#Atlas Vending

[wutbju]

I think I remember this logo on the vending machines. You?

[gianlucacrugnola]

Metz - Atlas Vending

Il post-hardcore nordamericano ha nel trio canadese Metz un fiero baluardo, riferimento per tutto il genere. La band originaria di Ottawa ma di casa a Toronto offre una sintesi di rumore e distorsioni che ritroviamo anche nel nuovo lavoro Atlas Vending, fuori come sempre per l’iconica etichetta indipendente di Seattle, quella Sub Pop un tempo fucina per il Punk rock cittadino oggi impegnata nel…

[sinceileftyoublog]

METZ, Spiritual Cramp, & Stuck Live Show Review: 12/16, Metro, Chicago

BY JORDAN MAINZER

METZ’ self-titled debut album came at a time when guitars re-entered indie rock in full-force. 2012 saw breakout albums from bands like Cloud Nothings, The Men, and Parquet Courts, a paradigm shift from the baroque pop of the 2000s towards something like it was during the heyday of the 90s. But similar to Attack on Memory, METZ was bleak, what seemed at the time like a pummeling expression of desolation after the 2008 financial crisis, akin to the waning optimism from the early Obama years. Ten years and three METZ albums later, the world has gotten worse, and the Toronto-via-Ottawa punk band has retained its hard edge. What better time to celebrate their first and arguably still their finest statement?

At the Metro on Friday, like every other night of their tour, METZ played their first album front to back. As the band walked onto the stage, drummer Hayden Menzies played the abrasive opening notes of “Headache” with the lights still off, remaining dim as guitarist and vocalist Alex Edkins’ siren-like lines began. Only when bassist Chris Slorach entered the fray did we see the band, and they were off to the races, burning through “Get Off”, “Sad Pricks”, and “Rats” at a breakneck pace. From the off-kilter instrumental of “Nausea” to the build of “Wet Blanket” and noisy, dynamic breakdown of “Wasted”, the band showed themselves to be, to quote one of their 2012 contemporaries, masters of their craft.

Including the encore, METZ had time for 5 additional songs, including two from their most recent album Atlas Vending (Sub Pop): “Blind Youth Industrial Park” and the swirling, epic closer “A Boat to Drown In”. II’s “Spit You Out”, a live highlight since it came out, was especially disorienting in its chaos in conjunction with the light show. And, to my pleasant surprise, the band did the motorik “Demolition Row”, released earlier this year as part of a split 7′’ with Adulkt Life. The show served as a reminder that METZ are capable of effectively delving into different subgenres but are still at their best when bashing you over the head with noise.

Opening for METZ were two more punk bands, albeit with different aesthetics. San Francisco’s Spiritual Cramp combined screamy, political post-punk with self-aware, self-deprecating, self-hating dance jams on tracks like “I Feel Bad Bein’ Me” and “The Erasure”. Vocalist Michael Bingham was filled with banter contrasting the bitter cold lack of pretension in Chicago with California’s sadsack sunniness. “You can’t tell if I’m being sarcastic,” he said to the crowd, following up with, “I can’t tell if I’m being sarcastic.” The vagueness of tone is certainly a feature of the band, the type to artfully sample vocals at the same time as featuring a barely-audible-but-theatrically-played tambourine on stage. When Bingham declared, “Fuck the cops, fuck the president, and fuck you, too,” you could sense a sneering sincerity, one that made the band ironically even more likeable.

And taking a victory lap were local heroes Stuck, a year removed from their most recent EP Content That Makes You Feel Good (Exploding In Sound), two years from their debut album Change Is Bad (born yesterday). As such, they played four (!) new, unreleased songs, including jagged set opener “Punisher” and the disco beat-laden “Freak Frequency”. Live, lead vocalist Greg Obis’ yelped personal and sociopolitical litanies echo the urgency of someone like Squid’s Ollie Judge, backed by the band’s gnarly rhythms and burning tempo changes. The jangling tremolo and rusted edges of a song like “Invisible Wall” encapsulated what the band does best: reel you in, but not let you get too comfortable.

[theineffableoystercatcher]

Sokka, after Zuko joins the Gaang: I'm the smartest, wisest person in this group.

Zuko: Really? Then why is your hand stuck in a vending machine?

Sokka: I paid for my Mars Bar, I'm getting my Mars Bar.

[diabetesnscoliosis]

Bumi should have gotten airbending from interacting with the spirits. Everyone else got it from harmonic convergence but Bumi in my head got it from his time in the spirit world and no one can convince me otherwise!!!

[biglisbonnews]

Tiny Bread Box in Vernon, Vermont Born in Utah, Natalia Meijome spent a large portion of her childhood in her father’s original hometown of Buenos Aires. She created this most unusual bakery as an homage to the Argentine panaderías she loved as a child. In lieu of a full-scale shop, however, Meijome opted for a much more diminutive format. Locals in the area know to go early to this self-service bakery with a view of Mt. Monadnock early in order to snag the best pastries. Every Saturday morning, Meijome stocks her Tiny Bread Box in rural Vermont with goodies such as palmeritas (laminated pastries covered in caramelized sugar), maple bacon cheddar biscuits, and alfajores maicena (tender sandwich cookies filled with dulce de leche). Offerings vary daily, but tend to lean heavily on a sourdough starter for extra flavor. For her milk bread loaf and individually portioned cinnamon rolls, Meijome uses tangzhong, a flour-water roux often used by East Asian bakeries to produce an exceptionally tender crumb.  To order, customers simply need to scan a QR code and pay with a credit or debit card. Tiny Bread Box partially operates on the honor system, which inhabitants in this small New England community have always respected.  https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/tiny-bread-box

[danwhobrowses]

One Piece Chapter 1105 - Initial Thoughts

So we are back again, after a big impactful chapter last week we're looking to reach full incident territory now

Buster Call No. 3 here we go...

Spoilers for the Chapter, Support the Official Release

Carrot cover page is welcome but also reminds me how I wish she was Nakama

With the buster call summoned everyone is fleeing the scene, most of whom unaware of the situation

Doll suggests that Saturn and Kizaru leave too, but Saturn states they're staying

It seems that Doll is unaware of the regen, but she doesn't question Kizaru's reaffirming to do as ordered

Vegapunk confronts Saturn again, imploring him to call off the Buster Call due to how it will hamper the world's technology by a century

Saturn notes though they don't need more advancement, and can't trust that Vegapunk's hiding something else...which he kinda is but still

Apparently a ship also left Egghead, guessing it was the former inhabitants during the Labophase Among Us situation we didn't see

But Saturn had it hunted down, on the threat that they may know something about the Void Century, Akainu tactics there

Vegapunk once more is appalled but Saturn rebukes that he dug their graves by seeking forbidden knowledge

Everyone's in movement though, except the Mark IIIs who are the perimeter for the island

Sanji directs Kuma, Bonney, Franky and Atlas to the vacuum rocket, assuring Bonney that Vegapunk will be safe

He also briefs Nami on what's going on above, surprising the group that there's yet ANOTHER buster call to go through

After several months we finally see Robin alive and well...mostly, she's on a hoverbed and in clear discomfort, probably from wounds and trauma

Jinbe has been sent to get Zoro so he doesn't get lost, but apparently he's still fighting Lucci

Lilith meanwhile didn't even make it to ground, she was still with the ship and got assistance from Brook

And he's found a clever way to get the ship to the rendez-vous, using his ice powers to freeze the clouds and skate on them

There is however the matter of braking, which Lilith quickly rescinded her praise for Brook after he had no ideas, plus the Vega Force 01 is still not an option for flying out

They make a point in saying that the Labostratum still has its barrier, meaning that the place will have some safety from bombardment, but the first barrage begins even with soldiers still evacuating

As Vegapunk laments the loss of another island, the Vacuum Rocket shoots off

But once again, Kizaru's here for the intercept

Sanji sees the intercept and goes to rescue Bonney, while Saturn orders the Pacifista to fire at Bonney and Kuma

Internally he sickly enjoys the irony that Kuma gave away his life to protect his daughter, only for his clones to be the cause of her death

Vegapunk meanwhile looks on in horror, remembering his worry that even though Bonney's Kuma's daughter, a pacifista won't hesitate to kill her if ordered

And Oda makes it clear there'll be no Luffy save, the navy have found him again stuffed and unable to move right now as he lays next to the vending machine thing we saw earlier in the arc

Aren't these soldiers supposed to be running from the Buster Call though?

HOWEVER, we also flash back to the alleged sunken ship Vegapunk sent out yesterday, except it's not!

The destroyed ship is in fact the warship Saturn sent, and they have no idea how they're gonna report their failure to Kizaru

But another player is about to enter the game, they are on their way to Egghead

Until the very end there it seemed like a simpler albeit dire chapter to follow the heights of the Kuma punch, the Buster Call is here and most of our heroes are tied up in some shape or form; Zoro is still uncharacteristically dealing with Lucci, Robin our queen who I'm glad to see alive but sad to see still hurt is forced to rest, Luffy overate and is once again surrounded by marines, Sanji is running towards the line of fire even though Kuma is literally shielding Bonney anyway, Vegapunk is alone to the mercy of Saturn, Franky's falling, Brook is skating the Sunny without a brake, Kizaru's still being a government cog, it's all meant to feel like it's gonna go wrong.

But there are still the outside factors to play; the giant mecha will still have to help in some way, and there is still the slight possibility that the Mark IIIs do in fact hold an echo of humanity that resided in Kuma - which'd call back to the weaponized sea beasts still having their animal instincts - to not fire at Bonney. And now we have this other player that's coming, unless it's the Blackbeard ship from before. I do wanna hope it's Smoker but chances are low on that, why would you want to contact an admiral directly about that? Another Yonko ship on the move or the Revolutionaries seems like the Fleet Admiral would be warned so I'm still wondering if it's someone else we've not seen much of; Law & Bepo or maybe Perona & Moria.

The goose is not cooked yet of course, but our Straw Hats could do with a bit of gritting their teeth and stepping up, escaping a buster call doesn't quite have the same impact it did in Enies Lobby, stopping a Buster Call is yonko-level.

[jgthirlwell]

playlist 03.30.24

Sleepytime Gorilla Museum of the Last Human Being (Pelagic) Kelly Moran Moves In The Field (Warp) Metz Atlas Vending (Sub Pop) Yarn Wire Currents Vol 8 (Bandcamp) CEL(Felix Kubin & Hubert Zemler) (Bureau B) Monika Roscher Big Band Failure in Wonderland / Of Monsters and Birds (Zenna) Lussuria Three Knocks (Hospital) Sleater-Kinney Little Rope (Loma Vista) Kristian Randalu & New Wind Jazz Orchestra Sisu (Whirlwind) Osnat Metzer Dot : Line : Sigh (New Focus) Gil Evans Out Of The Cool / Into The Hot (Not) David T.Little, Royce Vavrek Am I Born? (Bright Shiny Things) Ben Frost Scope Neglect (Mute) Lustmord Much Unseen is also here (Pelagic) Tim Hecker Infinity Pool OST (Milan) Jaga Jazzist Pyramid (Brainfeeder) Zombi Direct Inject (Relapse)

[companywrath]

@companypride

Jack stares into the bathroom mirror, rubbing lavender scented moisturizer into his face with quick, circular, motions. He spends extra time along the edges of the scar emblazoned across his face, though the scar itself is a lost cause. The skin along the edges is rough and raised, the vault symbol itself burned deep into his flesh and solidified into a metallic silver crust. It's not skin anymore; part of why it can't be repaired. His face belongs in a fucking museum- as far as his doctors can tell, nothing else like it exists.

Rhys is still in his bed, presumably. The front door won't unlock without his biometrics. It's the first time Rhys has been in his bed, though not the first time they've had sex. Usually it's in an office, either Rhys's or his own. Usually it's quick, informal. But, eating a home cooked meal alone under a enormous elaborate chandelier at an enormous expensive dinner table was feeling particularly pathetic now that the adrenaline rush of having a real flesh and blood body again was beginning to grow old. He'd bet Rhys's life on the assumption that Rhys hadn't eaten anything in days that hadn't come out of an Atlas vending machine. So, he called him up. One thing led to another.

And now he has a decision to make; leave the mask off, or put it back on. It's really not much of a decision. Sleeping with it on would be worse. Discomfort aside, refusing to be seen with it off in his own turbomansion would only highlight the fact that he's insecure. It's better to own it. He never wore the mask in the evenings with Nisha. But, Nisha was there. Nisha knew what had happened and knew to never say a word about it. Rhys is different.

When he enters the bedroom, he has only a plush, dark grey, towel around his waist. His hair is only wet around the edges; he didn't wash it, but he wasn't able to fully avoid it while washing his face in the shower. 

He strips the towel off in front of his closet, making sure Rhys gets a good view of his perfectly sculpted ass. Any excuse to show off. He pulls on a pair of super soft boxer briefs, black with yellow details, and hangs the towel on a nearby hook. Then he flops down on the bed beside Rhys, giving him a grin and a flirty inflection of his voice. "Hey."

[psn-stalling]

Vista mail! She again tiptoes in verrrrry quietly, and again immediately starts squawking up a storm as soon as the package is removed from her beak. She does not seem to understand the concept of sneakiness. She also seems to be holding what appears to be a small, metal rattle. She does not give this to Atlas.

She does, however, hand him the package containing a 6 pack of orange flavored soda. Enjoy!

-@elite-amarys

Thanks!! This makes me feel a lot better-

Not an option in the hospital vending machine unfortunately, so it's nice to have some again- Thank you!

[destinygoldenstar]

New Years Eve At The Snow Festival!

It’s New Years Eve! Everyone’s throwing confetti everywhere!

And apparently something love related happened at the table.

(Or they’re all staring at Sun, so maybe it’s an awkward aroace moment)

Whatever, I didn’t figure it out cause Mercury invited us over.

I also realized THIS

I was wrong

Laurant is NOT the oldest of his siblings. Atlas is. Atlas is an elder now.

One of our in laws is an elder now…

We came over. Had wine.

Peridot and Emerald are teenagers, but they’re having wine…

Eh I’m sure it’s fine

While Sun decided to upgrade their sink to avoid talking.

Nice of him

And then I found the festival of snow pop up as a notification.

We HAD to go to this

Look at how nice it is

Mt. Komerobi makes me so happy whenever I see it, and I hate snow in real life

Yamachan was dancing

We got selfies with them.

And they were really riling up this stranger.

Laurant played guitar the whole time. For no reason

The spitfire twins got stuff from the vending machine.

At random, they chose ANOTHER cup of coffee today, and Green Tea.

Ruby, at random, decided she wanted Green Tea.

That’s so random.

Kian went skiing with Mercury and Peridot

Emerald left. Disappointed.

Then those two retreated to the bath house

And the adults had even more wine

Now I’m concerned about them from how much wine they’re drinking

I love how Kian moved seats so Ruby could be with Kaori. Such a supportive brother

And this is where Ruby asked Kaori to be her girlfriend.

To which she said yes.

Happy New Year!

[foliosriot]

Get To Know Me!

BASIC INFO

Hello! My name is Alexander, but you may call me Alex. My birthday is February 13 (2/13), and I am twenty (20) years old. I am demi-bisexual, nonbinary and only go by they/them pronouns.

ARTISTS I LISTEN TO

Bad Omens. Motionless In White. Lorna Shore. Spiritbox. Sleep Token. ERRA. Ghost Atlas. Beartooth. Ice Nine Kills. I Prevail. The Plot In You. Dayseeker. Asking Alexandria. Bring Me The Horizon. Fall Out Boy. Sleeping With Sirens. Pierce The Veil. My Chemical Romance. The Wrecks. BOYS LIKE GIRLS. Misfits. State Champs. NateWantsToBattle. Billie Eilish. A Day To Remember. Mayday Parade. 5 Seconds Of Summer. Between You & Me. NF. Metallica. Royal & The Serpent. Vended. Slipknot. AVATAR. Make Them Suffer.

THINGS AND PEOPLE I LOVE

Horror. Art + drawing. Reading. Writing. Sharks. The Pacific Northwest. Space. Star Wars. Dungeons & Dragons. Legends of Avantris. Lord Of The Rings + The Hobbit. Godzilla. Metal music. Punk music. Hockey. Markiplier. Jacksepticeye. Nathan Sharp / NateWantsToBattle. Drew Starkey. Hayden Christensen. Rory Culkin.

[bryanevansduff]

Enforcing Our Company’s Back-To-Office Policy Has Made Me Drunk Off A Power You Couldn’t Possibly Comprehend

Our company’s back-to-the-office policy strives to promote a healthy balance between remote work and in-office collaboration. By having team members return to the office, we can foster a sense of connection, strengthen our company culture, and, most importantly, make an HR middle manager like me drunker on power than you would ever believe.

Truly, my power high is indescribable. The Germans don’t have a word for how intoxicating it is to command people to spend more time in the physical presence of coworkers who could care less if they lived or died. The Romans’ Bacchus himself could never have dreamed of the wild orgy of elation I get to experience when I report to a team leader that their direct report didn’t arrive last Thursday as they said they would. And the Hindus never conceived of a caste high enough for those of us who get to remind their colleagues to fill out the shared Outlook calendar to schedule a workspace for their days in the office. Now I Am Become Death.

As a reminder, our company believes in-person attendance is a powerful way to build unity and cohesion, but that power dwarfs in comparison to what I feel when enforcing it. Sending out back-to-office mass emails fill me with an Atlas-like resolve. Forcefully weaning these babies’ off of their precious “work-life balance” makes me think of Hercules’ 12 labors as child’s play. And had I been able to call their personal cell phones to issue them a verbal warning for not being in the office enough, Genghis Khan and his Mongol Horde would have stopped dead in their tracks. King Kong Ain't Got Shit On Me.

Though my resolve is unrelenting, that’s not to say I won’t occasionally vary my approach. I’ll surprise someone with a “I hate to be the bad guy...” or “You know, if it were up to me...” when reminding them they have to spend two hours a day commuting if they want to keep their health insurance. But all this empathy is nothing but a performative sham. The truth is, if it WAS up to me, you’d all be chained to galley oars like Ben Hurr, where your rowing could power the vending machines in the break rooms that no one has used since the last Bush administration. I Am The Captain Now.

Some call me a zealot, but how could I not be with a responsibility this important? I’m charged with ensuring the company crams as many people as possible into our big, dumb open floor plan so they can all sit on Zoom calls with each other all day while our Wifi bandwidth totally tanks from it. Upper management charged me with the divine purpose of justifying the company’s inordinate, shortsighted investments into the office’s real estate and I have accepted that calling with an unbridled enthusiasm. I Am A Golden God. 

There are no exceptions to the policy, as there are none with my power. You have a funeral to attend during one of your scheduled back-to-office days? Hey, why don’t you “Zoom in” to the service to pay your respects? What’s wrong - I thought you said being remote was JUST AS PRODUCTIVE as being in person? Allow me to remind you that your offer sheet said you were required to come to the office three days a week as terms of your employment and said nothing about you being able to adequately mourn for your mother. That’s right: Say My Name. (In case you forgot, it’s “Hayley” or “Sayge” or “Zacc” or something stupid because the boomers in charge outsourced this work to someone who was born shortly after 9/11).

Anyway, if you have any questions at all about this transition, please do not hesitate to reach out! But as a reminder I do not work Mondays, Wednesday, Thursdays, or Fridays.

[percabeth4life]

*sees latest reblog, shakes you like a vending machine(/f)* TELL ME MORE ABOUT KRIOS AND KOIOS PLE A SE Krios in the him&Atlas fic??? the tumblr ANGST ??? Thinking about them?? The Koios Angst??? them bickering in the murder fic?? thinking about them daily everyday always

Lol, what do you want to know about them?

Koios enjoys reading every book he can get and is the kind to harass random people that show skills to get more info on them. He never left Tartarus and misses everyone, he was supposed to leave, was supposed to follow Iapetus, but Iapetus never came back... until he did.

Krios loves the stars, hates pitch black, and has learned of night lights (he loves them). If he could design his room in the modern day it would have so many nightlights. He hates the dark, and when he was back in Tartarus without Hyperion he didn't do much else other than wait for Hyperion. He was gone so short a time and Hyperion was gone again-

[ladyswillmart]

8 Doug Rattmann or 3 Arlen Askew pls. OR a character you haven't wrote at all for 8

I know the object of this was to do microfiction but GUESS WHAT? You get a whole-ass short story! Congratulations! 🎉🌈

I picked 8 - Sunbathing 🌞, ft. Portal's Doug Rattmann et al.

Share and Enjoy!

---🌟---

Not to bring more math into this, but most folks can agree that 50,000 is a nice, round number, one that reasonably applies to a plenty of arbitrary amounts, discrete or continuous. But the further the three-man Aperture Science Surface Expedition Crew sallied forth towards their intended destination, the more they began to wonder just how applicable that particular number was to the particulars of Time. Specifically, a particular time, a particular date, a particular year with too many digits to display properly on most digital watches.

People just didn’t plan that far ahead. Even Aperture Science, peppering the terms and conditions for every new GLaDOS build with very authoritative reassurances of her longevity, phrases like in perpetuity and ad infinitum and ‘til the cows come home, failed to foresee any situation at all whatsoever where the cows actually would come home, and GLaDOS would need to be able to print out a year with more than four digits.

Much less a century with three. Life In General was feeling very much like a high school basketball scoreboard right now.

“So yeah, this is it. Michigan of the 522nd century. I guess,” said Doug, rustling up as much enthusiasm as he could on half a jam sandwich and a cup of Apercaff*. He dozily bunted the dull rubber-capped toe of his sneaker against the broad side of yet another empty pop can, sending it clattering down the sun-bleached remains of W. Umbrage Avenue.

The trio had just hiked across the prairie in front of the Umbrage Dollar Chimp discount store. It used to be a parking lot, lined curb to curb with cars, scooters both legal and unlicensed, pick-em-up trucks and refugee shopping carts from foreign supermarkets. Now it was a scabrous plain of depreciated asphalt, streaked with lush braids of ragweed and dandelions gone to seed, Mother Nature’s repo men. But it wouldn't feel like a proper nature hike until Chell eagle-eyed a row of vending machines by the store entrance, still stuffed with gum, trinkets, rubber bouncy balls, neon slime, nickels, dimes, quarters…

No matter how far they’d stray into the future, it was nice to know that the price of a Homie remained unaffected by inflation.

Back at present—whenever that was—ATLAS squibbled inquisitively as he trailed the bouncing pop can, the way he had for the last dozen or so pop cans that met a similar fate at the end of Doug’s habit-possessed foot.

“Right. Hate to say it. But I think one of us has to say it and I’m already running my mouth so it may as well be me,” he continued, resignedly. “This place looks a lot like the Michigan of the 20th century. Doesn’t it?”

Chell shuffled along somewhere around his 6 or 7 o’ clock, paced and pensive. Doug was usually content in his silence, but when he was on a ramble he did it like an old pro. She chafed her hands, then stuffed them back into the pockets of her woolen wrap skirt—whether or not the world outside was ready for the maxi-skirt to make a comeback, it was happening today. And today been a pleasant enough day for it—for sunbathing, though such pretty blue skies could be misleading. The crisp breeze blowing through them unabated made her incrementally more grateful for the radiant heat of the Aperture Science Handheld Portal Device strapped to her back.

Of course, she said nothing.

Doug gently chattered on.

“Then again, I don’t know what I was expecting, really. Eh? Ha ha. Fewer beer cans, more dinosaurs?”

Only the distant complaint of a migrating loon broke the ensuing silence.

“Giant chickens?” Doug tried again, mumbling to himself. “They’re basically dinosaurs, and y’know at least one of ours had to’ve gotten out…”

Chell shrugged it off and resumed her silent inventory of the information at hand: Umbrage, MI was a loosely incorporated community established approximately six miles due north of the Aperture Science main facility, commemorated by a tiny red dot on the old gas station map of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula that ATLAS kept in his cranial storage compartment.

To Chell, who grew up elsewhere, it was just another Dad Ramble: Whenever they passed through the place (always en route to anywhere elsewhere) he would commence a Dad Ramble about the mid-1970’s, and how the big heads at Aperture founded this small town as one of many solutions to a serious problem with employee punctuality. With necessity as a mother figure, Aperture’s experimental urban planning department invented Umbrage to give their fellow employees and test subjects a place to live, a quick commute and a Dollar Chimp for all their off-brand scented toilet paper needs. Therefore, it was reasonable to assume that the downfall of the Aperture facility would ultimately eliminate the need for such a place.

But something wasn’t right.

Something wasn’t right. Something wasn’t right and Chell became more and more dissatisfied with each attempt to emphasize the correct word in that sentence. Hoping it would quell her frustration, she focused her observations to the things that were right, or at least not wrong.

Spectacular weather. Cool, if slightly warmer than anticipated. Unbroken blue skies as far as anyone could see. Fresh air, so new to everyone’s lungs that it felt like a lovely heartburn. Normal readings on the Geiger counter.

Birds. Insects. Rubbish.

No people. No vehicles. No misplaced shopping carts. Wrong, getting wronger.

No bodies. Back to not wrong. For now.

From the onset of this sojourn she occasionally spied the same squint of scrutiny in Doug’s left eye. Until now he would keep his own questions to himself:

“So what year d’you think it is, eh?” He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his snorkel parka and looked skyward, sighing.

ATLAS parsed the question, but only whmm’d in response as his central optic dilated. They didn’t ask questions like that on Jeopardy!.

“GLaDOS says it’s been fifty thousand years, but I think even fifty is a stretch.”

Chell cleared her throat, mounting a partial retreat into the comfort of her knit scarf before speaking. “I agree with that hypothesis. Guess. Whatever.”

“Eh—?!” Doug snapped a glance backwards, startled to the point of stumbling. To date, the only words she’d ever spoken to him stayed mostly along the lines of Yeah, Nope, Screw it and Dibs on your jam sandwich. And most of these happened this morning.

“Y-you do?”

“Sort of. I mean I think you’re right,” she pressed, carefully. “But if you are right, something’s wrong. I dunno.”

“No no, that’s the bunny.” Doug nodded, uneasily. “Say GLaDOS is right and we spent fifty thousand years in stasis like she said. Sure, all the people would be gone by now. But then everything else would be gone too. None of this would be here at all, eh?”

Waterfalls could erode sheer mountainsides into lakes if given fifty thousand years to do it. Jungles could morph into deserts and vice versa. Rising oceans could carve new coastlines, effect mass extinctions, birth new civilizations and drastically reduce the cost of certain beachfront properties. In fifty thousand years, days would be longer by one SI second and mankind would’ve likely done a runner, especially if faced with the prospect of spending a lifetime of one extra seconds in Umbrage, MI.

All of that, and the Aperture Science Surface Expedition Crew was still expected to believe that the price of a Homie wouldn’t have fluctuated at least a little bit.

“Yeah, right on. But this place makes it look like it’s only been a couple decades at the most,” Chell went on. “Like, it’s totally abandoned but there’s no graffiti, no busted-out windows or anything like that. It’s like everyone just left all of a sudden. Maybe they were beamed into outer space, who knows.”

Somewhere off to an unseen side, ATLAS tottered about the curb obliviously, kneeling to harvest another pop can out of another filthy storm drain.

“Well, the aliens must’ve taken all the vehicles with 'em because I haven’t seen so much as a busted shopping cart in a ditch since we started,” rounded Doug. “I mean, look at the roads.”

“They look like your vegetable garden.”

“You could grow zucchini in these cracks.”

Chell stared at him. “Please don’t.”

“Whmm,” said Atlas, approaching the duo from behind. The mechanoid had been stuck in this activity loop since their departure, scuttling about the scrub, picking up and storing any bits of rubbish that happened to pique his interest. For a mechanoid who had never seen the greater world beyond the agency of management rails and reassembly machines, there was an awful lot to take in.

Doug turned and observed him for a moment; the way the lid to Atlas's rear storage trunk bulged like that of an overfull kitchen trash can did not escape his keen eye.

Oh well—no need to pry any further. He knew this problem would resolve itself eventually. Doug let it go with a light sigh. “Eh? What's that you got there?”

Atlas held his treasure up to the glory of the midday sun. It was another aluminum soda can, the same color as the sky, with its brand name emblazoned across its breadth in conspicuous white block letters:

“Dr. Breen's Private Reserve,” Doug read, quizzically, quickly correcting himself, “No! Dr>Breen's Private Reserve. Huh.”

Chell glared at him. How did he make that sound with his mouth?

“Whmm…?” Atlas probably asked the same question.

“Dr. Breen. Dr. Breen…” Doug repeated the name to himself, quietly, hoping to hit upon some vein of forgotten data.

“Like, Dr. Wallace Breen. Right?” tried Chell.

“Oh yeah. You think so? Sounds familiar.”

“Yeah, I know that name,” she said. “Why do I know that name?”

The two lapsed into synchronized silence, impenetrable but profound, and cold like the light of a long-dead sun, billions of miles away, at last piercing the crust of the sky, only to be hidden by fathomless daylight.

---

*Apercaff, “Aperture Science's most digestible instant coffee substitute”. In fact, the ad campaign featured contemporary superstar-of-a-sort Pia Zadora dressed in the livery of an Apercaff can, shimmying around the Aperture premises' many employee break rooms, crooning I'll be your substitute, whenever you need me... While excising a nice chunk—tens of hundreds of dollars—from the company's seemingly bottomless advertising budget, this advertisement remained an Aperture Laboratories Closed Circuit Access Television exclusive. Miss Zadora herself continues to deny any involvement with the company.

[queenofthursday6599-blog]

You know, someday someone will write a Bioshock story that has these guys in it:

Because the idea of survivor camps hidden away in different parts of Rapture, is just too logical not to show up in a fanfic somewhere.

There has to be at least a small subset of people in Rapture who never got into splicing. It can’t literally just be Sinclair, Grace, Sophia Lamb, Tenenbaum, and Stanly who never touched the stuff and lived to 1968.

Like the couple that tried to escape in that crashed bathysphere that we find early on into Bioshock 2. They don’t sound like splicers, they sound completely coherent (something splicers don’t tend to sound).

I just love the survivor idea so much. That and how there would have been be a pneumo trading system with them. Which I think could have replaced the vending machine system, at least in some parts of Rapture.

Such as Dionysus Park, where it’s been flooded since before the war. So all of the vending machines (or at least their content) should have logically been ruined.

Different traders would focus on different things, as you can tell the picture above is of the ammo trader’s inventory.

It’s just that when I really got into looking up removed content from the games this is one of the things I was sad never made it into the final game. So I’ve always wanted to see someone write a fic exploring the idea.

So I’ve got fic idea below, involving Eleanor’s childhood friend Amir being a survivor if you want to read any of it:

Personally I’ve always wanted to see a fic with Eleanor’s childhood friend Amir turning out to be a survivor. Just because Eleanor deserves nice things, and should be able to escape Rapture with her childhood friend on a stolen submarine like she’d wanted too as a child.

Also it’d just be a great reunion anyways, because you know both Eleanor and Amir would think the other is either dead, or spliced to the point it’d be less horrible to think they’re dead.

The survivor camps are supposed to be isolated from the rest of Rapture. No splicers or splicing among the survivors means no reason for little sisters to come around because there would be nothing to gather. The survivors wouldn’t care about Lamb and what she has to say. She’s just another adam obsessed leader of the most recent cult of personality. Just like Atlas, and Fontaine, and Ryan. Everything she says just sounds like weird drug cult nonsense to them.

Amir might not even know Eleanor survived the war at all if he doesn’t know her last name. Because my guess is that the last he heard of her was that she was seen around town as a Little Sister, and then the civil war broke out and she was gone. They were both pretty young kids back then, so Amir could very well not even know or remember Eleanor’s last name was Lamb. [After all, we the audience never learn Amir’s last name from Eleanor. He’s just Amir.] So even if he does hear Sophia’s sermons about the “People’s Daughter” and the random Splicer’s ramblings, and that girl being referred to as Eleanor. The idea that it could be the Eleanor he knew from childhood doesn’t even come to mind.

Eleanor who punched him in the face without an ounce of hesitation the first day they met. Who was sneaking out of her house so frequently her controlling mother installed a security system to keep her inside. Who, when they were kids, once looked him in the eye and asked, completely seriously, if he was a dog eating dog in a human suit. He’s supposed to think that girl is this weird cult’s all forgiving, all knowing, messiah figure?

Eleanor was feral, and Amir knew that. It’s the whole reason they were friends.

So there’s only 4 options in Amir’s mind: A) Eleanor died as a little sister during the New Years Eve Riot, because that’s when she disappeared, and a lot of people died during the riot. B) Eleanor survived the New Years Eve Riot, but later died as a little sister. Death was very common among little sisters, it’s why little girls were worth so much in Rapture. C) Eleanor survived the riot, and was one of the lucky little sisters to get swept up by Jack Ryan and Dr. Tenenbaum and is now living a normal life on the surface, with Rapture being just a distant memory. [God does Amir hope this is what happened.] Or lastly D) Eleanor survived as a little sister all the way through to being turned into a big sister. And she’s now one of those shrieking, murderous giants running around Rapture. [The option Amir dreads the most.]

Eleanor on the other hand definitely hasn’t heard hide nor hair of Amir since she got swept up in the Gatherer program. Sophia didn’t want Eleanor to have friends anyways, and Eleanor was actively breaking out of the house in order to go see Amir and the rest of her friends.

So when Sophia found Eleanor again she 100% kept her under lock and key, and certainly wouldn’t have told Eleanor anything about her old friends. Friendship meant a more significant emotional attachment. Friendship meant favoritism among the masses. A flaw in the utopian mindset that Sophia was obsessed with molding her child to have.

So Eleanor assumes that Amir was killed as a child during the civil war, or that he’s possibly a splicer, but she finds the second idea highly unlikely. The idea that Amir could have survived as a non-splicer survivor doesn’t really cross her mind, as the non-splicer survivors rarely cross her mind.

Eleanor is in a prison and can only see and hear into the world beyond where the little sisters are. The non-splicer survivor camps had long since blocked up the little sister vents that lead to their camps. Due to the fact that a big daddy would never be too far behind one. Along with the possibility of a splicer following the adam rich smell of a little sister into their camp area.

Most non-splicer survivors who are scavengers (who are the ones how leave their camp/safe area to find supplies) tend to be older than Eleanor (and Amir). After all, parents who managed to keep their kids alive, sure as hell wouldn’t be trying to send them off into the dangerous splicer ridden battle field that is the city beyond their safe area.

So even when she gains the eyes and ears of the little sisters, Eleanor doesn’t ever see proof of Amir still being alive. Or even being a still living splicer from the memories of dead splicers.