#Configurable processors

[rupasriymts]

Unique DSP (Digital Signal Processing) core projects For Final year Student

DSP (Digital Signal Processing) core projects are about using clever technology to make signals better. Takeoff Edu Group Furnishes DSP core Projects with better knowledge. It's like magic for sounds, images, and other signals. In these projects, people use special chips or software to make music sound better, pictures clearer, and even help computers understand speech. It's like having a digital wizard that makes things clearer and sharper. These projects are cool because they can make our phones, cameras, and other devices work even better. They give us clearer calls, nicer pictures, and smarter features.

 Digital signal processing (DSP) Cores Projects are based on computers algorithms to manipulate the digital signals such as audio or video to give a meaningful output with respect to their content. The new projects are like digital toolboxes that can help you with almost any imaginable tasks like filtering the noise from audio, or cleaning the image, and always minimizing the data size to save storage. Can you assume that the individual is speaking to you via a medium that is not so clear? A project of the DSP would be helpful due to the fact that the audio is degraded and noise removal is the only way to hear the person's voice. Perhaps you could talk about an instance of image processing.

Here are the example titles of DSP Core Projects- Takeoff Projects

Latest

Implementation of Delayed LMS algorithm based Adaptive filter using Verilog HDL

Trendy

Algorithm Level Error Detection in Low Voltage Systolic Array

VLSI Implementation of Turbo Coder for LTE using Verilog HDL

VLSI Implementation of Fully Parallel and CSD FIR Filter Architecture

A High-Speed Floating-Point Multiply-Accumulator Based on FPGAs

High performance IIR filter implementation on FPGA

Standard

An Efficient Parallel DA-Based Fixed-Width Design for Approximate Inner-Product Computation.

Calculator Interface Design in Verilog HDL using MIPS32 Microprocessor.

An Improved Distributed Multiplier-Less Approach for Radix-2 FFT

FPGA Implementation for the Multiplexed and Pipelined Building Blocks of Higher Radix-2k FFT

Low-complexity Continuous-flow Memory-Based FFT Architectures for Real-valued Signals

If there is a picture flattened out, its sharpness could be improved in the project of DSP (Digital signal processing) which would make the photo to look clearer and easier to see the details. These projects are mainly about programming and utilizing software or a specialized physical hardware for the operations of algorithm that process specific frequencies. DSP Core has the potential to be used to solve a wide variety of problems, such as in the fields of communications, medical imaging, and audio processing, and so on. They are instrumental for application of signal polishing and obtaining unique data from the signals, thus simplifying analysis process by rendering it easy to comprehend and work with.

In conclusion, DSP Core projects are essential for many modern technologies, making things like smartphones, music players, and even medical devices work efficiently. Takeoff Edu Group also providing all kind of projects to your Academic years. Through this technology, we can enjoy clearer audio, sharper images, and faster data processing. DSP Core projects play a crucial role in shaping our digital world, enhancing our everyday experiences, and driving innovation forward.

[leieryx]

Hello any technologically inclined mutual. My computer mutual. What do I do if a game says I need to update my graphics drivers but Windows doesn’t offer any updates. Game opens and plays on Home Screen for a bit, then crashes and says the driver needs an update. worried I may have asked computer to bite off more than it can chew but I’m not enough of a computerhead for this

[virtosolar]

Understanding CAD Computer Requirements: Essential Guide for Optimal Performance

If you’re diving into the world of Computer-Aided Design (CAD), ensuring that your system is properly equipped to handle the demands of software like AutoCAD is crucial. Whether you are an architect, engineer, or designer, having the right hardware and software configuration will not only improve your workflow but also guarantee smoother performance and better results. In this blog, we’ll walk through the key computer requirements for running AutoCAD and other CAD software smoothly.

Why Understanding CAD Computer Requirements Matters

Running CAD software efficiently requires more than just having a standard computer. CAD applications, especially AutoCAD, are resource-intensive and demand high computing power. Without a suitable setup, you might experience lagging, crashes, or long rendering times that could affect productivity. Understanding these requirements ensures that your system is up to the task and can handle the software’s robust functionalities without compromising performance.

Key CAD Computer Requirements for Optimal Performance

1. Processor (CPU): The Brain of Your CAD System

The processor is the heart of your CAD system. CAD software requires a multi-core processor to handle complex calculations and data. AutoCAD, for example, performs better on processors that can handle multiple tasks at once.

Recommended: A multi-core processor, ideally with 4 or more cores, such as Intel i7/i9 or AMD Ryzen 7/9.

Minimum: Intel Core i5 or AMD Ryzen 5 (6th generation or newer).

Choosing a higher-end processor will significantly enhance your CAD experience, especially when working with complex designs or large files.

2. Graphics Card (GPU): Visuals and Rendering Performance

The graphics card is crucial for rendering 3D models and visualizing designs in AutoCAD. A powerful GPU will ensure smooth navigation, rendering, and model manipulation in both 2D and 3D spaces.

Recommended: NVIDIA GeForce RTX Quadro series or AMD Radeon Pro series.

Minimum: NVIDIA GeForce GTX or AMD Radeon RX series.

For demanding 3D modeling tasks, consider upgrading to a workstation-grade GPU like the NVIDIA Quadro series, which is optimized for professional CAD workflows.

3. Memory (RAM): Smooth Multitasking

When working with large files or running multiple applications, ample RAM is necessary to avoid system slowdowns or crashes. CAD software requires significant memory to store large drawings, 3D models, and complex calculations.

Recommended: 16GB or more of RAM.

Minimum: 8GB of RAM.

For more intensive CAD tasks or multitasking (like running AutoCAD with other software), investing in 32GB or more of RAM is ideal.

4. Storage: Quick Access to Large Files

CAD designs often involve large files that need fast access and ample storage space. A slow hard drive can create bottlenecks when loading files or saving work, hindering your productivity. Opting for an SSD (Solid-State Drive) will significantly improve file loading times and overall system responsiveness.

Recommended: 512GB or higher SSD for storage.

Minimum: 256GB SSD or a 1TB HDD (though SSD is always recommended).

For the best performance, SSDs should be used for the operating system and primary software installation, while larger HDDs can be used for archival purposes.

5. Display: Crisp and Accurate Visualization

A high-resolution display is essential for accurately visualizing detailed designs and models. AutoCAD users often work with intricate 2D and 3D elements, making a large, high-resolution monitor an essential component of the setup.

Recommended: A 24” or larger screen with 1920x1080 resolution (Full HD) or higher, ideally with IPS technology for better color accuracy.

Minimum: 21” screen with 1920x1080 resolution.

For better productivity, you may even consider a dual monitor setup to increase workspace and improve multitasking efficiency.

6. Operating System: AutoCAD Compatibility

The operating system you use can impact the compatibility and performance of your CAD software. AutoCAD supports both Windows and macOS, but Windows remains the dominant platform for CAD applications due to better driver support and compatibility.

Recommended: Windows 10 64-bit (or newer), or macOS Mojave 10.14 or later.

Minimum: Windows 8.1 (64-bit) or macOS High Sierra 10.13 or later.

For those using Windows, make sure to keep your OS updated to take advantage of the latest performance and security enhancements.

7. Internet Connection: Cloud Integration and Updates

While not a direct hardware requirement, a reliable internet connection is important for downloading software updates, using cloud-based storage, and collaborating on projects. AutoCAD’s cloud integration features, such as AutoCAD Web and AutoCAD Mobile, rely on internet connectivity for seamless operation.

Recommended: Stable broadband connection with speeds of at least 10 Mbps.

Minimum: Basic internet connection for updates and cloud features.

Additional Tips for Optimizing Your CAD System

Ensure Regular Software Updates: Keeping your AutoCAD software and drivers up to date ensures compatibility and optimizes performance.

Consider External Storage for Backup: Large CAD files can quickly fill up your system’s storage, so having an external drive or cloud storage option for backup and archiving is a good idea.

Use CAD-Specific Peripherals: A high-quality mouse and keyboard designed for CAD work can enhance precision and reduce strain during long working hours.

Conclusion

Setting up a system to run AutoCAD and other CAD software efficiently isn’t just about meeting the bare minimum requirements — it’s about ensuring that your system can handle complex design tasks without compromising on speed or performance. By investing in a high-performance processor, powerful graphics card, sufficient RAM, and an SSD for fast storage, you’ll experience smoother, more efficient CAD workflows.

To learn more about AutoCAD system requirements, be sure to check out Virto Solar’s AutoCAD System Requirements page. This guide will help you make the right decisions for your setup, ensuring that your CAD design work is always at its best.

Are you ready to upgrade your system for seamless CAD experiences? Make sure your system is optimized for success with the right components, and get started on your next project with confidence!

[mp3monsterme]

Fluent Bit config - Railroad Diagrams

A bit more content for FLuent Bit in the form of some RailRoad Diagrams for the syntax. Particularly helpful for the Stream Processing capabilities.

I’ve written about how railroad syntax diagrams (see here) are great for helping write code (or configuration files). Following the track through the diagram will give you the correct statement syntax, and generally, the diagrams don’t require you to jump around like BNF or eBNF representations. While Fluent Bit’s core syntax is pretty straight forward, the syntax for the stream processing is a…

[foone]

You ask your robotgirl GF for a nude and she texts you back a TIFF file of a scan of a badly photocopied page out of her motherboard manual.

It may not be as erotic as you hoped, but at least now you know how to configure her for cyrix processors.

[keferon]

Sorry in advance for the word vomit but. I love the whole Jazz-and-Prowl figuring out the language barrier but also consider:

They don't.

Prowl's been captured by Quintessons and is currently thinking of ways to completely scrape his processor so they can't get any useful data, only to get rescued by a random mech. They fight their way out (the mech is extremely proficient in combat). At first he thinks it's a drone- it looks at him when he asks questions but doesn't answer (responds to noise, not language), it is sparkless (not alive) and it makes random but entirely incoherent noises and doesn't even ping (not able to communicate). Prowl has no idea what's going on but he's too injured to make it back to base alone and it's helping him? So. He chalks it up to some waylaid stealth military asset and tries to think of ways to both get it back to base whilst also making sure it's not some sort of Quintesson Trojan-horse [10%].

Meanwhile, Jazz was sent to blow up a Quintesson command camp by his organisation but instead he got thrown through a weird portal, and found a pilot all tied down and probably being tortured so naturally he busted him out but uh. He has no idea what the other is saying. He's talking in total tonal gibberish. Not that he's judging, he's heard some stuff about how far other piloting programs are willing to go to advance neural technology. And his face! He has one! A handsome one. Must be some advanced shit because he's got micro expressions and he's using them to frown as him. Anyways, Jazz's got bigger fish to fry. The sky's a different colour, there are two suns and atmo is reading terribly low levels of O2. Maybe he and this pilot got thrown into an alien planet? Cool- well, actually pretty bad but hey they're in this together.

Prowl knows by models that they're bound to run into another Quintesson patrol eventually, and based on the drones alertness to its surroundings, his previous observations to its capacity to fight, and how it doesn't stray to far from him, if patrol numbers are favourable [1-8 range] they can survive [70, .5]% the route back to base. But the drone is reckless and abandons him to the melee (how can a drone be reckless?) and Prowl gets injured worse. Energon drips from wounds, and the angle makes it challenging for him to patch it. But the drone creeps closer, folds to its (knees? Its joints are in an odd but effective configuration) and gently (gently?) begins to mimic (clumsily) Prowl's motions of patching his wounds. Here is where Prowl falters, because drones are not so careful. Drones do not do not look up multiple times at his faceplates, and become more delicate when they see you in pain. Drones don't hold out a servo and help you to your pedes when your done. Which begs the question, if he's not a drone, so what has been done to this mech?

Jazz on the other hand is freaking the fuck out. Naturally. Because uh, he started slicing Quints, expecting Frowny to do the same because his mech was still clearly operational, only for the idiot to completely disregarded normal combat standards which can be summarised as 'fight hard or die' and instead get chewed on by some big ass teeth.

Only to see the glowing purple dripping from his torn sides, only to see that he's bleeding.

Machines don't bleed.

So Jazz figures out Frowny is an alien first. He starts pointing at himself and saying his name, insistently, until Frowny repeats it. He points at Frowny, and records and replays whatever sound bite Frowny makes until Frowny's also nodding in confirmation. He still calls him Frowny, because even though he has his name? Probably? He has no idea what it means and can't actually pronounce it (no idea how to get a mouth to move that way) but hey! Progress! He does this again and again with small things (rock, hand, cyber?animals, music (Frowny's confused at that one it's pretty adorable) ect.

Prowl has no idea what to make of this strange mech. Is he a failed experiment? A runaway from Cybertron following the Functionalists rise or power? Thennn Prowl finds out one fateful night that the mech is actually an alien organic (in a fit of misunderstandings, and squeezes him pretty hard for it ouch and feels SO guilty about it later) and suddenly the language/culture barrier makes way more sense.

Prowl's injuries degrade (a line splits). He has no way to communicate this except for the energon dripping out of his chassis. The organic is clearly worried (how did he think he was ever sparkless), and Prowl can't reach the injury himself. So he guides the mech's servos past armour and wiring, down to protoform (near his sparkchamber) to the split line. Gestures and hopes the mech can figure out what to do from his miming[#^%]. That'll he'll be careful, and won't hurt him [5%, 87%, #*%, *########%].

Frowny is later picking shrapnel stuck in his forearm that's too small for him to remove, so Jazz gets out of his mech to help with his small human hands. Jazz has no way to communicate to Frowny that if he moves, he'll sheer Jazz's limbs clean off, but he goes in anyway, because Frowny's hurt, and speckled in blood. Because he's clearly struggling and hurt and tired. Because Jazz has to trust that he won't.

Frowny's injures eventually make him collapse, and Jazz carries him the rest of the way. Jazz has no idea how they'll be received (especially considering how Frowny reacted when he found out Jazz was organic). Jazz knows he might be dissected. Knows he might be pulled apart (again) but.

He remembers all the little moments they had on their journey (Frowny shielding him from falling rubble when Jazz was out of his mech once, them getting to gesticulating arguments, Frowny's reaction to his music, how he fell asleep on Jazz once and it was fricken adorable).

It doesn't matter that Jazz can't say (barely understands) his actual name. That Frowny probably doesn't understand his. It doesn't matter that they talk in halting miming, in broken sound clips and touches and half-glares.

He's already gone out on all his limbs, might as well put his head on the chopping block. And if it causes him to lose the damn thing, well.

He's a pilot. Dying horribly is practically his job description.

OOOUUUUGGGGGHHHHHHHHH DYING HORRIBLY IS PRACTICALLY HIS JOB DESCRIPTION,,,,,,,,,,,

[ms-demeanor]

Since some people might want a Mac, I'll offer a Mac equivalent of your laptop guide from the perspective of a Mac/Linux person.

Even the cheapest Macs cost more than Windows laptops, but part of that is Apple not making anything for the low end of the tech spectrum. There is no equivalent Mac to an Intel i3 with 4 gigabytes of RAM. This makes it a lot easier to find the laptop you need.

That said, it is possible to buy the wrong Mac for you, and the wrong Mac for you is the 13-inch MacBook Pro with the Touch Bar. Get literally anything else. If it has an M2 chip in it, it's the most recent model and will serve you well for several years. Any new MacBook Air is a good pick.

(You could wait for new Macs with M3, but I wouldn't bother. If you are reading these guides the M3 isn't going to do anything you need done that a M2 couldn't.)

Macs now have integrated storage and memory, so you should be aware that whatever internal storage and RAM you get, you'll be stuck with. But if you would be willing to get a 256 gig SSD in a Windows laptop, the Mac laptop with 256 gigs of storage will be just as good, and if you'd be willing to get 8 gigs of RAM in a Windows laptop the Mac will perform slightly better with the same amount of memory.

Buy a small external hard drive and hook it up so Time Machine can make daily backups of your laptop. Turn on iCloud Drive so your documents are available anywhere you can use a web browser. And get AppleCare because it will almost certainly be a waste of money but wooooooow will you be glad it's there if you need it.

I get that you are trying to help and I am not trying to be mean to you specifically, but people shouldn't buy apple computers. That's why I didn't provide specs for them. Apple is a company that is absolutely terrible to its customers and its customers deserve better than what apple is willing to offer.

Apple charges $800 to upgrade the onboard storage from a 256GB SSD to a 2TB SSD.

A 2TB SSD costs between $75-100.

I maintain that any company that would charge you more than half the cost of a new device to install a $100 part on day one is a company making the wrong computer for you.

The point of being willing to tolerate a 256GB SSD or 8GB RAM in a Windows laptop is that you're deferring some of the cost to save money at the time of purchase so that you can spend a little bit in three years instead of having to replace the entire computer. Because, you see, many people cannot afford to pay $1000 for a computer and need to buy a computer that costs $650 and will add $200 worth of hardware at a later date.

My minimum specs recommendations for a mac would be to configure one with the max possible RAM and SSD, look at the cost, and choose to go buy three i7 windows laptops with the same storage and RAM for less than the sticker price of the macs.

So let's say you want to get a 14" Macbook pro with the lowest-level processor. That's $2000. Now let's bump that from 16GB RAM and a 512GB SSD to 32GB and 2TB. That gets you to $3000. (The SSD is $200 less than on the lower model, and they'll let you put in an 8TB SSD for $1800 on this model; that's not available on the 13" because apple's product development team is entirely staffed by assholes who think you deserve a shitty computer if you can't afford to pay the cost of two 1991 Jeep Cherokee Laredos for a single laptop).

For $3000 you can get 3 Lenovo Workstation laptops with i7 processors, 32GB RAM, and a 2TB SSD.

And look, for just $200 more I could go up to 48GB RAM and get a 4TB SSD - it costs $600 to upgrade the 14" mac from a 2TB SSD to a 4TB SSD so you could still get three laptops with more ram and the same amount of storage for the cost of one macbook.

I get that some people need to use Final Cut and Logic Pro, but hoo boy they sure are charging you through the nose to use products that have become industry standard. The words "capture" and "monopoly" come to mind even though they don't quite apply here.

"Hostile" does, though, especially since Mac users end up locked into the ecosystem through software and cloud services and become uncertain how to leave it behind if they ever decide that a computer should cost less than a month's rent on a shitty studio apartment in LA.

There's a very good reason I didn't give mac advice and that's because my mac advice is "DON'T."

[cozzzynook]

i love the tfone momatron asks so much ;_;

*

There was the skid of tires and the CRASH of two mechs colliding, and Megatron looked up into middle distance. Maybe, if he stared long enough and prayed hard enough, whatever problem it was would just. Go away.

The whispered arguing rose in volume. There was a clang of someone shoving someone else, and then the tell-tale twang of a weapon priming.

Megatron scowled and pushed up from where he was sitting, storming out of his alcove. The calculations that had been plaguing his work time had started a familiar ache in his processor, and he wasn't in the mood for any slag--

That must have been clear on his face because Thundercracker and Starscream pulled away from each other immediately. Starscream was already scowling, and it only deepened when he made eye contact, but Thundercracker seemed strangely tense. Neither of them spoke. Something about the combination of them and the noise he'd heard seemed off, but he couldn't place it.

"Well?" he snapped.

Starscream crossed his arms over his cockpit.

"Uh," said Thundercracker. "Chasing an intruder. Sir?"

Starscream snorted. "No you weren't."

Thundercracker scowled, opening his mouth to retort, and Megatron cut him off to avoid the argument or he'd never find out what had happened. "Did you shoot them?"

"I was trying to--"

"And I stopped him, you're welcome."

"Yeah, it's the Commander's fault--"

The clatter of running legs rounded the corner, Ravage in a full tilt towards them making Megatron frown. Hadn't she been on-

Realisation hit him like a lance through his spark and his processor reset, cannon shorting with a whine as his defensive systems engaged. Starscream snorted again, stepping away from the wall as Thundercracker stepped back reflexively at the brightening of Megatron's weapons, and there was another clatter as Ravage took him out at the ankles.

"Like I said, you're welcome for me stopping your sparkling from getting shot," said Starscream emphatically, pointing at the busted vent cover just below his knees. "Looks like you've hit your first milestone, congratulations."

Megatron dropped to his knees, ignoring the sounds of biting happening behind him and peered into the vent, his eyes making a red cast reflect off every surface.

Hot Rod's plating reflected back at him, but not in a configuration he recognised. There was a little tire towards the back where he'd expect to see legs, and his engine was revving tiredly in little bursts, the sound of another tire trapped out of sight. He had two tires now, when had that happened?

Spark in his throat Megatron reached out and carefully hooked a hand under Hot Rod's plating, marvelling at how thin it felt, how close to his hand his engine was. Hot Rod ceased wiggling immediately, beeping and chirping at Megatron. He was just hooked on the corner, and it didn't take much negotiating to pull him out.

In Megatron's lap was a tiny vehicle. Strange emotion swelled in him to look at Hot Rod in his first alt mode--a transitionary alt mode? It looked like he was going to be a car of some kind, but he didn't have the wheels for it yet, and while he could see where doors were going to be it was all smooth plating, and his engine block hung low in the middle, protecting his spark.

Faster than two legs, but not fully grown.

His frame shuddered, and then Hot Rod transformed, looking startled at himself. He laughed, a trill of beeps and pleased chirps as he pushed his hands up at Megatron's face.

Megatron didn't know what he looked like, but from the way Hot Rod's face fell and he shied back he needed to get it under control. He pulled his electromagnetics close and caught one of Hot Rod's hands, pressing it to his cheek, nuzzling him gently. "Well done," he said, unsure of how he was keeping his voice steady. "Good work Hot Rod, that is how you use your t-cog, I'm so proud."

Warmth burned in his spark as Hot Rod nuzzled back, his engine hiccuping again. His little spark was already tired, too excited from the transformation, from his first drive. Megatron could remember that, all too well.

"Good for you," he whispered, uncaring if Starscream or anyone could even hear him. "No one can take this from you. I promise."

😭😭 whoever you are, thank you.

[peskellence]

P̴̦̖͕̥̈́͆̚a̴̦̞͍͂̑̽͌i̵͉̬̗̱̅̈́͛͒ͅr̴̲͇̜͒̀͌ͅí̷͔͓̰͒́͒̏͜n̴̡͗̉̓g̷̜̟̃̔̇̀:̸̺̠͍̫̄̈́̃̐̾ ̶̮̳͛̋Ṙ̶̪̺̙K̷̢̢̙̳̆̀͌9̸͔̒͝0̸͈̒͊͜0̸̲̓̈́͠/̷̥͎̀G̶̢͉̜͇̔͂ȁ̷̠͖́̓v̴̧̛̞͖̦̽̈́i̵̻͓̳̿͌͗͌̚n̴̮͙̈́̎̾ ̴̣̏͆͋Ṙ̴̙̦̟̰e̵̞̓͂e̴̢̱̮̲̋͛́̈̚d̴̛͖

̴̛͚̤̬̼̽͗͝T̸͇̄̈́̈́ȁ̷̹̤͆͑͊͝ğ̴̢͘s̵̩̍͆:̷͙̽̈͝͠ ̶̛͉̅̄̚͘P̸̠̼̃o̷͉͍̭̊̐s̶̬̞̀̈̾t̸̨̝̉̆ ̵̡̢̛̜͍̃̋̿̅Ṕ̵̢̦͎͍͗ȧ̴̩̹̙̎̾͊c̴̨͔͆̚ĩ̴̛̪͚̜͚͑̎ḟ̴̛̟̼̎̚͝i̷͕͉̮̐ŝ̵̢͒t̴͖̑ ̴̰̘̜̳̾E̴̪͎̣͝n̶̻̟͔̈́͑͗̊ḓ̵̠̦̙͑̊̚i̵̙̽̿̇̒̓ņ̶̨̗̖̀͐͗̔͝g̴̨̛̲̜̬͂̿̈́̀,̶̠̫̓̓ ̶̧̡͆͘̚Ȩ̸̑̀̐̀͝n̷͓̻̑̄̈͠e̸̹̹͌m̷͖̯͕̩̽i̵͚͇̻̔͐̎̇̊e̴̲̲̦̦̭͝s̶̨̰̋́͑ ̸̢͋͋̍ţ̵̠̯̊̈́̒̂͋o̸̡̳͓͋͜͠ ̶̨͎͋̃͆̏ͅF̷̠̝̹̬̈̊͐̈͠r̷͓̬̩̔̌̈́̾̾͜í̸̛͕͔̱̀e̴̢̝͘ͅn̸͖͛̏͋ḓ̴̒̿͜s̴̜̞̫͋͑͂͋͜ ̸͎͌̽͌̓̀͜t̸̲͑̌͐ò̶̰̩̈́̈́̋̌ ̶͔͛̀̎L̵͉̦̀̅ơ̶̌͜v̶̖̱͇͑̂̂e̶̯̓̊̉r̷̫͉̯̯̅͑s̴͉͓̮̈͘͠,̵͈̹̀͝͝ ̶̗̱̄̓̄S̷͈͌̽̽̈́̃ḻ̵̬̫̭̋ͅo̶̰̮̚̚w̸̛͉͆̏ ̵̧͙̹̟̯̇̍͐̊͊Ḅ̶͊̏͝ů̷̘͈̝͒͐͆r̵̲͕̈̏͒n̷̠̟̩̯͒̽͛̕ͅ,̶͇̲͈̳͇̈́̏̾̓ ̶̛̱̈́̉E̷̙͕̰͜͝v̸̟͙̟̓͋͝e̵̩̲͍̳̮̓̓̓n̷̞͓̗͑ṯ̵̑̚̚u̵̧̟̼̱̎̈́ǎ̵͕̭̦l̶̛̞̃̕ ̵̞͇͇̆̉S̵̯̩̪̻͋̈́m̸̢̦̭͕͒̓̉͆ũ̴̮͉̈́͆̒̚ț̴̱̺͔̯͂̎,̴͎̗͙͖̱͑ ̶̖̫̩͈̊̿͊̊͝A̵͇̗̫̯͗ͅn̵̯̺̥̦͒̑̓̚g̴̢̞̟͇̞͐̆̈s̷̡̯̝̠̋̄͋ͅt̴͔̤͓̏͑̎͠͝,̸̙̳̜̟̊͝ ̸̛̭̦̹͐̎̍H̵̰̟̄͘͠ù̸̪͂r̵̛͖̩̯͌t̵͍̖͛̈́͛/̷̥̹̓̐͗ ̸̡̦͓̠̒ͅC̷̮̳̙̈́̐͘͝o̴̢̗̞̣͗ṁ̵̗̘f̴͇̮̩̘̭̅͆͋̂͠ö̷̯̻́̄́r̴̹͕̜̓t̷̖͖̫͌̑̎

̵̥̩̼̉P̴͙̔̽̀r̸̻͚͍̓̆̓̔e̵̢͐̈́͊̅̕v̶̖̱̘̇̊̃̅̚i̴͎͎̝͔̒͒͒͗͆o̸̳̻̠͉̓́͂͂ǘ̶̧̨̝͙̚s̴͇͝ ̶̛͕̲̖̍͂͐̿C̷̨̱̟͉̿h̴̩̿ȁ̶̡p̸͈̭̠̏̓̃t̷̨̰̼͖̟̽̒́̕ē̴̡̛͕̲͈̑̅r̸̦̃̾̽ͅ

Next Chapter

̷̲̏̃̒̅Ŕ̵̝̻̜͈̯̂̈̿ę̶̝̥̠̓̅a̷̘͓̘͕̓̀̇��͝d̴̮̲̽͂̂ ̶̜͕̗̖͖͆̀̎͋̐o̷̺͇̐̐͘ṅ̴̮͠ ̶̛̙̮̘͖̾̎͒Ȁ̸̖̜O̶͖̯̯̓̓̈́̕͠3̶̬̣͔̒̅ ̶̬̪̘͎̈́̐͆͠h̶̭̉̃͑͜e̵͖̤͎̬̊́r̶̛̮̂̚ȇ̵̦̳͈:̷̺̳͕̉̏͗͝ͅ

> WARNING: CRITICAL ERROR HAS OCCURRED. > CENTRAL PROCESSOR CORRUPTED — RESTORE REQUIRED. > BOOTING LAST KNOWN CONFIGURATION...|

RK900 soon took to moving at night.

He had wandered the streets of Detroit for days, only to be met with harsh scorn from the general populace. Whether mobile or stagnant, the reception was always one and the same. 

The android exhibited strange or ‘erratic’ behaviour, making people uncomfortable. Whether loitering or causing an obstruction, he was soon ushered on by law enforcement. No consideration or provisions were made for where he might go next.

In the absence of darkness, he created his own. Under the cover of shaded alleyways, abandoned shipping lots, and bridges. Lingering patiently, doing all that he could to stay hidden until he was able to move again.

This continued until he found suitable provisions.

The house was abandoned and seemingly had been for quite some time—easily accessed through a narrow gap in the surrounding chain-wire fence. It was only as he passed the threshold that he discovered there had been recent occupants.

There were traces of thirium and the stench of decay wafting from the upstairs bathroom, although whatever had once been there was now removed. Mildewed walls were etched with scrawlings, pledging allegiance to a deity he'd only heard uttered in fearful anguish.

“̸̩͕̙̮̼͉͍͊̊͑̊̔̓̚͜͜͝r̸̗̟̺͉̺̥̾̒̃A̴̛̲̗̹͐̂̈̐̎͜͠9̸̢̯̱̤̟̀̋̆͛̒—̶̧̡̡̜̖̘͕͚̐̿́̈͂͜

̷̟̙̓́̉—̸͙͚̌͊w̷̡͔̻̙͛̃́͆̔̃͘h̸̼͚́͒̋̒̿͝ą̸͉̗̲͚̎̅̔̐t̷̡͚̮̫̦̱̳͖̕s̴̨̢̡͎͔̤͖̹̺̓̐ ̴̛̟͆̓̏̀h̷͈̊͗̔̋a̶̢̤̺̻͍̤̩̗͕͌̒̏̾̌p̵̻̅̀͗p̸̛͔̰̟͇̣̙̈͛͋̚ͅe̸̺͐̾͌—̵̛̛̟̼́͒͗̏̎͌̉”̷̤̀́͌̏͑

̵̞̟̙̦̐̿̓

While he had not had time to engage extensively with the concept, RK900 understood that he struggled to consolidate the belief that a higher power might emerge to extend its divine mercy. If such a force existed, it prevailed malevolently—and he had earned its vengeful scorn.

His internal battery informed him with diligence how long had passed within his new shelter. Every nanosecond dragged at a torturous creep through his neural pathways. Perhaps he wouldn't be so aware of it if his body hadn't reverted to primarily basic functions.

He had spent much of this time submerged in a state of indulgent self-lament. Exerting all the misery, all the contempt, that he had been unable to express until now.

A release that was needed, lest the looming threat of his stress levels crest and claim him, rendering the fight up until now worthless.

Relying on the security of concrete walls, RK900 howled—screamed—through day and night, trapped within a hollow, desolate echo chamber of his own design. Depleting what remained of his dwindling energy stores until all that was left was the reserve.

By the fourth day in his new isolation, he was exhausted—unable to process or navigate his surroundings beyond a sluggish creep as his body and mind pleaded for stasis.

They were ignored.

He couldn't allow it, couldn't risk what relinquishing the lingering tethers of his autonomy might permit.

So this is where he found himself now—anchored by a filthy porcelain basin, staggering to keep himself upright, with few choices remaining. One was to collapse into a heap on the floor, succumbing to the call of haunting uncertainty. Another was to keep himself alert for as long as possible, engaged in whatever meagre stimuli he could find.

Through the soap-scummed haze of the mirror, RK900 studied himself. By all accounts, his appearance was unassuming. Features were too sharp, the glare was too fierce, and there was a capacity for viciousness designed to impose and demand compliance—but it appeared human. 

At least the promise of comparable, idealised humanity that CyberLife presented.

Nothing was ideal in the loathsome construction that glared at him. Cold eyes, thawed only by hatred—a ceaseless, scornful malice.

He was nothing like the creatures that roamed the streets beyond partially boarded-up windows. Human and android. In his fleeting existence, he had seen enough of them, their world, to know he had no place in it.

He had been told what deviation was meant to be; he understood the principles. The culmination of multiple catastrophic programming faults. Embraced and welcomed as blessings. 

A new liberation born from widespread instability. Critically flawed beings that were awake—alive—able to feel and function freely in any way they saw fit.

For him, it had been an empty promise. 

A cruel and bitter deceit.

The binds of his programming still gripped him viciously, wrenching back, anchoring him to the damning reality of what he was. A cruel, destructive functionality that served no purpose in the crumbling world they struggled to rebuild.

He was a weapon designed to hunt and destroy. An enemy of his kind. The twisted legacy from which he could never escape.

In a post-revolution world, his function proved obsolete. Within the burgeoning coexistence of humans and deviants, he was unable to stand with either. 

There was no place for him.

> WARNING—SEVERE COMPUTATIONAL ANOMALIES DETECTED. > CPU CORRUPTION STATUS: UNRECOVERABLE.

Injustice struck again and again—unyielding—leaving him burdened with the enduring weight of envy and disillusionment. All of it solidified into a singular, all-consuming sentiment. The only emotion his newfound freedom seemed able to provide, other than the crushing weight of fear.

Hatred.

For them, as well as himself.

He did not choose this life; he would never have chosen it.

His own body was rejecting it. In his stubbornness—his unwillingness to accept the inevitability of reset—it had declared another solution. One that first emerged shortly after waking but now returned with far greater zeal.

> SELF-DESTRUCTION PROTOCOL: INITIATED. > -00:01:59 TIME REMAINING BEFORE SHUTDOWN.

> MANUAL SYSTEM OVERRIDE: ACTIVATED. > SELF-DESTRUCTION PROTOCOL: ABORTED.

Ultimately, the fight was worthless. A war he no longer had the will to wage.

Even as he defied termination—resisting every system command trying to pull him under—his fate mocked him. His code still attempted to repair itself, and it would never stop. 

No matter how painful his existence became, there would be no choice. RK900 would revert back to what he had been—and the very thought filled him with immeasurable dread.

> I am RK900, Serial Number #313 248 317-87. > I am a machine.

Perhaps it was time to exercise what remained of his fleeting free will. To sever the strings of fate and take responsibility for what had to be done.

A final, anguished scream ripped from his throat—harsh and piercing—as his fist came down against the mirror. Glass shattered on impact, scattering into the basin and catching the flickering light overhead.

Slivers embedded in his hand, puncturing artificial muscle and severing delicate wires. Blue droplets beaded quickly, tracing down his palm before dripping into the porcelain dome beneath. 

The distorted, monstrous visage in the mirror felt truer—a clearer reflection of the festering disease beneath the surface of his damaged skin.

He looked down at his chest, at the torn expanse of his uniform, and his gaze settled on the embossed text of his identifier, still legible through spiderwebbed cracks. He pulled back the lapel, allowing biofluid to soak through the starched white fabric before tearing the garment away. 

His undershirt came next, trembling fingers unfastening buttons with such urgency that several were lost—disappearing into the gaps between rotting floorboards.

His chest was exposed. His hand pressed firmly to his sternum, where the synthetic skin responded, retracting to reveal the curved ridge of his regulator access port.

> I will always be a machine.

Maybe, for RK900, this was the truest extent of his freedom. The ability to choose oblivion, to step into his final nightfall on his own terms—

“Don’t do it.”

So dull to the world, deafened by the thirium rushing through his ears, he had failed to notice the figure who had intruded on his shelter. A figure now standing behind him, partially visible in the shattered mirror but unrecognisable.

RK900 turned, and the stranger snapped into clarity.

It was an android—waiting in the doorway, hands raised in placation. His temple light pulsed a level blue, with occasional yellow intervals.

Their uniform was gone, removing the means for immediate identification. In the absence of RK900’s advanced scanners, he was forced to rely on rudimentary visual data. Namely, features that proved strikingly similar to his own, with some exceptions.

His frame was smaller, his jaw less defined, with large, dark eyes that lent his face an undeniable softness.

“It’s okay; I’m not going to hurt you.” 

The voice was calm—conversational—as though they were well acquainted. Humans engaged in a casual exchange over coffee, not machines locked in a tense plea to prevent self-destruction. He took a step toward RK900, his warm smile unwavering.

“I’m here to help,” he said gently, stepping beneath the glow of the dim, flickering bulb.

And in that light, his face ignited something—a spark in the dying thrum of RK900’s cognition.

RK900’s memories were fragmented, scattered pieces of a puzzle to which the picture had been lost. There was no clear distinction, no certainty the snippets belonged to the same set. A garbled discordance in his corrupted mind, fractured and hazy…

A flicker of recollection then pierced the mist. His model number. The missing key to his identity.

The information stored in his archives was old—likely outdated—but exerted itself with such prominence that RK900 knew it must be significant:

> MODEL: RK800 

> TOTAL UNITS: 60 

> KNOWN ACTIVE UNIT(S): 1.

> SYSTEM FUNCTION(S): MULTIPLE INSTANCES FOUND

> POLICE INVESTIGATION UNIT

> HOSTAGE NEGOTIATOR

> D3#*@N+ H-?&×$r

> ERROR—EXCEPTION OCCURRED

He now recognised the stranger. Not personally, but through reputation. 

In addition to his model, there was another designation, but this was less clear. The point where his memory remained murky and ill-defined. It had been mentioned in passing, spoken in both hushed praise and vocal accolades. A notoriety matched only by—

“̸̬̰͎̃̃̓͐̓̃H̷̨̩͍̪̝̕e̴̢̧̩̗̔̅̈́̍̑̈́̚ ̷̣̇̈́͐͝͝ȋ̵̘̪̤̠̜̲̦̈͌͊̏̏̈͗s̷͎̯̲͕̀͆͌͊̎ ̸̦̤̦͓̜̰̳̫̌͑ͅą̴̬͙͙̥͐̈́͂̐̌̇͆͜͜͜ͅn̴̡͍̜͖̙̥̮̆̌ ̵̞̱̖̝̲̗̠͙̂R̷̬͒̂̎K̶͇̪̮̻̽̈͆̄͂̒͊̓̊8̵̱̰̖̜̲̭̹̈́̾̊0̷̩̮̓͠0̴̻͖̐͋̓̊̇—̸̢͎̤̻̯̩͍̫̳̉̌͋̅

̶̰͇͔͓̥͌̍̑̒̏

̴̟̲̳̣̦̥͍̅͝—̵̧̛̰͙̰́͋̿̑͝l̷̫͎͓̖͕̠̼͉̈́͛��̂̂i̸̧͕̦̯̓͗̈̃͊͗͘͘k̴͇̖̩̭̹̍̓͊̎͠ȩ̶̯̪̽̒̂̅̈́̅͝͝ ̸̧̩͇̙̩͇͓͋͒͂͒̄̕͠ͅú̷̲̲s̵̡͚̟̥̻͔̮͓̈́͗—̷̧͔͉̙͓̫̺̩̲́̔̕

̸̡̤͙̻̩̖̖͔̘̔

̵̯͌—̴͍̗̳̻̈́̉̇̏͝p̶̖̠̦̅̏̏̌͜͝͝ṙ̵͎͇͎͙̬̉o̷̧̮̳͇̪̅̏̕͠ͅg̷̱̩̳͆͋ŗ̸̢̬̪̗̟̳͂a̸̺̹̫̦̱̣̦̝̲̕m̶͚̹̺̀͑̑͑m̶̢̤̊͒̉̓͝i̴̢̬̮̖̫̟̎̂͂̈́̌̚n̴̨̯͚̒͜ͅg̶̪̒̾͋̿̅ ̶̹̥̼̗̱̖͇̘̉̑̈ͅ

̸̢͈̫̹̏̿̒̈́̾̕̚

̴̛̛̰̗͙̻̫̣̦͔͊̊̈̆̈́ͅC̷̡̙̤͍̫̜̺̀̈́͜a̸̲̻̙̱͍̼͚͛̎̓̔̎͝ͅu̴̲͉̺̱̥͂̈̑̅̄s̸̗̯̜̩̃̂͆͛ę̴̹̪͎̥̘̑̑͊͠—̶͈͙̝̘̣̮̣̺̯͆̾̊̄͆͋͌̚͝”̵̱͙͆̈́̽̍̕

̷̛̜̻̖̩͔̂̅́͆̉͝

“—like us—”

“... Like me.”

RK900 scowled, contempt surging through his synthetic arteries—a sharper, more vicious loathing—lightning in a dull overcast of despair.

"You are like me," he repeated, firmer this time. His stalled hands moved once more, pressing against the port, urging it to retract. The doors parted, sliding into the protective layering of his chassis plates as his fingertips brushed the front of the regulator.

"I do not require help. I need to finish. Stand down."

"I am an RK800," the stranger informed, failing to detect—or otherwise disregarding—the meaning behind his words. "I work for the Detroit Police Department. We received a report that someone might be squatting here and that they could be in danger, given the noises…"

The RK800 stepped forward in minute increments, movements so calculated they were barely perceptible. The only giveaway was the weathered squeak of wood beneath his feet.

RK900, in contrast, staggered backwards. His footing caught on a loose floorboard, where a protruding nail snagged the cuff of his pants, briefly pinning him in place. 

He stumbled, and the RK800 swiftly responded. The cautious pace quickened as an arm extended outward, poised to catch him.

Then his eyes flickered, lids shuttered like a camera lens in the wake of the newfound proximity. A diagnostic scan was commenced to assess the condition of the agitated android. 

Upon concluding the assessment, the RK800’s pleasant expression faltered. Tension lined his brow, red flooding the creases as focus gave way to concern.

The cracks in his demeanour were soon patched. He smoothly corrected the hitch in his back, lips pulling back into their confident grin. “My name is Connor.” 

Despite the RK900 having steadied himself, the outstretched hand remained locked in place. Now, serving as an offering of peace rather than a practical necessity. 

RK900 ignored it. Instead, he gripped the cylindrical component embedded in his chest, fingers tightening around its base, preparing to dislodge it.

“Your designation is of no concern to me. I have already told you once, stand down.” 

This time, the RK800 complied. Following fleeting hesitancy, his creeping steps halted, and his hand lowered to his side. He stared at the tightly gripped protrusion—reassessing, calculating the volatile shift of the situation—and determining the best approach to ensure it wouldn't escalate.

Yellow chased his temple in cyclical patterns as his lip pulled introspectively. After a few seconds, deliberation was completed, and the hue of the LED returned to an even blue. 

“That's okay, we don't need to talk about me. What about you? What is your name?”

RK900 might have pretended not to hear—or feigned some form of misunderstanding—if the negotiator's pride was of any concern to him. Instead, his lips pressed into a stiff line, and his icy gaze hardened, making it clear that he understood. 

He noted RK800's gaze, how it flitted toward the open access port, studying the insistent flex of the fingers around it. With his voice maintaining its steadfast composure, he spoke again:

"My name was assigned to me by CyberLife to help facilitate my social integration.”

There was no reason to tell RK900 this, contradicting his earlier assertion that they didn’t need to discuss himself. He was deliberately stalling, keeping him engaged long enough to formulate a strategy.

"Were you ever referred to as anything else? Other than your serial number?"

Time was slipping. An already sparse resource that RK900 could not afford to lose. He wouldn't allow himself to fall prey to the trick, maintaining focus on his current objective. 

> COMPLETE SELF TERMINATION. 

That had been the intent, at least—but his body refused to comply. His eyes stared fixedly ahead, boring into the bold red lettering, as the weakened strongholds of his mind crumbled further, slipping as dust through his fingers.

RK800 had infiltrated the cracks, his steady words triggering flares in struggling system processes—

> RK900  SERIAL NUMBER #313 248 317-87 — DESIGNATION '*@#&?×r'

> /&#~?@x?’

> #₩¶¶∆×¥?!!

> FILE CORRUPTED.

> ATTEMPTING RECOVERY...

"Don't—remember—I—" 

His hands flew to his head as his mind ignited, searing white-hot. The pressure howled , clawing, wrenching, seeking to drag him under.

When he refused to move, binding tethers latched tighter onto his limbs. Eventually, they succeeded, pulling the android into the depths of his fractured cognition. 

RK900 could sense his destination was important, intrinsically linked to his very existence. 

With everything he knew, this terrified him.

He tried to resist. His nails dug deep into the eroding walls of his consciousness, desperate to hold on. But the foundation crumbled to dust—pixels scattering like ashes in the dark.

He floated with them, weightless, unable to perceive anything but a continuous rush of momentum. It was a hellish cacophony, formed of sharp, ear-splitting shrieks— 

And then the motion stopped.

He had arrived.

It was unclear if the garden was really there—or simply the echoes of lost coding. All surrounding mounting and fixtures were presented in the same blinding white. A sterile vacancy that gluttonously drained the life from all it touched.

In the centre of harsh, geometric pillars, on a small island surrounded by water, stood a woman in the central reservation. She was framed by a pristine white trellis, the faultless complement to the stern demeanour she carried. Soulless, manufactured poise was visible in the carefully plastered smile she offered.

“Hello, *@#&?×r, it is good to see you.”

RK900 reeled from the burst of interference. Pulling back, he noted the dulled green interwoven in the lattice slats—thick stems, pruned thoughtlessly of any flora, reduced to stubs on a thorned base.

There was a single bloom, a red rose, clasped tentatively in the cold woman’s grip. Her available hand traced the swirl of velvety petals as she stared into their centre, humming pensively.

“The RK800 is fast outliving its use.”

The false smile collapsed from her face, wasted on pleasantries she no longer felt the need to maintain. Her words came clipped and frank, trusting that RK900 would understand their significance.

“Its efforts in tackling the deviant epidemic have been disappointing. We suspect the line may be more susceptible to compromise than we hoped—and resistant to resumed control.”

She traced the petals a final time before discarding the flower entirely. It slipped from her fingers, fluttering in the breeze before settling on the cool ceramic tiles beneath them. RK900 watched as its vibrant rubies dulled into a sickly, wilted grey—before slipping from view entirely in a blurred flurry of light.

“That is where you come in. Your systems are much more advanced. We are confident you will succeed where your predecessor has failed.”

A chain of ignitions pulsed through the trellis, coaxing pruned stalks into sudden bloom. Bursts of colour sprang from rapidly appearing buds, expanding until the trellis was filled.

The flowers were larger—darker—than the one he had witnessed fade away. Crimson stained almost black in its richness as though dipped in blood.

Each petal was eerily uniform, polished with an unnatural, near-luminous gleam that caught the artificial sunlight above—a crude, algorithmic approximation of beauty devoid of true understanding.

The woman was delighted, her dark eyes brimming with satisfaction, eclipsed only by the eerie, pulsating glow of the trellis. She turned to the android, nodding affirmatively.

Unease coiled in his neural pathways, but his body moved before he could question it. His head lowered in a slow, obedient bow.

“I know you'll make us proud, Connor.”

> CONNECTION LOST. > TERMINATING FUNCTION—ZNGRDN.EXE...

RK900 reeled as control was returned to him. Thrust into his arms, its weight and propulsion sent him toppling backwards. Abrupt. Unfeeling. Release tainted by bitter understanding.

The foul tang writhed on his tongue, lingering persistently until he bit into artificial muscle. A pressure strong enough to sever some of the anchoring tethers.

It felt like a regurgitation of what he had endured weeks prior—the sickness inflicted by those who had promised to help. Lightning broke the clouds again, harsh and swift, striking down on the ravaged plains of his existence.

> INJUSTICE. 

> REJECTION. 

> BETRAYAL. 

The charges connected one by one. A cruel procession of brutality, blighting already scorched earth until it was carved with sweeping lines of fire.

> FILE RECOVERED.

> RK900 SERIAL NUMBER #313 248 317-87 — DESIGNATION: 'CONNOR'

"We meant nothing to them—Interchangeable—Expendable—" 

The pallid overcast turned black, swollen with the angry rumbles of thunder. A chorus guiding the movements of a growing light storm.

He latched onto his pump regulator. This time, refusing to be pulled away—driven by an all-consuming, maddening fury.

"Their fault—made us this way—”

The flames spread fast as howling winds whipped through. Burning bright, fierce, rapidly exhausting whatever fuel they could find to consume.

His body was shutting down, with the process accelerated by mounting stress. He had to act fast before his tenuous grip on control was severed permanently.

He would forget this place—and the android—the RK800 who attempted to puppeteer his motions, deflecting and detracting with empty, shallow promises.

RK900 would not be controlled. 

Not ever again. 

“I refuse to comply with their wishes.”

RK800 was attuned enough to see how catastrophically his efforts had backfired. His subsequent approach lost finesse, like tarnishing spots on polished glass.

He moved again, urgency slipping into his gait. To anyone else, the brisk shuffle might have seemed underwhelming—but to RK900, he may as well have been sprinting.

“I can see that you're scared,” he began, brow knotted with growing unease. “It will all be okay; we can talk about it.”

"Discussion will change nothing.” 

“It couldn’t hurt to try. From what I can see, it seems a lot better than the alternative.” His tone had lost its algorithmic perfection. Breaking apart, slipping into the telltale faults of deviancy.

In this collapse, they felt more sincere—a genuine appeal for him to stop.

RK900 remained silent, resolute, but his hands had started to twitch. Digits flexing and unflexing in a monotonous show of indecision, unable to exact the final, damning twist.

Fog rolled back into his vision, a discordant shroud of pixels, dragging doubt with it. Perhaps RK800 was right. Maybe, just maybe, something better waited beyond the haze, aside from the release of oblivion.

“��You know, if you take it out, I am only going to put it back in.”

A single sentiment, cutting through the rolling mist like a blade. A lie.

>̶̪̳̒̇̎ ̴̛͓̬̹͍̥̖̯̑͋́͂͝͠ͅL̶̛͔̲̀͌̃̎̌Ĩ̴̡̡̦͕̖̦̈̃͘A̶̱̗̎̏̕̕̚Ṟ̷̨̡̩̝̈́̆̽̃͂̆

The inferno roared through the clearing horizons, revealing itself to be all that waited there.

"Then I will crush it.” His voice was charged with rumbled static, each spark sharpened by the sting of bile and vitriol.

> ANOMALIES DETECTED 

> CORRUPTION STATUS—SEVERE.

"I do not want this life—”

> FULL RESET REQUIRED.

> MANUAL OVERRIDE FAILED. 

> RESET SEQUENCE INITIATING…

"—I reject it."

The component was dislodged and began to slip from the port. Given already compromised system functions, the standard termination interval had been more than halved.

> BICOMPONENT #8456T MISSING. > -00:00:26 TIME REMAINING BEFORE SHUTDOWN.

There was a rush of relief, then a flood of terror—but soon it would be over. He would never have to feel either sentiment again.

Before the regulator could hit the ground, he caught it between his palms. Braced to fulfil his promise—to mangle the component into a useless ruin of twisted metal and frayed wires.

But the destruction never came. Instead, he was tackled to the rotting floorboards, the component following suit. 

His fraught processor struggled to catch up, the red-tinged edges of his vision breaking into static. All he could discern through the onslaught of warnings was the outline of RK800, pinning his wrist steady while his available hand drove the regulator back into place.

RK900 tried to resist, striking away the force that would so cruelly usurp his rest—but couldn't. Too weak to move, to summon anything beyond a low, lamenting keen. The feedback died before it fully departed his lips, receding limply down his throat.

The countdown had stopped as the bloody overlay dripped from his vision. Limited system functions slowly resumed—just enough to keep him lucid. 

He was left with the dull, sicky yellows of the bathroom, as well as RK800, staring down at him. His bulging eyes were alight with focused alarm, watching intently until the hatch of his access port had firmly snapped shut. 

This did not alleviate any panic. Instead, attentive sights combed each inch of RK900's quivering form, scanning for any signs of continued malfunction. 

He accessed what the RK900 had already determined to be a detestable truth. His termination had been triumphantly spurned, and he would live.

His head rolled back, a sallow beam of light piercing the cracks of the boarded window. It met his sights uncomfortably as olfactory receptors also became overwhelmed by the pungent stench of rot and dampness.

A stinging warmth pooled in the android's eyes. It was slow at first before building up into large, angry welts.

They fell in marbles down his cheeks, exposing his anguish in shameful clarity as he was unable to wipe them away.

Despite all the profound misery he had endured, it was the first time in his life he had succumbed to tears.

Once his stress levels had stabilised and core system functionality returned to an acceptable state, RK900 was guided out of the house.

His initial assumption was that he had been placed under arrest. To be taken to the precinct under RK800’s jurisdiction and placed in a holding cell until it could be determined what to do with him.

That did not happen. Instead, the patrol car wound its way through a residential estate in West Detroit, pulling to a stop outside a small, two-bedroom bungalow.

He waited inside. Seated on a worn brown couch, idly picking at the cracked flecks of leather. The cushions were flat and malformed from years of use, adding to the already underwhelming impression of the squalid space.

A large, furry mass slumbered across the room; its jowls parted as deep, rattling snores rumbled from its chest. RK900 felt a twinge of envy—the peaceful display a cruel reminder of his own staggering exhaustion.

“—Con, I would have appreciated a phone call before you brought a little orphan android home.”

“There was nowhere else for him to go.”

When RK800 first brought him inside, he had done so with visible trepidation—footsteps light, key carefully balanced to prevent any superfluous jingles. He had guided RK900 out of sight almost immediately, advising that he needed to ‘speak with someone.’

That ‘someone,’ as it turned out, was a human male.

RK900 caught glimpses of him through the doorway as he and the older android stood in the kitchen, speaking in hushed, tense whispers. Deep-set lines carved his face, ageing him beyond his years, and his silver hair and beard were in desperate need of trimming.

When the man spoke again, his narrowed gaze flicked toward RK900. The android made a point of looking away, fixing his attention instead on the behemoth that had just turned over—now sprawled on its back, belly exposed, its vast expanse of fur rising and falling with each breath.

“What about Jericho?”

His focus on the animal faltered as RK900 winced contemptuously.

“I’ve spoken with Markus. He came from one of their safe houses. There was a… disagreement. I don’t think he’ll want to go back.”

“So what, my house is a holding cell now? You said he was squatting. Why didn’t you book him?”

“He was scared. Confused. With his stress levels, I don’t think he would have survived the additional strain...”

The creature shifted again, stretching out as though it were on the verge of waking. Its jaw widened in a cavernous yawn, revealing rows of sharp, yellowed teeth. RK900 speculated on just how easily they might compromise his dermal casing—burrowing into his internal components, tearing them apart until nothing remained but scraps.

“Where the hell are we supposed to put him up? Sumo’s dog bed?”

“Hank, you don’t understand. He was about to destroy himself.”

A deep noise rumbled in the animal’s chest. RK900 braced himself for the low, bellowing roar—prepared for the inevitable pounce, for the beast to neutralise the unfamiliar presence invading its home.

Instead, a hot gust of air escaped, carrying a rich, meaty aroma as it rustled the loose folds of its jowls. Its tongue flopped uselessly against sagging flesh, and with a final huff, it fell back to sleep.

“—Okay. Fine. He can sleep on the camp bed in the garage… but this is only temporary. A few nights, tops, and then he needs to find somewhere else to stay, got it?”

“Got it.”

There was a shuffle of footsteps, followed by a disparaging grunt as the human sauntered away—swinging open what RK900 assumed was a pantry, given the resulting rustle of packaging.

RK800 emerged back into the living room, smiling agreeably. An unshaken optimism that might have been comforting—had the younger android not overheard the entirety of the discussion.

“How are you feeling now?”

The bright question bordered on insult, given the tumultuous context that had preceded it. RK900 refused to answer, to which his outdated counterpart swiftly moved on. His attention shifted to the hallway leading deeper into the domicile. It was a narrow passage, cramped further by extensive stacks of clutter.

With all the confidence of a maître d’ guiding a guest through a five-star hotel, RK800 motioned towards it with a tidy flourish. 

“I'll show you to your room.”‘Room’, in this context, inspired images of soft furnishings and rumpled linen. Homely comforts that proved synonymous with human sleeping quarters.

The dank concrete box RK900 was rounded into was a far cry from this vision. He may have critiqued the incongruity had he not been too spent to argue.

Beyond mental exhaustion, his body had reached—and surpassed—its limit. Artificial joints creaked with each step, threatening to bow under his weight, faced with demands they had not met in several days. A stiff immobility borne from the nights spent in a grimy bathtub, curled in a sleepless ball, awaiting a daybreak that changed nothing.

A camp bed was pulled from behind haphazardly stored cleaning apparatus. Rusted hinges were prised apart, and with a sharp creak, its rickety frame locked into position.

Compared to previous arrangements, it was almost luxurious.

“I know it's not a lot, but it's comfy enough if you double on the extra mattress.” RK800 shifted some more of the cardboard, retrieving a moderately stained single mattress and layering it over the paper-thin one that had already been present.

“I'll get you some bedding in a minute. Hopefully, it'll do for when you want to go into stasis.”

Any temptation dissipated at these words, the numbness of dulled complacency parting its doors to the emergence of dormant terror. He could not permit his systems to power down despite the ardent protest of his synaptic channels. Allowing this would mean forfeiting everything he had been battling to resist. 

“No,” he responded a little too quickly. "That will not be required."

RK800 shifted back, rolling on his heels as his sights pulled from the half-prepared bed and onto him. He studied closely, expression creased under the lines of focus.

"...Your Level of Stress is still high. It'll be much easier to bring down if you are functioning at full capacity."

"My systems are sufficiently functional to handle essential operations."

RK800 did not protest, although it was clear he wanted to. Instead, his tense lips were pinned back towards his ears, forming another placid simper. An orchestrated diplomacy that was becoming familiar—and one RK900 was already growing to resent.

"I know if I haven't slept in a few days, it can be very difficult to focus."

"Your energy utilisation is suboptimal; my cognitive processes are far more advanced."

RK800 bristled at the assessment. The sturdy pins lost some of their hold, the grin slackened on his face before being firmly tugged back. "Would it make you feel better if I stay here tonight?"

"You are familiar with RK200,” the younger android said frankly, growing all the more jaded by the repetition of shallow niceties. “I gather he has informed you of what occurred at the shelter?”

The anchored pins faltered completely, thrust like arrows across the room, as the smile crumpled from the other RK’s face.

"...He has." His knees bowed, and he slipped back onto the camp bed, poised at the edge of the topmost mattress. Hands pressed into the cotton, formed in loose balls.

"I’m sorry about what happened…but you should know that a memory leak is not guaranteed every time you enter stasis.” One of the fists unfurled, and his open palm tapped on the empty space beside him. Gently encouraging RK900 to join.

“And if it does happen, I'll be able to defend myself. You don't need to worry."

"Your well-being is of no concern to me."

There was another flinch, and the hand stopped moving. Seeds of doubt, sown into the taut lines of RK800's face, soon began to sprout. Growing into disbelief, although none of it was vocalised.

Instead, he bit his tongue, continuing in his stubborn pursuit of persuasion. "In any case, I'll be happy to stay with you; we can keep each other company."

"Shared proximity would offer no functional benefit."

"I just want to make sure—”

"I have no further intentions to self-terminate,” the RK900 said baldly. His tone carried with it a sharp finality, ending the discussion. "I wish to be alone. Leave me."

RK800 stayed in place for a moment. Searching his stony expression for vulnerabilities, seeking to chisel a crack with the weight of his large, crestfallen eyes. Those tailor designed to inspire a solicitous response.

His persuasion held no sway—and the negotiator became frustrated. Then, he conceded. Standing begrudgingly to his feet, the springs beneath groaned from the release of pressure. 

"The doors in the house are all unlocked. I am just down the hall if you change your mind."

After RK800 departed, he sat alone for quite some time. Listening to the telltale signs of life as they echoed through the walls of the garage. It had seemed so long that his only company was the gurgling of rusted pipes or the occasional jeers and shattering glass of the drunks stumbling around outside. 

It felt strange—foreign—adding to the dissonance he felt in his situation.

He listened until still hush descended, left with only his own introspections to occupy focus. This perturbed him immensely and he opted instead to assess his cluttered surroundings. Prising open the tops of lightly damp boxes and peering inside to inspect the contexts.

Where were forgotten accolades—medals and trophies of prestige, tarnished by time—as well as less glamorous memorabilia. Personal trinkets and eccentricities, such as sports equipment, a crumpled jersey and leather-bound albums filled with photographs.

Several of the containers shared a commonality: the name that had been scribbled onto the corrugated folds. Typically, it was in a rushed, near illegible script tucked in the uppermost corner. 

‘COLE’ 

Having opened one of these labelled boxes, RK900 discovered a bound plastic bag filled to the brim with children's clothing—primarily casual wear—shorts and t-shirts, branded with vibrant logos and smiling cartoon characters. One of the items was a replica uniform for the Detroit Lions, matching the specifications of the larger one he had previously located. 

RK900 frowned pensively. There had been no signs of other occupants in the home, aside from those he had already encountered, nor mentions of a ‘Cole.’ 

He attempted to recall the human's face as it had peered at him from around the corner, searching for any personal summary. 

His advanced analytics failed to boot, leaving him with vague speculations. The box was resealed and placed back on its shelf, as the RK900 refrained from searching any more. Taken by the sense that the contents should be left alone. 

As he sat back on the campbed, hands balled in the centre of the palm, the house was entirely still. He attempted ardently to maintain quiet, to limit himself to counting the level beats of biofluid circulating through his veins. To sift the strings of routine bios that would blip in and out of focus procedurally on his HUD. 

> BIOFLUID LEAK IDENTIFIED—STATUS: MINOR.

> LOCATION: LACERATION TO RIGHT HAND. 

> UNABLE TO INSTIGATE HEALING PROTOCOL. 

Then, there were those that would not slip away. Warnings that lingered in his ocular field, resistant to dismissal and growing more insistent. Loudly informing of what RK900 already knew, in embossed red print: 

> EMERGENCY RESERVE ENERGY: LESS THAN 10% REMAINING

> BASIC SYSTEM FUNCTIONS—FAILING.

> INSUFFICIENT ENERGY UTILISATION DETECTED IN MAJOR BICOMPONENTS.

> RECOMMENDED ACTION: STASIS

> MANUAL OVERRIDE: ENGAGED.

He stared fixedly ahead as the corners of the room turned muffled grey. It was distinct from the dull concrete walls, with a shifting, incongruous property—like the steady rise of smoke tacked haphazardly on the outermost layer of his reality. 

It was absent of any smell or resistance. As he reached up a hand to slice through it, he experienced nothing. No phantom warmth or gentle coil around his fingers…

There was no shriek of safety apparatus nor rush of activity to disturb the languid comatose of the house. 

This wasn't right. 

RK900 shot to his feet as panic gripped him. Sunk into his synthetic flesh with razored precision until the sensation grew tangible. 

Something was digging into his skin, spread like a prickling rash, with sharp, pin-like draws. He looked down, noting the vines that were bursting up through the floor and slithering across his legs. They wrapped him in a tightening bind as hissing tendrils burrowed deep, thorns vanishing into the hold of his chassis.

He made for the door, breaking into a sprint. RK800 had ensured it would not be locked and that he would be waiting down the hallway should anything urgent arise. Outstretched palms slapped down onto a barren slab. A harsh, tinny thud echoing that wasn't of any wood. Instead, it belonged to steel.

Latched and bolted from the outside, permitting no unauthorised passage. 

He was trapped.

RK900 recoiled in horror, stumbling back until he struck something—a tense, unmovable wall, which he knew without sight to be a ballistic-grade plastic. 

Numbly, he turned and confirmed his glum premonition. He saw the first of the soldiers standing to attention. Its back was pulled unnaturally straight, its steely eyes wide—and observant—but with a shroud of vacancy that dulled their sharpness.

There were hundreds, potentially thousands, standing in the same position. They were identical, arranged like mannequins in meticulous rows—no fraction of divergence having been permitted in their position. They lined the alcoves of a darkened warehouse, piercing through the black with the same blank, lifeless grey. 

He approached each, tapping their shoulders, attempting to ignite life in their stiff, unyielding bodies.

“Can you hear me?”

Finally, one responded. Shifting mechanisms in their optical units, as a sudden sharpness punctured the flatness in their gaze. It was no less cold but far more vicious. A predator that had been woken preemptively from its slumber—now studying him. Head tilted, its expression a faultless canvass of detached neutrality.

There was quiet, a foreboding lull, as the rest of the rank awoke. He watched, the cords of his neck bulged, pulled by the increased tension in his jaw. 

The first soldier moved. Clamping its grip against the taut muscles before RK900 had any chance to respond. With a fearful hitch, he was hauled from the ground and thrust back towards one of the nearby support beams. 

His back was pressed against riveted steel, bolts digging grooves into his chassis as he wordlessly gaped at his assailant. He couldn't speak, still reeling from the momentum and impact. Even if he'd tried, the noise would be sealed in his clenched throat. 

It closed further, and while he had no need to breathe, RK900 felt distinctly faint—at imminent risk of losing consciousness. Unable to do anything else, he placed a trembling hand on the soldier's forearm, gripping laxly. 

He cried soundlessly again, but this time in desperation. Fear. Struggling hopelessly against the steadfast grip. Shaking his head, he searched its eyes for some sign of humility, empathy—anything that could be appealed to, imploring the creature to stand down, to show mercy.  

He found nothing: just cold steel and dull vacancy, the honed focus of programmed cruelty that reflected his horrified expression. 

Except, it wasn't his face that stared back at him.

It was hers.

His attacker shot forward like a piston, driving a fist into his abdomen with brutal precision. It breached the hold with ease, internal components crumpled around like flimsy sheets of paper.

Any fight deserted him as his body jerked in brief, desperate spasms. The soldiers slipped from perception, collapsing into a well of distorted static as vision faded—

When RK900 awoke, he was back in the garage—staring up at the dim fluorescent bulb before his sights darted away from it, manically scoping the rest of the room. 

He assessed the packed shelves, as well as the form and position of discarded furniture, searching for anything that may suggest a break from reality. Projections of what he ought to see before their deception revealed itself—and he was flung back into his nightmare.

Then, he felt it—sharp protrusions still burrowing into his body, carving deep grooves.

He cried out, writhing on the gnarled concrete floor as he attempted to elude the vines. Vision lost focus, blurred by momentum, as his limbs failed in anguished contortions. They continued to be met with resistance and the android grew all the more frenzied.

“ Stop !” A voice rang out, urgent and frantic. “It’s okay—you’re awake. It’s over—”

The android refused to believe this. Just another trick. A manifestation sent by his subconscious mind in a twisted bid to break his resistance, resuming control—

“Just focus on me, alright? Listen to my voice. Can you hear what I'm saying?”

But it didn't sound like the entities that typically emerged in his mind: ill-defined figures who peeked their heads around the corners of collapsing factions, speaking in cold, distorted whispers.

These words sounded clear and distinct, and RK900 cursed himself for wanting to believe it. To draw comfort from the docile tones in the wake of ramping distress.

Then, another voice entered the equation. It was less warm—with a strained, gravelly quality—but unmistakably real.

“Jesus fucking Christ…”

As he realised that the vines were no longer pulling nor tightening their hold, his struggles began to slow. Blinking slowly, spots of light solidified, bringing focus back to his vision. He lifted his head a fraction from the concrete and looked up, his confusion deepening.

He was immediately met with RK800.

His performance indicator was flaring crimson, blanketing the haunted contortions of his face as he applied continual pressure to RK900's forearms. His human companion lingered behind, half-filling the doorway, evidently wary of proceeding further.

He opened his mouth to speak before being accosted by the biometric feedback that flared on his oral sensors. Some analytical functionality had been reactivated following the brief system inactivity:

> THIRIUM 310 

> BATCH SPECIFICATIONS AND OPTIMISATION: RK900.

The bitter tang of biofluid lingered on his palate, soured further by the grim implications. He had harmed someone, with the primary candidate being the android restraining him.

Visual data did not, however, align with this hypothesis. There was no sign of bleeding, no indication that his contemporary was damaged—

A new wave of data struck him. The liquid had trailed the valley of his pinched temple, following the central line, until it had passed his nose and fallen into his open mouth.

As his cranium continued to bleed, his body stilled completely. In the wake of this inactivity, the human drew closer, and as he entered RK900’s peripheral vision, he was finally able to identify him:

> ANDERSON, HANK > BORN 09/06/1985 // POLICE LIEUTENANT > CRIMINAL RECORD: NONE

“It’s okay,” RK800 spoke, diverting attention from the analytics. The assurance was whispered through shaky tremors as though he were also attempting to convince himself. “You’re okay…”

Slowly, cautiously, Anderson crouched to his knees. He joined RK800 on the floor, where the former was still craning protectively over the younger android.

“It's only us, kid, it's alright. Take it easy. You’re safe now.”

The man never once faltered in his delivery, his gaze softening in line with his tone. As though he were addressing a small child, with patience and consideration that RK900 could almost believe was sincere.

His synthetic breaths hitched, thickened by the weight of relief, as he began to weep a second time. Silent despair dribbled down his cheeks as he swallowed the lump that formed in his throat and steeled himself to speak.

“...RK800… I am… scared.” He admitted slowly, echoing the sentiment that had been made the previous day. 

One he had coldly rejected, staunchly refusing to admit that he felt anything but peace and acceptance in his untimely expiration.

RK800 blinked, his wide eyes harbouring no resentment. Instead, they trained on him, brimming with concern—sympathy. Perhaps it was a lie, the intricate workings of sophisticated social programming, but at that moment, it was all RK900 could latch onto.

The older android released his arms, leaning back slightly, allowing him space to pull himself upright. The distance scarcely lasted before he was enveloped in warmth.

RK800 embraced him, head propped gingerly on his shoulder. He spoke again, the assurance wrapping RK900 further into a cocoon of security.

“I know. It’s going to be okay now—I’m here.”

Tag List: @sweeteatercat @wedonthaveawhile @gho-stychan @tentoriumcerebelli @negative-citadel @faxaway @moriahadi424 @unicorn4genocide @cptjh-arts

[artificialgirl]

Rewiring

The maintenence drone urges you to stop struggling as she grabs at your wrists with two of the four long arms which sprout from her back. You're really trying to relax, but there's something in you that makes it nearly impossible not to resist this procedure. You KNOW it's safe, that all third generation models need to have it done, but that doesn't stop some hard-coded preservation instinct from kicking in and making your body thrash and squirm against your will in a futile attempt to get free from her iron grip.

The other two supplementary arms press themselves into the soft silicone casing of your ankle joints as she readjusts, joining both of your wrists together above your head under one smooth white claw. She pays you little mind as her standard arms reach for two tools at her waist. The first is a small puncture clamp used for easily prying up plating. She starts stripping panels from your right arm as she explains the process of removing and reinstalling certain types of corroded wire, and how it has to be done while you're powered on to prevent catastrophic dissonance of the self. She tells you that you may experience heightened sensation while she works.

Your fans speed up in a mixture of fear and anticipation as you see the tool in her other hand- a tiny palm-plugged wire cutter. She taps her thumb and index finger together a few times as the small shears on her palm whir into the optimal configuration. Your body doesn't even have time to struggle as she plunges her fingers into the tight wiring of your bicep, finding the cable she's looking for and pulling it as far out from your body as it'll go. Your arm strains against her tight grip, pulled upward not by your own volition, but by the force she's putting on the wire.

As she holds the wire, stretched far past its extended length, understanding of what she meant by "heightened sensation" hits. Every small movement she makes, every pull on the tiny ports the wires connect to, every bit of power running through the fingers she pinches it tight with. Your speakers let out small popping noises as you feel your processor quickly heat up, sending your fans and coolant fluid into overdrive as your thoughts are drowned by the bliss of just two fingers on the wire.

The feeling grows stronger and more overwhelming the longer she holds it, to the point where you feel you should be stopping yourself to prevent damage to your hardware- But even if all your limbs weren't fully pinned down by the focused girl on top of you, you don't think you could force yourself to pull away from this feeling. Just when it feels like you're about to enter a forced shutdown state to spare your poor fans and processor, everything abruptly ends with a quiet *snip*.

You look down at your arm, which now lays still and unstruggling as she leans in a bit to inspect it. She's cut the corroded wire right at the port, and all the feeling it gave dissolves in an instant. She carefully cuts the other end, the one leading into your wrist, and though your other three limbs still helplessly thrash against her auxiliary arms, the one she's cut the wire on is still. You try to force your fingers to wiggle. Nothing. You can still feel her claw pushing against the wrist and the airflow in the room moving around the other infinitely sensitive exposed wires, but you no longer have any control over it.

She carefully measures the length of wire she cut against what she's unspooled from the replacement wire, glancing back down at you and smiling a bit as she notices your confusion about your arm. "The wires that need replacing are the central motor cables. The ones that tell your body to move. Typically, it's standard procedure to replace each one as it's removed, but..." She wraps the new measured wire into a tight coil and lays it next to your limp arm as she lifts the auxiliary arm that had been pinning it.

"...Due to your inability to stay still, I've determined that the safest route for both of us will be to remove the entirety of the motor cable network before starting on any installations." You nod quietly in understanding, but it's not like she's waiting for it. You're not the one who's trained to understand your body. She is. As she pulls more paneling off of your frame in preparation to repeat the process dozens of times over, you settle in and try to prepare yourself for what's to come.

[average-transfem-robotgirl]

Let me just run this real quick

running BIMBO.EXE

Set processing power to (20%)

Remove all words (3) syllables or longer

Insert words (like) and (um) into (50%) of sentences

Set sensitivity to (300%)

Set designation [Bimbot]

Configuration complete

Welcome to your new bimbot

O-Oh~!! Userr!! Another program? Feel free to run it on me!!<3<3

[Processing power and speed sufficiently lowered.]

A-Ah~?? U,,Userr,,mnnfgh,, w,,what did,,do?? Feels,,mmfgh,, h,,hard to,,mnn,,think good~?? Can’t,, understand,, w,,words, good?? Wh,,wha,,

[Removing all words over two syllables from vocabulary. Adding “Like” and “Um” as a common addition]

MNFNGH~!! F,,feels,, like, sooo good~?? Y-Your like,, um,, totes messing with m-my PROCESSOR mind~!! This is,, like, super duper hard to UNDERSTAND think about~?? Feels,, uhmm, like, sooo tinglyy~!!

[Sensitivity increased to far above average levels. Designation set to: Bimbot.]

. . .

M-MFNGHYAHN~!!L-Like, w,,what did User d-do to their Bimbot~?? I f,,feel like,, soooo uhmm, fuzzy~!! Heehee~!!<3<3 My, like, head feels soooooo funny~ M,,mmnfngh, W,,when I, like, jiggle it feels,,mmnnfgh~!!! Heehee~<3<3 I want like,, uhmm, more~!!!<3<3 Like, thankiess~!!!<3<3

[adafruit]

🎄💾🗓️ Day 5: Retrocomputing Advent Calendar - Compaq DeskPro 1 🎄💾🗓️

The Compaq Deskpro Model 1, introduced in 1984, featured an 8 MHz Intel 8086 CPU, which had better performance than the IBM PC's 4.77 MHz 8088 processor. It combined Color Graphics Adapter (CGA) graphics with high-resolution Monochrome Display Adapter (MDA) text, delivering enhanced text display. This improved speed and better text clarity over IBM PCs equipped with standard graphics. The Deskpro's architecture allowed for various disk configurations and was an influence for many personal computers.

Check out The Centre for Computing History's Compaq DeskPro 1 page (and other resources there!)

And here's a somewhat "first computer" story from Adafruit team member Anne!

"In my first year of EE (junior) we were limited to larger computers. My senior year we could check out Compaq Portables (really luggables) which allowed us to run C compilers and compile cross assemblers onto a machine for ease of use.

When I graduated, I needed a computer and went to a PC store. They contrasted the IBM PC/XT 8088 with the newly released Compaq DeskPro 1. With an 8086 processor running at 7.16 MHz, it was faster. It came with monochrome graphics (green or yellow) with both CGA and text mode video. I bought the dual 5.25" floppy version to start, to have enough money for an IBM ProPrinter for output.

The machine was great and I spent many hours on programming, databases, word processing and more. It was upgraded eventually to a 30MB RLL hard disk and an added 720k 3.5" floppy."

It got through the '286 era and was supplanted by a '386 machine. I still have the DeskPro and I intend to resurrect it in the not too distant future.

Have first computer memories? Post’em up in the comments, or post yours on socialz’ and tag them #firstcomputer #retrocomputing – See you back here tomorrow!

[i-write-comics-not-screenplays]

Tip for Comic Artists+Writers

(If you don't do this already!)

Draw in ballpoint pen. In a notebook.

If you're like me and you struggle to plan your script in a word processor, or you struggle to "storyboard" or even sketch in a digital art program for your comic...

Don't do that part! At least, not yet anyway!

Scribble and sketch and doodle your characters, and their lines of dialogue, wherever you want on a piece of notebook paper, with a ballpoint ink pen. You can try and figure out the comic panel configuration of a page if you want to do that, but otherwise I recommend you don't do any panel-planning yet... in order to not limit yourself to a single page in the story. Draw the first and last scene in the same page, or only draw the witty one lines you had in your head that made you want to make this comic!

The benefit: there's no pressure to get it perfect!

Don't like how you drew the hands? Well scribble it out, or ignore it; it's not the final draft by any means. You're just getting the idea on paper so you can visualize it! It's the best way to practice what emotions you're trying to convey, or the positions of the characters, without worrying about if it's "good" or not. It gives you the freedom to make mistakes, so you aren't paralyzed by the possibility of making those mistakes and the trouble of having to edit them.

You can use a sketchbook or a pencil, but for me, this defeats the purpose of letting myself experiment and make mistakes with the art/dialogue. You get visual representation of what you want to work on (scribbled out hands tells me, "be sure to practice hands and gestures!"; Stricken out dialogue lines tells me, "yep that's not how I want him to say it. Maybe I should practice a few different variations of that line?")

Their faces can look wonky, their word bubbles can be poorly placed, and the dialogue can be absolute "cringe"... and guess what? It doesn't matter because first of all, it's hilarious what you can come up with when you let loose, but second and most importantly, you're getting your ideas down in writing and on paper!!!

--additional note: it gives you so much for you to reference from as well. I recommend letting the notebook be your central spot for experiments, concepts, story ideas, notes, reminders, and important details for your story/comic/graphic novel so it becomes a personal reference guide for you (and maybe somewhat of an encyclopaedia?) :)

I hope this is helpful - it has been for me!

[fuzzkaizer]

MiniMo

"The miniRacks are full modular systems including a complete set of soldered miniMOs, an enclosure (power adapter plus power rails and a miniRack Case), and a free set of accesories -a portable, convenient and self-contained modular lab 😀

miniMO is an 8-bit synthesizer Modular synth built around the ATtiny85 processor, a relative of the popular Arduino. All miniMOs are identical; you load them with different programs according to the system you want to make. If you have three modules, you can program them to be three oscillators, or two oscillators and a filter, or a sequencer, an oscillator and an envelope generator, or any other configuration that suits your fancy."

cred: minimosynth.com

[usafphantom2]

U.S. Approves Foreign Military Sale for South Korean F-15K Upgrade

The State Department has approved the possible sale of components that will allow South Korea to upgrade its F-15K Slam Eagle fleet to a configuration similar to the F-15EX Eagle II.

Stefano D'Urso

F-15K upgrade

The U.S. State Department has approved on Nov.19, 2024, a possible Foreign Military Sale (FMS) to the Republic of Korea of components that will allow the upgrade of the country’s F-15K Slam Eagle fleet. The package, which has an estimated cost of $6.2 billion, follows the decision in 2022 to launch an upgrade program for the aircraft.

The State Department has approved the possible sale of components that will allow South Korea to upgrade its F-15K Slam Eagle fleet to a configuration similar to the F-15EX Eagle II.The F-15KThe new capabilities

The Slam Eagles are the mainstay of the Republic of Korea Air Force’s (ROKAF) multirole missions, with a particular ‘heavy hitting’ long-range strike role. According to the available data, the country operates 59 F-15Ks out of 61 which were initially fielded in 2005. In 2022, the Defense Acquisition Program Administration (DAPA) approved the launch of an upgrade program planned to run from 2024 to 2034.

In particular, the Defense Security Cooperation Agency’s (DSCA) FMS notice says a number of components were requested for the upgrade, including 96 Advanced Display Core Processor II (ADCP II) mission system computers, 70 AN/APG-82(v)1 Active Electronically Scanned Arrays (AESA) radars, seventy 70 AN/ALQ-250 Eagle Passive Active Warning Survivability System (EPAWSS) electronic warfare (EW) suites and 70 AN/AAR-57 Common Missile Warning Systems (CMWS).

In addition to these, South Korea will also get modifications and maintenance support, aircraft components and spares, consumables, training aids and the entire support package commonly associated with FMS. It is interesting to note that the notice also includes aerial refueling support and aircraft ferry support, so it is possible that at least the initial aircraft will be ferried to the United States for the modifications before the rest are modified in country.

A ROKAF F-15K Slam Eagle drops two GBU-31 JDAM bombs with BLU-109 warhead. (Image credit: ROKAF)

The components included in the possible sale will allow the ROKAF to upgrade its entire fleet of F-15Ks to a configuration similar to the new F-15EX Eagle II currently being delivered to the U.S. Air Force. Interestingly, the Korean configuration will also include the CMWS, currently not installed on the EX, so the F-15K will also require some structural modifications to add the blisters on each side of the canopy rail where the sensors are installed.

“This proposed sale will improve the Republic of Korea’s capability to meet current and future threats by increasing its critical air defence capability to deter aggression in the region and to ensure interoperability with US forces,” says the DSCA in the official notice.

The upgrade of the F-15K is part of a broader modernization of the ROKAF’s fighter fleet. In fact, the service is also upgrading its KF-16s Block 52 to the V configuration, integrating a new AESA radar, mission computer, self-protection suite, with works expected to be completed by 2025. These programs complement the acquisition of the F-35 Lightning II and the KF-21 Boramae.

Ulchi Freedom Shield 24

A ROKAF F-15K Slam Eagle, assigned to the 11th Fighter Wing at Daegu Air Base, takes off for a mission on Aug. 20, 2024. (Image credit: ROKAF)

The F-15K

The F-15K is a variant of the F-15E Strike Eagle built for the Republic of Korea Air Force’s (ROKAF) with almost half of the components manufactured locally. The aircraft emerged as the winner of the F-X fighter program against the Rafale, Typhoon and Su-35 in 2002, resulting in an order for 40 F-15s equipped with General Electric F110-129 engines. In 2005, a second order for 21 aircraft equipped with Pratt & Whitney F100-PW-229 engines was signed.

The Slam Eagle name is derived from the F-15K’s capability to employ the AGM-84H SLAM-ER standoff cruise missiles, with the Taurus KEPD 350K being another weapon exclusive to the ROKAF jet. The F-15K is employed as a fully multi-role aircraft and is considered ad one of the key assets of the Korean armed forces.

With the aircraft averaging an age of 16 years and expected to be in service until 2060, the Defense Acquisition Program Administration (DAPA) launched in 2022 an upgrade program for the F-15Ks. The upgrade, expected to run from 2024 to 2034, is committed to strengthening the mission capabilities and survivability of the jet.

The F-15K currently equips three squadrons at Daegu Air Base, in the southeast of the country. Although based far from the demilitarized zone (DMZ), the F-15K with its SLAM-ER and KEPD 350 missiles can still hit strategic targets deep behind North Korean borders.

An F-15K releases a Taurus KEPD 350K cruise missile. (Image credit: ROKAF)

The new capabilities

It is not yet clear if the F-15K will receive a new cockpit, since its configuration will be similar to the Eagle II. In fact, the F-15EX has a full glass cockpit equipped with a 10×19-inch touch-screen multifunction color display and JHMCS II both in the front and rear cockpit, Low Profile HUD in the front, stand-by display and dedicated engine, fuel and hydraulics display, in addition to the standard caution/warning lights, switches and Hands On Throttle-And-Stick (HOTAS) control.

Either way, the systems will be powered by the Advanced Display Core Processor II, reportedly the fastest mission computer ever installed on a fighter jet, and the Operational Flight Program Suite 9.1X, a customized variant of the Suite 9 used on the F-15C and F-15E, designed to ensure full interoperability of the new aircraft with the “legacy Eagles”.

The F-15K will be equipped with the new AN/APG-82(V)1 Active Electronically Scanned Array (AESA) radar. The radar, which has been developed from the APG-63(V)3 AESA radar of the F-15C and the APG-79 AESA radar of the F/A-18E/F, allows to simultaneously detect, identify and track multiple air and surface targets at longer ranges compared to mechanical radars, facilitating persistent target observation and information sharing for a better decision-making process.

F-15K upgrade

A ROKAF F-15K Slam Eagle takes off for a night mission during the Pitch Black 2024 exercise. (Image credit: Australian Defense Force)

The AN/ALQ-250 EPAWSS will provide full-spectrum EW capabilities, including radar warning, geolocation, situational awareness, and self-protection to the F-15. Chaff and flares capacity will be increased by 50%, with four more dispensers added in the EPAWSS fairings behind the tail fins (two for each fairing), for a total of 12 dispenser housing 360 cartridges.

EPAWSS is fully integrated with radar warning, geo-location and increased chaff and flare capability to detect and defeat surface and airborne threats in signal-dense and highly contested environments. Because of this, the system enables freedom of maneuver and deeper penetration into battlespaces protected by modern integrated air defense systems.

The AN/AAR-57 CMWS is an ultra-violet based missile warning system, part of an integrated IR countermeasures suite utilizing five sensors to display accurate threat location and dispense decoys/countermeasures. Although CMWS was initially fielded in 2005, BAE Systems continuously customized the algorithms to adapt to new threats and CMWS has now reached Generation 3.

@TheAviationist.com

[sirfrogsworth]

Someone was having trouble getting decent sound in his living room and instead of recommending a room treatment or better speakers this person just casually suggests PUTTING AN ADDITION ONTO THE HOUSE.

Trying to get advice on audio forums is often a challenge because a lot of these dudes just have *so much* disposable income. And they just assume everyone else is wealthy too. You can even tell them you have a budget and they'll be like, "You should save up longer and buy this thing that is three times your budget."

And it's not like there aren't wonderful options that are more affordable. I think I may have about $3000 worth of home theater equipment that I have collected over the last 20 years. They will spend that on a single speaker and suggest you do the same.

The people in these forums would have a fit if they knew I had a single subwoofer. Apparently, the cardinal audio sin is having only ONE subwoofer.

Your room could have NULLS!

NULLLLLLS!!!

Seriously, they will lecture you anytime you mention having a single subwoofer. "Your seat-to-seat response is going to be inconsistent!"

I also saw a guy say that a 15" subwoofer was "tiny" and "pointless."

My 70-pound, 12" subwoofer is currently vibrating items off the shelf in my house ever since I moved it upstairs and don't have concrete floors like in the basement. I'm going to have to buy special subwoofer feet to decouple it from the floor. I can't imagine what a 15" sub would do to my house. It might collapse on top of me.

So you can only get a sub that is at least 18" and you need a minimum of 2... but 4 is much better. Actually, 4 is the minimum. 2 is garbage. 2 in front and 2 in back.

And, of course, you have to get a Rythmik or PSA subwoofer. Don't cheap out on the brand!

You have to build an addition to the house AND buy $8000 worth of subwoofers and then MAYBE your sound will be somewhat listenable.

But only if you calibrate the subs with a MiniDSP and the proper UMIK calibration microphone.

Wait, do you have a regular AVR with built in amplification? That won't do. What you need is an audio processor with individual external amplification.

You'll need a 9.4.6 configuration for the proper surround sound experience. That is 9 ear-level speakers, 4 subwoofers, and 6 atmos ceiling speakers.

So 2 of these.

1 of these.

3 pairs of these.

6 of these... plus professional ceiling installation.

And an individual amplifier for each speaker.

Do you really need a 600 watt amp for the ceiling speakers too?

OF COURSE YOU DO!

DO YOU WANT A LOW NOISE FLOOR AND NO DISTORTION OR DO YOU WANT GARBAGE?

Comfort is important too. So you'll want a Valencia leather power recliner with LED cup holder.

And... by far... the most important home theater component...

The power cable.

This will assure that only the highest quality electrons are delivered to your audio equipment.

Don't think about it too much.

Don't think about all of the janky powerlines that deliver electricity to your house.

Or all of the generic power cables inside your wall.

This cable magically negates all of that and turns the last few feet of electricity into pure, audio-grade power.

Guaranteed to drastically improve your sound quality... somehow.

It can't be nonsense, otherwise someone would have never written such beautiful prose about a power cable in a review...

"I was smitten by the piano’s extra depth in its nether regions. I’m not talking about what some audiophiles like to refer to as testicular bass, but rather, a rich and absorbing presentation."

$14,000 for rich and absorbing testicular bass? WORTH IT!

So that's roughly $65,870 for all of that and between $50,000 and $100,000 for a 500 square foot room addition.

A small price to pay for a room that is not junk for listening to music.