you want something with a V-shaped cradle of some type that is specialized for scanning books, either as an actual scanner or a camera setup with software. The problem is last time I looked those were like 10K and up if you get a piece of specialized equipment.

I've vaguely dabbled with the idea of doing a very hacky version of a DIY build with boxes cut down to the right angle and some panes of glass and my DSLR for my pink house catalogs because they are too big but I never really got it fully figured out. I will admit, I haven't tried super hard. I kept getting reflections, and I had to worry about the glass scratching the pages, and I didn't feel like getting a proper light.... I know I should really try again, and try a little harder, but it's a lot and I have a lot of other stuff I need to do so it just keeps getting kicked down the road.

That said, if you want to get into trying a DIY build, there is a whole community of people who were doing that in the 2010s that have posted good info on types of glass and way more detailed suggestions than I can make here: https://diybookscanner.org/forum/index.php This box scanner is essentially what I was trying to set up and it theoretically should work, I'm pretty sure my whole issue is that I was trying to do it all quickly at like midnight one day and did not have the right lighting and didn't try too hard to fix that. Like... I could have tried a lot harder than I did https://www.instructables.com/Bargain-Price-Book-Scanner-From-A-Cardboard-Box/ (good pictures of one here: https://diybookscanner.org/forum/viewtopic.php?f=14&t=1202)

And then I needed to take it apart because I needed the table back...

But yeah, if you don't want to invest thousands or destroy them, I would say try a cardboard box scanner for things like the GLB, see if you can get it to work for you?

And then for things that can go flat, a combo scanner/printer that is good enough for photographs will be more than good enough for the print resolution of most magazines and the scanner/printer combos are way cheaper than dedicated scanners because they think you are going to become an ink customer and buy printer ink, so they make it cheaper. But the joke is on them. My combo scanner printer has never had ink in it before. (Note: do read reviews and make sure it's not stupid enough to require it's ink to be full to scan. I wouldn't put it past some companies to add that to their software). If you are really passionate about this, there are a lot of people who are way more dedicated to archival book scanning who have developed all sorts of DIY solutions for speeding up the process, automating parts of it, etc, and searching for terms like DIY book scanner should get you in the right place on the internet.

[the-bjd-community-confess]

For anyone curious about resin printing prices, I just thought I'd share my 2 cents as a hobbiest printer.

Resin printing requires a lot of PPE (more than filament printing afaik, though that requires some too)! Protective equipment alone can run upwards of $100 dollars. I spent time hunting for good prices and my setup ended up being around $130. You need stuff like nitrile gloves to handle the resin with, masks (ideally a good particulate and VOC filter so you can sand with the same mask you use for fumes), ducting to vent the fumes out somewhere (and everything else venting involves), and so on. There's lots of little things, and they'll add up fast.

There's also other equipment you'll need besides just a printer. Resin printing requires post processing requires something to wash the print in (usually IPA) and something to cure it with (UV light). You can re-use IPA and cure in the sun, but how you choose to process the resin afterwards is still an up-front cost to consider. You'll need containers to store the IPA to save it in, and you'll need a funnel with a good filter in order to save extra resin from prints. (Up-front costs for long-term materials saving. if you skip those, you'll pay more replacing them in the long term.)

In order to have a setup that's comfortable instead of only functional, many people will want extra supplies for their battle stations, like mylar boxes (like indoor greenhouse tents) to contain fumes and hide the printer from sunlight, and silicone mats to protect surrounding surfaces from resin. And omg, you can see how this is starting to take up a lot of space...

That's not even touching the cost of resin itself! even really cheap resin is going to be over $10 a kg. and if you want more than one color, you're either going to need to buy lots of UV-proof chemical bottles to store your different custom mixed colors, or you'll need to buy more colors. (If you mix your own, you'll need dyes.) You'll need to acquire elastic to string the doll, and you'll usually want to purchase metal s-hooks. resin has many strengths as a medium (high detail, etc), but unfortunately, it is brittle, which makes it a poor candidate for tiny objects under a lot of stress. so, 3D printing the s-hook is usually not a good idea. (Unless you're paying extra for, like, some siraya tech tenacious, or something like that. but even then, I'm not sure it's the best choice.) And if you want to assemble the doll with magnets instead of snap fits, you'll need magnets too.

TL;DR Resin printing is a high-investment hobby. It might be cost effective if you're making ten dolls, but if you want one or two, it won't save you money or time. (I still think people should try making their own dolls if they're interested!! :) It doesn't have to be about money. Making your own custom dolls is a rewarding experience! But it's not a cheat code to avoid the cost of this hobby.)

~Anonymous

[ciriogcumd]

Maximize Your Printing Efficiency: The Ultimate Guide to Gang Sheet DTF Transfers for Custom Designs

Introduction

Hey there! If you're looking to streamline your printing process and discover a fabulous method for creating custom designs, you’ve landed in the right spot. In this ultimate guide, we’re diving into the world of gang sheet DTF transfers. Trust me; it’s a game-changer for anyone involved in the printing industry. Whether you’re running a small business or managing a larger commercial operation, understanding how to maximize your printing efficiency can save you time, effort, and money. So, roll up your sleeves, and let’s get started!

Maximize Your Printing Efficiency: The Ultimate Guide to Gang Sheet DTF Transfers for Custom Designs What is DTF Printing?

Direct to Film (DTF) printing is one of those innovative technologies that have transformed the way we think about fabric customization. Instead of traditional methods like screen printing or heat transfer printing that can be quite limiting, DTF allows for vibrant colors and complex designs on various fabrics with ease.

Key Features of DTF Printing:

Versatility: Works on cotton, polyester, and blends. Durability: Prints are resistant to cracking and fading. Ease of Use: Simple application process without extensive equipment.

Why should you consider Visit this page DTF? Well, if you want high-quality prints without breaking the bank or spending hours on setup, this might just be the route for you!

Understanding Gang Sheet DTF Transfers

So what exactly is a gang sheet? It's essentially a large sheet that contains multiple designs printed together for efficiency. Instead of wasting space on individual sheets, gang sheets optimize every inch by grouping designs—making them ideal for both small and large runs.

Benefits of Gang Sheets Cost-Effective: Reduces material waste. Time-Saving: Less time spent on setup means more production. Creative Freedom: Allows designers to experiment with multiple designs in one go.

When you're aiming to maximize efficiency in your operations, gang sheet DTF transfers should be at the top of your list!

The Process of Creating Gang Sheet DTF Transfers

Creating custom gang sheets isn’t as daunting as it sounds! Here’s a simple breakdown:

Step 1: Design Creation

Start by creating your digital artwork using design software like Adobe Illustrator or CorelDRAW. Make sure each design fits well within its designated area on the sheet.

Step 2: Print Setup

Load your film into a direct-to-film printer (the best DTF printer will make this step smoother). Adjust settings based on the material you’re using.

Step 3: Print

Print all designs onto the transfer film simultaneously! This is where you'll appreciate how much time you're saving.

Step 4: Apply Powder Adhesive

Sprinkle adhesive powder while the ink is still wet on your prints.

Step 5: Cure

Heat cure your prints using a heat press or oven until fully adhered.

Choosing the Right Equipment for DTF Printing

If you want to ensure quality results with minimal fuss, investing in reliable equipment is crucial. Here are some must-haves:

| Equipment | Description | |-------------------------|---------------------------------

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Can an automatic paper bag machine be customized for different bag sizes and shapes?

In today’s packaging industry, flexibility is power. Whether you're supplying grocery stores, fashion retailers, food delivery services, or pharmacies, each client may require paper bags of different sizes, styles, and shapes. To stay competitive and meet diverse customer needs, manufacturers need a machine that does more than just produce paper bags—it must adapt, scale, and deliver variety.

This leads to a common question we hear at Prakash Machineries Pvt. Ltd: Can an automatic paper bag machine be customized for different bag sizes and shapes? The short answer is—absolutely yes.

Modern paper bag machines are built with flexibility in mind. In this article, we’ll explore how our advanced automatic paper bag machines can be customized to produce a wide range of bag dimensions and formats, and how this capability benefits your business.

Why Customization Matters in Paper Bag Production

As the demand for eco-friendly alternatives to plastic continues to rise, different industries are looking for tailored paper bag solutions. For example:

A restaurant may need medium-sized square bottom bags with handles for food deliveries.

A retail outlet might want printed shopping bags in multiple sizes.

A pharmacy may prefer flat, compact bags for lightweight items.

A grocery store might need heavy-duty flat bottom bags in bulk.

Without customization, you’d need separate machines or manual setups for each size—which reduces efficiency and increases cost. This is where a customizable automatic paper bag machine offers a major competitive edge.

How Automatic Paper Bag Machines Offer Customization

Modern automatic paper bag machines, especially those from Prakash Machineries Pvt. Ltd, are engineered for flexibility. Here’s how they enable quick and easy customization:

1. Adjustable Forming Plates and Tubes

The forming unit is the heart of the bag-making process. By changing or adjusting the forming plate and tube, you can produce bags of different widths and gusset sizes. This allows you to create small, medium, and large paper bags using the same machine.

Adjustable Parameters Include:

Bag width

Bag length

Bottom width (flat or square)

Side gusset width (for volume capacity)

With tool-less adjustments or quick-change mechanisms, switching between bag sizes becomes a matter of minutes—not hours.

2. PLC-Controlled Settings for Size Variability

Our machines are equipped with PLC-based touchscreen interfaces that allow operators to input desired bag dimensions with ease. You can set the length, bottom width, and cutting parameters electronically, ensuring precise output every time.

This not only enhances accuracy but also reduces the chances of human error during changeovers.

3. Multi-Format Bag Production

Advanced machines are capable of producing various types of paper bags from a single setup. These include:

Flat bottom bags for groceries and medicine

Square bottom bags for retail and takeaway

V-bottom/satchel bags for bakery and pharmacy use

Handle bags (twisted rope or flat handle)

Printed bags with custom branding

The ability to switch between formats on the same machine gives your business a huge advantage in catering to different market segments.

4. Compatible with Various Paper Grades and Roll Widths

To accommodate different bag shapes and weights, our machines can process multiple paper types such as:

Kraft paper

White or brown recycled paper

Coated/laminated paper for moisture resistance

With adjustable roll holders and web aligners, you can easily switch between different paper rolls and thicknesses, ensuring compatibility with diverse applications.

5. Optional Add-Ons for Advanced Features

At Prakash Machineries Pvt. Ltd, we offer machines with optional modules that can be integrated based on your product line:

Handle pasting units for retail carry bags

Inline flexographic printing units for branded bags

Window patching units for bakery or gift bags

Lamination compatibility for water-resistant bags

These upgrades can be added at the time of purchase or later as your business grows.

Benefits of Customization for Your Business

Having a customizable paper bag machine opens up numerous advantages:

✅ Serve Multiple Industries

Adapt your product offering to cater to retail, food service, healthcare, and more.

✅ Improve Profit Margins

Produce premium, value-added bags like printed or handled bags that command higher prices.

✅ Stay Competitive

Offer a wide variety of bag sizes to meet changing customer demands and stand out from competitors with limited options.

✅ Scale Seamlessly

Start with basic production and expand your capabilities without replacing your machine.

✅ Faster Order Fulfillment

Switch between sizes and designs quickly to fulfill small or bulk orders efficiently.

Why Choose Prakash Machineries Pvt. Ltd?

At Prakash Machineries Pvt. Ltd, we specialize in delivering machines that are not only durable and high-speed, but also highly customizable. Our paper bag machines are designed to adapt to your production requirements, offering:

Precision-engineered forming systems

Easy-to-use control panels

Servo-driven mechanisms for accuracy

Modular designs for future upgrades

We also provide complete training, technical support, and after-sales service to ensure your team can operate the machine to its full potential.

Conclusion: One Machine, Endless Possibilities

In a dynamic and growing market, versatility is key. A customizable automatic paper bag machine allows you to stay ahead of trends, expand your customer base, and increase your profits—all without investing in multiple machines.

Whether you're launching a new production line or upgrading your current setup, the ability to produce different bag sizes and shapes on one machine is a smart, future-proof investment.

Ready to make your paper bag production more flexible and profitable? Contact Prakash Machineries Pvt. Ltd today to explore our range of customizable automatic paper bag machines—engineered for performance, precision, and scalability.

[snaplinklibrary]

From Weddings to Corporate Gatherings: Why Austin Loves Selfie Station Booths

In the vibrant city of Austin, where creativity and celebration intersect, events are never just ordinary gatherings. Whether it’s a dreamy wedding in Hill Country, a lively corporate event downtown, or a birthday bash on Lake Travis, Austinites know how to throw a party. But what’s one element that’s stealing the show at all these events? The selfie station booth! These modern photo booths are more than just a fun addition—they’re an experience that guests adore.

Here’s why Austin loves selfie station booths and why they’re a must-have for your next big event.

The Perfect Icebreaker for Any Event

Let’s face it—breaking the ice at events can be tricky. Selfie station booths serve as the ultimate conversation starter. Guests who might not know each other are drawn in by the allure of fun props, quirky backdrops, and the promise of Instagram-worthy shots.

At weddings, they bring together the bride’s college friends and the groom’s cousins in one hilarious group photo. At corporate gatherings, they lighten the mood and foster camaraderie among colleagues. In a city as sociable as Austin, these booths fit right in.

A Creative Outlet for Austin’s Artistic Vibes

Austin is known for its creative energy, and selfie station booths capitalize on this spirit. With customizable backdrops, digital filters, and themed props, these booths let your guests’ imaginations run wild.

For a rustic wedding, picture a backdrop of wildflowers with cowboy hats and boots as props. For tech-savvy corporate events, sleek digital animations and branded overlays make the booth a part of the event’s marketing strategy. The possibilities are as endless as the city’s creativity!

Instant Gratification in a Digital Age

Selfie station booths cater to our modern love of instant sharing. Equipped with advanced technology, they allow guests to print their photos instantly or share them directly to their social media accounts.

In a tech-forward city like Austin, where startups and innovators thrive, this immediacy is a big hit. Event hosts can even add hashtags or logos to the digital photos, making it a great way to boost event visibility online.

Memories That Last Beyond the Event

One of the best things about selfie station booths is their ability to capture the spirit of the moment. Guests take home tangible memories in the form of photo strips or customized prints, and hosts get a digital gallery to look back on.

From the goofy faces of your bridal party to the team-building laughs at a corporate retreat, these photos become cherished mementos.

Affordable Entertainment for All Occasions

Planning an event in Austin can add up quickly, but selfie station booths are an affordable entertainment option with high impact. They keep guests engaged throughout the event without breaking the bank.

Local vendors often offer flexible packages to suit various event sizes and budgets, whether it’s an intimate gathering or a massive corporate gala. Plus, the entertainment value far outweighs the cost, making it a worthwhile investment.

Why Austin Stands Out with Its Selfie Booth Services

Austin’s selfie station booths are a cut above, thanks to the city’s unique event culture. Many local vendors go the extra mile to incorporate Austin’s charm into their services. Think Texas-themed props, eco-friendly booth setups, or tech-savvy features like GIF creation and green screen effects.

The city’s love for local businesses also ensures that you’re supporting creative entrepreneurs when you rent a selfie station booth.

Events That Shine with Selfie Station Booths

Weddings: Capture the joy of your special day with custom backdrops that match your theme.

Corporate Gatherings: Foster team spirit and give employees a fun way to connect outside the office.

Birthday Parties: Whether it’s a sweet 16 or a 50th milestone, selfie stations bring smiles to guests of all ages.

Festivals: In a city known for its music and arts festivals, a selfie booth adds an interactive element to the fun.

Fundraisers and Galas: Encourage donations with branded photos that spread your cause’s message.

Conclusion: Make Your Event Unforgettable

Selfie station booths are more than just a trendy addition—they’re an essential ingredient for creating unforgettable moments. In a city as dynamic and diverse as Austin, these booths bring people together, celebrate creativity, and capture memories that last a lifetime.

So, whether you’re planning a wedding, a corporate event, or a casual get-together, make sure a selfie station booth is part of your plans. Your guests will thank you, and your event will be the talk of Austin.

Ready to elevate your event with a selfie station booth? Explore local Austin vendors to find the perfect fit for your celebration. It’s time to strike a pose and create memories worth sharing!

[ocimumglobal]

Digital Podiums: Revolutionizing Presentations in the Modern Era

In the age of rapid technological advancement, traditional tools are being replaced by smart, tech-savvy alternatives. One such innovation that has significantly impacted the realm of presentations and public speaking is the digital podium. Whether in educational institutions, corporate settings, or public venues, digital podiums are transforming the way information is delivered and received. Let’s delve into the features, benefits, and reasons why digital podiums are becoming indispensable in today’s world.

What is a Digital Podium?

A digital podium is an advanced version of the traditional lectern. It integrates various technologies, such as touchscreen displays, built-in microphones, and audio systems, to enhance the presenter’s experience. Designed to offer seamless integration with multimedia content, digital podiums are the perfect blend of simplicity and sophistication.

Key Features of a Digital Podium

1. Touchscreen Interface

One of the standout features of digital podiums is the large, interactive touchscreen display. This allows presenters to:

Navigate through slides effortlessly.

Annotate content in real-time.

Access multimedia files with a single touch.

2. Integrated Audio System

Digital podiums are equipped with built-in microphones and high-quality speakers, ensuring clear audio delivery to the audience. Many models also include noise-cancellation features for a professional-grade audio experience.

3. Compatibility with Multiple Devices

Modern digital podiums support connections with laptops, tablets, and USB drives. This ensures flexibility and ease of use, regardless of the presenter’s preferred device.

4. Internet Connectivity

Wi-Fi and Ethernet connectivity enable users to access online resources, stream videos, or download additional materials directly from the podium.

5. Adjustable Design

To cater to presenters of different heights and preferences, many digital podiums feature height-adjustable designs. This ensures a comfortable experience for all users.

6. Robust Security Features

Digital podiums often include password-protected access and encrypted data storage, ensuring that sensitive information remains secure.

7. Multi-Language Support

For institutions and organizations with diverse audiences, digital podiums offer multi-language interfaces, making them accessible to users worldwide.

8. Built-in Lighting

Integrated LED lighting enhances visibility for documents or notes during presentations, especially in dimly lit environments.

9. Recording and Streaming Capabilities

With built-in cameras and software, digital podiums allow presenters to record their sessions or stream them live. This is especially beneficial for hybrid and virtual events.

10. Durable and Sleek Design

Constructed with high-quality materials, digital podiums are designed to withstand frequent use while maintaining a modern and professional appearance.

Benefits of Using a Digital Podium

Enhanced Engagement

Digital podiums make presentations more interactive, captivating the audience’s attention with visuals, videos, and real-time annotations.

Time Efficiency

By consolidating multiple functionalities in one device, digital podiums save setup time and allow presenters to focus on delivering their message effectively.

Accessibility for All

Features like adjustable height and multi-language support ensure that digital podiums are user-friendly for people of all abilities and backgrounds.

Professionalism

The sleek design and advanced features of a digital podium enhance the presenter’s credibility and make a lasting impression on the audience.

Environmentally Friendly

By minimizing the need for printed materials, digital podiums contribute to sustainability efforts and reduce paper waste.

Applications of Digital Podiums

Educational Institutions

In classrooms and lecture halls, digital podiums revolutionize teaching by integrating multimedia content, enabling virtual lectures, and facilitating interactive learning sessions.

Corporate Meetings

For business presentations, digital podiums offer a polished and efficient way to communicate ideas, showcase data, and engage stakeholders.

Conferences and Seminars

Digital podiums are ideal for large events, ensuring seamless transitions between speakers and consistent audio-visual quality throughout the sessions.

Houses of Worship

In religious settings, digital podiums enhance the delivery of sermons and announcements with audio-visual support.

Public Venues

Digital podiums are increasingly used in public addresses, exhibitions, and cultural events, offering versatility and efficiency in diverse scenarios.

Top Considerations When Choosing a Digital Podium

1. Ease of Use

Opt for a digital podium with an intuitive interface that minimizes the learning curve for users.

2. Compatibility

Ensure the podium is compatible with the devices and software commonly used in your organization.

3. Portability

If the podium needs to be moved between locations, consider a lightweight and mobile model.

4. Customization Options

Some manufacturers offer customization features, such as branding and color choices, to align with organizational identity.

5. Warranty and Support

Choose a reliable vendor that provides a comprehensive warranty and excellent customer support to address any technical issues.

Future Trends in Digital Podiums

1. AI Integration

Future digital podiums may include AI-powered features such as speech-to-text, real-time language translation, and personalized content recommendations.

2. Advanced Analytics

Data analytics capabilities will provide insights into audience engagement, helping presenters refine their techniques.

3. Enhanced Connectivity

With the rise of IoT, digital podiums may integrate with other smart devices to create a cohesive technological ecosystem.

Conclusion

Digital podiums are not just a tool; they are a game-changer in the way we communicate, teach, and present. Their versatility, combined with cutting-edge features, ensures that they remain at the forefront of modern presentation technology. Whether you’re an educator, a business leader, or a public speaker, investing in a digital podium is a step toward enhanced professionalism and efficiency.

#DigitalPodium #PresentationTechnology #TechForEducation #SmartLecterns #CorporatePresentations #InteractiveLearning #PublicSpeakingTools #ModernClassrooms #TechInnovation #SustainablePresentations

[andmaybegayer]

Last Monday of the Week 2024-12-09

Continually looking up "what day is christmas" and then forgetting almost immediately. This is not a bit I keep forgetting whether it's the 23rd the 24th or the 25th.

Listening: Bandcamp Friday! Posted about that here:

Watching: Not much.

Reading: A mix of 3D printing stuff and, still, work research, mostly about network configuration, because I'm trying to run a stupid complicated mlag vlan setup with trunked ports on the host side which is especially hard because this is basically my first time touching managed network hardware. Everything I know about vlans until like two weeks ago is theoretical.

3D printing stuff involves both some materials science and some interesting basic introductory stuff on hybrid fluid dynamics and solids simulations that because I want to try and do some structural simulations, it looks like there's some plugins for OpenFOAM that render this doable, just.

Making: New printer! Some test prints to get that up and running. Aborted a skull print because it seems like the printbed this came with is much less sticky than I'm used to, figuring out how to use that correctly.

Trying to fix the dead Ender 3 SE, which appears to have kerploded its power supply dramatically, link to that saga here

Some quilting with my partner, we are good at very different parts of sewing, they do knitting and crochet and worked shop tailor work for a while but are pretty weak at hand sewing, I do a lot of hand sewing and embroidery but I only barely know how to knit and crochet scares me.

Playing: A lot of Cyberpunk 2077, which I picked up in the steam sale as my one Big Game.

I have a lot of thoughts. This has very good writing for a Video Game RPG, especially one with such limited dialogue. I think being fictional helps its world feel much more real than say, GTA V, which is good at simulating a lot of things but I think struggles with the final hurdle, despite being in many ways much deeper than Cyberpunk.

Playing on Hard, which I think is a nice balance of letting your actions actually deal damage and feeling as deadly as Cyberpunk games are meant to feel.

Tools and Equipment: Compact powered screwdrivers are a real godsend, I have that Xiaomi multibit set and it's really worth the price of admission when you're working on something that is just full of screws.