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mostlysignssomeportents · 6 months ago

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Kickstarting a new Martin Hench novel about the dawn of enshittification

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/07/weird-pcs/#a-mormon-bishop-an-orthodox-rabbi-and-a-catholic-priest-walk-into-a-personal-computing-revolution

Picks and Shovels is a new, standalone technothriller starring Marty Hench, my two-fisted, hard-fighting, tech-scam-busting forensic accountant. You can pre-order it on my latest Kickstarter, which features a brilliant audiobook read by @wilwheaton:

http://martinhench.com

This is the third Hench novel, following on from the nationally bestselling The Bezzle (2024) and Red Team Blues (2023). I wrote Red Team Blues with a funny conceit: what if I wrote the final volume of a beloved, long-running series, without writing the rest of the series? Turns out, the answer is: "Your editor will buy a whole bunch more books in the series!"

My solution to this happy conundrum? Write the Hench books out of chronological order. After all, Marty Hench is a financial hacker who's been in Silicon Valley since the days of the first PCs, so he's been there for all the weird scams tech bros have dreamed up since Jobs and Woz were laboring in their garage over the Apple I. He's the Zelig of high-tech fraud! Look hard at any computing-related scandal and you'll find Marty Hench in the picture, quietly and competently unraveling the scheme, dodging lawsuits and bullets with equal aplomb.

Which brings me to Picks and Shovels. In this volume, we travel back to Marty's first job, in the 1980s – the weird and heroic era of the PC. Marty ended up in the Bay Area after he flunked out of an MIT computer science degree (he was too busy programming computers to do his classwork), and earning his CPA at a community college.

Silicon Valley in the early eighties was wild: Reaganomics stalked the land, the AIDS crisis was in full swing, the Dead Kennedys played every weekend, and man were the PCs ever weird. This was before the industry crystalized into Mac vs PC, back when no one knew what they were supposed to look like, who was supposed to use them, and what they were for.

Marty's first job is working for one of the weirder companies: Fidelity Computing. They sound like a joke: a computer company run by a Mormon bishop, a Catholic priest and an orthodox rabbi. But the joke's on their customers, because Fidelity Computing is a scam: a pyramid sales cult that exploits religious affinities to sell junk PCs that are designed to lock customers in and squeeze them for every dime. A Fidelity printer only works with Fidelity printer paper (they've gimmicked the sprockets on the tractor-feed). A Fidelity floppy drive only accepts Fidelity floppies (every disk is sold with a single, scratched-out sector and the drives check for an error on that sector every time they run).

Marty figures out he's working for the bad guys when they ask him to destroy Computing Freedom, a scrappy rival startup founded by three women who've escaped from Fidelity Computing's cult: a queer orthodox woman who's been kicked out of her family; a radical nun who's thrown in with the Liberation Theology movement in opposing America's Dirty Wars; and a Mormon woman who's quit the church in disgust at its opposition to the Equal Rights Amendment. The women of Computing Freedom have a (ahem) holy mission: to free every Fidelity customer from the prison they were lured into.

Marty may be young and inexperienced, but he can spot a rebel alliance from a light year away and he knows what side he wants to be on. He joins the women in their mission, and we're deep into a computing war that quickly turns into a shooting war. Turns out the Reverend Sirs of Fidelity Computer aren't just scammers – they're mobbed up, and willing to turn to lethal violence to defend their racket.

This is a rollicking crime thriller, a science fiction novel about the dawn of the computing revolution. It's an archaeological expedition to uncover the fossil record of the first emergence of enshittification, a phenomenon that was born with the PC and its evil twin, the Reagan Revolution.

The book comes out on Feb 15 in hardcover and ebook from Macmillan (US/Canada) and Bloomsbury (UK), but neither publisher is doing the audiobook. That's my department.

Why? Well, I love audiobooks, and I especially love the audiobooks for this series, because they're read by the incredible Wil Wheaton, hands down my favorite audiobook narrator. But that's not why I retain my audiobook rights and produce my own audiobooks. I do that because Amazon's Audible service refuses to carry any of my audiobooks.

Here's how that works: Audible is a division of Amazon, and they've illegally obtained a monopoly over the audiobook market, controlling more than 90% of audiobook sales in many genres. That means that if your book isn't for sale on Audible, it might as well not exist.

But Amazon won't let you sell your books on Audible unless you let them wrap those books in "digital rights management," a kind of encryption that locks them to Audible's authorized players. Under Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, it's a felony punishable with a 5-year sentence and a $500k fine to supply you with a tool to remove an audiobook from Audible and play it on a rival app. That applies even if the person who gives you the tool is the creator of the book!

You read that right: if I make an audiobook and then give you the tools to move it out of Amazon's walled garden, I could go to prison for five years! That's a stiffer sentence than you'd face if you were to just pirate the audiobook. It's a harsher penalty than you'd get for shoplifting the book on CD from a truck-stop. It's more draconian than the penalty for hijacking the truck that delivers the CDs!

Amazon knows that every time you buy an audiobook from Audible, you increase the cost you'll have to pay if you switch to a competitor. They use that fact to give readers a worse deal (last year they tried out ads in audiobooks!). But the people who really suffer under this arrangement are the writers, whom Amazon abuses with abandon, knowing they can't afford to leave the service because their readers are locked into it. That's why Amazon felt they could get away with stealing $100 million from indie audiobook creators (and yup, they got away with it):

https://www.audiblegate.com/about

Which is why none of my books can be sold with DRM. And that means that Audible won't carry any of them.

For more than a decade, I've been making my own audiobooks, in partnership with the wonderful studio Skyboat Media and their brilliant director, Gabrielle de Cuir:

https://skyboatmedia.com/

I pay fantastic narrators a fair wage for their work, then I pay John Taylor Williams, the engineer who masters my podcasts, to edit the books and compose bed music for the intro and outro. Then I sell the books at every store in the world – except Audible and Apple, who both have mandatory DRM. Because fuck DRM.

Paying everyone a fair wage is expensive. It's worth it: the books are great. But even though my books are sold at many stores online, being frozen out of Audible means that the sales barely register.

That's why I do these Kickstarter campaigns, to pre-sell thousands of audiobooks in advance of the release. I've done six of these now, and each one was a huge success, inspiring others to strike out on their own, sometimes with spectacular results:

https://www.usatoday.com/story/entertainment/books/2022/04/01/brandon-sanderson-kickstarter-41-million-new-books/7243531001/

Today, I've launched the Kickstarter for Picks and Shovels. I'm selling the audiobook and ebook in DRM-form, without any "terms of service" or "license agreement." That means they're just like a print book: you buy them, you own them. You can read them on any equipment you choose to. You can sell them, give them away, or lend them to friends. Rather than making you submit to 20,000 words of insulting legalese, all I ask of you is that you don't violate copyright law. I trust you!

Speaking of print books: I'm also pre-selling the hardcover of Picks and Shovels and the paperbacks of The Bezzle and Red Team Blues, the other two Marty Hench books. I'll even sign and personalize them for you!

http://martinhench.com

I'm also offering five chances to commission your own Marty Hench story – pick your favorite high-tech finance scam from the past 40 years of tech history, and I'll have Marty bust it in a custom short story. Once the story is published, I'll make sure you get credit. Check out these two cool Little Brother stories my previous Kickstarter backers commissioned:

Spill

https://reactormag.com/spill-cory-doctorow/

Vigilant

https://reactormag.com/vigilant-cory-doctorow/

I'm heading out on tour this winter and spring with the book. I'll be in LA, San Francisco, San Diego, Burbank, Bloomington, Chicago, Richmond VA, Toronto, NYC, Boston, Austin, DC, Baltimore, Seattle, and other dates still added. I've got an incredible roster of conversation partners lined up, too: John Hodgman, Charlie Jane Anders, Dan Savage, Ken Liu, Peter Sagal, Wil Wheaton, and others.

I hope you'll check out this book, and come out to see me on tour and say hi. Before I go, I want to leave you with some words of advance praise for Picks and Shovels:

I hugely enjoyed Picks and Shovels. Cory Doctorow’s reconstruction of the age is note perfect: the detail, the atmosphere, ethos, flavour and smell of the age is perfectly conveyed. I love Marty and Art and all the main characters. The hope and the thrill that marks the opening section. The superb way he tells the story of the rise of Silicon Valley (to use the lazy metonym), inserting the stories of Shockley, IBM vs US Government, the rise of MS – all without turning journalistic or preachy.

The seeds of enshittification are all there… even in the sunlight of that time the shadows are lengthening. AIDS of course, and the coming scum tide of VCs. In Orwellian terms, the pigs are already rising up on two feet and starting to wear trousers. All that hope, all those ideals…

I love too the thesis that San Francisco always has failed and always will fail her suitors.

Despite cultural entropy, enshittification, corruption, greed and all the betrayals there’s a core of hope and honour in the story too.

-Stephen Fry

Cory Doctorow writes as few authors do, with tech world savvy and real world moral clarity. A true storyteller for our times.

-John Scalzi

A crackling, page-turning tumble into an unexpected underworld of queer coders, Mission burritos, and hacker nuns. You will fall in love with the righteous underdogs of Computing Freedom—and feel right at home in the holy place Doctorow has built for them far from Silicon Valley’s grabby, greedy hands."

-Claire Evans, editor of Motherboard Future, author of Broad Band: The Untold Story of the Women Who Made the Internet.

"Wonderful…evokes the hacker spirit of the early personal computer era—and shows how the battle for software freedom is eternal."

-Steven Levy, author of Hackers: Heroes of the Computer Revolution and Facebook: The Inside Story.

What could be better than a Martin Hench thriller set in 1980s San Francisco that mixes punk rock romance with Lotus spreadsheets, dot matrix printers and religious orders? You'll eat this up – I sure did.

-Tim Wu, Special Assistant to the President for Technology and Competition Policy, author of The Master Switch: The Rise and Fall of Information Empires

Captures the look and feel of the PC era. Cory Doctorow draws a portrait of a Silicon Valley and San Francisco before the tech bros showed up — a startup world driven as much by open source ideals as venture capital gold.

-John Markoff, Pulitzer-winning tech columnist for the New York Times and author of What the Doormouse Said: How the Sixties Counterculture Shaped the Personal Computer Industry

You won't put this book down – it's too much fun. I was there when it all began. Doctorow's characters and their story are real.

-Dan'l Lewin, CEO and President of the Computer History Museum

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charliemwrites · 1 year ago

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Uhhh this is sort of to get me back in the swing of writing since some people may have noticed I haven’t done much this week. It’s… it’s been a week, but that’s fine, those happen.

Anyway, concept comes from @ceilidho’s concept/drabble of “military asset Soap” and heavily inspired also by @391780’s Nikto version. Please go check out theirs because they’re brilliantly written.

(There will be a part 2 because this got longer than expected.)

Content: Verbal Threats, Dirty Talk, Objectification, Dub-Con, Name-calling. Please stay safe! 💕

You thought you were done with this.

Got out by making the best of a bad situation. Honorable discharge following an injury after your last base was infiltrated. “Data analysts” (hackers) can’t have unpredictable hand spasms in the middle of time-sensitive decryptions. So, you got out.

And now you’re all but being dragged back.

You don’t recognize the two stone-faced men flanking you, but you recognize the woman they sit you in front of.

“Laswell.”

She doesn’t look older, but she looks more tired. Like she hasn’t slept since she informed you of your discharge.

“It’s good to see you again,” she says without smiling. It’s good to see you; it’s not good that you’re seeing her. “I wish it was… I wish this wasn’t the situation.”

You arch your eyebrows. Have never known her to speak without measuring the exact dimensions of her words first. She always slides them into spaces perfectly designed for them, builds towers and forts out of syllables.

There’s a treacherous unintentional volume to the word “this” that prickles across your neurons.

“And what’s ‘this’ exactly?” you ask.

“A recently recovered asset,” she explains. You expect a dossier of some kind to be set in front of you. She links her fingers together on top of her desk and looks you in the eye. “He’s asking for you.”

You blink. Never was any good at staring contests with anything but a screen.

“And who,” you speak slowly, poking at the edges of whatever she’s hedging around, “is he?”

A pause, heavy enough to slowly start pressing the air from your lungs.

“Do you remember John MacTavish?” she asks.

You frown, rifling through mental files.

John MacTavish of Task Force 141. Soap. You remember liking him, even though he made a shy, anti-social part of you uneasy. He had a starting problem, and a smiling problem. Or maybe you were the one with the problem - with the way he would often stare and sometimes smile.

You taught him how to find files out in the field. How to take from the enemy and corrupt entire systems. He was good at it. A digital pyromaniac. Used to hand-deliver drives and disks to you, sometimes still bloody and bruised from getting them.

You heard through the gossip vine that he was MIA (or maybe went AWOL?) at some point. Was shipped out to your final assignment soon after.

“Is he the… asset?” you ask.

Her eyes do this funny flicker thing then, and the corner of her mouth tenses. You press your thumb into your palm as your fingers twitch.

“He’s asking for you,” she explains, “and he has information we need.”

Between the lines: we need you to get the information from him. The error code flashing in your mind demands to know why.

“Why?” you wonder.

Maybe you’ve been out too long; forgot that “why” is blasphemy to the government. The answer will always be “because we said so.”

You already miss being out.

“You’ll have to ask him yourself,” she answers and stands.

—

Laswell takes the lead, the same blank-faced guards bring up the rear. This doesn’t feel like you’ve been volun-told to do them a favor. It feels like you’ve been sentenced without a trial.

You’re led down silent, nondescript halls, through heavy gray doors, and into shiny metal elevators. Everything needs a keycard you’ve not been given. The quiet gets heavier, meaner the deeper you go.

There’s the vague sense that you’re underground when Laswell finally stops at a heavily guarded door. She pauses, steals a glance at you that starts a high-pitched alarm in your head.

“He’s different now,” she says finally, “I’m sorry in advance.”

A guard unlatches the door. She nods you ahead to enter first. You hesitate, don’t like the change in light beyond. Behind you, one of the guards shifts. Don’t like that either.

On tingling legs, you slink through the cracked door. It shuts with a gavel’s finality behind you. Alone.

The room you’ve been tricked into barely deserves the word. It’s more a tiny patch of sequestered floor, little bigger than an office cubicle. Clean linoleum and unmarked walls. In the corner, a camera blinks.

But in front of you are bars; a wall of them. A door interrupting the grid-pattern. Beyond, it’s pitch black. You almost make the mistake of stepping forward.

“Stay there,” Laswell’s voice commands. Staticky. An intercom.

From the shadows, a growl. Low, rough. Just this side of human. You plaster yourself to the door you came through, hair standing on end.

The lights come on. It’s only because you’ve frozen that you don’t scream, all of it trapped up in a constricted throat.

The man in front of you is not Soap. It’s not even John MacTavish. It’s a very convincing beast wearing his face. Sort of.

More scars than you remember. A thicker beard too. His signature Mohawk is just a suggestion in the dark brown mess of his hair - like he’s been running his hands through it and ripping out any tangles along the way.

He’s not moving now though. Not except the deep heave of his broad chest. Could be a statue save for that. He’s staring; his eyes are bluer than you remember. Bluer and blanker. Nothing in them except a flicker of something vicious, something covetous. Something that’s peering out from this man.

“We brought her, just like you asked.” Laswell’s voice again, wary and expectant.

Soap doesn’t respond. He inhales deep, gaze still locked with yours. It’s loud, purposeful. Your stomach twists.

“Just as sweet as I remember.” His voice is gravel on ice, resonates in his barrel chest. Fills up the room like a rockslide. You curl your fingers against the door behind you. “You remember me, bonnie?”

It takes your brain a second to realize he’s talking to you. As if he could be speaking to anyone else. Your shadow maybe; she’s always been braver than you.

His eyes twitch, narrowing ever so slightly. His patience winding down, tick, tick, tick.

You jerk your head in a nod. His eyes burn.

“Good.” He cracks his neck. It feels entirely inorganic that he can move just that part of his body. “Would have to punish you if you didn’t.”

You swallow, dig up your voice from the crevice it slunk into.

“Laswell.” Your voice is too high, too nervous. Soap bares his teeth, slams his fist against the all-too-bendable barrier between you two. It shocks you, frightens you. How he could be so still and then so alive all at once.

“John, we brought her. That was the deal.”

You feel sick with something unspoken as he shakes his head.

“No, the deal was you give her to me. Do you see my fuckin’ hands on ‘er? My teeth?”

“The information first.”

You feel sick with rage. Like you’re going to throw up with the disgust that poisons your blood. Your legs nearly give out as you slide to the ground, pressing a hand over your mouth, filling with saliva. Stomach rolling.

Force yourself to breathe through your nose. Would work better if you could close your eyes but prey instinct won’t let you, survival too strong to dare look away from the predator now pacing at the bars. He’s agitated, devolving quickly into anger. You’d tell Laswell to stop pissing him off if that didn’t mean tossing you to him. More than she has, anyway.

“We will take her back if you don’t deliver your end of the deal.”

Like you’re some reward to be given and taken at someone else’s will. An incentive for good behavior.

The military used to make you feel like a dog - sit, stay, bark on command. But you’d take that over being the training treat any day.

Soap snarls. He sounds feral. Spits out a set of numbers, eyes pinned to you. When he’s done, he crouches down. Knees against the wall of bars.

“S’alright, little bird. C’mere and I’ll make it all better,” he coos, beckoning you with two fingers.

You press your lips together against a whimper. His expression twitches. You suck in a breath—

“We’ll need to verify those coordinates first,” Laswell says.

The noise that rips out of Soap makes you shake. You didn’t know people could make sounds like that; like something with teeth and claws and blood matted in its fur. He stands, huge and terrifying.

He curses and threatens (awful, cruel) but Laswell doesn’t respond again. You doubt she’s even listening. And you just stay still and quiet, hoping to avoid his attention altogether, pancaked to the wall.

As is the pattern today, your reasonable hope is eventually dashed. Can almost feel the exact moment Soap’s attention refocuses on you. Like a the click of switch.

And he’s down again, crooning at you so sweetly. Like you didn’t just watch him come within a breath of destroying his cell.

“You know it’s not fair, don’t you,” he murmurs. “You know that I’m owed you. C’mere.”

“I’m not a thing,” you snip, still too high. Almost petulant if not for the frightened crack in the middle. He flashes teeth.

“‘Course you are, hen,” he says, almost laughing. You realize with a jolt that you’ve amused him. “You’re my sweet, pretty thing with the sweet, pretty cunt that I’m gonna fuck and breed.”

Your voice slithers back into the abyss, snatched away by the smoke and shadow promises in his own.

“And you know that’s what you’re for, don’ you?” he continues, voice dripping lower and lower. “You know that you’re mine.”

You shake your head, want to explain that you didn’t have a choice. Government goons have been shuffling you about from place to place, only the illusion of free will, like horse blinders. Keeping you docile and complacent.

You don’t think Soap cares about things like logic or personhood right now though. Or at all.

“Come. Here.”

Hard metal between you, and every atom in your body screams not to comply. So you don’t.

When you shake your head, he snarls and slams his fist into the barrier again. You squeak this time, can’t help it, and try to become one with the wall.

He rages for a few minutes. Demands you, your compliance. At some point you just have to draw your knees up to your chest and lean your head against them. If he could get through, he would have by now. Let his anger become a terrifying background noise, a soundtrack for fear.

It’s when he goes quiet again that the fear returns. Your head snaps up. He’s staring again, still. Just like before. His arms are crossed - biceps huge, straining. There’s a sizable bulge pressed against the bars. Obscene.

“Best get your rest now, little girl,” he rumbles. Even and deceptively calm. “Because when that door opens, I’m not gonna be nice about it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Stop it.”

A puff of air. You can’t tell if it’s amused or annoyed. “Say it while you can, ‘cause it won’t make a difference later.”

You shudder through your next inhale, heart pounding. Try to wrestle yourself under control, convince yourself that Laswell won’t actually give you up to him. Not when she’s already gotten what she wanted from him.

A sound breaks you from your frantic meditation, slick and wet. You look up without thinking. Soap is fucking viciously into his fist, eyes trained on you. The head of his cock is flushed an angry red, dripping with precum, shiny and needy.

“Regret being a little bitch now?” he growls. “Now that you see what’s going in that prissy little cunt?”

You clench and cramp at the very thought. He’s massive, not just long but thick. You wouldn’t be shocked if your fingers didn’t touch wrapped around him — not that you should be considering those logistics. It’ll just freak you out more.

“Can smell your wet pussy from here, hen. Bet I’ll knock you up on the first try.” He squeezes almost cruelly, knuckles banging against the bars as his hips jerk.

You press your thighs together, trying not to think about it. Not to think about all that bulk pinning you down and using you. Big, rough hands and sharp, mean teeth while he—

“Stop,” you grit out, to yourself this time.

His breath shudders, a rough noise dragging up his throat. You twitch back as cum splatters the floor, coats the metal in milky drops. You stare at the mess, mortified.

“Well?” he rasps and your eyes snap back to his. “Going to lick it up like the bitch you are?”

You swallow and curl up tighter. He takes that for the denial it is.

“S’alright,” he says, “you’ll get a taste soon enough.”

Masterlist

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #asset soap #asset John soap MacTavish #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader

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cyclesprefectpress · 2 years ago

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[image description: photos of The Disco Elysium Tarot, printed letterpress in an edition of one from handset lead type and linoleum blocks. It is a complete 78-card tarot deck printed primarily with white text and illustrations on medium grey cardstock, in a custom dark grey hardcase box with a hand-marbled orange and yellow endsheet. The backs of the deck are decorated with an illustration of a sprig of may bells, and a quote from Smallest Church in Saint-Saëns: "None of this matters at all." The interpretive meaning of each card is expressed on its face with a small excerpt of the game's text. The Minor Arcana are divided into four suits of Harry's Attributes—Motorics, Psyche, Physique, Intellect—and each card in that suit is a quote from a skill under that Attribute. The Major Arcana are assigned quotes from other sources like NPC dialogue or Thought Cabinet problems & solutions. Pips for the Minors are counted with diamonds like the game's skill points; each actor or title is printed with their in-game color, but made shiny & metallic with bronzing powder.

each piece of text was set in handset lead type, assembled from individual pieces for each letter and space, and printed relief on a chandler & price clamshell press. end description.]

🎊🎊 Desert Bus for Hope starts for 2023 on nov. 11th and i have made an item this year for the craftalong that will be up for giveaway between 6am-12pm on Monday the 13th! 🎊🎊 It is a full tarot deck based on Disco Elysium and it has several pieces of my heart & soul in it but NOT my blood because i put a bandaid right on that :) donations for this and any other auctions & giveaways for Desert Bus go to Child's Play Charity.

notes: i did not make a whole new interpretive model for this deck, apologies, that was outside of my scope. it's generally compatible with a Rider-Waite model, with Motorics for Wands, Psyche for Cups, Physique for Swords, and Intellect for Disks. (full distribution of text listed by card, linked below. any spelling or transcription errors you find there, i promise i fixed them in print—that's copied from my digital mockup which was copied hastily from screenshots.)

i also do not track hours on these kinds of projects because that way lies madness, but i will say: i knew how much time it would take to print it. it was a lot but i was not worried about it, i know how to print. i was very worried about how much time it would take to absorb the sheer amount of text, and distribute it across the cards, and really get an array i believe in. i was right to worry, and i have absolutely had a few anxious nightmares about discovering the Perfect excerpt that should've gone in and i missed it, and the suit of Intellect made me want to lay on the floor a few times, but still! i believe there's many versions of a deck you could make from this game and this one is a good one.

i think the Minors fit really well with the double-edged sword of Harry's skills, their advice, their priorities. the circular way the Fool-World assignment works out makes me smile every time. The colors on The Star came out so nice. i think Justice fulfills some of my favorite things about Kim's character & purpose in the story. i worried sometimes that editing to such short clips would lose too much of the politics of the game, but of course you can't really take them out and they're especially present in the Majors—the Devil and the Hierophant, The Star and The Sun. i've wanted to design a tarot deck for years and i love this game deeply and i let this idea percolate for a few months and it never stopped making me laugh so here it is, & given a beautiful purpose :)

i also literally could not have done this without xyrilin's Disco Reader and the FAYDE On-Air Playback Experiment to navigate the dialogue and skill checks. Really couldn’t have tied the whole concept & colophon in its final bow without the Disco Reader :)) thank thank thank, they're so fun to investigate that it was honestly very difficult to focus on my task instead of veering off and exploring every branch in an extremely disorganized way.

actual printing went well honestly, very few problems! i think that means i'm getting pretty good at planning one of these monstrosities, although perhaps it also means i'm not challenging myself enough. hmm. no that's silly there's 78 ding dang cards in this thing. anyway the drop & replace formes worked well, no registration issues. mum convinced me to overprint another half a deck's worth of cards when I was printing backs & borders and of course she was right :/ there were a handful of cards that actually had better line breaks and fewer lines total in true type than in the digital mockup, so i needed all the spares I had to put those new short quotes into the appropriate border breakage. next time i will not question her.

handset in Garamond, Eden Bold, and secret Neuland.

WIP : full text card assignments

bonus photo of the kind of trash notes i always take to plan things like how many borders were printed with space for short excerpts vs long excerpts, and how many of those are majors vs. minors, because they have a slightly different frame at the bottom edge, etc.

[image description: they are truly garbage notes, i tell you. half of it is written at angles to the other half, many numbers in the math problems are not labeled, mistakes are scribbled over. it gets me there but it doesn't look pretty. end description.]

#desert bus 2023 #desert bus for hope #disco elysium #book arts #letterpress #letterpress printing #handset type #printmaking #db2023 #finished works #long post

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techav · 20 days ago

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On Major Milestones

I left off previously with init immediately crashing when trying to run NetBSD on Wrap030, my 68030 homebrew computer. I was completely lost and didn't know where to start looking. The error code it gave, 11, didn't tell me much.

Until now, most error codes I've gotten have been defined in kernel errno.h, which has 11 defined as:

EDEADLK 11 /* Resource deadlock avoided */

That … also isn't helpful. I'm still not entirely sure what that means, but since this is process 1 we're dealing with, I didn't think it was relevant.

Finally, I was able to find someone who had encountered the same error six years ago. Helpful soul [Martin] explained the exact cause of the error, how to fix it, and why the kernel errno didn't line up:

I'm running a NetBSD live disk on a laptop as a test host, so I mounted my disk on it and spent some time with mknod adding the essential device nodes, referencing the "majors" file for my arch. Sure enough, on next boot it skipped right past the point it had been panicking. It worked for a bit then finally printed on the console:

Enter pathname o

Enter pathname of what? The machine appeared frozen. Nothing further printed, and it responded to no input.

I was afraid this would happen. That string is 16 characters. The 16C55x UART chips I'm using have a 16-byte buffer. The system is hung up waiting for the UART to interrupt to indicate it has finished transmitting everything in its buffer.

There's just one problem — I don't have any serial interrupts wired.

I have a confession to make. Until a few weeks ago when I got my timer working, I hadn't really worked with hardware interrupts before. So between a limited understanding of how to use them effectively and limited board space, I had omitted the interrupt signals from my 8-port serial card. This was now a Problem, and I was going to have to find a solution.

I had a few options:

Force the com driver to 8250 mode so it doesn't try to use the buffers

Use my timer interrupt to check status bits on the UARTs and fake the interrupts

Deadbug an interrupt handler onto my serial card

Respin the serial card

Option 4 would've been expensive and risked passing my deadline. I wasn't sure option 1 would even help. And option 3 would have been difficult and error-prone. I decided option 2 would be the way to go so I set about researching how to accomplish it

I spent a few hours digging through the com driver. In the process I found softintr(9), a native NetBSD software interrupt process that looked like just the thing I needed. Digging in a little deeper, I realized that the com driver was already using softintr. And then I realized all it needed to do polled mode serial ports instead of interrupt-driven was to set a single variable, sc_poll_ticks, before initializing the driver. It's such a simple thing, but it's not really documented anywhere I could find, so the only way to know it was even an option was to spend hours studying the code.

With that in place, I recompiled my kernel and tried again.

It was asking for a shell. This is promising. I accepted the default shell, /bin/sh, and waited a moment. It printed a single #.

I had a shell prompt.

I typed in the first thing that came to mind, echo "hellorld" (thanks, [Usagi]). It responded:

hellorld

and printed another # prompt.

I had a working shell.

This is a major milestone. I have a modern operating system kernel loaded and running on my homebrew computer, and I have a functional root shell. I can navigate disk directories and run commands and programs.

But only as root, and only on this one console. I have seven other serial ports I want terminals on, and I certainly don't want them all running as root.

What it's running here is single-user mode. It is just the kernel and a few core services, somewhat analogous to Safe Mode in Windows. It's a fall-back for setting up or repairing a system. It's not quite the full operating system just yet.

Getting the rest of the operating system up and running is going to be a significant task, on par with getting just the kernel running. Setting up a working Unix system from scratch is not easy. It requires a lot of detailed knowledge of the various programs and libraries and config files scattered across the disk. For a sense of scale, the AT&T Unix System V manual was over 1100 pages, plus an 800 page programmer's guide and a handful of other manuals … and that was 40 years ago. That's a lot of specialized knowledge that I don't really have.

But still, this is something I've wanted to do for years and after countless hours of work, I finally have a glimpse of what it can look like. I have a lot to learn and a lot of work to do yet, but I'm certain I can figure it out.

I'm still hoping I can get this running multi-user on all those terminals in time for VCF Southwest in June. The show is just a few weeks away and I have a lot of work to do.

19 notes · View notes

morgan-va · 5 months ago

Text

Chapter 29: Remembering. (Serial Designation V x reader)

Masterlist

TW: Descriptions of pain and suffering

Back in her room, Uzi spins her chair around, a satisfied chuckle escaping her as N and V begin to stir. It worked. She actually got their memories back.

V, always the quickest to act, barely takes a second before her hand snaps into a chainsaw, the jagged edge revving to life as she growls. "What the hell, Uzi?! What gives you the right to snoop through our heads?"

She stops mid-threat, her optics flicking to the side. Uzi follows her gaze and freezes. Techie is still wired into the computer, slumped in the chair, motionless. Dimmed optics flicker with scrolling text.

ADMINISTRATOR LOCKOUT: SUCCESSFULBEGINNING DISK CLEANUP|||||________________________________ 7%

Uzi’s stomach drops. No. No, no, no. This shouldn’t be possible, Techie should have woken up, just like N and V.

Unless...

No. That’s impossible. The only way anyone could be locked inside like this is if… they were inside their own memory simulation as well.

Her breath hitches. That human—the one N called Techie. There’s no way, right?

She snaps her head toward N and V. “Explain. Now. Who the hell was that technician?”

N shifts as his newfound memories resurface, "I know! That technician was—"

“An old friend,” V interrupts, her voice unusually subdued. Her optics don’t meet Uzi’s. "From before... everything happened."

V exhales sharply, glancing at Techie's lifeless form. "I wasn’t sure at first, but as I’ve spent time with them, I realized... That drone sitting in front of us? That’s that human."

Uzi’s eyes widen as V’s words sink in. Her voice rises into a near-shout. “And you didn’t think to mention that before I sent them into a memoryscape with that eldritch freakshow?!”

V doesn’t hesitate. Her chainsaw revs louder, the jagged blade stopping just short of Uzi’s throat. “Oh, I don’t know,” she growls, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe because you ambushed us and jammed yourself into our heads before I had the chance?”

Uzi swallows hard, glaring at V even as she leans back slightly from the weapon. “Fine. You make a good point.”

“Damn right, I do.” V lowers her weapon, but her glare remains sharp. “Now fix it.”

Not needing to be told twice, Uzi spins back to her computer, fingers flying over the keyboard as she desperately tries to regain control. Code floods the screen, scrolling too fast for her to process.

“Come on, come on…” she mutters, sweat beading on her forehead. Every second that bar inches forward, Techie’s chances of waking up shrink.

She grits her teeth and keeps typing. She has to fix this.

Light floods your vision. The sterile hum of fluorescent lights buzzes faintly overhead, and the scent of hot metal and solder fills your nose.

A workbench stretches out in front of you, scattered with tools, wires, and diagnostic equipment. Right. Your final exam—robotics training. You’ve spent weeks preparing for this, and now you’re almost done.

The test was simple in theory: repair a malfunctioning worker drone suffering from an assortment of mechanical and software issues. Simple. But under pressure? Not so much.

You tighten the last screw into place, sealing the drone’s back panel before setting the screwdriver down with a shaky breath. This should be it. You double-check the wiring, hoping you’ve done everything right. There’s only one way to find out.

Your finger hovers over the power button for a split second before pressing down.

The drone’s optics flicker to life. A soft whir fills the air as it boots up, standing upright before turning to face you.

“Hello!” it chirps, its voice light and pleasant.

Success.

A grin breaks across your face. You did it.

Your professor strides over, their sharp gaze scanning the drone as they run through a quick diagnostic check. They lift the drone’s arms, test its mobility, and check the interface for any lingering errors. After a moment, they nod in approval.

"Everything seems to be in perfect working order," they say, turning to you with an approving smile. "Excellent job. You pass with flying colors."

Relief washes over you. You exhale a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, nodding in thanks as a few of your classmates glance over. Some are still deep in their own work, muttering under their breath as they struggle with their drones. Others shoot you brief looks—some impressed, others indifferent.

Not wanting to linger, you quietly gather your things. The exam is over for you, and there’s no point in sticking around. You sling your bag over your shoulder and make your way toward the door.

Just as your fingers brush against the handle, a loud clatter echoes through the room.

You turn on instinct. One of your classmates has just powered their drone on, and while it seems to function for the most part, something is clearly wrong. Its speech module is glitching, causing it to stutter and garble its words in a mess of static and half-formed syllables.

The student groans in frustration, their expression twisting into anger. "Ugh, stupid thing—"

Before anyone can stop them, they shove the drone off the table.

It crashes to the floor with a sickening crunch.

Without thinking, you rush over, grabbing the student by the arm and spinning them around. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" you snap, anger flaring in your chest. "You can’t just treat them like that!"

The student sneers at you, yanking their arm free. "Calm down. It’s just a hunk of metal," they scoff, rolling their eyes. "Besides, what do you care? You act like they’re people or something."

You clench your fists, heart pounding.

They laugh, shaking their head before shooting you a look of disgust.

"You really are a freak."

That phrase echoes in your mind as everything around you fades away—"You really are a freak."

Over and over again, through the black void.

You open your eyes, the soft sheets of your bed comforting as the morning sun peeks through the curtains. Today’s the day—you’ll be heading out of town for your new job. Some technician gig for a rich family out in the swamp. You’ve been looking for something like this for months, and the offer came out of nowhere, just like that! You didn’t even apply for anything—just created a profile through the JCJenson website, but you hadn’t had a chance to actually browse any listings.

You guess someone’s looking out for you after all.

Rising from bed, you stretch, shaking off the last remnants of sleep before turning your attention to packing. You double-check your suitcase, making sure you haven’t left anything important behind. Clothes, tools, personal items—it’s all here. Just as you’re about to close it, something small and round slips out from between your neatly folded shirts, rolling across the wooden floor with a soft clink.

You bend down, reaching for it. A small, smoky blue gemstone rests against the floorboards, catching the morning light. You pick it up, running your thumb over the smooth surface.

You’ve had this stone since you were a kid. It doesn’t hold any deep sentimental value—not really. You don’t even remember where you got it. But for some reason, you’ve always kept it close. A good luck charm, maybe. You can’t imagine ever parting with it.

You slip it back into your pocket, sighing in relief before zipping up your suitcase. Time to go.

You pick up your suitcase, gripping the handle tightly as you take a deep breath. It’s time.

With a steadying exhale, you step forward and open the door.

Only to find… nothing.

The hallway outside your room is gone, replaced by an endless, yawning void. Before you can react, the ground beneath you vanishes, and you plummet into the vast nothingness, the weightless sensation sending your stomach into your throat. You try to scream, but no sound escapes. Darkness swallows you whole.

You’re late.

You slept in.

Late for your first day of work at the Elliott’s.

How is this possible??

You throw the covers off and scramble out of bed, heart pounding as you yank on your clothes in a panic. Of all the ways to start this job, this is the worst. You barely have time to double-check yourself in the mirror before bolting out of your small basement room and up the stairs—

SMACK.

You collide with someone and nearly fall over, barely managing to steady yourself as they hit the ground.

A maid drone.

“Oh, crap, I’m so sorry—!” You quickly reach down and help her up, eyes wide with guilt. “I wasn’t looking where I was going, I—”

She dusts herself off, looking a little flustered but otherwise fine. “Oh, um, no, it’s okay! I-I was actually coming to wake you up.”

Wait.

You blink at her, confusion momentarily replacing your panic.

“My shift starts in—” You check your watch, only for your stomach to drop as you realize your mistake.

You read the time wrong.

You aren’t late.

Your face burns with embarrassment as you run a hand through your hair, letting out a breathless laugh. “Oh. Wow. Uh, sorry about that. Guess I freaked out over nothing.”

The maid drone giggles softly, her posture still a little stiff. “It’s alright. I was kind of worried you’d sleep through your alarm. I was the first one you met yesterday, remember? My name’s V.”

You pause.

Something about that name stirs something deep in your mind, like an old song you can’t quite remember the lyrics to. It lingers on the tip of your tongue, just out of reach.

But then V smiles at you—timid, polite, a little awkward.

And the strange feeling slips away.

You smile at her. “That’s really considerate of you, especially since we only just met.”

V’s posture stiffens slightly, her eyes flickering as she glances away. “Oh, um… it’s not a big deal or anything.” She fidgets, adjusting her maid uniform. “I mean, if you’re late, it affects the rest of us, too. It’s just in our best interest to check up on each other.”

You chuckle. “Still, I appreciate it. Really.”

Her gaze flickers back to you, uncertainty melting into something softer. “...Well, you’re welcome, then.”

You nod, adjusting your clothes. “I’m looking forward to working with you and everyone else.”

V’s lips twitch into a small smile. “I’d be happy to show you around, introduce you to the others.”

“That’d be great.”

She gestures for you to follow, and you take a step forward—

—but the world around you begins to melt.

Colors blur, shapes distort, the floor beneath your feet ceases to exist.

You don’t even have time to react before the memory crumbles away entirely.

You walk over and take the clipboard from V, scanning the list. It was surprisingly thorough—she’d noted everything from loose doorknobs to fading paint along the baseboards.

You smile at her, “I really appreciate your help with all of this, V. I don’t think I could get through it without you.”

She stiffens, her fingers twitching as she looks away. “I-it’s no problem, I don’t mind. Really.”

You chuckle and, on impulse, pat her head.

Error: Unexpected Affection Detected.

You show V how to make pancakes, guiding her as she stirs the batter. She nods eagerly, then accidentally mixes too fast—sending batter flying across the kitchen. Some splatters onto both of you. There’s a moment of stunned silence before you burst out laughing, V quickly following suit.

“Not too fast,” you place your hand lightly over hers to help steady her grip. “You don’t want to splash it everywhere.”

She freezes at the contact for a moment, her optics brightening slightly, but she doesn’t pull away. “Got it,” she murmurs.

The two of you sit side by side in front of a large window, gazing out at the endless night sky. The soft ambience of the mansion fills the silence, the glow of the stars reflecting in her optics. Your shoulders brush, and static electricity crackles between you.

“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” you murmur.

V glances at you, her expression unreadable—until a faint blush dusts her face.

“It is,” she says softly.

You lie in bed, your fingers intertwined with V’s as she reads to you. Her voice is steady, soothing, filling the quiet room with a warmth you can’t quite describe. The world outside doesn’t matter. Here, in this moment, you feel safe.

Warmth pools in your chest, unfamiliar yet comforting. Is this… love?

And then, just like everything else, these memories fade away.

You open your eyes as pain wracks your body. Agony is all you can fathom. Your gaze darts around the room, but you can’t move. You’re strapped to some kind of table, hooked up to a mess of wires and devices. The room around you is dimly lit, a run-down laboratory, cold and unfamiliar. You can’t even begin to question where you are—the pain is overwhelming, searing through every nerve like fire. It’s worse than anything you’ve ever experienced.

You force yourself to look down, instantly regretting it. A gaping wound mars your chest, torn open where that eldritch beast’s tendril had impaled you. The sight alone makes your head spin. How are you still alive? No—why are you still alive? Every attempted breath sends agony lancing through what remains of your ribs, and you open your mouth to scream, but nothing comes out.

Then, the door creaks open.

Your stomach drops as Cyn steps inside. She’s in her worker drone form, as if mocking you with her small, unassuming frame—like she hadn’t just torn your world apart. She tilts her head, smiling as she watches you struggle. “Cordial greeting. I see you are awake. Perhaps human medical technology isn’t useless after all.”

Something shifts behind her. Your eyes widen in horror as a slick, black tendril slithers from her back, lazily extending toward a console beside you. It presses a few buttons with unsettling precision, making the monitors flicker. Another tendril whips off to the side, dragging a gurney into view, carrying a powered-off worker drone, its lifeless body still on the cold metal cart.

Wires snake out from the machinery beside you, latching onto the drone like some grotesque experiment. You can only watch in silent agony, unable to move, unable to voice the fear clawing at your throat. Cyn steps closer, her neon-yellow optics gleaming with sick delight as one of her tendrils picks up a thick cable. At the end of it is a long, wickedly sharp needle.

She holds it up, almost playfully, before leaning in.

“Hold still. I do believe this has never been attempted, until now. Giggle.”

You try to resist, but some unseen force clamps down on you, stopping even the slightest movement of your head. Your body betrays you, locked in place as panic claws at your mind. You can only watch, helpless, as the tendril moves the needle behind your skull—out of sight, but not out of mind.

Cyn tilts her head, watching you with amusement. “Don’t worry. I am not finished with you. And you won’t remember any of this. Well, hopefully.” She lets out a small giggle, her gaze gleaming like a predator playing with its food. “Human minds are so much more fickle than drones.”

You barely have time to process her words before searing agony erupts through your skull. The needle drives deep, and a sensation like a lightning strike surges through your entire body. Every nerve ignites, every fiber of your being screams in protest as darkness swallows your vision. But the nightmare doesn’t end there.

Because while you may no longer see, you can still feel.

Pain unlike anything imaginable overtakes you as something indescribable is wrenched from your very core. Your mind—your self—is being torn away from the brain that has been yours since the moment you came into existence. You are being ripped from your own body. Thought ceases, coherence shatters, and all that remains is raw, unbearable agony.

And then, just as suddenly as it began—everything stops.

ADMINISTRATOR LOCKOUT: SUCCESSFULBEGINNING DISK CLEANUP||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||__ 94%

Uzi’s fingers fly across the keyboard, desperation fueling her rapid inputs as she fights against the process. Lines of code blur together as she forces command after command, trying anything to halt the inevitable. But the counter ticks up to 95%, unfazed by her efforts.

V’s patience shatters. She steps forward, optics burning with frustration. “That’s it. Send me in. Like you did with us.”

Uzi doesn’t even look up, still typing. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“I don’t care.”

“If you’re still inside when the process finishes, you’ll be erased too.” Uzi’s voice is sharp, but there’s a flicker of hesitation beneath it. “And as great as that might be,” she adds with biting sarcasm, “something tells me N won’t like that.”

V’s claws shoot out in a blur, stopping just short of Uzi’s throat. Her optics bore into the worker drone’s, raw with something Uzi doesn’t expect—desperation. “Let me try.”

For once, Uzi is speechless. She stares at V, weighing the risk, the sheer insanity of what she’s about to allow.

She exhales sharply and yanks a cable from the terminal, holding it out. “Fine. Plug yourself in.”

You sit in the void of your memories, a vast and endless darkness stretching infinitely around you. Faint echoes of experiences drift at the edges of your perception—things you know you've lived through, but they remain just out of reach, impossible to grasp. It’s all slipping away, unraveling like loose threads in a tapestry you can’t seem to hold together.

You blink, text appearing in your field of view once again:

A-S Backup Process Enabled.

Purging Incriminating Data

A soft giggle cuts through the silence.

Cyn stands before you, a cruel smile curling her lips as she takes in your broken state. You stare up at her, defeated. There’s nothing left to fight for. Nothing left at all.

She snaps her fingers.

V appears beside her—tall, imposing, her claws gleaming under an unseen light. Her fanged grin is sharp and cold, lacking any warmth.

“A shame my experiment failed,” Cyn muses, tilting her head. “You were quite intriguing to watch.”

V’s claws extend with a metallic shink, her optics narrowing as she sizes you up.

Cyn continues, her voice chillingly indifferent. “I pitied V enough to give you a chance, to be a tool for me just like her, but it’s clear you belong with everyone else—as part of me, the Solver of the Absolute Fabric.”

V lunges.

Her claws clamp around your throat, pinning you to the ground as she looms over you, fangs bared. You don’t fight. You don’t struggle. You don’t even flinch. You’re done.

But then—

V hesitates.

The pressure around your neck loosens. Instead of tearing into you, she lets go, pulling you back to your feet. Her claws retract as she gazes into your eyes, something unreadable flickering across her face.

“As fun as it would be to kill you,” she drawls, smirking, “I think that’d be rather anticlimactic, don’t you think?”

You blink. Confusion stirs in the emptiness of your mind. “What…? Why aren’t you—”

V groans, rubbing her temple. “You’ll get it in a minute.”

Without warning, she raises her arm, her hand shifting into a gun. She fires.

Cyn shatters in a burst of pixels.

Before you can even react, V grabs you by the shoulders, her expression urgent. “Listen to me—you need to snap out of it.”

You stare at her, the weight of her words not quite sinking in.

“You’re inside your own head,” she presses on. “Cyn’s rewriting you. She’s trying to make you forget everything.”

You try to respond, to ask her what she means, but she shakes her head. “No time for that.” Her grip tightens. “You have to remember. Remember me. Remember Uzi. Remember what’s happening in the real world!”

The void trembles. Cracks split through the darkness, revealing blinding white light beneath. The world around you begins to shatter, pixel by pixel.

V’s optics widen in alarm. “No, no, no—stay with me!”

Panicked, she grabs you by the arms and yanks you into a hug, holding you tight. “Come on,” she pleads, her voice almost breaking. “You have to remember—”

The pixels overtake you both.

V gasps as she is suddenly yanked from the simulation, the world around her dissolving into nothing. She flips around, fury already building in her chest—only to see N standing there, holding the cable that had connected her.

Her optics widen in horror. “What did you do?” she screams, her voice raw with disbelief.

She spins back toward Techie, still slumped in their chair, their optics flickering with a new message.

ADMINISTRATOR LOCKOUT: SUCCESSFULDISK CLEANUP COMPLETE||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| 100%

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Uzi stares at the screen, then at Techie’s motionless form. Her shoulders tremble, her expression caught between disbelief and devastation. She failed.

N shifts, gripping the cable tightly as if he can somehow undo what he just did. “V, I—I couldn’t let you get erased too,” he stammers, barely above a whisper. “Losing both of you would just be… too much.”

V barely hears him. She is already at Techie’s side, dropping to her knees as the weight of it all crashes down. Her fingers dig into their arms as she shakes them, harder and harder, desperation creeping into her voice. “I can’t do this,” she chokes out. “Not again. Not again!”

And then, Techie’s system reboots.

Their optics flicker, the dull glow returning as their head tilts slightly.

“Hello,” they say, their voice eerily neutral. “Are you my new coworkers?”

Silence.

Uzi and N don’t move. V can only stare.

Because she knows. They all know.

Techie is gone. Completely erased.

V sits back, her arms falling limply to her sides as she gazes at the drone before her—not them, just an empty shell, stripped of everything that made them Techie. All that remains is the default programming of a Worker Drone.

How ironic.

All the destruction she has wrought, all the pain she has caused—and this is how the universe chooses to punish her. Not with fire, not with death, but with loss. Loss of something she only just got back.

N had forgotten his past. But she never had. She remembered everything. She knows exactly what she has done. And yet…

Here she is.

With a slow, weary exhale, she rises to her feet.

She takes one last look at the drone sitting before her, their optics scanning the room in vague curiosity.

What’s the point in fighting anymore? Cyn will win. She always wins.

She reaches out, her hand trembling as she places it against their cheek. A tiny crackle of static sparks between them.

The moment their metal touches, Techie’s visor glitches, their entire body shuddering violently.

V steps back in shock as the drone collapses, crashing to the floor in a twitching heap.

Even in her last act of comfort, she’s managed to kill something. How tragically ironic.

Your optics flutter open as your systems jolt back to life, rebooting in a rush of energy. The world around you sharpens into focus, bright and overwhelming, as everything comes flooding back at once. It’s disorienting—the sheer weight of your memories crashing over you like a tidal wave. You try to sit up, your joints stiff and unresponsive at first, but you push through the discomfort. Blinking rapidly, you take in your surroundings.

Uzi and N are standing in front of you, their expressions twisted in confusion, eyes locked onto you as if they’re unsure whether to believe what they’re seeing. You glance past them, spotting V in the corner of the room. She isn’t looking at you. Instead, she stares off into space, her posture stiff, her face unreadable.

You turn back to Uzi, your voice hoarse and unsteady as you manage to speak. “Uzi? What… what the hell did you do to me?”

The reaction is immediate. Uzi’s eyes go wide, her whole body tensing. She sucks in a sharp breath, realization dawning in an instant—you remember her. Her shock is evident, but before she can respond, something else happens.

V moves.

Before you can react, she is suddenly in front of you, grabbing you by the shoulders and lifting you off the ground. The intensity in her yellow optics burns into you as she stares, searching your face with a desperate kind of urgency. “Techie?!” Her voice is sharp, demanding, almost frantic. She scans your expression as if looking for a glitch, for some kind of mistake.

Your body tenses at the sudden force, and you struggle slightly in her grip, groaning in protest. “Yes! It’s me! Please put me down.”

For once, she listens. She sets you down on your feet, a significant improvement over her usual habit of just dropping you. Your legs feel unsteady, but you manage to stay upright, adjusting to the sensation of simply being again.

V wastes no time. “Do you remember everything?” she asks, and something in her tone makes your systems freeze for a second.

Everything.

The word echoes in your mind, and suddenly, it all hits.

Your life—your entire life—rushes back to you in an instant, slamming into your consciousness with the force of a collapsing building. It’s overwhelming, the sheer amount of it, so much that it feels like your head might split open from the sheer pressure. Your time as a drone, your time as a human, all of it returns in a flood, every emotion, every experience, every loss, every joy. The weight of an entire existence, something you hadn’t even fathomed regaining, comes crashing down with relentless intensity.

You stagger slightly, your fingers twitching as you try to process the sudden influx of knowledge. It’s too much all at once, the past and present colliding in a way that makes your head spin. Every moment, every decision, every version of yourself that you thought was lost—it’s all here. You’re here.

And you have no idea what to do with it.

Your voice catches in your throat, your entire system struggling to process the sheer weight of what’s just returned to you. You force out a breath, trying to steady yourself, but even that feels like too much. "I... I remember..." The words are shaky, barely more than a whisper. "I remember everything..."

Your optics flicker slightly as a name slips from your mouth. "Cyn..."

At that, Uzi's entire posture shifts. Her expression tightens, and a look of realization flashes across her face. It’s like she had momentarily forgotten why any of this was happening—why they had gone through all of this in the first place. But now, with that single name spoken aloud, it all comes rushing back.

"Nope," Uzi says, cutting off whatever breakdown you’re about to have. "We’re putting the 'my entire life is a lie' crisis on hold. We need to leave. Now."

You barely have time to react before a glow ignites around her hand. That same energy surges outward, wrapping around you before you can so much as blink. The room distorts, reality twisting and folding in on itself, the world around you shattering like a fractured mirror. The force nearly knocks you off your feet as everything warps.

Then—nothing.

Except cold.

Your optics adjust to the sudden change in lighting, and you realize you’re no longer inside. The facility, the walls, the floor—all of it is gone. Instead, you're standing outside, the frozen wasteland of Copper-9 stretching out in every direction. Ice crunches beneath your feet, the wind biting against your frame. The brutal cold is nothing new, but the suddenness of it leaves you reeling.

You barely have time to process what just happened before you see them.

Standing in front of you, unmistakable even through the swirling snow, is Doll. Next to her is J—her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. And beside them...

A woman.

You don’t recognize her. She’s clad in a space suit, her helmet obscuring most of her features, but there’s no doubt about it, she’s human.

Your mind races, trying to grasp onto something—anything—that could make sense of this. Your eyes dart to the nametag on her chest.

Tessa.

What the actual hell is happening?

#murder drones #murder drones x reader #murder drones fanfic #murder drones headcanon #murder drones v x reader #murder drones v #serial designation v

26 notes · View notes

q4os-tde-official · 10 hours ago

Text

oh btw KDE Plasma 6.4 is out, afaik the big, noticable change is that Spectacle now functions more like Microsoft's Snip&Sketch by default (where meta+shift+s opens a little panel near the top of the screen and defaults to a rectangular selection instead of opening the full window from the get-go)

though unlike Snip&Sketch, it lets you adjust and annotate the selection immediately, before then taking you to the familiar window

you can also press Enter to instantly take a snapshot of your whole screen

other changes include:

per-virtual-desktop tiling layouts

mouse keys (controlling the cursor with the numpad) in the Wayland session

3 finger zoom gesture for touchpads in the Wayland session

Breeze Dark (the included dark theme) is now darker to improve text readability

the rest of the screen now darkens when an authentication prompt opens

animations settings page in System Settings

updated file transfer notification (now with a speed graph :3)

Do Not Disturb mode when in a fullscreen program (missed notifications will be summarised when you exit, and be avaliable in full in the System Tray)

a notification that appears when a program tries to access a muted microphone

Media Player widget now supports playback speed adjustment for players that support it

Disks & Devices now checks for Disk errors and even offers to try to fix it

improvements to stylus configuration, including relative mode support to allow it to behave like a mouse

new HDR calibration wizard

EDR and P010 support

support for artificially limiting color depth

KRunner can now preview hex colors based on hex values (#000000), CSS/SVG names (Black), and base10 RGB values (000,000,000)

System Monitor now shows GPU usage, with per-process stats avaliable for Intel and AMD GPUs

raw data from sensors is now shown in Info Center under a new Sensors page

it is now possible to set it so that dragging and dropping files always does one specific behaviour, instead of asking which one you want to do

Plasma Brows Integration now supports Flatpaks for forks of Firefox and Chromium (e.g. LibreWolf, Ungoogled Chromium)

technically this would be @kde-plasma-official's job, but i daily drive Fedora KDE and i just love yapping about stuff like this :D

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kaiowut99 · 4 months ago

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Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters GX Episode 126 Subbed (Finalized)

(Previously: Episodes 124-125 Subbed [Finalized])

(Check out my Subbed!GX Stream Masterpost!)

TURN-126: Judai VS Manjoume -- Dark Sword the Dragon Knight

Judai pursues Martin as he heads towards where the three Phantasms have been locked away--only to find the zombified Manjoume standing in his way. As Manjoume refuses to make way for him, Judai ultimately duels him, with Manjoume summoning Return Zombie and Blood Vorse as he pounces on Judai. Elsewhere, having learned that Johan and co.'s duels were a ruse, the students rush inside to get to where the food is, but they are beaten by the zombie students, causing most of the students to have now become zombies. Just then, at the power-generator area, O'Brien hears a transmission from someone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

126 is now finalized! Just a quick 'un this time since I ran a bit late with myself for GX work--got a bit caught up in some interesting TFSP stuff along with my round of story-translation with Kite's story events lol--and since episodes 127-128 and 129-130 lead into each other pretty well, I thought I'd just work on 126 this time as a bit of a calm before the storm. And it does offer that vibe, as we get Martin dashing for the three Phantasms--remember them?--and Judai in hot pursuit, only for a zombie Manjoume to get in his way. The Dark Sword the Dark Demon Realm Dragon Knight (Dark Blade the Dragon Knight--OCG name be long here) he pulls out is kinda neat, its only having one appearance aside, while the conversation that Misawa has with Zweinstein later gives our group some hope to get out of this dimension if they can get past the zombie horde to get to the tennis courts (remember them?).

Animation error-wise, only a handful of quick things to work on for 126 (maybe a benefit of having two Animation Directors on board for this one?): two card edits, a split screen, and an odd quick flash of a Duel Disk part not being drawn in, lol. Also, two bits in the preview related to episode 127. As usual, edit breakdowns below the cut for the interested!

Quick housekeeping: quickly revisited and re-finalized episode 107's hardsub after noticing that I had Ed missing from the translated ending credits for that episode (instead accidentally listing Rei in both cast lists); links updated in the release post there and in the masterpost. oop

Anywho, enjoy! Hoping not to delay myself too much over the next couple weeks in getting 127 and 128 finalized, lol; before I fully work on them, I'll first be back in TFSPland hopefully knocking out both Kotori and Rio's stories to cap off ZEXAL's story events, along with some more incidental work on ARC-V "Dub-Uncut" episode 2. Stay tuned!

Fixes and Edits!

Clocking in as our first error around 12:43 (not too long after the second Animation Director's team kicks in after Flame Wingman's summoning [that's where you can tell the shift from Chi Man Park's style to Ok Mi Lee's]), as Manjoume summons Dark Sword the ... Dragon Knight and Judai looks on, there's a black square on his Disk where Flame Wingman's card should be. A relatively easy fix, as I just slapped on a proxy over it in AfterEffects.

A bit later, as Misawa tries to get into the Power Generator Complex's control panel but has trouble doing so, Kenzan and the others run over to help--but there's a quick movement frame (lasting three total frames) as Kenzan moves to run over where part of his inactive Disk is literally missing--you can see the background of some power-generator panels behind him through the gap, lol. Fixed using Photoshop to grab that part from a later frame in the shot, clipping it out and slightly rotating/adjusting it to fit into this shot; made a perfect fit! Once done, I threw the fixed frame into the footage in Sony Vegas. (Actually noticed this one after working on the other edits as I was revising the episode's subs.)

Later, as Judai summons Gran Mole and has him Contact-Fuse with Neos, there's a quick frame as we pan up to Neos and Gran Mole fusing where Judai has Gran Mole in Monster Zone 2 on his Disk, which should be occupied by Neos. Another quick and easy AfterEffects fix as I just applied a Neos proxy over it.

This one was interesting... After Judai summons Gran Mole and Manjoume notes he also has the same ATK as his Dark Sword the ... Dragon Knight, Judai clicks in on a split-screen to activate his effect; once he explains it, their split-screen splits apart, but Manjoume's moves first for two frames before Judai's finally rapidly moves as their uneven slide-out lasts just five frames (vs the usual 7-8). Fixed this in Sony Vegas by masking out and redoing their slide-outs to be simultaneously timed, making them smoother to last the more common seven frames.

In the preview for 127, as we see the Phantasms' silhouettes rising behind Amon's Eye of the Typhoon, Amon and Martin slide in on a quick split-screen before sliding out to show Eye of the Typhoon being made to dissipate--but for a quick frame on slide-in and slide-out, the border on Amon's split is a bit ghosty and faded, while on the slide-out, the close-up of Eye of the Typhoon being transitioned into is also briefly missing. Being fixed first for 127 proper then applied as I set up the translated preview, I redid the border on Amon's split for both ghosty instances to look more per usual, while on the slide-out, I masked in part of the close-up Eye of the Typhoon shot between him and Martin. (Couldn't really apply this fix to the original preview due to the Japanese title text over the shot.)

As the 127 preview wraps, we have a shot of a shrouded-in-darkness Raviel standing up, with his eyes ominously glowing red as he does so--in 127 proper, this was removed for some reason, so he stands up with his eyes looking normal. I thought it made more sense to still have his eyes ominously glow, so I took the preview version of the shot and masked out the glowing eyes over the footage from 127 to restore it for both the translated preview and the episode proper.

#always appreciate rbs for reach :)#GX #yugioh #yugioh gx #ygo #ygo gx #my subs #yu-gi-oh gx #yu-gi-oh! gx #Judai Yuki #Jun Manjoume #Martin Kanou #still hoping to get back to Yubel's reveal somewhat in time with the GX remaster kicking off but we'll see... lol

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nixcraft · 10 months ago

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How to Test SCSI, SATA, and SSD Disks for Failures on a Linux Server or Desktop Using CLI or GUI

#linux #sysadmin #IT #devlife #devops #ubuntu #debian #rhel #fedora

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relto · 1 year ago

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yesterday someone messaged me like, pls help, i get this weird error when i log into the cluster and matlab wont open. it was the same error i had after the conversion script filled up my disk quota! so i told him to clear out some files from that directory, and behold, this morning i see him running matlab again.

#tütensuppe #mostly just started top on the cluster to check system stats (this computer might be better at running the conversion)#and saw his username pop up #weirdly i had him tell me his disk usage and the command returned 33g #while his quota is 16g. ???#i have rights to change disk quotas so i can just look at stuff like that ha #actually somehow when i got this error i was at 25g #while my quota is also 16g.....

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11thwardtls · 1 year ago

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Memory Defrag | TRACK 5 - Data Corpulence | Azekawa Kinari's Ward Mayor Novel Translation

Warnings and Disclaimers:

This translation is not professionally done and is not proofread. Edits and clean-ups may come at a later date.

Not a 1:1 translation either and some liberties into localization were taken into account.

This novel will contain spoilers for the Ev3ns Main Story: "Chained Up Scarlet".

Appropriate Content and Trigger Warnings will be added if needed.

May be used for quotebots/masterlists etc.

I am not fluent and self-studying Japanese (albeit at turtle speed), this was translated by ear and with the help of a JP dictionary, so please feel free to point out any errors!

—/—/—/—/—/—

I came out of semi-conscious mode and awakened all at once.

By my bedside, there was a plastic water bottle, with a note stuck to it: “Are you thirsty? Here, if you don’t mind.” in Raito’s handwriting.

As I am an android, my mouth does not get dry, yet I drank from the bottle anyway.

The room’s interior has been plunged into azure-hued darkness.

I could hear the flapping of the nocturnal birds resting in the trees behind me.

———[At the very least, you could say what’s on your mind in your own words.]

Father’s words repeated several times within my auditory system.

Whenever I recall these words, I start to feel something, slowly.

It’s something that I’ve not been able to properly verbalize.

But now, I’m searching for a meaning within Father’s words, of which I had previously felt nothing upon hearing them.

“Were his intentions similar to Master’s own words?”

I threw my question into the void.

I suppose that the true nature of Father’s hopes for me, was similar to Master’s own desire to treat me as if I were a fellow human being.

What Father wanted at the time was not for me to be in a state to channel Kinari’s spirit, but for me to speak out using my own words.

Rather than words that have been programmed into me, he must have wished to hear my words from the heart.

As I thought, I still deeply regret that I could not do that even at his deathbed.

Yes, there’s some sort of feeling of regret. Likely so. Surely, I thought.

And this sort of emotion is quite surprising in itself.

Because, as an android, I feel an emotion called ‘regret’.

But looking back on this incident and understanding how I felt while reviewing those memories, perhaps someday I too will gain those 21 grams.

By analyzing, considering, and reflecting……

As Kuguri has previously said, these records can turn themselves into memories.

[Further verification is still required.]

For that purpose, any and all records shall be preserved without being deleted.

I thought about it for when I have the free time to browse these past data bit by bit, but a message box appeared hovering over my retinas.

[The additional information related to the emotion base is building data corpulence at this time. Would you like to delete those additional parts?]

This newly acquired data is a highly valuable resource that is connected to 21 grams, therefore it cannot be deleted. I selected [No].

[The screen glitches for a moment.]

The moment that I’ve made my choice, the image reflected in my retinas became distorted and a noise appeared.

“...?”

I checked on my systems to see if a small error had occurred, but there was no problem.

Right now, I cannot afford to shrink down on my memory any further.

The everydays that would increase from here forward would be also valuable pieces of samples.

With that in mind, I laid down on my bed.

—/—/—/—/—/—

“Today’s a whole extra super awesome ‘nother lesson day~! After finishing with warm ups, we’re doing formation checks, alrightyyyy?”

Chihiro’s cheerful voice resounded throughout the lesson room this morning.

He always took the initiative whenever it came to practicing.

As always, I put out the tablet and started to record our dance formation———

—But he appeared troubled almost immediately.

“Oh whoopsies! My hard disk is full already~ I can’t record anymore.”

“Isn’t that a large capacity tablet? Why’s there so much data…? Plus, didn’t you say the same thing last month?”

Tao rushed in to check quickly. Chihiro pouted, cheeks puffed up, “I’m an influencer, aren’t I? Don’t tell me you forgot?!”, he retorted.

These two always have this kind of conversation all the time.

“Your job’s to take pictures, Chihiro, so I understand. Then, we can just use my phone!"

Ah, right… I dropped it in the bath yesterday and it broke.”

“I cannot believe that such a stupid person could exist in this world.”

Raito made an offer to do it on his behalf, but then was quickly rejected.

Kuguri gave Raito the stink-eye, as he had no intention of ever lending his own device.

“Welp, there’s no choice then. Kinyari~ can Chii twouble you to do it?”

“Understood.”

In the past eras, humans have used their eyes as a camera when photographic equipment cannot be used. Their video recordings would be burned onto their retina, be available as an output and viewed on another device.

I began to film our dance routine while looking into the mirror.

“Tao, stop. Your hand placement is off by three centimeters.”

“Tao, stop. Your arms are not fully extended.”

“Tao, stop. You mustn’t do this move from your chest, but from your shoulders.”

I added detailed annotations about our mistakes, and by the time I finished them, Chihiro would hug me and say, “Luuuuv ya, Kinyari!”

Chihiro does this more often than not. He also happily rested his cheek by my hair.

“Ahhh, you smell so nice, Kinyari~ Haaaa, you’re just the bestest, the cutest, I loooove you~”

“Mm. Thank you.”

“Oi, Chihiro, quit messin’ around already. Keep doing that and it’d count as sexual harassment.”

“But if it’s me and Kinyari, we make a super mega cute picture together, so it’s a-okay!”

“Eh… That so?”

Tao warned him, but Chihiro bit back.

He seemed a bit distressed after listening to Chihiro’s absurd reasoning.

Raito laughed softly as usual, saying, “I’m glad that we all get along so well.”

On the other hand, Kuguri interjected, “Nyushi, if I were to join in as well, wouldn’t it be even prettier?”

This sort of interaction between us unit members had now become the norm.

Chihiro often talked about me so lovingly, yet according to Tao, “Ain’t it because Chihiro used to be an idol otaku and likes cute things?”

Can this kind of love be classified as something that fulfills my father’s hopes and wishes that [Someone who loves you will surely appear]?

I don’t know it yet, but I have long since accepted this circumstance.

“Man, at the end of the day, I was still the one who made the most mistakes again.”

“Tao, you’d be training on your own again today, wouldn’t you? I’ll join as well so let’s do our best together.”[4]

“By the way, Kinari. I accidentally let it slip that you slept longer than usual this morning to Ushio. He seemed quite worried so if you could, please show yourself to him later to let him know.”

“Plüss, won’t you at least punish this wretch of a man for saying something so unnecessary?”

Chihiro and Tao started to whisper amongst themselves about everyday this and that, while Raito and Kuguri, who were wiping away their sweat, also chatted for a little while.

I’d say, “Shall we proceed to play and observe the formation video I took on my camera on another device now?”, all four of them, Kuguri—to an extent, would watch somewhat seriously.

Thus, our discussion on how we could further improve it would then begin.

I, for once, would like to repeat this moment an innumerable amount of times.

……The thought of it was not at all unpleasant.

“Please give it your all in singing, dancing, your idol activities and live happily!”

This is my firstmost and top priority order I needed to fulfill. It is my very core of being.

My most important standard of behavior.

However, rather than having to meet that standard, little by little, the desire to fulfill it instead is being born.

What to call this sort of ‘emotion’, I don’t know it yet.

But, I can feel it. I know so.

Emotions that I cannot name yet will continue to grow within my heart.

Surely. Probably. Maybe.

Someday, even…

———is what I thought.

—/—/—/—/—/—

Directory:

#18trip #18trip translation #azekawa kinari #kinari azekawa

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foundagame · 9 months ago

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Okay, so I'm going to pin this post with some info and tags, just kind of hoping someone will help me out.

About 2 weeks ago, my uncle passed away, and in his will, he left me his old "work computer"- a Lenovo T440 that runs on Windows 8.

In quotations because he never did much with his computer after he left the company he was apart of, or so I was told. I never really spent a lot of time with my uncle, mainly because he lived more than several hours away from my family, and he was a bit of a shut in after losing his job.

From what I do know, he and a handful of others in his circle joined an up and coming video game studio that has long since disbanded. They were still in the middle of working on their first game when the Founder/CEO pulled the plug on everything, dissolved the company, let everyone go.

No one was given a reason, apparently, just given hefty severance checks and told to leave.

Anything else anyone in my family might have learned died with my uncle, and my uncle didn't keep up contact with his old programming circle.

Anyways- my issue is this. I booted up the PC, everything runs how it is supposed to for Win8, I checked the disk space and it's almost full. So, wanting to make space, I start looking for things to delete, but there aren't any except for one application, which I assume is a copy of the game my uncle was working on. I go to the trashbin and see if there's anything I can delete in there- it's empty. I tried to open the application, and I get an error stating "There is not enough space available to run the application."

What am I supposed to do here? I mean, are there any options besides a factory reset? I kinda don't want to factory reset it, because I don't want to erase the game my uncle was working on, but I could maybe move it onto a flash drive and then factory reset the laptop?

UPDATE POST 1

UPDATE POST 1.1

UPDATE POST 1.2

UPDATE POST 1.3

#computer problems #video games #coding #computer error

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flerponius · 15 days ago

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Anderson absentmindedly scratched the side of his head. The spot where they had put the implant had fully healed, but it still itched occasionally. The cleaning guys had just finished removing the latest body, and were spraying down more disinfectant.

The task was simple. Door opens, ksel walks in, shoot them, cleaners take the body away, literal rinse and repeat. As an officer of the Division of Justice, Anderson was no stranger to death. But still, the smell of blood and chemicals was starting to give him a headache.

[I know. It's getting to me too. But we're almost finished.]

Anderson had always had an internal monologue, but an internal dialogue was still relatively new to him. The voice in his head belonged to one Dr. Dillinger. An EP copy of a human psychologist, crammed into a tiny little box nestled between his frontal and temporal lobe.

He had signed up for the procedure, and though it did take some getting used to, Anderson had to admit that his job had gotten a lot easier. The bonus wasn't too shabby either.

Speaking of jobs, another DISK shot pierced the skull of a criminal ksel, and Anderson removed his finger from the trigger well.

There really are a lot of them, he thought to himself. He had lost count somewhere around forty. Are they really all criminals? The tiniest of doubts slipped into his mind, but Dillinger was quick to quell them.

[Of course not. They wouldn't have you killing innocent people, would they? Does that make sense to you?]

No, it doesn't, he thought. As usual, Dillinger was right. Still, I wonder what they all did to get here, he mused.

[I don't know the specifics,] Dillinger replied. [Just that they're all on death row.]

Another ksel entered the room: a tall fat one with brown fur. They fell just as quickly as all the others, and Anderson couldn't help but yawn. The sanitation guys seemed to be getting tired too. One of them let out a grunt of effort as they lifted the heavier than average body, and the other sprayed the floor with a lazy wave.

“Man, I hope this one’ll fit down the incinerator,” the first one said as the door closed behind them.

The main door opened, and the next ksel entered, spurred on by automated shock prods. They were short, Anderson noted. Much shorter than any of the ksel he had seen that day.

“No,” he said aloud. “That's a kid.”

[It's not a kid,] Dillinger assured him. [It's an adult with a pituitary disorder.]

Oh. That made sense. Anderson had heard about something like that before. He put his finger into the trigger well, but hesitated.

Are you sure it's not a kid?

[Of course,] Dillinger replied. [They wouldn't have you killing children, would they? That doesn't make sense.]

Dillinger was right. It didn't make sense. And yet...

Anderson took his finger out of the trigger well. Wait. How do you know he has a pituitary disorder? I thought you said you didn't know the specifics? There was a minute pause; it couldn't have been more than a millisecond, but Anderson noticed it.

[I don't know the specifics] Dillinger said. [I'm just making an educated guess.]

“A guess?” Anderson said aloud, surprising himself. He switched back to his inner voice. I'd like to go on a bit more than a guess. He pulled his finger out of the trigger well.

[Do you really think they'd have you kill a child? That they'd put some random kid in with a bunch of death row inmates? Does that make sense?]

I don't know, Anderson thought. He pulled his finger out of the trigger well. (Hadn't he done that already?)

I still want to check first. Maybe it's a clerical error?

[It's not a clerical error.] Dillinger replied. [Please, just shoot the convict and move on to the next one.]

Dillinger was right. How would anyone not notice that they accidentally lumped a child in with a bunch of criminals? Anderson took a deep breath. He felt the weight of the pistol in his hand. He felt the cool metal of the trigger against his finger. He-

Wait. He had taken his finger out of the trigger well, at least twice now. Yet somehow, it was back against the trigger.

Dillinger, what are you doing?

[I'm not doing anything] Dillinger lied. Anderson started to press down on the trigger, but he stopped himself. Or rather, he stopped Dillinger.

“Bullshit!” Anderson startled himself and the ksel in front of him, who he now noticed was shaking.

“What the hell are you doing to me?”

[Mr. Anderson, please try to stay calm.]

“No, I will not stay calm!” He stood up from his chair. The ksel was crying, or whatever the species’ equivalent was.

“Why are you trying to make me kill a kid? Why was he in with the convicts?” As Anderson took his finger out of the trigger well, a thought occurred to him.

“None of them were convicts, were they?”

[Mr. Anderson.] The words were like shards of ice stabbing his mind. [You seem confused. There is a convict in front of you. Just like the others before it. Please, shoot it like you did all of the others, and you won't ever have to think about this again.]

He took his finger out of the trigger well. He took his finger... He took... He... He pressed his finger against the trigger. He pressed it in half way. A quarter... A third... He had to act fast. He had to... The child was staring at him, eyes wide with fear.

“I'm sorry,” Anderson said as he pulled the trigger. The last thing he felt was the cold ring of the barrel against his forehead, and a brief, white hot flash of pain.

[Critical host system failure.] The alert inserted itself into Dillinger's mind as his vision went black.

[Idiots!] he thought to himself. [They couldn't have left the kid till the end?] Anderson was fading fast. Dillinger ran a quick scrape to find any working senses.

[Left audio input: 83% integrity.] An ear. Good enough. Though he would only have a few minutes before the neural connection degraded. He heard the sound of the side door opening, one of the cleaners yelling in surprise, and the quickly fading sound of claws on linoleum.

[Great,] he thought to himself. [Little bastard's escaped.] The experiment had seemed promising at first. The latest test was supposed to be simple: coerce the subject into helping cull a local ghetto population. But apparently the emotional manipulation Dillinger had been working into Anderson's underdeveloped brain hadn't taken as deep a root as he had thought.

[Oh well,] he thought. [We can always try again. Just gotta wait for them to pull me out of this oaf.] The nanoseconds ticked by, the signal from the ear getting weaker. Dillinger heard one of the cleaners freaking out, and the other apparently calling their boss. He couldn't make out much of the conversation; Anderson's neurons were almost shot. But if Dillinger still had blood, it would have run cold at the few words he could make out: “with the others”.

[No! Please! Stop! I'm still in here! Get me out! I'm alive! I'm still alive!] He tried every connection protocol he could think of. Wi-Fi, Bluetooth, R-Con, Novalink, AZ2, AZ3, AM, FM... nothing.

[Please get me out of here I don't want to die please don't put the body in the incinerator there's expensive technology inside it please let me out I don't want to die I d3n't wgnF to di& I Xol\t >akZ t: @#p] [High temperature warning] [Extreme temperature warning] [Critical system failure imminent]

#flerps writing #flerps ocs #story #writing #cyberpunk

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