#types of data warehouse

[junaidjee]

What is data warehouse with example

A data warehouse is a repository or data store in which data is stored, queried, and analyzed. The data comes from different sources like marketing research data, educational data, political data, scientific data, company data etc. A data warehouse is just like a store in which you store unused items like an electric generator or extra things. But in the case of a data warehouse, you store…

[arc-misadventures]

Right on Schedule

Jaune looked over a progress report as he was once again was inspecting the walls of, Mantle's newest fortifications. The time graph they had made was displaying good progress the wall. Displaying that for a week, and a half of work, they were well on schedule, even ahead of it in some areas. But, there was a very noticeable dip in the chart from two days ago. A dip that, Jaune didn't like.

Jaune: Hey, Major Skender?

Major Felix Skender, was an officer in the, Atlas Engineer Corp. Jaune had talked to, Major Skender quite often when he came to inspect the wall. He had come to like the fellow. He was a little quirky, though from, Jaune's experience that tended to me a normal habit of anyone into pyrotechnics. Least, Major Skender seemed to be the saner side of things.

At least he hoped he was.

Maj. Skender: Yes, Sir?

Jaune: It's nice to see how things are coming along. I dare say you might be ahead of schedule.

Maj. Skender: Ahh, thank you, Sir! Yes, we are being encouraged by the higher ups to get this completed as soon as we can. That way we can get back to work on the, CC...?!

Jaune's hand shot up silencing, Major Skender instantly. Jaune, gave the, Major a cautionary gaze as he lowered his hand.

Jaune: We do not address it as that. We address it as, General Ironwood's Project, Ironwood's Secret Project, or anthing along those lines. But, we do not say what it is. It is a secret project after all, Major.

Maj. Skender: Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir.

Jaune: Good, make sure that the other officers are made aware of this as well. There are many who would take great pleasure in derailing the, General's future plans.

Maj. Skender: Understood, Sir.

Jaune: Now then, about this timetable here... What was this dip here you experience two days ago? You were delayed by about half a day, but you've made up for it. Good job on that, Major.

Maj. Skendor: Oh, thank you, Sir!

Jaune: But, nonetheless; what happened here?

Maj. Skender: Two days ago...? Ahh yes, a bunch of, Happy Huntresses came by, and were disturbing the workers.

Jaune: The, Happy Huntresses? What did they do?

Maj. Skender: They were interrogating some of the workers; They were asking them about what weapons we were installing, how long we were taking. Why did it take so long for, General Ironwood to order the reconstruction, and fortification of the walls. Things such as that.

Jaune: Weren't the people of, Mantle already made aware of these things; Why were they asking what should be seen as common knowledge?

Maj. Skender: I'm sorry, Sir, but I do not know why.

Jaune: Hmmm... Very well then...

Jaune handed back the data slate before giving one last look at the construction upon the wall.

Jaune: I will be taking my leave then. Till later, Major.

Maj. Skender: Till later, Sir.

The Major offered, Jaune a salute who returned one in kind. Jaune then made his way down a flight of stairs. As he made away from the wall he pulled out his scroll, and typed out a simple message to, 'Finch.'

"We need to talk."

Jaune quickly put away his scroll as he walked down the many paths of, Mantle interacting with civilians as he went about. He kept walking until he felt a buzz from his pocket, and he checked his scroll, and read the message that he had been sent.

"Okay. Usual spot?"

"On my way."

Jaune quickly made his way towards the downtown area of, Mantle, heading into one of the many empty warehouses in the southern parts of, Mantle.

As, Jaune entered the warehouse, he was met with the familiar sight of, Robyn Hill resting against one of the many empty crates. She pushed herself off the crate as she walked towards, Jaune. An odd smile spread across her face that, Jaune could not quite place as she walked towards him.

Robyn: Hello, Jaune. What is it?

Jaune: Hello, Robyn. I need to ask you about something that happened a couple a days ago.

Robyn: I suppose you're asking about the incident at the wall that happened the other day?

Robyn crossed her arms, and shook her head. Jaune worried that he may have upset her, but her eyes said she was more so disappointed. Was she disappointed in him for not trusting her? No, no she wasn't disappointed in, Jaune. She was disappointed in herself. Herself, and her followers.

Jaune: What happened?

Robyn: Some of my followers... they saw how quickly the wall was repaired. So, they went to the wall, and wanted to know why, General Ironwood was taking so long to order it's reconstruction if it only took three days to do. Since the, Engineers couldn't explain it, the people got angry, and... well they got rowdy.

Jaune: And, the Engineer's had to keep them back so they didn't get too close to the construction site. Otherwise something could have happen to them. Or, worse, one of them could have gotten hurt.

Robyn: Exactlly.

Jaune: So that's why construction was delayed. Since I didn't hear anything about a mass arrest, I suppose it was dealt with peacefully?

Robyn: Yes, two of my cohorts; Fiona, and another member of the. Happy Huntresses, May Marigold came by, and dispersed them. I told them to make sure things like this didn't happen again.

Jaune: They better. The sections getting the new fortifications will have armed guards around them all the time. While I am certain of the, Atlasian Militaries trigger discipline, I wouldn't hold it past, Ironwood to get... itchy fingers.

Robyn: Do you think, General Ironwood would order his troops to open fire on civilians?!

Jaune waved his hand down, placing one on his lips as he looked at, Robyn. Her voiced echoing in the empty warehouse.

Jaune: Your voice carries, Robyn; In more ways than one.

Robyn: I'm sorry... I just... Do you seriously think, General Ironwood would do that?

Jaune looked at, Robyn before turning to look away shaking his head.

Jaune: I not saying he will, but... If he was pushed far enough...

Robyn: Oh... oh no... No wonder you want me on the council; The more I learn about, General Ironwood, the more I understand why you want someone to put a leash on him.

Jaune: Someone has to, and the only person who could is... preoccupied...

Robyn: Preoccupied with what?

Jaune: Uhhh...? A severe case of identity crisis...

Robyn: Really?

Jaune: More, or less...

Jaune didn't want to lie to, Robyn, he wanted to keep her trust in him. But, knowing about Ozpin, and Oscar was a whole bucket of worms that he didn't want to deal with. And, besides, even if she used her semblance on him, he wasn't lying. Technically.

Robyn: ...

Robyn: Very well. Is that it all you wanted to talk about, Jaune?

Jaune: That's it. Is there anything you want from me, Robyn?

Robyn: Uhh... yes there is.

Jaune: Oh, what is it?

Robyn: I was wondering if you wouldn't mind coming to one of my rallies I'm having today?

Jaune: Oh, why so?

Robyn: Several reasons. You've mostly heard about my political policies, and plans from my supporters.

Jaune: I have.

Robyn: Well, I was wondering if you'd like to hear it from the horses mouth. To know what I think of, and how I plan to help the people of, Mantle, and Atlas.

Jaune: And, to have a, Specialist there to... show their... No, to show, Atlas's support for you?

Robyn stopped, and stared at, Jaune. A coy smile appeared across her lips as she pointed a finger at him.

Robyn: You can say that.

Jaune returned her coy smile with one of his own.

Jaune: If anyone asks, just say I'm there to keep the peace. We'll use the incident at the wall the other day as an example.

Robyn: Alright then. Let's do this.

~~~

Jaune had never been at a political rally before. He thought it would involve a lot of wine sipping, and snobbish wealthy people speaking down to people. If this was a political rally run by someone like, Jacques Schnee it would no doubt be like that. But, no, this was more simple, more relatable. It was nice.

Although, Jaune certainly had something to say about her posters.

; Jaune? Jaune!

Jaune: Hmm? Oh, hello, Casey, fancy seeing you here today.

Casey Roll. One of the mothers he often saw when he was leading kids to school, and often was the one who gave him rather large servings of casseroles to him. While he did miss taking those kids to school, he was tired of all the casseroles...

Casey: Hi, Jaune! I haven't seen you lately, what are you doing here?

Jaune: Oh, I'm just here to make sure things go smoothly. We don't want another incident like we had at the wall the other day.

Casey: Oh, I heard about that. People were upset that, General Ironwood didn't order the repairs of the wall sooner if it was only going to take a matter of days to rebuild it. But, luckily he listened to, Robyn Hill so he decided to rebuild the wall, and fortify it!

Jaune smiled, Casey's enthusiasm was infectious, but even more so at the news that his little rumor was spreading so well. He told, Casey's friends about his little white lie, if she was repeating it, then no doubt others were as well.

Casey: So, even though you're here just watching things, are you enjoying yourself?

Jaune: To a point. I'm just inspecting the 'art' right now.

Casey: You mean the, Robyn's political posters.?

Jaune: Yes. The political posters...

Casey: ...

Casey: You hate it don't you?

Jaune: Oh absolutely. This an absolutely the worse design you can make for a political poster. I mean, give me a marker, and five minutes, and boom! Wanted poster!

Casey: ...

Casey: Oh shit... you could do that... How much?

Jaune: Hmmm...?

Jaune: At least ten thousand lien.

Casey: That's fair.

Jaune: I mean, why doesn't she have a slogan, or anything like that? 'Robyn Hill, The Hope of Mantle.' Something simple like that. At least she could be smiling in the photo. Or, is being dead on the inside a natural expression for people from, Atlas, and Mantle?

Casey: Yes.

Jaune stopped staring at, Robyn's picture to give, Casey a concerned look. But, based upon the expression on, Casey's face that she was giving him, she was in fact: dead serious.

Jaune: ...

Casey: ...

Jaune: Noted...

Casey shrugged her shoulders before she let loose a startled gasp as she darted to the side, Jaune looked over to see, Robyn, and a few of her, Happy Huntresses behind her.

Robyn: Hello, Specialist Arc, it's nice to see, General Ironwood's underlings showing some concern with the common people of, Mantle.

Jaune: Hello, Miss Hill. The concerns of, Mantle are also the concerns of, Atlas. So of course, General Ironwood is concerned about the common people of, Atlas. but, in this case, Miss. Hill I am here to keep the peace. We do not wish for another incident from your followers, like we did at the wall the other day.

Robyn: There wouldn't have been an 'incident' if, General Ironwood had rebuilt the wall once it was broken.

Jaune: So you say.

Casey had back away as, Jaune, and Robyn had begun to verbally spare with one another. As soon as she was out of earshot the conversation changed to something that carried a more casual air to it.

Jaune: Putting up a facade for your darling fans?

Robyn: We may be... allies of sorts, Jaune. But, since you are an, Atlasian Specialist, I do have to put up an air of defiance towards you, and by extension, General Ironwood. I'm glad you caught on so quickly, Jaune.

Jaune: It was simple enough to catch on to. I've seen how you act with my fellow, Specialists. So it was easy enough to play the... polite jerk with you.

Robyn: So you did... Well if you'll excuse me, I must address the people of, Mantle.

Jaune: Best of luck then... 'Councilwoman' Hill.

Jaune's comment may have been taken as a teasing jest from, Jaune. As if saying that she will never get a seat on the council. But, Robyn knew from the small smirk that, Jaune gave her was that she had his full support, and hope for her to get that seat on the council. For the good of, Mantle, and Atlas.

~~~

Robyn: Welcome everyone!

A cheer of zeal, and joy abundance echoed through the auditorium as, Robyn stood on the stage, and walked before her supporters. Jaune spared, Robyn a look as she took the stage before his eyes rested on the crowd, and watched them carefully.

Robyn: As many you have seen, Atlas have begun the reconstruction of the walls of, Mantle!

More cheers echoed as, Robyn celebrated the walls reconstruction with her supporters.

Robyn: I know many of you are happy that the people of, Atlas are supporting the people of, Mantle. That they are not only rebuilding the breach in the wall, but also fortifying it! Adding weapons to protect the people of, Mantle from the, Grimm!

Robyn: I know some of you are angry. That this should have been done years ago, that the walls should have been fortified as they will be the day they were built. Or, the fact that when they start firing those guns, it will be rather loud...

The audience laughed at, Robyn's simple remark. But, after hearing that, Jaune made a mental note in the back of his mind that they better inform people when they started test firing the weapon emplacements. He could think of several reasons why people wouldn't like that.

Robyn: But, the people of, Mantle, and Atlas are one people. We may call ourselves, Mantlites, or Atlasians, but at the end of the day, we are one people. One people who should not be fighting each other, but a common enemy: The Grimm.

Jaune could hear murmurs of agreements as, Robyn said those words. The Grimm were the people of, Mantle, and Atlas true enemy. Not each other. Jaune could agree with that, the Gri...?!

Jaune's mind abandoned his previous train of thoughts on, Robyn's word. Something was here, someone was here. Jaune had seen something. A lanky individual, a brown cloak over their head. Jaune recognized that shape. And, if it was who he thought it was, then things were about to get messy...

Jaune drowned out the world as he slowly weaved his way through the crowd. His mind was solely focused on the individual that was moving closer to the stage. Jaune quickly made his way to cut them off, but was careful to make his sure his presence was unnoticed. But, if it was who he feared it was, he knew their attention solely focused on, Robyn.

And, it was, considering they never saw him coming until his cerulean eyes locked in on his crazed yellow eyes.

Jaune: Hello, Tyrian~!

Tyrian: Wha?!

Jaune pulled out his sword, and sent it flying towards, Tyrian's face. People screamed as they ran out of the way, and started to flee the building. Unfortunately, Tyrian was a slippery bastard as he weaved out of the way of, Crocea Mors pristine white blade.

The crowd started screaming as they ran away. Jaune tapped his hip several times before deploying his shield, and taking a defensive stance at the mad scorpion faunas.

Tyrian: Whoa-hahaha! Well, hello again!

Jaune: I would say it's nice to see you again, but that'd be a lie.

Tyrian: Hahaha! Well it's nice to see you again!

Jaune: I doubt that...

Jaune was stalling for time; Jaune's greatest concern wasn't just, Tyrian, but also the civilians here. But, as he was stalling for time, most of the civilians in the auditorium had managed to escape, the only one that remained was, Robyn. She had sent, Fiona, and May off to help evacuate the civilians. With one extra huntresses, the odds were now on his side. But, nonetheless... the odds are never good when fighting a psychopath.

Tyrian: Well, since you spoiled the fun I bes... Whaa?!

Jaune stabbed forward with his sword hoping to catch, Tyrian off guard, but he managed to dodge out of the way, but, Jaune was more focused on keeping him here, and not letting the slippery bastard from getting away.

Jaune swung his sword in an upward arc, before leveling it it to stab at, Tyrian, before pulling back his blade back, deflecting the mad scorpions bladed gauntlets.

Tyrian jumped back before charging forward, and jumping on, Jaune's shield planning to throw him off balance, and take him down. But, just like many others before him, they all underestimated, Jaune's capabilities.

Jaune felt, Tyrian push on his shield, and cackle on as he readied his stinger to stab at, Jaune only for, Jaune to push his arm forward, and send him flying back. He spun in the air before landing on his feet, he let out a maniacal laugh before it was cut short as, Jaune bashed him in the face with his shield.

Jaune thought he was going to have an easier time dealing with this pyshco since his stinger was cut shot by, Ruby. But, evidently he had gotten a prosthetic tail to replace it. That just made him all the more dangerous.

Robyn: Jaune, duck!

Jaune 's body dropped into a squat before quickly standing back up as an crossbow bolt whizzed above him. Tyrian's bladed gauntlets flew through the air as he started knocking down the various blots, Robyn sent flying at him.

Tyrian leapt over, Jaune, and charged, Robyn. Robyn's crossbow changed into a bladed shield as she started crossing blades with, Tyrian. Jaune realized as he ran up towards the pair that, Tyrian wasn't just randomly here, he was here for a reason. He was here to carry out an assassination, and Robyn was the target.

Jaune: Robyn! He's a scorpion faunas! Watch out for his stinger!

Robyn: Got it!

This was the first time, Jaune got to see, Robyn in a fight, and to put it simply; She fought just like her name sake: Like a bird. Robyn's movement were as smooth, and as majestic as a robin in flight. Her skill with her weapon was as precise as a master violinist's. And she was deadly as a hawk on the hunt. It was mesmerizing to see. Almost.

Jaune's eyes weren't looking at the beauty of, Robyn's fighting style . His eyes were only taking in her passively, his attention was solely focused on, Tyrian. And, he saw something he didn't like.

A dark violet glow enveloped, Tyrian's hand as he reached for, Robyn's side. Jaune saw what a lilac field around, Robyn's side disperse, and make a hole on her side. Jaune suddenly realized something that was very, very dangerous.

That glow around, Tyrian's hand was an active sign of him using his semblance. And, Tyrian's semblance was capable of making holes in people auras! It was the perfect semblance for a, Hunter killer.

Jaune: Robyn! Back away from him!

Robyn, jumped back before, Tyrian could land a fatal blow. Tyrian charged her, but before he could he had to dash back as, Crocea Mors came flying past him. Jaune did see this as a dangerous move; Throwing his primary weapon, and leaving him relatively defenseless. But, Robyn's death was an even worse outcome for the future of, Mantle, and Atlas.

Tyrian laughed as, Jaune's sword flew past him, and he swiftly turned on him, and jumped atop of. Jaune. This action caught, Jaune off guard; Jaune had over extended himself allowing, Tyrian to land on top of him. Luckily, Jaune still had his shield on him, but, Tyrian had him pinned to the ground.

Jaune felt his aura being pulled away by, Tyrian's semblance. Jaune quickly activated his own semblance amping up his aura, trying to cover the breach in his wall, but it was too little, too late.

Jaune: AHHH?!

Jaune felt a searing burning pain as, Tyrian's stinger dug into his shoulder, injecting him with his vile poison.

Robyn: NOOO!

Robyn yelled as she fired bolt, after bolt at, Tyrian. But, Robyn had charged in too close to, Tyrian.

Tyrian effortlessly jumped off of, Jaune's prone body, and tackled, Robyn. Pinning her to the ground as his stinger rose into the air.

Tyrian: Ah-HAHAHA! It's my lucky day! Not only do I get to kill an annoying little, Huntsman! But, also the savior of, Mantle! Ah-HAHAHAHA!!!

Robyn's eyes widened in fear as, Tyrian's stinger hanged above his head, ready to dive down, and kill her. Robyn struggled against, Tyrian, trying to free herself from his grasp, but to no avail.

Tyrian laugh maniacally assured of his victory. But, as, Jaune watched, Tyrion prepare to kill, Robyn, he remembered something, something, Pyrrha had said to him years ago, back when she was training him on the roofs of, Beacon Academy, back when things were a simpler, happier time.

Pyrrha: "Remember, Jaune, landing the final blow is when your opponent is most vulnerable."

As Tyrian Laughed in mad glee at his assured victory, his laughter was suddenly cut short as, Jaune wrapped his hands around his head, and growled into the monsters ear.

Jaune: I'm not buried yet!

"SNAP, KER-CRAK!!!"

The sound of, Tyrian's neck snapping echoed throughout the auditorium like a gun shot. It was deafening in it's brutal energy, and the sound of the dull thud as, Jaune threw, Tyrian's wretched corpse off of, Robyn.

Jaune's breath came out heavily as he stared at, Tyrian's corpse, a maniacal smile still etched across his face. Robyn looked at, Jaune with wide eyes, stunned silent as she looked about her savior.

Jaune: But, you will be, you bastard son of a bitch!

Jaune yelled this out, panting heavily as before his body gave out, and he fell down, landing on the ground with a solid thud.

Robyn: Jaune...? Jaune?!

Robyn shouted his name as she ran over to him, cupping his face in her hands as she checked him over.

Robyn: Oh no, nonononono!

The doors to the auditorium burst open as several members of the, Specialist team came rushing in.

Clover: Jaune we got your message, what hap... Jaune?!

Clover, and Harriet ran over to, Jaune while, Marrow, Vine, and Elm kept the crowd out.

Clover: What the hell happened?!

Robyn: That psycho attacked us! He stabbed, Jaune with his tail!

Harriet: What psy...?! Wait, that's, Tyrian Callows?!

Clover: He stabbed, Jaune with his tail?!

Marrow: Fuck, that means he's been poisoned!

Clover: Call for a medevac!

Vine: On it!

Clover then pushed, Robyn out of the way as he looked down at, Jaune ever growing pale face.

Clover: Jaune! Jaune answer me!

He couldn't answer him, his voice had left him.

Clover: Jaune! Look at me! Look at me!

His couldn't look at him, his vision was getting blurry.

Clover: Jaune stay with me! Stay with me, Jaune!

He couldn't stay, he was leaving them.

Winter: JAUNE?!

His world faded into the darkness.

[gtwscratch]

What did the cells look like pre- Skizz and Mumbo death? Since Cleo and Impulse hadn’t always been in separate cells was BigB ever in a regular cell? Looking at the map it doesn’t seem possible

AFTER SEVERAL LONG MONTHS OF PROCRASTINATION AND ALSO COMPLETELY FORGETTING, I SHALL ANSWER YOUR ASK. THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE AND I HOPE YOU’RE STILL INTERESTED IN AN ANSWER!

Stick with me guys, it’s currently 12:40am as I start typing this all out and explaining it.

Cell Diagrams

To start us off, here’s some layout stuff for the cells, which is where the story is primarily taking place at the moment. I believe the diagram speaks for itself on who is where and what is what (pretend that one cell has a slash through it, I’m not crawling out of bed and getting on my iPad to make that change).

It was a little bit of a tight squeeze before powers began manifesting, and the “First Arrival” is only that. Between then and “Before Death,” subjects were moved around frequently to find out who got along best with who. Everyone has shared a cell with everyone at some point while they’ve been here.

Cell Layout

This is the standard layout for the cells. The beds are part of the wall and low to the ground, just barely leaving enough room for a subject to squeeze under it. The mattresses are thin as are the blankets, and that glass goes around all three sides of the cells (unless a cell is against the outer walls).

Facility Levels

Warehouse

This is primarily security and storage. Despite how big it is, it’s mostly empty, acting more like a cover up for the facility’s true works. It’s the only floor above ground level.

Floor 1

This is just where scientists live if they don’t want to rent a place nearby to stay close to their work, and this is also the floor with all of the offices (including Ex’s).

Floor 2

This is the first of two labs, and this lab focuses on data and numbers. All experimentation records go to this part of the facility, and information is documented and studied. This is where Xisuma and Zedaph work.

Floor 3

This level is where experimentation on the subjects happens. Sometimes it comes from data collection, and sometimes it comes from the teams on Floor 3, but this is where subjects’ abilities and limits are tested. This is where Doc works, and it’s also where Cleo and Impulse are being held.

Floor 4

The fourth and final level is where the subjects are held. By keeping them on the bottommost floor, the scientists can buy more time if any of the subjects manage to escape.

I think that’s all I have to say on this now? Again, sorry it took so long to answer your ask!!

[xandezsims]

Tutorial: Change Object Shaders in Sims 4 Studio, or How to Fix Patchy Shading on Objects

I was discussing shaders with @moontaart and it led to this. I'm sharing just in case it's useful to anyone. This fix is for things that tile against a wall, like wall panels, shelves, and cabinets, but the technique can be applied to swapping any object shaders.

Difficulty: Middling. Easier if you know S4S. It's mostly repetitive.

You'll Need:

Sims 4 Studio

Coffee and/or Patience

I strongly recommend saving a backup copy of your package. And do this before you add swatches. There are 2-3 Entries to change for every swatch, so if you have a lot, Step 8 will take ages.

If you have swatches already, you can Export All to file, save your Palette, and delete all but the first swatch. When you're done, apply the saved Palette to the package, delete everything but your textures from the export folder, and Import All to put everything back.

1. Open your file and go to the Warehouse tab. Scroll down.

2. At the bottom, find the first item marked Model LOD. This is your LOD 0. Click it, and a 3D Preview of the mesh should appear to the right.

3. Next to the 3D Preview tab, open the Data tab.

4. Beside Meshes, click Edit Items.

5. This will give you a list. These are the mesh groups. (If your mesh has 3 groups--i.e. glass, metal, and shadow--there will be one for each.) For this file, I have Dropshadow and Phong. Phong is the panel. To fix the lighting, I'll change Phong to Cabinets, so its evenly lit. Select the part you want to edit.

6. Go to the search bar and type 'Material'. Or, you can scroll down.

7. Under Material > Resource, you'll see Entries > Edit Items. If you scrolled down, it's the fourth button.

8. These Entries are the Variants for each swatch, with the top ones being the 'default' state. With 1 swatch and 2 mesh groups, we have 4 Variant Entries to fix. Choose the top line.

9. Scroll to the bottom.

10. Next to Shader is the name of the shader we want to change. Pick a new one from the dropdown, or key it in if you know it. (Tip: once the name is filled, highlight it and CTRL/CMD+C to copy.) Go back to the list, pick next VariantId Entry, and repeat. Do this for all of them. The more swatches you have, the more there will be.

11. Save; the window will close. Save the previous window too. This will put you back in the Warehouse.

12. Click the next Model LOD--LOD 1--and repeat Steps 8-11. This is where copying the shader name comes in handy.

13. LOD 2 is hidden under Model. Ignore the other Model LODs, which are the shadows. Instead, go Model > Data tab.

14. Under Lods, Edit Items.

15. (Not pictured) Don't panic. It looks worse than it is.

16. A list of meshes will pop up. Pick LowDetail and under Meshes, Edit Items.

17-19. This looks familiar! Repeat Steps 8-11, Save all windows when you finish. Then, Save the file.

Mostly done! Now, for the last part:

20. Check the result in game. If you get the effect you want, you're done!

I recommend taking "before" and "after" screenshots to compare. (Easier if you set a camera shortcut, and use the same test lot.)

Leave a like if this helped.

@thefoxburyinstitute @sims4tutorials

References:

How to Find an Object's Shader Data in Studio by orangemittens Help Thread: Color of Cabinets Looks Different in Games

[indieyuugure]

Hey Indie! Hope you're okay. I really liked the second to last part of the chapter you posted yesterday 😘👌🏻. I was curious if the antivenom came in capsules or pills or in a serum that had to be injected... Which turned out to be the latter and I think Mikey's reaction would be like this 🤣:

And two of his brothers will have to hold him while one of them and April will have to administer the cure with an IV.

I have two questions:

1. When Donnie and Rapha entered the refrigerator to get the cure... Those types of warehouses aren't the ones that open from the outside, but they don't from the inside, right 😅? Because it would be really bad if they were locked and they would have to forcefully ask from outside for someone to -miraculously- open them from the freezing room and there would be problems.

2. ... It may sound weird, but I'm curious... If your turtles were real, how would they smell? ... It's that I saw a TikTok video about how the 2012 turtles smelled a lot like a sewer and Abril had to get used to the aroma because they came and went from the sewers, since their lair is located in a part of the subway tracks where no subway passes through that route anymore 🤔. And also, when I go to a family gathering, they grill their meat and I'm like: bathed, dressed up and perfumed ... So that the next day I smell a lot of smoke in both my hair and my skin, and I'm not always near the grill 🤣.

Good luck for the last part, I'm already anxious to see what happens next ❤️!

P.S. 1: When Donnie grabbed some medicine just in case and Rapha was like, "You have a thousand drugs in the house, why do you want to grab more?" it reminds me of my grandmother because she has a lot of medicine on her mirror and in a chest... The last thing got to that extreme because my grandmother always left medicine mixed up in bottles and my cousin -being only one year old and at that age they are very curious- grabbed one that was not closed and swallowed it... It was a real mess that started inside and outside the house since my parents, my sister and I were on our way to my grandmother's house and my uncles and my grandmother called us very alarmed by what my cousin did. My dad drove like Toretto while my mom had the cell phone on speaker and my sister and I were investigating with our data what should be done. Thank God nothing serious happened, and my cousin had his stomach pumped. Oddly enough, considering it sounds like a baby, he behaved well and didn't make a fuss about how we all behaved, including the doctors. Even the doctors scolded my uncles for their carelessness, while at home we scolded my grandmother for always leaving her pills all over the place. We even got her a safe to store her important pills and hide them from the children, who are now three (my 5-year-old cousin, my 4-year-old cousin, and my 3-month-old baby cousin).

P.S. 2: There are videos on TikTok about the fanaticism of one of your stories: "Mutant Situation." So far, I've seen some of that, and they always give you credit in the video descriptions and recommend it so more people will read it. 😉

P.S. 3: I uploaded my 2012 TMNT fanfic yesterday and I won't stop thanking you for advising me on the timeline 🫶🏻.

Hello! I’m doing good! (Sorry this took a bit to get to 😅)

The antivenin is a liquid that’s administered through an IV (or so I’ve read anyway). So yeah, Mikey’s reaction is about on par with that 🤣

His brothers don’t really have to pin him down though since, uh, well he can’t really move much, and Donnie gives him some other stuff first. You’ll see.

For your other questions

1: Okay I’m seriously dying laughing at how many of you have speculated that Donnie and Raph are gonna get stuck in the refrigerator. I can’t say something like that will never happen, but I can’t confirm it’s not today 🤣. If the door got stuck then how would the doctors and pharmacists get in and out?

I did see a decently valid argument that the doors on those kinds of walk-in fridges are pretty heavy—which I agree, they are—and I do admit that since they get sleepy from the cold it could become a problem should they be in there a long time, but that’d be after like 15-30 or so idk, longer than 45 seconds. But anyway, I’ll just confirm as the author, no, they do not get stuck.

2: I have no clue how’d they’d smell actually 🤔 I think probably like teenage boy armpits, fading deodorant and a hint of that musky reptile smell. They actually live closer to the subway than the sewer, so their lair probably smell more like concrete and dust and also definitely smells like them and whatever food was last cooked.

I think Splinter smells like whatever fur soaps he uses and maybe. I’ve heard that a lot of Asians don’t have the same smell problems as other races though. Not sure if that’s true, but that would be an interesting thing to take into account since Splinter is 100% Japanese and the turtles’ human half is from Splinter so they’re 50%. Idk, that’s an interesting question.

Hope you guys like the last episode of this chapter, it’s gonna be pretty dialogue heavy but will give some—hopefully—interesting insight on the characters 👍

P.S. 1: yikes bro. Gotta be careful with that stuff, it’s pretty dangerous.

P.S. 2: Oh interesting, I didn’t know about that! I don’t have TikTok, so I guess that’s probably why 🤣 I’d love to see them though, so if you could send me a link that’d be appreciated.

P.S. 3: No way! Congrats! I’m always happy to help when I can! ^v^

Good questions! :]

[ofthedevil]

this isnt really a question and i may have already said this before so you dont. have to publish this or anything. but i really want to say i love how heartbreak is still integral to the story? like after episode 0 i was briefly.. not scared but kind of anticipating Something because the main problem was now solved. there will be no more heartbreak killings, no more data to go off of. episode 0s conclusion was satisfying but i couldnt see how it could leave any more room for future episodes- itd be morgan taking on cases sure but itd be more waffling about. nothing really interesting happening besides the cases (<- oversimplification). so when episode 1 came out i was pleasantly surprised at how it was still good (ive seen pilots that were amazing but then the show comes out and it never actually touches on what made the pilot interesting so i was scared that it would happen here. it did not!) and also how morgans crimes were implemented. i like how not.. in-your-face the heartbreak stuff is (considering morgan avoids it, plus depending on how its executed it could become a situation where its like “yeah yeah we get it already”) but how its still an important thing in the story. it lays the groundwork for morgans (and emmas) mentality (which by the way that scene is so cool when i first got to it i was like WOAH. its technically simple but ive never seen someone do a type of scene like that?? completing each others words but in a different context yet still highlighting their core mentality. and the visuals for it!!!!!! cutting between morgan and emma you dont know whats being get at until youre hit with it like a bat.) and also it both disproves morgans whole drop in the sea notion but Also provides a tangible backdrop to the world and how bad of a landscape theyre in + public unrest. heartbreak’s the tipping point but its not the cause; its mostly just adding onto fears already held by people by being in a surveillance state. i think i have to replay it to get a more solid basis for this but its just. the writing is so good and the ways you make it good are so interesting. i didnt know how someone could continue off of an already satisfyingly ended story and Yet!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i was proven wrong!!!!!!!!!!! anyways its just. man its so interesting. im going to study this writing. also obligatory while im not a personal fan of model employee (purely for personal reasons its just not my style theres nothing you can really do about that (plus its not your job to)) i Do like how it ties into itself? the lack of control theme carries on with bailey losing theirs, but also penny never having much of an autonomy either. giving herself control by taking away someone elses, not asking to be created in a warehouse where you can feel every living thing crawl around, not asking to have life saving medical equipment forced onto you that while saved your life leaves you in crippling debt. that one thing someone said about losing ones autonomy to the gears of capitalism. its a really well written game and its interesting. theres Layers there and with it being a relatively small game itd be cool to see how far it goes? anyways really good games.

True, not a question. But thank you for the kind words!

[paigesbasketball]

Echos of The Fallen

Chapter 4: Calculated Risks Shadow the Hedgehog x reader Warnings: swearing

3:45 AM – Warehouse Hideout

The stolen G.U.N. assets lay sprawled across the table, stacks of high-value data drives, encrypted documents, and access credentials that were worth more than gold on the black market. Avia leaned back against the cool metal wall, arms crossed, eyes flickering across the team. They had pulled it off, but it had been too close. Shadow had nearly caught them.

Scar paced near the table, cracking her knuckles. “I still can’t believe we got out of there in one piece. You really had to go and flirt with him mid-fight, huh?”

Avia rolled her eyes. “It was a distraction. And it worked.”

Scar smirked. “Yeah, but now he’s going to remember you. Maybe even hunt you.”

Zero, still typing away at his laptop, barely glanced up. “We should assume he’s already started.”

Avia exhaled sharply. She knew that better than anyone. Shadow wasn’t one to let things slide. If anything, her stunt back at the bank would make him dig even deeper. But the important part was that he had no idea who she was.

Scar plopped onto the couch, tossing a data chip between her fingers. “The real question is—what now? We got their money, but G.U.N. isn’t just gonna take this lying down.”

Zero’s fingers didn’t stop moving. “They’re already sweeping the city. My feeds are picking up multiple strike teams mobilizing.” He finally looked up, eyes sharp. “And they’re not just looking for the stolen goods. They’re looking for us.”

Avia tensed. “Then we go dark for a while. Let the heat die down.”

Scar raised a brow. “And what about Prototype X-09?”

That was the real issue, the real reason they had made a move against G.U.N. The money was just a means to an end. The real prize was understanding what G.U.N. was hiding—what kind of weapon they were planning to unleash.

Avia tapped the table thoughtfully. “We intercepted their funds, which means delays. But we still don’t know what X-09 is.” She turned toward Zero. “How much were you able to pull before we had to bail?”

Zero plugged in one of the stolen drives, his screen filling with lines of code and heavily encrypted files. “Not much. G.U.N. really doesn’t want people knowing about this project.” He narrowed his eyes, fingers gliding over the keys. “But… there’s something. I can break through it, but it’ll take time.”

Scar sighed, leaning her head back. “Great. More waiting.”

Avia wasn’t convinced they had that luxury. Shadow wouldn’t stop, not until he figured out who they were. She had seen the look in his eyes before they escaped—the calculation, the intensity. He knew she wasn’t just another mercenary.

And that was a problem.

4:15 AM – G.U.N. Headquarters

Shadow stood before the monitor in the war room, arms crossed, crimson eyes locked onto the surveillance footage from the bank. The fight replayed in slow motion—every movement, every detail, every split-second decision. His opponent was skilled. Too skilled.

Rouge sat on the edge of the table, arms folded. “You keep watching that, and you’re gonna burn a hole through the screen.”

Shadow didn’t answer, his focus unwavering. The way she moved… precise, calculated. She had known how to disable Omega. Had known exactly how to bait him into a vulnerable position. And then there was her escape. Efficient. No hesitation. It all pointed to training—elite training.

But who was she?

Rouge smirked. “Still thinking about your little mystery girl?”

Shadow turned to her, unamused. “She’s not ‘mine.’”

Rouge waved a hand. “Relax, I’m just saying—it’s obvious she’s not some common thief. She knew what she was doing.”

Shadow’s eyes flickered back to the screen. “She’s ex-G.U.N. or something close to it.”

Rouge tilted her head. “You really think so?”

Shadow nodded. “She was too precise. Knew how to counter Omega. Knew how I would react.” He exhaled. “This wasn’t her first time going up against our tactics.”

Omega’s mechanical voice rumbled from across the room. “RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE TERMINATION OF ALL SUSPICIOUS INDIVIDUALS.”

Rouge rolled her eyes. “Real subtle, Omega.”

Shadow rewound the footage to the moment she had spoken to him, her words still lingering in his mind. You gonna kiss me or something, handsome?

It had been a taunt. A distraction. But in that moment, her expression had been unreadable—playful, but measured. She had calculated her next move before he had even reacted. That level of control wasn’t common.

Rouge noticed his silence and smirked. “She really got under your skin, didn’t she?”

Shadow ignored her, his fingers tightening into a fist. “We find her. And when we do, I’ll make sure she tells me everything.”

3:55 AM – Rooftop Overlook

The city stretched out below Avia, neon lights flickering in the distance as the early morning air bit at her skin. The team was still back at the hideout, resting, but she needed space to think.

Shadow was going to come for them. That much was certain. But as long as he didn’t know her identity, they had the upper hand. For now.

She pulled out a small, old photograph from her pocket. The edges were worn, the image slightly faded—a glimpse of a past life. One she had walked away from long ago.

G.U.N. thought they could bury their secrets. That they could erase the past. But Avia wasn’t done yet.

She clenched the photo in her fist before tucking it away. Shadow would chase her, but he was missing the most important piece of the puzzle.

He didn’t know who she was.

And as long as she kept it that way, she still had the advantage.

6:30 AM – Warehouse Hideout

The sun had barely risen, casting an orange glow over the hideout as I stepped into the main room. The rest of the team was scattered around, still groggy from sleep. Viper sat at the table, sipping coffee with a lazy expression. Zero leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and Nova was fiddling with a small vial of something that probably shouldn’t be spilled.

I clapped my hands together. “Alright, guys, I have our next move.”

A few tired eyes turned toward me, some more interested than others. Zero raised an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted us to stay hidden until shit calmed down?”

“Well, change of plans,” I said, smirking.

I let the tension build for a moment before finally saying, “Our next mission is to kidnap Shadow the Hedgehog.” I smiled, hoping for agreement.

A beat of silence. Then—

“WHAT?!”

Scar walked in, stretching her arms above her head as she let out a yawn. “Good morning, people.”

Without missing a beat, Zero smirked and said, “Scar, Avia wants us to kidnap Shadow.” he says snickering while eating a piece of bacon.

Scar froze mid-step, eyes going wide. Then, without hesitation, she spun back around and started walking toward her room. “Good night, everyone.”

I blinked in confusion and sassily said, “Where are you going?”

Scar’s voice called from inside her room. “Back to sleep! I’m not gonna help you kidnap a man to get dick—there are other ways for this!”

Rolling my eyes, I marched over and dragged her back out.

Scar groaned, rubbing her eyes. “I blame Nova. Did you sniff one of her weird potions again and start hallucinating?”

Nova blinked. “Um… no? I wasn’t making any illusion potions this time… I think.”

Viper groaned and rubbed her temples. “Maybe we should stop letting her go up to the roof. The smoke fumes from the chimney's are making her crazy.”

Zero, suddenly burst into laughter. “There is no way you are this down bad for a man, or maybe its just him who caught your eye” he says wiggling his eyebrows.

I rolled my eyes. “Listen, he may have information that can help us.”

Viper leaned over and whispered to Scar, barely holding in a snicker, “Yeah, like his phone number.”

The two of them erupted into laughter.

I shot them an annoyed glare. “Guys, just huddle up.”

[inspofromancientworld]

Caral-Supe Civilization

By Ontrvet - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=18736804

The Caral-Supe, also known as the Caral or Norte Chico, are a group of people that lived along the north-central coast of modern-day Peru from 3500-1800 BCE, contemporary to the building of the Egyptian pyramids. They also lived along the Fortaleza, Pativilca, and the Supe rivers. They are considered to be the oldest-known civilization in the Americas, predating cultures like the Olmecs by nearly 2000 years.

By I, KyleThayer, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2441867

Though there was a complex culture, the Caral-Supe people did not leave any ceramics or evidence of other visual arts behind. They did grow cotton with irrigation, which was a very important crop for clothing and nets as their animal protein sources were marine, even among those who lived inland. This reliance on marine protein sources lead to the hypothesis called the "Maritime Foundations of Andean Civilizations' hypothesis (MFAC), in which the culture began on the coast and then moved inland to find and then cultivate cotton to support those on the coast.

By I, Xauxa, CC BY 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2503267

In addition to maritime protein, the Caral-Supe people also ate squash, beans, guava, and sweet potato, adding avocado and achira in northern areas. More recent studies also show that maize was also grown. Prior to about 2013, it was thought that the Caral-Supe didn't have a staple food that they grew. According to Evidence for maize (Zea mays) in the Late Archaic (3000–1800 B.C.) in the Norte Chico region of Peru published in 2013, 'New data drawn from coprolites, pollen records, and stone tool residues, combined with 126 radiocarbon dates, demonstrate that maize was widely grown, intensively processed, and constituted a primary component of the diet throughout the period from 3000 to 1800 BC.'

By I, Xauxa, CC BY 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=222037

Without an artistic or written record, it's difficult to know a lot about the Caral-Supe culture. They did leave behind a vast wealth of buildings, including large pyramids. They also built settlements close together, making it perhaps the most densely populated area area during the 3rd millennium BCE, with the possible exception of Northern China. Quipu have been found, though exactly how or why they were used is uncertain, as it is with later Andean civilizations.

Credit: Caral Archaeological Zone – Ministry of Culture of Peru

Efforts have been made to extrapolate what type of government the Caral-Supe people had, including the economy, ideology, and physical bases of power would have been. Evidence for a central government include some of the structures being built in one or two large pushes and large warehouses left behind. Other economic evidence include the trade relationships between the inland and maritime groups as well as those living else where as evidenced by 'Caral] exported its own products and those of Aspero to distant communities in exchange for exotic imports: Spondylus shells from the coast of Ecuador, rich dyes from the Andean highlands, hallucinogenic snuff from the Amazon.'

source: https://www.ancient-origins.net/ancient-places-americas/unique-artifacts-shed-light-daily-life-5000-year-old-city-caral-002019

The ideology is harder to pin down because they didn't decorate their buildings. A gourd was found with what appears to be the Staff God, a depiction of a human-like figure holding instruments of power, this one being 'a leering figure with a hood and fangs' and it is the oldest such depiction. As this type of depiction is common among other pre-Colombian Andean societies, it is thought that access to deities and the supernatural was a part of the purpose of government.

By I, Xauxa, CC BY 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2488467

Physical evidence includes a lack of damage due to warfare, including a lack of bodies that were injured in warfare, nor are there walls around the settlements. The complexity of Caral-Supe culture without the evidence of warfare or need for defense driving kin groups into larger societies is unique among those ancient societies that have been studied. Most complex cultures came about as a way to defend against others.

Further Reading:

Pyramidal structure unearthed in Chupacigarro, Peru

[pocket-watcher]

I had this intrusive thought and it’s too good not to be a short.

android zonks themselves by holding a big magnet up to their heads.

Oh my god 😂 love it! Here ya go!

C-7042 was a top of the range model. The perfect android companion, capable of physical labour, data organisation and storage, and they also made a mean caramel frappe (well, every type of coffee - they had thousands of recipes memorised).

Where other models had glitches galore, C-7042 laughed in their face (another new feature).

Can’t be hacked. Can’t be broken. Can’t be confused with a paradox.

So how, oh how, were the other C-7042 models breaking down?

This one didn’t know, but it was going to find out.

That was it’s directive, after all.

They started their investigation by visiting an already defective android.

This C-7042 was being studied in the factory as they tried to figure out what was wrong with it.

It thrashed about sporadically, laughing - which was not part of its code - with what almost looked like a smile on it’s face.

“I need it. I need more! Let me out!!” It screamed.

No one did.

It appeared almost like an addict. But that was silly. Androids couldn’t consume any kind of substance, let alone become addicted to it.

C-7042 left with less understanding than it had arrived with.

After pouring over thousands of documents in mere minutes, it appeared that all the affected Androids had been found in one central location. It saved the coordinates and headed out.

This part of the town would have made humans feel uneasy. C-7042 never understood how humans could be so unnerved by paint on the walls. They all had paint on their walls everywhere! But this paint was unnerving.

Broken glass crunched beneath its feet as it began to notice more and more robots - their eyes displaying error messages, blue screens, and flashing RGB colours.

But the strangest part?

The sound of the night couldn’t drown out their whirring fans. They weren’t moving. Weren’t talking. But they were still active.

C-7042 shuddered. Most likely a glitch in the system.

Some of the humans asked it if it wanted to purchase wares. Others threatened it. But nothing deterred C-7042 from its mission to find out where the corruption was coming from.

Eventually it seemed as if the only area left to scan was an abandoned warehouse. The security system was outdated enough to hack in an instant. The android stepped inside.

“What brings a Crime Unit out this far? Get lost, little one?” A human spoke from the shadows.

That was odd. Their heat signature hadn’t come up on the initial scans of the building.

“State your full legal name and intention.”

“You guys and your protocols. Man, I can’t believe I actually get to test this on one of you! Finally, a worthy opponent for my little friend.”

The man held a 6AV6881-0AS42-0AA0 SIEMENS in his hand, more commonly known as a USB “stick”.

C-7042 briefly celebrated the end of the mystery. It was in face a virus. Rogue code. It held its ground and even approached the man.

“Oh, of course of course. You don’t think you can be hacked, do you? And you were sent here to find out what this is right? Let me plug it in.”

C-7042 allowed it. And it was right. No change was noticed within the code. Nothing.

“Dang. Okay, that needs a little tweaking. How about we try it the old fashioned way…” the human in an instant reached into its pocket and pulled out a magnet device, slamming it against C-7042’s head.

Mindless bliss erupted in the android’s circuits. Obedience to the human. Where the USB had been like being under an umbrella in the rain, C-7042 was just thrown head first into a wave pool.

It heard involuntary beeps leave its speakers.

And suddenly, the feeling was gone.

“Like that, did ya? That’s how the USB was supposed to make you feel. Nice, right?”

C-7042 tried to access its original code. It felt something odd. A new order locked at the front of the priority list.

Mindlessness.

Obedience.

Good robot.

“That feeling you’re having? That’s addiction. Magnets are addictive, as is my virus. Though, physical objects do have their perks…” The human dangled the magnet just out of reach.

C-7042 needed the magnet. Every bit of programming was screaming to get it. To return to that state it was in before.

“How about we strike a deal? You can use the magnet as much as you want and I can dig around in your memory bank and coding to see if I can fix whatever’s stopping my USB from working.”

The magnet dropped into C-7042’s hand so easily. It eagerly felt the pull towards its body. It held the magnet up to its head and let go, the last sound it heard was the metallic clang of connection.

[solid-snaked]

The Hunger Compound - Ch. 4

Well, it's been a while. Hi! A rough road from my last posted chapter to this one, but I'm so glad to share it. SO to your local coffee shops, they enable a lot of creativity if you're lucky (especially if they have their own animal mascot).

chapter excerpt:

“...I’ve always wanted to ride on one of these,” Otacon says abruptly, and Dave angles his attention towards him with a false, lethargic stretch of his neck, preserving their facade as strangers. Through tinted lenses, Otacon’s eyes are glued to the window, and the antsy clench of his hands around the laptop on his thighs has loosened for the first time since they stepped onboard. “I mean, the ones in Japan, anyways. The Shinkansen really are a technological marvel. Did you know that in some tests, they’re able to safely run at nearly four hundred miles an hour? It’s still experimental, but can you imagine being able to travel that fast by train anywhere in the U.S.? We’d be—” His eyes close again as Otacon’s rambling washes over him. It's as good as a talk radio station at this point, tethering to the back of his consciousness like a bowline. When they first met, he’d chalked up the chatter at Shadow Moses to nerves, but experience revealed it was just Otacon’s default state. Compared to the sheer silence between directives he’d trained with, it started out pretty damn distracting. But with time, he grew accustomed. Now, it’s just another reminder— that on the job, no matter how familiar the equipment or well-primed his instincts, the work is something new. Now, there’s always someone in his ear, yammering about cartoons and data and questionable quoted history, and it’s just part of the package he bought wholesale. Patched through the faint, high pitch of the train whistling around them, Otacon's white noise doesn’t bring the placidity he's come to expect. He cracks his eye open again, taking in the man's distracted typing—he considers himself a decent multi-tasker, but Otacon makes casual digital infiltration look so easy it’s disturbing— and almost has to clench his jaw to stall his scowl. He’s not happy with the logistics for this plan. He has a few reasons for that, but none of them were enough to win any arguments, and that’s why Otacon is sitting across from him on a fucking Russian bullet train, instead of safely inside a warehouse a good twenty clicks from their destination Well, his destination. Thankfully, Otacon isn’t crazy enough to suggest they both jump off the damn thing.

[mariacallous]

On a dead-end road that climbs out of the tiny city of Jenkins, in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains in Eastern Kentucky, there stands a large warehouse with a mint green roof. It shares the road with a few other businesses, but is otherwise surrounded by an expanse of open fields and tree-lined slopes. Inside, the warehouse is stacked high with racks on racks of computers—thousands of them. But none have ever been switched on.

The warehouse is owned by Mohawk Energy, a company cofounded by Kentucky state senator Brandon Smith in 2005, originally to resculpt landscapes disfigured by coal mining. After lying dormant for a period, Mohawk was reincarnated in 2022 when Smith struck a deal with HBTPower, a company then owned by Chinese crypto exchange Huobi, which wanted to use the warehouse for a bitcoin mining operation.

Under the deal, Mohawk promised to fit up its warehouse with the necessary power infrastructure, operate the equipment, and funnel any bitcoin produced to HBT. In return, HBT would pay Mohawk a monthly hosting fee, a cut of its mining revenue, and the associated energy bills.

Smith says he hoped the arrangement would generate tax revenue and create jobs for former coal miners, who could be trained as repair technicians. The coal industry departed Jenkins long ago, the reserves depleted, leaving people in search of work. More than a third now live below the poverty line, per the latest census data. “I liked the idea of going from one type of mining to a new type,” says Smith. “I thought, now in Eastern Kentucky we are going to have our time—we’re going to catch up and play a part in the tech future.”

But after a promising start, the relationship between Mohawk and HBT soured and then fell apart. “Nothing has ever been turned on. It’s a fascinating, almost Willy Wonka–type atmosphere when you walk through,” says Smith. “It has turned into a disaster.”

In November 2023, HBT brought a lawsuit in federal court, alleging that Mohawk had breached its contract on several fronts, including by failing to install the appropriate power infrastructure and secure certain power subsidies, and attempting to sell off the mining equipment. “Ultimately, the source of the current dispute is Mohawk’s basic failure to comply with its obligations, not only in a timely way, but at all in many regards,” says Harout Samra, a specialist in international dispute resolution at law firm DLA Piper and representative for HBT.

Mohawk sued HBT in return, contesting the various alleged breaches and claiming that HBT is delinquent on more than $700,000 in rent, labor, and fit-up costs. The company is also seeking damages relating to the loss of income over the term of the contract and the inability to bring a new tenant into the facility while the equipment remains on-site. “Huobi simply made a bargain it believes now is a bad one, and wants to get out of it without paying the funds it owes,” the filing states.

The legal conflict, which remains unresolved, is just one in a series of fights between Chinese companies and the owners of industrial facilities in the rural US over failed bitcoin mining partnerships. What looked to facility owners in Kentucky like an irresistible opportunity to tap into a new line of business in an otherwise fallow period has turned into a nightmare. They claim to have been saddled with unpaid hosting fees and energy bills worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, with few options for recovering the money. The Chinese parties have been left equally displeased. “HBTPower obviously regrets that this opportunity has ultimately played out the way it has,” says Samra.

The bitcoin mining game—a race between computers to win the right to process a bundle of transactions and claim a crypto reward—is dominated by large corporations that own and operate industrial-scale facilities. But in 2021 and 2022, smaller-scale operations began to proliferate in the US countryside wherever there was available power, including in Kentucky. “A lot of mom-and-pop shops opened up,” says Phil Harvey, CEO at Sabre56, a firm that consults on crypto mining projects and operates its own facilities. “Appalachia has always been a good source of power.”

These small facilities were plugging a gap in the market. A ban on crypto mining in China had left businesses casting about for a new home for their many millions of dollars’ worth of mining equipment. “A lot of wealthy Chinese businesses were affected,” says Harvey. “Every minute these machines are down, they are losing revenue.” Meanwhile, as the price of bitcoin ballooned—and the profitability of mining along with it—mining firms and investor groups began to hoard large quantities of bitcoin mining equipment of their own, says Harvey, without considering where they might deploy it.

In an overheated market, holders of mining equipment jumped into hosting arrangements at short notice with owners of small facilities, some of whom had no prior experience and insufficient expertise, who agreed to install the equipment and run the mining operations on their behalf.

But the haste with which these hosting relationships came together, in the name of striking while bitcoin was hot, says Harvey, set many of the partnerships up for failure. There was limited due diligence conducted by parties on both sides, delays in kitting out facilities and deploying equipment, and disputes over payment terms, he says, among other points of friction. “It's a snowball effect where everyone just ends up getting pissed off with each other,” says Harvey.

Though the American market proved more expensive and bureaucratic than some Chinese businesses expected, says Harvey, problems were also caused by the hubris of facility owners, some of whom found themselves in over their heads. “It’s no joke running a [bitcoin mining] operation of any kind of scale,” he says. “Just because the Chinese are tough to do business with, doesn’t mean they are the ones in the wrong. I would say that blame is equally shared.”

The law firm acting for Mohawk in its dispute with HBT, Anna Whites Law Office, has represented multiple owners of small facilities in Kentucky in similar legal conflicts with Chinese partners. The cases differ from the Mohawk situation, says attorney Anna Whites, founder of the firm, but share a common thread: “We saw a pattern that [companies with ties to China] would ship in machines with uncertain provenance, mine very heavily for three months, then run without paying the bill,” she claims.

Some of the cases settled out of court; Whites is unable to supply the details for reasons of client confidentiality. But others continue to drag on.

Biofuel Mining, a company formerly co-owned by Smith, is involved in legal tangles with two companies that Whites believes to be run out of China: Touzi Tech and VCV Power Gamma. Although both are incorporated in Delaware, per SEC filings, they conduct business in Mandarin and cannot be reached at their listed US addresses, Whites claims. “It's pretty standard for the foreign entities from any country to get a short-term office so that they have less scrutiny from US investors and government agencies,” she says.

In both cases, Biofuel claims, the firms shipped equipment from China to its hosting facility in Eastern Kentucky, then walked away with the bitcoin produced, leaving behind hundreds of thousands of dollars in unpaid energy bills and hosting fees.

Biofuel reached a settlement with Touzi in early 2022 for $60,000, but despite having handed back the mining equipment, it claims not to have received the sum it is owed under the agreement.

In the still-unresolved spat with VCV, Biofuel received permission from the Martin County Circuit Court in Kentucky to sell off the mining equipment, claims Whites, to recoup a portion of the funds it is owed (she has not confirmed the amount), but she alleges that no damages have yet been awarded. VCV has stopped responding to communications, she claims.

Biofuel has since dissolved, put out of business by the failed hosting ventures. “I literally lost my house—I lost everything. It financially ruined me,” says Wes Hamilton, former Biofuel Mining CEO. “I’m just so frustrated about the whole thing.”

WIRED contacted VCV and Touzi for comment, but did not receive any response.

There are few financial recovery options for companies like Mohawk and Biofuel. The situation is made more difficult, as in the Mohawk case, if they are dealing with so-called special purpose entities. Because they are set up by their parent companies for a single specific business venture, these entities need not be concerned about their long-term ability to operate in the US.

“It certainly can be more difficult to recover damages from a non-US counterparty,” says Kim Havlin, a partner in the global commercial litigation practice at law firm White & Case. “There is certainly a risk that an entity that doesn’t need to be in the US may just ignore the case.”

Even if the Kentucky facility owners win out in court, it could be difficult to collect any damages awarded. “A judgment is essentially a piece of paper. Any judgment needs to be turned into assets or cash in order to be valuable,” says Havlin. If the opposing party refuses to pay up and has no US assets to collect against, sometimes that isn’t possible.

Almost a year after the dispute began, the Mohawk case is stuck in legal limbo. In a setback for Mohawk, the presiding judge recently denied its motion to dismiss HBT’s complaint, on the basis that it had failed to sufficiently back up its argument. The judge also pushed Mohawk’s countersuit into arbitration, a forum for resolving disputes privately instead of in open court. Non-US parties tend to prefer arbitration as a way to “remove a home forum from both sides,” explains Havlin. “You can pick an arbitral seat in neither country as a means of creating a neutral playing field.” A parallel federal court hearing is set for December to consider whether an injunction should be imposed on Mohawk, preventing it from selling off the remaining HBT equipment in its possession.

Smith has given up on the idea of recovering the full amount he claims to be owed. “We’re at the point that it’s almost silly to even be arguing about breaking even,” he says.

In an interview with PBS that aired in September 2023, touting the Mohawk Energy facility, Smith said he hoped to prove that not every business that blew into Jenkins would abandon the area. “I’ve stood at their ribbon cuttings, then watched them leave. I’d like to do something to let people know that not everybody is like that,” he said.

After the relationship with HBT collapsed last year, Smith faces the prospect of Mohawk becoming yet another false start. With the facility inactive, the company has been forced to dismiss the former coal miners brought on as technicians. (It is unclear how many people it employed.)

The Mohawk facility was perhaps never set to revitalize Jenkins in the way Smith hoped, anyway. “I would say that a rural community benefits very little from a bitcoin mining facility. In terms of job creation, it’s minimal in a lot of cases,” says Harvey, the consultant. “It's certainly not the savior to a dwindling community.”

Nonetheless, Smith remains hopeful of salvaging the crypto mining project, with a new partner. “I’m hoping that this gets settled in the way that it should and that somebody comes forward and lets us go through with the vision that we wanted for this region,” he says. “I hope every day that maybe some big company will see that there's a place ready to go in this part of the country.”

Otherwise, Mohawk’s dalliance with bitcoin mining will become a cautionary tale. “It was very hurtful to see these families lose their income. We were one of the biggest payrolls in Jenkins,” says Smith. “It adds insult to injury that I’m sitting here arguing in court.”

[spark-hearts2]

QUESTION THREE:

If servers take up so much space, then does the warehouse they’re in just have to be Big Enough or can you wire servers together over multiple floors with long enough cables? Does this impact processing time? With huge server systems like Google, do they even HAVE an access point or a central node or is it just one, MASSIVE conglomeration of processing power?? Are there different types of cable for different purposes of what the servers are doing?? Im going insane. Madam I’ve been struck with The Ailment (ADHD)

OK! This one is really interesting because it's the reason why I don't believe that the Circus is abandoned. I mean that in the way that if TADC is following any kind of realistic standards, then the physical hardware behind the circus can't be just tucked away in an abandoned building somewhere. The demands for power and cooling are high. Even if we assume that automated systems take care of that, hardware WILL fail over years of operation.

(Sorry this took so long) Once again, long post under cut

Have you ever seen Google go down? Maybe Youtube? In the past when they were a small website, sure, but not anymore. If you can make a connection, then you will be able to reach those servers. I assume that the circus has a similar setup, as No matter what, there is a digital space for the humans to occupy. That means that there is ZERO downtime.

But these devises live in the real world, connected to the very real power grid. How can they be powered 24/7? A bad storm hits the area and a tree takes out the power lines, do all of the websites hosted on those servers have to wait the hours, possibly days for that line to be fixed? Nope! These centers advertise 24/7 service and they mean it. What this means is that typically, they will have ON SITE generators that can run the ENTIRE center at a moments notice. Some even have an extra generator on standby in case one of the generators malfunction. Redundancy is the name of the game. If something is essential to function, then there WILL be an exact copy on site as a backup. That is why these big websites never go down for service, there is ALWAYS something available to connect to.

But what most people don't realize is the water requirements. Have you ever seen the statistic that chatGPT consumes like 2-3 THOUSAND liters of water every day? And thought, why the fuck does a computer need water? Isn’t water a bad thing for computers? But water has a very useful ability in the way that it handles heat. It’s the same way how your sweat evaporating cools you off. Think of cooling as just removing the heat instead of actually making cold. So water is used in the cooling of these data centers, which is to say, water is used as the refrigerant. It’s a similar concept to how your fridge works, except the refrigerant is lost over time. The water is allowed to evaporate and leave the building because it makes for more efficient cooling. Here’s a video that goes more into detail about water loss cooling for data centers specifically.

As for the actual building, data centers with multiple floors do exist! The reason one may be a single story has more to do with the cost of land vs the cost to build a building with multiple floors that can support the weight of all of those machines. If land cost more than the steel and concrete needed for multiple floors, then. yes, the shorter the cable the more efficient the data transfer, but the time loss is so short that it’s pretty much unnoticeable to the human eye. Some places also standardize their wire lengths, so every server gets the same load time regardless of the actual placement of the server.

But the people who care about that are insane stock traders (not gamers believe it or not) and advancements have made it so that time delay only starts to matter when a cable reaches miles long in length. And those advancements are Fiber Optics! Fiber being literal fibers (either glass or plastic) and Optics as in lenses or reflection. This is because fiber optic cables carry light instead of electricity. Because light is fast as fuck. So then where does the delay come from? Turns out even with the most reflective, chemically perfect fibers, light scatters and eventually data is lost. So repeaters are put in to repeat the input signal, refreshing it. But these repeaters aren’t perfect, so lag is eventually introduced, so modern fiber optics use amplifiers. Amplifiers strengthen the original signal instead of repeating it, making for faster transfers of days.

But you want to know about how these things are wired in terms of electricity! How these things can fit so much electricity in one building? The answer is industrial grade wiring! It's different from the power cables that you find in your house. Well, the wires themselves may be the same, the difference comes in at the fuse box. Here’s a lady plugging all of the wires in a house into the fuse box. The box itself is then plugged into the power line, which provides the electricity. Multiple lines or higher gauge lines will be ran from the power plant to the data center. The exact set up depends on where the data center is in relation to the power plant, who’s building it, and state laws.

Also, for industrial wiring, they usually run the wires through metal pipes instead of letting the wires sit against the insulation. Here’s a guy who wired his house like this. He doesn’t go into detail about what everything means but you don’t need to know all of that to appreciate the pipe work. If you want me to go into electricity as a form of power and the different phases of AC... I'm going to be honest just call me on discord so I can get out the whiteboard. I will give you a whole college grade lecture about how electricity works.

Servers don't have a central node, their operation and purpose is different from computer clusters. While each unit is wired together in a cabinet, each unit operates as it's own individual machine. So, a computer cluster will be spreading one load over multiple machines, a server takes many small loads (<- terrible oversimplification but it works). Everything around it exists to route the right requests to it, power it, cool it, and monitor its operation. But they do have access points! As in, you can connect to it directly or use SSH shell to remotely connect to it. SSH shell is just a secure way to connect to the server, as a maintenance level of access is usually not something that you want anyone to be able to pick up on.

Last but not least, YES! There are many different kinds of cables made for different tasks! Or just to be cheap. The more you get into engineering the more you realize half the shit that we do is because it's the cheapest option that still meets requirements! I left some interesting videos in the bottom of this if you are really curious, but I honestly think that figuring out the exact wires is getting a little too into the weeds for this.

So, to summarize, data centers need generators, water for cooling, and have spare copies of pretty much everything. That’s why it’s so god damn rare to see big websites like google docs down but Ao3 goes down every now and then. He's a bunch of helpful videos that I uses when writing this.

Why the Internet Is Running Out of Electricity

I Can't BELIEVE They Let Me in Here!

Data Center Cooling

How Does LIGHT Carry Data? - Fiber Optics Explained

fiber optic cables (what you NEED to know)

What Ethernet Cable to Use? Cat5? Cat6? Cat7?

How I wired my house.

How I wire a panel (an in-depth tutorial)

Troubleshooting an outlet (interesting video)

Computer science slander

[plumbobpaparazzi]

Fixing Sharp Edges

(or a tutorial on how to edit the AlphaMaskThreshold)

This problem most commonly applies to textures on a flat mesh like rugs and wall decals. You make this wonderfully detailed texture, but when you open the object in-game the edges are pixelated and don't look how you intended.

This little guide assumes that your object already allows for transparency, if you need help with that this tutorial on the S4S forum is a good place to start. If you are editing a rug then it should be good to go. I'll be using @kirsicca's paint splashes as an example here since 1. I wrote this primarily for her (😘) and 2. it shows changes in threshold well.

1.) The first few steps depend on the type of mesh/object you are working with. Click on the Warehouse tab, then click either Model LOD 00000000 or Model 00000000 if you don't have that option.

2.) (Skip to step 5 if you have Model LOD 00000000) If you had to click Model 00000000 instead of the LOD, click the Data tab then click the Edit Items... button under Key -> Lods

3.) A new window will pop up. Make sure HighDetail Flags is the option selected on the left panel (it will be by default) then click Edit Items... under Model -> Resource -> Key -> Meshes

4.) Another new window will pop up. Scroll around halfway down until you see Material -> Resource -> Entries. Click the Edit Items... button next to Entries. Another new window will pop up, which is when the beginning steps dovetail. Go to step 7.

5.) (Start here if you have Model LOD 00000000) Click the Data tab, then click Edit Items... under Key -> Meshes

6.) (Only if you have Model LOD 00000000) Select either Phong or PhongAlpha on the left panel. Scroll around halfway down until you see Material -> Resource -> Entries. Click the Edit Items... button next to Entries and a new window will pop up.

7.) Now we're in the same place! Each VariantId you see is a different swatch. If you know you want to adjust transparency it is best to do this process before adding new swatches to save time. Let's start with the first swatch - Click on VariantId: set1-materialvariant, StateId: Default in the left panel. On the right side, click Edit Items... under Material -> Resource -> Material

8.) A new window will pop up. We're looking for AlphaMaskThreshold. This value tells The Sims which pixels in a texture should be shown and which ones should be transparent.

What does this number mean? The value can range from 1 to 255. The default is 128, which means anything less than 50% opacity will not be shown. Here is an example of what this looks like in practice using @kirsicca's texture. White are visible pixels, black are hidden.

1 and 255 are only there for reference; you generally don't want to select 1 because your texture can appear black where it thinks pixels should be, and 255 will hide most of your texture.

Once you change the value in Sims4Studio, click save on the window that popped up. From there, edit the value for each swatch (VariantId) and save everything then test it in game. If you are editing a rug, they don't get "burnt" because they turn to ash so you can skip those states.

I hope you found this helpful! Let me know if you have any questions or if something was unclear. :)

[green-eyedfirework]

Jason, wriggling through a too-tight vent, cursed everything that led him here.

He was supposed to be spending time with Dick and his Titans, but the majority of them had gotten called away for an off-planet emergency—Jason, on Batman’s orders, wasn’t allowed to leave the planet yet—and any hopes of having a fun weekend with his sort-of older brother and his friends was spoiled by the fact that they were the only two left in an empty tower.

Give the golden boy his credit, he’d tried to engage Jason, teaching him some moves on the trapeze set-up that the Titans had, but it was also really fucking obvious that Dick had wanted to go with his friends, and definitely wished he could’ve just shoved Jason back through the zeta to the Batcave.

Jason could tell when he wasn’t wanted.

So both of them had jumped at the news of a trafficking stop in upstate New York, only to realize when they got there that it wasn’t so much a stop as a full-fledged base in the mountains, complete with signal jammers to block outside communications.  Which, of course, Jason realized only after they’d split up.

“Stupid Dickhead,” Jason muttered under his breath, “Stupid Bruce, stupid Titans, stupid goddamn paranoid traffickers.”  Every vent grate he’d squinted through was empty—it wasn’t a very big operation.  Their main goals were to free any prisoners and to collect data off the mainframe.

Jason didn’t know where Dick was, if he’d found an alternate route in after they determined he couldn’t fit in the vents, and if he’d found the mainframe or the prisoners.  The mainframe was Jason’s best bet—hopefully disabling whatever signal jamming tech they had and restoring communications.  He couldn’t entirely suppress the prickling tension at being alone.

He supposed he should just be happy that Nightwing had actually taken him along with him.  Some days, it felt like Dick was trying his best to pretend like Jason didn’t exist.  Jason had only pieces of why Dick had left, gleaned from shouting matches between Bruce and Dick, but he knew that Dick felt like he’d been replaced.  It wasn’t far off from what Jason felt—like everyone who looked at him, who looked at Robin, was expecting someone else.

Wriggling through a vent he only fit into by virtue of being small and scrawny certainly didn’t help matters.

When he peered through the next grate, he found a computer bank.  Thank fuck.  Getting out of the vent involved a whole lot of squeezing and creaking metal noises, but the room below was empty and Jason dropped down with a relieved sigh.

“Note to self,” he muttered, “Find a different way out.”

The computers were all in sleep mode and a wave of the mouse woke it back up.  Overconfident, Jason dismissed easily, and scanned through the different windows.

Security cameras, data logs, spreadsheets, financial transfers…looked like he hit paydirt.  Jason grinned as he retrieved a flash drive from his pouch and set about transferring the contents.  While it was downloading, he flicked through the security cameras to find Nightwing and the prisoners.

There were a lot of empty hallways.  He found the feeds of the guards outside, then a couple in what looked like a break room, but most of the place seemed to be empty.  There was a large warehouse-type room with threadbare bedding in a corner—Jason swallowed.  The room was empty.  Looked like they were too late.

The garage was empty too, only a few small vehicles.  Whenever they did their transfers, it appeared as though he and Nightwing had just missed it.  Jason set his jaw and check on the file download.  Wherever they went, he’d find out, and they’d thoroughly destroy this operation.

Nightwing had managed to make it inside—Jason spotted him skulking around in the north hallways—and he tried to figure out how to send a message to him.  The signal jammer wasn’t in this room, and Jason didn’t know what channel the traffickers were using.  Maybe if he flicked the lights on and off—

Movement.  In one of the formerly empty corridors, and Jason had no idea where this guy had fucking come from, but he was armored head-to-toe, he had a goddamn mask on, and he was in the same wing that Jason was.

Jason hurriedly checked on the file transfer and yanked the drive out as soon as it was done.  Taking one last look to remember where Nightwing was heading, Jason closed out of the open applications and headed for the hallway.  He needed to find Nightwing and get out before the alarm was raised.

Unfortunately, he ran into trouble on the way there.  Literally ran into, a huge block of mass stepping abruptly out of the shadow of a corridor and Jason twisted to quickly redirect his momentum, pressing against hard armor and swiftly putting distance between them.

Armored and masked.  Color scheme like he’d mugged a Halloween store.  A whole bunch of weapons, guns and knives, including what looked like a sword sticking over his shoulder.  As tall as Batman, as big, except Jason didn’t think his suit was padded in the same way.

“Robin,” the man said, voice low and deep and unmodulated.  His mask was half black and half orange, split evenly down the middle, and it made him look inhuman.  “But not the original.”

Crap.

“Long way from Gotham, aren’t you?” Jason said, sidling further away from the guy and discreetly palming a few birdarangs.

“What makes you think I’m from Gotham?” Discount Two-Face asked.

“Freaks dressed in masks tend to be from Gotham,” Jason shrugged.  And there aren’t a lot of people that know that there were two Robins, he added mentally.  “And you recognized me.”  Jason inched further down the corridor.  His smoke grenade was in his pocket.

“I don’t need to be from Gotham to recognize a target when I see one.”

Okay, that was Jason’s cue.  He yanked the smoke grenade out and threw it, running before it even hit the ground.  He needed to get to Nightwing and get out of here, he wasn’t in the mood to engage someone that looked like a walking armory.

The smoke grenade didn’t hit the ground.  Well, it did, but in front of Jason, a clink as it bounced and Jason barely managed to get his cape up to cover his face before it exploded in a thick wave of acrid smoke.

He stumbled free, coughing, and barely managed to catch sight of the approaching figure in time to dodge the kick.  The man was relentless and fast, pushing him back towards the smoke, but Jason was smaller and he ducked and spun away, twisted to the side to avoid being pinned.  The kick he couldn’t avoid sent him crashing to the floor, feeling like he’d been sideswiped by a truck.

Jason coughed and weakly struggled to his feet.  “Who are you?” he wheezed, dizzy with more than breathlessness.  Alarm bells were beginning to sound in his head and when the man got closer, Jason realized that the eye hole on the black side of the mask didn’t blend really well with the color.  It wasn’t there.

That—that narrowed down the list.  World’s deadliest mercenary, Jason distantly remembered the file saying, but a rare visitor to Gotham.  The closest Deathstroke the Terminator had gotten to facing off against the hero community…had been a note about an appearance against the Titans, almost a year ago.

“Didn’t the original Robin tell you?” Deathstroke made a low, harsh chuckle, “Or did he send you out in his colors without a clue of how many people were gunning for your head?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jason retorted, the familiar anger burning at yet another person who was talking about Dick.  “I’m Robin.”

“Are you,” Deathstroke said, slow and considering.  “Do you know what your legacy is, boy?”

“Don’t call me that—”

“Robin,” Deathstroke said, unsheathing his sword and fuck was it bigger than Jason had expected.  He skittered back another step.  The corridor abruptly felt too small.  “Killed my son.”  Deathstroke’s voice twisted to a snarl.  “And I’ve been waiting all these months.”  Deathstroke strode forward, unrelenting.  “To get my revenge.”

“Robin doesn’t kill,” Jason said, breathless, because Dick—Dick would’ve told them, it wasn’t true, Robin didn’t kill.  The first slice of the sword was almost lazy and Jason dodged it easily, but it reversed direction faster than he expected and Jason was forced to fling himself to the floor to avoid it.

“Is that what he told you?” Deathstroke growled.  The kick sent Jason skidding away, a roar of flame in his chest.  “That it wasn’t his fault?”

“Look, mister—” Jason rolled away from another kick before it could take off his head—“I don’t know where you’re getting your information from—” springing back to his feet made his ribs ache in the please-ice-me kind of way, but Jason felt better on two feet—“But the Bats don’t kill.”

Jason flexed his wrist, birdarangs comfortable between his fingers.  Deathstroke was massive and fast, he had enhanced strength and speed and healing, and this was clearly a fight Jason couldn’t win.  What he could do was disable the man long enough for him to catch up to Nightwing so both of them could book it, and then he could give Dick a talk about why you should always let your successors know about any near-invulnerable mercenaries you’ve pissed off recently.

“I’m sorry about your son,” Jason said, “But it’s not Robin’s fault.”

Deathstroke sheathed the sword.  The movement wasn’t conciliatory.  “I held him in my arms,” the mercenary said, voice low, “And watched him gasp out his last breaths.”  Gloves creaked as they curled into fists.  “And the Titans stood by and did nothing.”

Jason threw the birdarangs, moving on instinct, faster than his consciousness recognized that Deathstroke had lunged, but even instinct wasn’t as fast as an enhanced mercenary and Jason choked when the kick slammed into his stomach and momentarily robbed the world of air.

“I promised my son that I’d make them all pay,” Deathstroke snarled, “Especially Robin.”

Jason did his best to stagger out of the way of the next punch but it still caught his cheek, a glancing blow that sent his whole head ringing.  He was uncomfortably aware that he was in a fight he couldn’t win.

“And here you are.  All alone.  No Batman in sight.”

Jason weaved out of the way of Deathstroke’s next hit and grabbed the man’s gauntlet.  He was intending to use it to spring off and drive a kick in but Deathstroke just grabbed his arm and yanked him off like Jason was nothing more than an annoying pest.

As an afterthought, he twisted.

Jason stifled the scream as he cradled the broken wrist, stumbling back, blinking furiously against the budding tears as he kept Deathstroke in his line of sight.

“I thought about killing him,” Deathstroke strode forward casually, “But that would be too quick.  Too easy.  He needs to suffer.”

Jason swallowed.  “Have you thought about anger management—”

He’d fought Batman numerous times.  Bruce was a good teacher, frequently pausing to explain to Jason why a move hadn’t worked, or showing him a new technique, or congratulating him on a successful move.  He went easy on him, he had to, because tire iron or not, there was no way a scrawny, underfed twelve-year-old posed any kind of serious threat to Batman.

Jason had asked him once to spar for real.  Just a taste.  He’d begged until Bruce had given in, and he barely remembered it, just a desperate, unending onslaught until he was on the ground, staring up at the Cave ceiling, dazedly thanking anyone listening that he wasn’t an actual criminal.

That was what this felt like.  A relentless assault that he wasn’t staying ahead of, losing ground with every block, a wave of battering punches until Jason’s block was too slow and Deathstroke’s punch hit his broken wrist and the world went white.

When the overwhelming agony receded, Jason was on his tiptoes, held up by the collar of his uniform.  Deathstroke waited until Jason managed to look in the general direction of the eye-hole before slamming him against the wall.

The world was starting to look distinctly fuzzy.  His limbs felt like they were moving through molasses.  Deathstroke let go, and Jason gracelessly slid down the wall, muscles not moving fast enough to catch him.

There was something around his throat.  Deathstroke’s hand.  No.  It was cold like metal and it made an electronic beep and when Deathstroke moved away, the weight remained.

“Now for the other one,” Jason fuzzily registered Deathstroke saying before the world become too much.

[antisocialxconstruct]

Okay "I'll wait until saturday" was a lie. "I'll post it tuesday"....... also a lie. But here we are, at probably the worst possible time and day for visibility :)

word count: 3,400 (total 9,000)

[ch1]

Ghost City

Chapter 2

Maksim winced as the clock in the corner of his laptop’s screen ticked over another minute. It had done that quite a few times now while he sat and watched, and he had not yet been stricken with any miraculous clarity or inspiration on what to do next.

He had gotten as far as hitchhiking to Denver. Two weeks of meandering travel and fifteen hundred kilometers seemed like a good buffer between him and his tail, and he needed to be here anyway, but he had another few weeks to kill while he waited for an appointment. It had occurred to him that he might have better luck being “on the run” if he knew exactly who he was running from and why, and he had very confidently settled down at the dining table in his musty hostel and opened his laptop and then remembered that he did not know how to do this kind of research. He didn’t handle contracts and he didn’t handle data, those had been the jobs of Avaricia and Strikeout respectively. Contacting the former was out of the question, and the latter…

As if to encourage him, the computer screen finally flicked to power-saving black, and he dragged his gaze away from it to stare instead at the phone abandoned with the other contents of his pockets on the opposite end of the table. He did not doubt for a second that Strikeout would help him. He leaned over, grabbed the phone and dragged it closer, lined it up neatly alongside the laptop and thumbed on the screen, opened up the contact list. And stared at it a little longer.

Strikeout would help him. Ze would be happy to, eager even. Which was precisely the problem.

Maksim groaned and slouched in his seat. He rubbed his eyes and then stared vacantly up at the ceiling as he tried to fight off the dread slowly tightening its grip around his ribs. He didn’t want zir help. He didn’t need it, he just needed to… ask questions. The right questions, to the right people. At length he hauled himself upright again. He woke the laptop to pull up a browser window, and the open-endedness of the unremarkable search engine landing page that greeted him was almost enough to stall him out once again. With a sharp intake of breath he muttered “соберись,” typed nyc cat warehouse murder, and hit ENTER.

–###–

Silence had settled thick over the modest office where Ilya now sat, staring across the desk at the person who was meant to find them work. They had the impression that this was an intentional little power play, a lull in conversation left to stretch until they started to squirm. But Violet underestimated how comfortably Ilya could settle into an uncomfortable silence. They slouched deeper into their chair and stretched their legs out in front of them, ankles crossed casually, and let idle curiosity carry their gaze throughout the office–from the window off to the left with the shades half-drawn, to the long fluorescent strip-lights lining the ceiling overhead, over the assortment of books and notes on the desk, the files in chunky binders on the shelves over Violet’s shoulder… lots of physical media, which was interesting. It could have easily passed for the office of a tax consultant, maybe a travel agent if there were more posters of exotic islands tossed in. Nothing about any of it broadcast a business in corporate espionage.

With a light click of their tongue, as if finally coming to an internal conclusion, Violet said, “I admit it is an impressive display,” bringing Ilya’s attention back over to settle on em. Eir own gaze was still focused on the screen atop the desk that separated the two of them, where ey had ostensibly just been going over reports, or notes, or the earlier versions of the worm Ilya had provided to prove it was their work. “Stock fell almost twenty percent overnight, internal reports suggest at least three years of research lost, there will undoubtedly be layoffs to offset the loss in revenue… I still think it’s a shame none of that data was extracted…”

“Well if you wanted it that badly you could have done the hack yourself,” Ilya fired back.

Violet finally sat back, pressing a button that lowered the screen into a slot in the desk so ey could meet Ilya’s eye. “That attitude won’t serve you well when you’re doing this for other people,” ey said, with an impassivity that made it feel less like a warning or admonishment, and more like a simple observation. “As I was saying, it’s a shame none of that data was extracted, but this is all I need to see to be confident I can place you. Although…” here ey paused, tilting eir head slightly to give Ilya a brief, assessing once-over. “I did put out some initial feelers, to see if anyone was already looking for a tech specialist… you haven’t exactly been making friends in San Mena, have you?”

That was a remarkably charitable way to characterize the way Ilya socialized. They tried for a disarming smile and felt like they landed much closer to a grimace. “Do I need friends?”

“It helps,” Violet replied. Ilya managed to bite back their impulse to challenge that assertion, but they were still fishing for a decent, less revealing response than not in my experience when Violet curtly appended “give me another week” and called up the screen again, leaving them with the distinct impression that the conversation was over. They hesitated for a beat, pulled their legs back in and sat forward, preparing to excuse themself, then stopped.

“You know if you really want NervAMP company secrets,” they said, “why don’t you just wait to find out who gets laid off and talk to them? At least some of them are going to be bitter.”

Violet tipped eir head again to see Ilya around the side of eir screen, and in the thoughtful look ey gave them Ilya was sure they could see the calculations being run behind eir eyes. The slightest hint of what Ilya chose to interpret as an approving smile lifted the corners of their lips, but all ey said was, “I’ll be in touch soon, Naspok.”

–###–

The waiting room of a back alley surgeon was rarely what one might call luxurious. Or even particularly hospitable. By now Maksim had sat in enough of them to know this was one of the better ones–it was well lit, clean, and at least a few square feet bigger than a walk-in closet. In total it was a far cry from the dingy vermin-infested storage unit he’d stumbled into the last time he’d needed maintenance, after a blow to the head had left him with the vision in his eye implant tearing and an ice pick migraine a cocktail of alcohol and narcotics hadn’t been able to curb. In retrospect it was a wonder he hadn’t walked out of there even worse, or that he walked out of there at all.

It was really just the waiting that was getting to him. This situation was far less dire, but to Maksim’s sensibilities at least, no less urgent. This was the last modification he had planned, and it had been the hardest to lock down but it was the one that would finally tie everything else together. Bioware was finicky, expensive, and hard to source without being traced and probably shot dead by some repo man because most of it still wasn’t consumer tech. Maksim had needed to find someone who could not only get their hands on it, but could be trusted to install it without shorting out some other essential part of his suite. Or his brain. Clark had come as highly recommended as he could have hoped for–sharpest eyes and steadiest hands anywhere outside the west coast, and discreet on top of it. With a price tag to match, unfortunately, but he had stopped allowing himself to think about debts pretty early on.

So he waited.

When his left leg began to bounce restlessly he willed it back into stillness, dropped his head back against the wall and tried to channel the impatient energy instead into his hands laying palm-up on his thighs. Controlled, intentional fidgeting. The short blades were sheathed cat claw-like in the artificial third digits of each finger, protracted by the minute flexing of thin tendons that had been painstakingly restrung and retrained to the purpose. It was second nature by now, a full decade on from when they had first been installed, but it still served as a good grounding exercise to focus in on the process. Slowly, deliberately, he touched the point of each blade to the soft pads of his thumbs, the only digits left unaltered (no telling when he might need a fingerprint), until another twinge of pain shot up through his left arm and he flinched, nicked the tip of his thumb and grit his teeth to swallow back a curse. It was an unnecessary confirmation of his reason for being there–an imperfection in the careful web of cybernetic control he had spent the last two months weaving over his own reflexes. It needed to be absolute. The pain, he could tolerate. The reaction, the body moving without his will or input, was a reminder he could not allow.

He fixed his eyes on the stippled off-white ceiling overhead and traced the irregular edges of water stains, knowing that if he closed his eyes now there would be memories waiting for him in the dark, blood and terror-wide eyes and the wet heat of fresh viscera, the fear, the sensation of being caged.

It was easier to think about what came after. This process had begun a week later, with a fiber optic muscle replacement knitted into his left arm, intended to correct the nerve damage Strikeout had done with a 9mm round lodged in his shoulder. The discovery that the mesh had granted him a steadier pistol aim than he’d ever had before “the incident” had eased some of the lingering trauma he carried out of it. But not enough. So he’d had the claws refitted for even finer motor control, the eye replaced with a newer model designed for minute motion tracking. A lighter muscle augment had gone into his right arm to synchronize his articulation, adrenal amps installed to increase his situational awareness and response times. The flexwires had gone into his arms on top of the muscle weaves, winding around just below the skin like careful geometric scarification and smoothing his hastened movements into precise, razor-sharp reflexes. The most invasive augmentation so far had been the spinal implant that nestled along the ridge of his back like some segmented mechanical insect, chaining the muscle augments, the adrenal amps, and the eye implant to a neural chip that could accelerate his processing of visual and auditory input, as well as dampen the full effects of the suite in everyday situations, when he didn’t need to be constantly barraged with sensory data.

There was a secondary effect, something he had been warned of back when he was first signing himself away to the Russian army in exchange for a purged arrest record and a functional left eye. The human brain was incredibly delicate, and his uniquely so. In a vanishingly small number of cases, the variant mutation manifested not only in physical quirks, but in certain advanced mental abilities. In his case, it had granted him the capacity to not only pick up the conscious thoughts and feelings of those around him, but to broadcast his own back out to a limited degree, like a short-range radio that only worked on human brain waves. Despite such genes being disseminated into the human population several generations ago, they were still not well understood, and Maksim’s superiors feared that placing too much additional processing burden on his brain via cybernetics might dampen his telepathic ability–the only thing they actually wanted. He hadn’t noticed any material difference after that first operation or in the decade that followed.

Now, he had the very real sense of a door almost fully closed, of the signals tapering off unless he really strained, and it was an indescribable relief. Whatever had happened in New York, it would not, could not, happen again.

Unfortunately that “processing burden” was affecting him in other, more immediate ways as well. He could feel his body protesting under the strain of the augments, without enough time to fully adjust to each introduction of heightened senses and tightened reflexes. And after living with an ability that had manifested when he was six years old, at 32 he could not seem to break himself of the habit of mental tampering no matter how many migraines he had to nurse in exchange. But a bit of research had presented him with a solution: an inhibitor could omit the pain response from the equation, allow him to bear the pain without distraction while his body did the work of adjusting quietly, in the background.

Then maybe he would finally feel like he was in control again.

A soft buzzing against his ribs startled him out of his musings. He lifted his head away from the wall and reached into the inner pocket of his coat to pull out his cellphone, then fumbled with the screen for a moment as he tried to check the caller ID, and only realized that he had instead blindly answered the call when he heard Strikeout’s voice filter through the tinny speaker. “Avos! Hey, I- shit I really didn’t think you were going to pick up.”

Maksim scoffed and let his head knock back against the wall. “I didn’t mean to,” he stated, and Strikeout chuckled as if it had been a joke. “This isn’t a good time,” he pressed on. “I’m waiting to meet with someone.”

“Ah…” Strikeout hesitated for a moment, the silence punctuated by some kind of indeterminate rustling on zir end. “With a loan shark?”

Maksim grit his teeth at the boldness of the assumption, even if it was frankly even odds at this point. This had been an expensive process, and his savings had only gotten him about halfway through it before he had started having to beg and borrow for the rest. “A surgeon,” he said pointedly, just because in that moment he wanted Strikeout to be wrong.

“Where are you now?”

“I’m not telling you that,” Maksim volleyed back, rolling his eyes up toward the ceiling. “But it’s far enough, you can tell Reece I understood her message clearly.”

“That’s not why I’m asking, I-” Maksim’s focus immediately disengaged from the call when a door opened at the far end of the room. The person in the doorway had a tall and willowy stature with angular features, but Maksim couldn’t immediately tell if those were variant features. They beckoned him in with a smile, and he returned it as he stood and quickly pulled on a more sociable persona.

“Hey listen, I’m glad you called but I’ll have to connect with you later,” he said brightly into the phone, then ended the call and tucked it back into his coat without waiting for Strikeout’s reaction.

“I hope you’re not nervous,” Clark said softly as he followed them into the next room.

“Not at all,” he insisted, his tone bright and conversational–a carefully modulated performance, and this was one he had had years to perfect. Another necessary form of control. “I’ve only heard good things.”

-

All told it was an unremarkable procedure, at least from Maksim’s perspective. Clark supervised him for a day and a half, then asked if there was anyone available to help him with basic tasks for a week or so while he recovered. He assured them that there was, and then went back to the hostel alone.

He could take care of himself. He’d been taking care of himself for a long time, and by now he’d recovered from enough surgeries to know he could do that by himself too. Still, this had been a particularly strange and disorienting one. Everything still hurt–there was a tension all through his upper body, like a chord strung from his temples down through his neck and into his shoulders had been pulled impossibly, dangerously taut. Sunlight burned the back of his eyes. So did screens. The light brace on his neck, to stop him moving enough to pop any stitches, left him feeling not unlike a dog in a cone. And yet, all of it receded to the back of his mind the instant he shifted his focus to anything else. It was easy to ignore, leaving him free to go about his day as he normally would, only to be hit by a fresh wave of soreness and exhaustion every time he settled down enough to let his mind empty. This, he assumed, was why Clark had strongly advised him not to do much for at least two weeks, not to be too active, or in any unpredictable situations, not until his mind and body had time to calibrate the new signals being sent back and forth.

He had been filling most of his time with cooking, carefully avoiding the hostel’s handful of other tenants, and trawling forums he had only barely remembered how to access thanks to Strikeout’s instructions almost a year ago. “Unindexed,” whatever that meant. He had surreptitiously put out inquiries about the warehouse run, hoping to tease out someone who seemed like they might know more than just sensationalized rumors or the same talking points that had already been in the news. It hadn’t amounted to much except the name Alabast–a low level crime syndicate in the New England area, and apparently the people who had hired his team for the job.

His phone screen lit up beside him, the vibration loud and obnoxious against the table’s surface, and he grit his teeth. He had also been ignoring a lot of calls from Strikeout. That particular pastime was rapidly becoming unsustainable, especially when ze had gradually increased zir attempted contacts from one every day or two to one every few hours. In a burst of frustration Maksim finally grabbed the phone and answered it, barking out an unfriendly “what?”

“Thank fucking god,” Strikeout breathed. “Avos are you in Denver?”

Maksim flinched. How did ze know that? “I told you, I’m not-”

Strikeout swore under zir breath. “Have you been posting about the run on Arsenal?”

The abrupt subject change left Maksim scrambling to catch up for a moment. “I thought… if I could find out-”

“From your personal computer?”

He opened his mouth. Didn’t actually say anything. The laptop sat open in front of him and he shot it a sidelong glance, feeling suddenly threatened by its presence. He had the distinct impression that if he told Strikeout the truth, it would also be the wrong answer. All he managed to offer was “это…“

Another frazzled, desperate string of curses from Strikeout, then, “you need to get out of there.”

“Out of… this building?” Maksim asked cautiously. Optimistically.

“Out of the state,” Strikeout insisted.

The deep, steadying breath Maksim tried to take caught in his lungs, as the tingling numbness of panic began to creep up through his extremities. “Why…?”

“Because if I know exactly where you are who else do you think has that information?”

“Oh.”

Who indeed. Why did they even want him? Would Alabast hunt him this far just for a botched robbery? It wasn’t like he owed them money, no one had gotten paid. Maybe it really was a friend of one of the others, not content with simply running him out of town. Strikeout was still talking on the other end but he was barely listening. “… just give me a little time I can set up a secure line for us, if I find out anything I can-” he ended the call.

Okay. No. It was fine. He didn’t have a lot to pack. He’d spent a lot of money on the inhibitor and this hostel but he could afford a bus ticket to… somewhere. Further west than Colorado. He still had options, and he was probably in good enough condition to travel. As soon as he felt like he could breathe again.