#Data Capture Devices

[rashmash2]

Understanding Handheld Scanners: Complete Guide

Learn all about handheld scanners, their uses, types, and benefits in this comprehensive guide. Discover how these devices can streamline data capture.

[jcmarchi]

Interactive mouthpiece opens new opportunities for health data, assistive technology, and hands-free interactions

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/interactive-mouthpiece-opens-new-opportunities-for-health-data-assistive-technology-and-hands-free-interactions/

Interactive mouthpiece opens new opportunities for health data, assistive technology, and hands-free interactions

When you think about hands-free devices, you might picture Alexa and other voice-activated in-home assistants, Bluetooth earpieces, or asking Siri to make a phone call in your car. You might not imagine using your mouth to communicate with other devices like a computer or a phone remotely. 

Thinking outside the box, MIT Computer Science and Artificial Intelligence Laboratory (CSAIL) and Aarhus University researchers have now engineered “MouthIO,” a dental brace that can be fabricated with sensors and feedback components to capture in-mouth interactions and data. This interactive wearable could eventually assist dentists and other doctors with collecting health data and help motor-impaired individuals interact with a phone, computer, or fitness tracker using their mouths.

Resembling an electronic retainer, MouthIO is a see-through brace that fits the specifications of your upper or lower set of teeth from a scan. The researchers created a plugin for the modeling software Blender to help users tailor the device to fit a dental scan, where you can then 3D print your design in dental resin. This computer-aided design tool allows users to digitally customize a panel (called PCB housing) on the side to integrate electronic components like batteries, sensors (including detectors for temperature and acceleration, as well as tongue-touch sensors), and actuators (like vibration motors and LEDs for feedback). You can also place small electronics outside of the PCB housing on individual teeth.

Play video

MouthIO: Fabricating Customizable Oral User Interfaces with Integrated Sensing and Actuation Video: MIT CSAIL

The active mouth

“The mouth is a really interesting place for an interactive wearable and can open up many opportunities, but has remained largely unexplored due to its complexity,” says senior author Michael Wessely, a former CSAIL postdoc and senior author on a paper about MouthIO who is now an assistant professor at Aarhus University. “This compact, humid environment has elaborate geometries, making it hard to build a wearable interface to place inside. With MouthIO, though, we’ve developed a new kind of device that’s comfortable, safe, and almost invisible to others. Dentists and other doctors are eager about MouthIO for its potential to provide new health insights, tracking things like teeth grinding and potentially bacteria in your saliva.”

The excitement for MouthIO’s potential in health monitoring stems from initial experiments. The team found that their device could track bruxism (the habit of grinding teeth) by embedding an accelerometer within the brace to track jaw movements. When attached to the lower set of teeth, MouthIO detected when users grind and bite, with the data charted to show how often users did each.

Wessely and his colleagues’ customizable brace could one day help users with motor impairments, too. The team connected small touchpads to MouthIO, helping detect when a user’s tongue taps their teeth. These interactions could be sent via Bluetooth to scroll across a webpage, for example, allowing the tongue to act as a “third hand” to open up a new avenue for hands-free interaction.

“MouthIO is a great example how miniature electronics now allow us to integrate sensing into a broad range of everyday interactions,” says study co-author Stefanie Mueller, the TIBCO Career Development Associate Professor in the MIT departments of Electrical Engineering and Computer Science and Mechanical Engineering and leader of the HCI Engineering Group at CSAIL. “I’m especially excited about the potential to help improve accessibility and track potential health issues among users.”

Molding and making MouthIO

To get a 3D model of your teeth, you can first create a physical impression and fill it with plaster. You can then scan your mold with a mobile app like Polycam and upload that to Blender. Using the researchers’ plugin within this program, you can clean up your dental scan to outline a precise brace design. Finally, you 3D print your digital creation in clear dental resin, where the electronic components can then be soldered on. Users can create a standard brace that covers their teeth, or opt for an “open-bite” design within their Blender plugin. The latter fits more like open-finger gloves, exposing the tips of your teeth, which helps users avoid lisping and talk naturally.

This “do it yourself” method costs roughly $15 to produce and takes two hours to be 3D-printed. MouthIO can also be fabricated with a more expensive, professional-level teeth scanner similar to what dentists and orthodontists use, which is faster and less labor-intensive.

Compared to its closed counterpart, which fully covers your teeth, the researchers view the open-bite design as a more comfortable option. The team preferred to use it for beverage monitoring experiments, where they fabricated a brace capable of alerting users when a drink was too hot. This iteration of MouthIO had a temperature sensor and a monitor embedded within the PCB housing that vibrated when a drink exceeded 65 degrees Celsius (or 149 degrees Fahrenheit). This could help individuals with mouth numbness better understand what they’re consuming.

In a user study, participants also preferred the open-bite version of MouthIO. “We found that our device could be suitable for everyday use in the future,” says study lead author and Aarhus University PhD student Yijing Jiang. “Since the tongue can touch the front teeth in our open-bite design, users don’t have a lisp. This made users feel more comfortable wearing the device during extended periods with breaks, similar to how people use retainers.”

The team’s initial findings indicate that MouthIO is a cost-effective, accessible, and customizable interface, and the team is working on a more long-term study to evaluate its viability further. They’re looking to improve its design, including experimenting with more flexible materials, and placing it in other parts of the mouth, like the cheek and the palate. Among these ideas, the researchers have already prototyped two new designs for MouthIO: a single-sided brace for even higher comfort when wearing MouthIO while also being fully invisible to others, and another fully capable of wireless charging and communication.

Jiang, Mueller, and Wessely’s co-authors include PhD student Julia Kleinau, master’s student Till Max Eckroth, and associate professor Eve Hoggan, all of Aarhus University. Their work was supported by a Novo Nordisk Foundation grant and was presented at ACM’s Symposium on User Interface Software and Technology.

[nasa]

Hubble Space Telescope: Exploring the Cosmos and Making Life Better on Earth

In the 35 years since its launch aboard space shuttle Discovery, the Hubble Space Telescope has provided stunning views of galaxies millions of light years away. But the leaps in technology needed for its look into space has also provided benefits on the ground. Here are some of the technologies developed for Hubble that have improved life on Earth.

Image Sensors Find Cancer

Charge-coupled device (CCD) sensors have been used in digital photography for decades, but Hubble’s Space Telescope Imaging Spectrograph required a far more sensitive CCD. This development resulted in improved image sensors for mammogram machines, helping doctors find and treat breast cancer.

Laser Vision Gives Insights

In preparation for a repair mission to fix Hubble’s misshapen mirror, Goddard Space Flight Center required a way to accurately measure replacement parts. This resulted in a tool to detect mirror defects, which has since been used to develop a commercial 3D imaging system and a package detection device now used by all major shipping companies.

Optimized Hospital Scheduling

A computer scientist who helped design software for scheduling Hubble’s observations adapted it to assist with scheduling medical procedures. This software helps hospitals optimize constantly changing schedules for medical imaging and keep the high pace of emergency rooms going.

Optical Filters Match Wavelengths and Paint Swatches

For Hubble’s main cameras to capture high-quality images of stars and galaxies, each of its filters had to block all but a specific range of wavelengths of light. The filters needed to capture the best data possible but also fit on one optical element. A company contracted to construct these filters used its experience on this project to create filters used in paint-matching devices for hardware stores, with multiple wavelengths evaluated by a single lens.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Heyy, could you maybe do an age difference reader x Toto Wolff or sunshine x grumpy, where he has one of his headphone breaking moments and she scolds him in the middle of the garage? Like I’d find super funny like his smaller, younger wife yelling at him for breaking his headphones and the fans and media eating that up haha. Please and thanks!! <3

The hum of the Mercedes garage was as familiar as it was chaotic, a rhythm of voices, machinery, and focused intensity. Engineers moved swiftly, the clatter of tools punctuating their discussions as mechanics fine-tuned the car for the upcoming race. Amidst the organized chaos, you stood by the monitors, scanning data with a calm focus that contrasted sharply with the frenetic energy around you.

Then it happened.

“Verdammt!” Toto’s voice boomed from the other end of the garage, startling even the most seasoned team members. Heads turned to see him, towering as always, but now radiating frustration. His expression was a storm cloud, and in his hands were the remnants of his latest pair of Bose headphones, the poor device snapped clean in two.

You let out a sigh, half amused, half exasperated. Your husband—the esteemed team principal of Mercedes-AMG Petronas, feared and respected across the paddock—had once again succumbed to his infamous headphone-breaking habit.

“Oh no, not again,” you muttered under your breath. You handed your tablet to a nearby engineer and strode across the garage, weaving through the maze of equipment and personnel. The team parted like the Red Sea as you approached, sensing what was about to unfold.

Toto stood there, oblivious to the audience he had attracted. His broad shoulders heaved as he tried to rein in his temper, the broken headphones dangling from his massive hands. He looked every bit the grumpy giant he was known to be, but to you, it was just another Friday.

“Toto Wolff,” you began, your voice sharp enough to cut through the air. His head snapped up, and his stormy gaze softened—just a little—when it landed on you. But his sheepish expression did nothing to quell your determination.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” you demanded, planting your hands on your hips. Despite being significantly shorter and younger than him, you had no trouble commanding the attention of a man who could intimidate entire boardrooms.

“They broke,” Toto said, as if that explained everything. He held up the shattered headphones as evidence, his Austrian accent thick in his defense.

“Oh, really?” you shot back, sarcasm dripping from your words. “Did they break, or did you break them? Because I’ve lost count of how many pairs you’ve destroyed this season alone. What is it now, five? Six?”

A snicker rippled through the garage, and you caught George trying to suppress a grin from where he stood by the car. Even the media personnel hovering near the entrance couldn’t hide their amusement, cameras clicking furiously to capture the moment.

Toto’s ears turned red, a rare crack in his composed demeanor. “It was… a stressful situation,” he mumbled, looking anywhere but at you.

“Stressful?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “And snapping your headphones in half helps how, exactly? Are you planning to intimidate Red Bull with broken electronics now?”

The garage erupted in laughter, and Toto’s lips twitched, caught between a scowl and a smile. He shifted awkwardly, the 6’4” team principal suddenly looking very much like a schoolboy caught red-handed.

“You need to control your temper, mein Liebling,” you said, softening your tone but not your resolve. “You’re setting a terrible example for the team. And for the record, I’m not buying you another pair. You can use the cheap earbuds like everyone else until you learn some self-restraint.”

Toto’s eyes widened, the horror of your words sinking in. “Not the earbuds,” he said, as if you’d suggested he race barefoot.

“Yes, the earbuds,” you confirmed, folding your arms. “Consider it a lesson in anger management.”

Another wave of laughter rippled through the team, and even Toto couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him. He looked down at you, his eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and affection.

“You’re terrifying when you’re angry,” he said, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“Good,” you replied, poking a finger into his chest. “Maybe you’ll finally listen to me.”

As you turned to walk away, the garage buzzed with whispered commentary and stifled laughs. The moment had been caught by every camera in the vicinity, and you had no doubt it would be all over social media within the hour.

A shadow loomed over you, and you turned to see Toto standing there, an apologetic smile on his face. In his hand was a hastily repaired pair of headphones, held together with duct tape.

“I’ll behave,” he promised, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “No more broken headphones.”

“Good,” you said, giving him a pointed look. “Because next time, it’ll be the earbuds and no kisses for a week.”

He groaned dramatically but nodded, retreating to his post with his makeshift headphones. You shook your head, a fond smile tugging at your lips. He might be a grumpy giant with a penchant for breaking expensive electronics, but he was your grumpy giant. And if keeping him in line meant scolding him in front of the entire team, well, you were more than up to the task.

[reasonsforhope]

"When a severe water shortage hit the Indian city of Kozhikode in the state of Kerala, a group of engineers turned to science fiction to keep the taps running.

Like everyone else in the city, engineering student Swapnil Shrivastav received a ration of two buckets of water a day collected from India’s arsenal of small water towers.

It was a ‘watershed’ moment for Shrivastav, who according to the BBC had won a student competition four years earlier on the subject of tackling water scarcity, and armed with a hypothetical template from the original Star Wars films, Shrivastav and two partners set to work harvesting water from the humid air.

“One element of inspiration was from Star Wars where there’s an air-to-water device. I thought why don’t we give it a try? It was more of a curiosity project,” he told the BBC.

According to ‘Wookiepedia’ a ‘moisture vaporator’ is a device used on moisture farms to capture water from a dry planet’s atmosphere, like Tatooine, where protagonist Luke Skywalker grew up.

This fictional device functions according to Star Wars lore by coaxing moisture from the air by means of refrigerated condensers, which generate low-energy ionization fields. Captured water is then pumped or gravity-directed into a storage cistern that adjusts its pH levels. Vaporators are capable of collecting 1.5 liters of water per day.

Pictured: Moisture vaporators on the largely abandoned Star Wars film set of Mos Espa, in Tunisia

If science fiction authors could come up with the particulars of such a device, Shrivastav must have felt his had a good chance of succeeding. He and colleagues Govinda Balaji and Venkatesh Raja founded Uravu Labs, a Bangalore-based startup in 2019.

Their initial offering is a machine that converts air to water using a liquid desiccant. Absorbing moisture from the air, sunlight or renewable energy heats the desiccant to around 100°F which releases the captured moisture into a chamber where it’s condensed into drinking water.

The whole process takes 12 hours but can produce a staggering 2,000 liters, or about 500 gallons of drinking-quality water per day. [Note: that IS staggering! That's huge!!] Uravu has since had to adjust course due to the cost of manufacturing and running the machines—it’s just too high for civic use with current materials technology.

“We had to shift to commercial consumption applications as they were ready to pay us and it’s a sustainability driver for them,” Shrivastav explained. This pivot has so far been enough to keep the start-up afloat, and they produce water for 40 different hospitality clients.

Looking ahead, Shrivastav, Raja, and Balaji are planning to investigate whether the desiccant can be made more efficient; can it work at a lower temperature to reduce running costs, or is there another material altogether that might prove more cost-effective?

They’re also looking at running their device attached to data centers in a pilot project that would see them utilize the waste heat coming off the centers to heat the desiccant."

-via Good News Network, May 30, 2024

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Holy CRAP the UN Cybercrime Treaty is a nightmare

Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

If there's one thing I learned from all my years as an NGO delegate to UN specialized agencies, it's that UN treaties are dangerous, liable to capture by unholy alliances of authoritarian states and rapacious global capitalists.

Most of my UN work was on copyright and "paracopyright," and my track record was 2:0; I helped kill a terrible treaty (the WIPO Broadcast Treaty) and helped pass a great one (the Marrakesh Treaty on the rights of people with disabilities to access copyrighted works):

https://www.wipo.int/treaties/en/ip/marrakesh/

It's been many years since I had to shave and stuff myself into a suit and tie and go to Geneva, and I don't miss it – and thankfully, I have colleagues who do that work, better than I ever did. Yesterday, I heard from one such EFF colleague, Katitza Rodriguez, about the Cybercrime Treaty, which is about to pass, and which is, to put it mildly, terrifying:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2024/07/un-cybercrime-draft-convention-dangerously-expands-state-surveillance-powers

Look, cybercrime is a real thing, from pig butchering to ransomware, and there's real, global harms that can be attributed to it. Cybercrime is transnational, making it hard for cops in any one jurisdiction to handle it. So there's a reason to think about formal international standards for fighting cybercrime.

But that's not what's in the Cybercrime Treaty.

Here's a quick sketch of the significant defects in the Cybercrime Treaty.

The treaty has an extremely loose definition of cybercrime, and that looseness is deliberate. In authoritarian states like China and Russia (whose delegations are the driving force behind this treaty), "cybercrime" has come to mean "anything the government disfavors, if you do it with a computer." "Cybercrime" can mean online criticism of the government, or professions of religious belief, or material supporting LGBTQ rights.

Nations that sign up to the Cybercrime Treaty will be obliged to help other nations fight "cybercrime" – however those nations define it. They'll be required to provide surveillance data – for example, by forcing online services within their borders to cough up their users' private data, or even to pressure employees to install back-doors in their systems for ongoing monitoring.

These obligations to aid in surveillance are mandatory, but much of the Cybercrime Treaty is optional. What's optional? The human rights safeguards. Member states "should" or "may" create standards for legality, necessity, proportionality, non-discrimination, and legitimate purpose. But even if they do, the treaty can oblige them to assist in surveillance orders that originate with other states that decided not to create these standards.

When that happens, the citizens of the affected states may never find out about it. There are eight articles in the treaty that establish obligations for indefinite secrecy regarding surveillance undertaken on behalf of other signatories. That means that your government may be asked to spy on you and the people you love, they may order employees of tech companies to backdoor your account and devices, and that fact will remain secret forever. Forget challenging these sneak-and-peek orders in court – you won't even know about them:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2024/06/un-cybercrime-draft-convention-blank-check-unchecked-surveillance-abuses

Now here's the kicker: while this treaty creates broad powers to fight things governments dislike, simply by branding them "cybercrime," it actually undermines the fight against cybercrime itself. Most cybercrime involves exploiting security defects in devices and services – think of ransomware attacks – and the Cybercrime Treaty endangers the security researchers who point out these defects, creating grave criminal liability for the people we rely on to warn us when the tech vendors we rely upon have put us at risk.

This is the granddaddy of tech free speech fights. Since the paper tape days, researchers who discovered defects in critical systems have been intimidated, threatened, sued and even imprisoned for blowing the whistle. Tech giants insist that they should have a veto over who can publish true facts about the defects in their products, and dress up this demand as concern over security. "If you tell bad guys about the mistakes we made, they will exploit those bugs and harm our users. You should tell us about those bugs, sure, but only we can decide when it's the right time for our users and customers to find out about them."

When it comes to warnings about the defects in their own products, corporations have an irreconcilable conflict of interest. Time and again, we've seen corporations rationalize their way into suppressing or ignoring bug reports. Sometimes, they simply delay the warning until they've concluded a merger or secured a board vote on executive compensation.

Sometimes, they decide that a bug is really a feature – like when Facebook decided not to do anything about the fact that anyone could enumerate the full membership of any Facebook group (including, for example, members of a support group for people with cancer). This group enumeration bug was actually a part of the company's advertising targeting system, so they decided to let it stand, rather than re-engineer their surveillance advertising business.

The idea that users are safer when bugs are kept secret is called "security through obscurity" and no one believes in it – except corporate executives. As Bruce Schneier says, "Anyone can design a system that is so secure that they themselves can't break it. That doesn't mean it's secure – it just means that it's secure against people stupider than the system's designer":

The history of massive, brutal cybersecurity breaches is an unbroken string of heartbreakingly naive confidence in security through obscurity:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/05/battery-vampire/#drained

But despite this, the idea that some bugs should be kept secret and allowed to fester has powerful champions: a public-private partnership of corporate execs, government spy agencies and cyber-arms dealers. Agencies like the NSA and CIA have huge teams toiling away to discover defects in widely used products. These defects put the populations of their home countries in grave danger, but rather than reporting them, the spy agencies hoard these defects.

The spy agencies have an official doctrine defending this reckless practice: they call it "NOBUS," which stands for "No One But Us." As in: "No one but us is smart enough to find these bugs, so we can keep them secret and use them attack our adversaries, without worrying about those adversaries using them to attack the people we are sworn to protect."

NOBUS is empirically wrong. In the 2010s, we saw a string of leaked NSA and CIA cyberweapons. One of these, "Eternalblue" was incorporated into off-the-shelf ransomware, leading to the ransomware epidemic that rages even today. You can thank the NSA's decision to hoard – rather than disclose and patch – the Eternalblue exploit for the ransoming of cities like Baltimore, hospitals up and down the country, and an oil pipeline:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/EternalBlue

The leak of these cyberweapons didn't just provide raw material for the world's cybercriminals, it also provided data for researchers. A study of CIA and NSA NOBUS defects found that there was a one-in-five chance of a bug that had been hoarded by a spy agency being independently discovered by a criminal, weaponized, and released into the wild.

Not every government has the wherewithal to staff its own defect-mining operation, but that's where the private sector steps in. Cyber-arms dealers like the NSO Group find or buy security defects in widely used products and services and turn them into products – military-grade cyberweapons that are used to attack human rights groups, opposition figures, and journalists:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/24/breaking-the-news/#kingdom

A good Cybercrime Treaty would recognize the perverse incentives that create the coalition to keep us from knowing which products we can trust and which ones we should avoid. It would shut down companies like the NSO Group, ban spy agencies from hoarding defects, and establish an absolute defense for security researchers who reveal true facts about defects.

Instead, the Cybercrime Treaty creates new obligations on signatories to help other countries' cops and courts silence and punish security researchers who make these true disclosures, ensuring that spies and criminals will know which products aren't safe to use, but we won't (until it's too late):

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2024/06/if-not-amended-states-must-reject-flawed-draft-un-cybercrime-convention

A Cybercrime Treaty is a good idea, and even this Cybercrime Treaty could be salvaged. The member-states have it in their power to accept proposed revisions that would protect human rights and security researchers, narrow the definition of "cybercrime," and mandate transparency. They could establish member states' powers to refuse illegitimate requests from other countries:

https://www.eff.org/press/releases/media-briefing-eff-partners-warn-un-member-states-are-poised-approve-dangerou

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/23/expanded-spying-powers/#in-russia-crime-cybers-you

Image: EFF https://www.eff.org/files/banner_library/cybercrime-2024-2b.jpg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/us/

[shiyorin]

#Thanks @roroco316, your ideas is the best (⁠~⁠￣⁠³⁠￣⁠)⁠~

#When Primarchs send dick pic to you

#Rogal Dorn/Perturabo x F!Reader (Reader is Imperial Agent)

#RIP Reader

#NSFW, non-con, many things

The Imperial Palace on Terra hummed with activity, its gilded halls filled with the usual bustle of servitors, tech-priests, and various officials going about their duties. But deep within its labyrinthine structure, in a secluded chamber reserved for one of the Emperor's sons, something decidedly unusual was taking place.

Rogal Dorn, Primarch of the Imperial Fists, is very confused. His massive form, usually the picture of stoic control, now radiated an unfamiliar tension. The Primarch's face was flushed, his breathing heavy, and an uncomfortable tightness had taken up residence in his groin.

Dorn growled in frustration, running a hand through his close-cropped white hair. He didn't understand what was happening to him. Was this some new form of xenos attack? An Enemies of the Imperium plot? Whatever it was, it was interfering with his ability to focus on his duties, and that was unacceptable.

As he turned to pace back across the room, Dorn's eyes fell on the data-slate resting on his desk. An idea formed in his mind, one that both excited and confused him. Perhaps if he documented this strange condition, he could better understand and combat it.

With decisive movements, Dorn strode to the desk and picked up the data-slate. He fumbled with the unfamiliar camera function, his large fingers clumsy on the small device. Finally figuring it out, he positioned the slate and began to remove his armor.

As the ceramite plates fell away, Dorn's impressive physique was revealed. Muscles rippled beneath skin marred by countless battle scars, a testament to millennia of warfare. But it was what lay between his legs that truly captured attention.

Dorn's cock stood at full attention, a monument to masculinity that would make even other Primarchs pause. It jutted proudly from a nest of curls, its girth easily as thick as a mortal man's forearm. Veins pulsed along its length, leading to a swollen head that glistened with pre-cum.

The Primarch's face flushed deeper as he aimed the data-slate's camera at his engorged member. He felt ridiculous, like some kind of deviant, but the urge to capture this moment was overwhelming. With a grunt of determination, Dorn snapped the picture.

Staring at the image on the screen, Dorn felt a mix of embarrassment and... pride? Yes, there was definitely a part of him that was pleased with what he saw. But what to do with it now?

Again, an inexplicable urge seized him. Before he could second-guess himself, Dorn's fingers were flying over the data-slate's interface, sending the image to the one person he felt might be able to help him make sense of this situation: you, the Imperial Agent he'd worked with on several classified missions.

As soon as the image was sent, a wave of mortification washed over Dorn. What had he done? This was completely inappropriate behavior for a Primarch! He needed to explain himself, to provide context for this madness.

Dorn began typing out a message to accompany the image:

"Dear Agent,

I find myself experiencing an unusual physiological response. My genitals have become engorged and I feel an overwhelming urge for physical contact. I believe the most efficient course of action would be for us to engage in sexual intercourse. Please prepare yourself, as I will be arriving at your quarters shortly to address this situation.

Regards, Rogal Dorn"

Satisfied that he had explained himself clearly and concisely, Dorn hit send. He then began to reassemble his armor, his movements hurried and clumsy in his eagerness to reach your quarters.

Meanwhile, in another part of the palace, you were reviewing reports when your data-slate chimed with an incoming message. Expecting more mission briefings, you casually glanced at the screen - and nearly dropped the device in shock.

There, filling your entire display, was the most impressive cock you'd ever laid eyes on. Your mouth went dry as you took in its massive size, the way it curved slightly upward, the prominent veins that promised to make you feel every inch when it was buried inside you...

You shook your head, trying to clear the sudden fog of lust that had descended. Who in the Emperor's name would send you such a thing? Your question was answered moments later as a text message popped up.

As you read Rogal Dorn's blunt, matter-of-fact explanation, your eyes widened in disbelief. "???" you muttered, re-reading the message to make sure you weren't hallucinating. Rogal Dorn, the Praetorian of Terra, had just sent you a dick pic and was now on his way to fuck you?

Before you could fully process this turn of events, a thunderous knock echoed through your quarters. Your heart leapt into your throat as you realized Dorn hadn't been exaggerating about coming right away.

With trembling hands, you smoothed down your uniform and went to answer the door. It slid open to reveal the towering form of Rogal Dorn, but your eyes were immediately drawn lower, to the massive bulge straining against the Primarch's codpiece.

"Agent," Dorn rumbled, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. "I trust you received my message and are prepared to assist me with this... situation."

You swallowed hard, your gaze alternating between Dorn's intense eyes and the promise of what lay beneath his clothes. "I... yes, my lord. Please, come in."

As Dorn ducked through the doorway, the full impact of his size hit you anew. He was easily twice your height, his broad shoulders nearly brushing both sides of the entrance. The thought of taking his cock - that magnificent beast you'd seen in the picture, made you clench in both fear and anticipation.

'Oh Throne,' you thought, a mix of panic and arousal coursing through you. 'If he puts that thing inside me, I might actually die.'

But as Dorn began to remove his clothes once more, revealing inch after glorious inch of sculpted muscle, you found yourself thinking that there were far worse ways to go.

The Primarch's cock sprang free, even more impressive in person than it had been in the picture. Pre-cum beaded at its tip, and you had to resist the fear when you saw it.

Dorn's eyes raked over your form, dark with a feeling he didn't fully understand. "I find myself... eager to proceed," he said, his usual eloquence deserting him in the face of his overwhelming need. "How shall we begin?"

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was sure to be the ride of your life. "My lord," you said, your voice suppressed the trembling "why don't you start by showing me exactly what that cock of yours can do?"

A rare smile tugged at the corners of Dorn's mouth as he advanced on you, his massive erection leading the way. "With pleasure, Agent."

As Dorn's large hands wrapped around your waist, lifting you effortlessly, you sent up a silent prayer to the Emperor. May the Emperor protect you.

*****

Perturabo, the Primarch of Iron Warriors, was in a foul mood. His massive form paced the confines of his private chambers, tension radiating from every inch of his superhuman body. But this wasn't his usual anger, no, this was something far more primal and embarrassing.

He was horny. Painfully, achingly horny.

The Primarch growled in frustration, his hand unconsciously drifting to the impressive bulge in his armor. He hated this weakness, this base desire that clouded his thoughts and distracted him from his grand designs. But try as he might, he couldn't shake the burning need that consumed him.

With defeat, Perturabo began to remove his armor, piece by piece. As the last ceramite plate clattered to the floor, he stood naked, his massive cock jutting proudly.

Perturabo's dick was a thing of beauty - if one appreciated monstrous, superhuman genitalia. It stood at an impressive 10 inches when fully erect, thick as a mortal man's wrist, with prominent veins running along its length. The head was a deep, angry purple, already glistening with pre-cum.

Despite his self-loathing, Perturabo couldn't resist wrapping a hand around his throbbing member. He stroked himself slowly, a low groan escaping his lips at the sensation. His other hand reached down to cup his heavy balls.

As he pleasured himself, Perturabo's thoughts drifted to you, the Imperial Agent who had been a thorn in his side. Your fierce intelligence, your unwavering loyalty to the Imperium, your lithe body that he longed to break…

Before he could stop himself, Perturabo grabbed his data-slate. With one hand still working his cock, he snapped a picture of his erect member. The image was intimidating, his massive hand wrap around the shaft, veins bulging, pre-cum dripping from the tip.

Without allowing himself to second-guess, Perturabo sent the image to your personal vox channel.

Instant regret flooded him the moment he hit 'send.' What in the name of the Warp was he thinking? He was a Primarch, a demigod of war, not some pervert sending dick pics!

Frantically, Perturabo tried to recall the message. To his immense relief, the system informed him that the image had been successfully retrieved before you could view it. He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

'You definitely hadn't seen it,' Perturabo thought, a mix of relief and... disappointment? washing over him. How dare you not witness it? The audacity!

Meanwhile, in your quarters aboard an Imperial vessel, you were having a mild panic attack. You had indeed seen the image before it was retrieved, how could you not notice a message from a Primarch? And now you were sweating bullets.

Your hands shook as you typed out a quick response: "Lord Perturabo, I didn't see anything in your last message. Was there something you needed to communicate?"

You hit send and immediately regretted it. What if he took offense? What if he thought you were lying? Oh Emperor, you were so screwed.

Back in his chambers, Perturabo read your message with growing anger. You had seen it. You must have. And now you dared to lie to him? To a Primarch?

With a growl of frustration, Perturabo typed out a scathing reply: "Do not attempt to deceive me, Agent. I know you saw the image. Your dishonesty only compounds your offense."

And then, driven by a mixture of anger, lust, and wounded pride, he reattached the photo of his erect cock to the message and sent it again.

Your eyes widened in shock as your data-slate pinged with a new message. You opened it, praying to every saint you could think of that it wasn't what you feared.

Your prayers went unanswered.

There, filling your screen, was Perturabo's massive member in all its glory. You felt your mouth go dry as you took in the sheer size of it. How was that even possible? It had to be as thick as your forearm!

Despite your fear, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of arousal. You quickly shook your head, trying to dispel such dangerous thoughts. This was Perturabo, for Terra's sake! He'd crush you like a bug if he ever got his hands on you.

With trembling fingers, you typed out another response: "My Lord, I assure you I didn't see anything in your previous message. I would never lie to you."

You hit send and immediately curled into a ball on your bed, praying for a quick and painless death.

Perturabo read your latest message with growing fury. How dare you continue this charade? Did you think him a fool?

"Enough of your lies!" he typed back, his fingers nearly cracking the data-slate's screen. "You will cease this deception immediately, or I will show you the consequences of toying with a Primarch in person."

As he sent the message, a new idea formed in Perturabo's mind. If you insisted on playing dumb, perhaps it was time for a more... hands-on approach to communication.

With a few quick commands, Perturabo accessed the ship's systems. He located your quarters and activated the emergency teleportation protocols. In a flash of blue light, he materialized in your room, still gloriously naked and fully erect.

You screamed in surprise and terror as the massive form of Perturabo appeared before you. You scrambled backwards on your bed, eyes wide as saucers as you took in the Primarch in all his naked glory.

"L-Lord Perturabo!" you stammered, trying desperately to look anywhere but at his imposing erection. "I-I don't understand-"

"Silence!" Perturabo roared, his voice shaking the walls. He stalked towards the bed, his cock bobbing with each step. "You claim you saw nothing? Then allow me to give you a proper view."

Before you could react, Perturabo grabbed your ankle and dragged you to the edge of the bed. He loomed over you, his massive frame blocking out the light, his cock mere inches from your face.

"Look at it," he growled, his voice a mixture of anger and lust. "Look at what you've done to me, you infuriating woman."

You couldn't help but obey. Your eyes locked onto Perturabo's member, taking in every vein, every twitch, the bead of pre-cum forming at the tip. You swallowed hard, a confusing mix of fear and arousal coursing through you.

"I... I see it, my Lord," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Perturabo's hand shot out, gripping your chin and forcing you to meet his gaze. "And what do you think of it, little agent? Does it please you? Does it terrify you?"

Your mind raced, searching for the right answer. What could you possibly say that wouldn't result in your immediate demise?

"It's... impressive, my Lord," you finally managed, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. "Truly befitting a Primarch."

A slow smile spread across Perturabo's face. "Good answer," he purred. "Now, since you've finally admitted to seeing it, I think it's time we put it to proper use, don't you?"

As Perturabo's free hand began to tear at your clothes, you realized that your earlier fears had been misplaced. You weren't going to die today….

[marlinspirkhall]

Humans sending out signal after signal, message after message, space probes, emails, photos, light shows, intergalactic fireworks, all in the hope that they're not alone: Please reply, please reply, please reply, ple–

Aliens, screeching across the universe in a brand new FTL ship: CAN YOU SHUT UP? WE GOT YOUR FIRST ONE THOUSAND MESSAGES, DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND HOW BIG SPACE IS?

Humans: oh my goooooosh, hi

Humans: Did you invent faster than light travel just for us? 🥺

Aliens: NO!!!

SETI: Radio message received.

Radio message: We are receiving you. We have decided to answer you in your own language, and–

SETI: New radio message received.

Aliens: Oh no.

Radio message: We have received your previous messages pertaining to life on Earth, and have included our own data packet about life on Big Tree in return. We named our planet before we learned it was only 30% arboreal. Thank you for the golden disc, it was extremely tasty. Haha. Just kidding.

SETI: Data packet downloaded. Decrypting...

SETI: New radio message received.

Radio message: As previously stated, we are receiving your messages and your gifts. We took a photo of our planet with our own photo-capture device, as we were unhappy with the one you provided.

SETI: Data packet update: Warning: Several terrabytes of information may be corrupted.

SETI: New radio message received.

Radio message: This is the Generation Ship Tree Hollow. My designation is Captain Root-Skygazer. Our people have instructed us to fly ahead and communicate with you when we reached the thirty-year marker, as these messages are likely to reach you faster. They request that you stop broadcasting messages with the subject line: 'Oh, how woeful it is to be alone in an uncaring universe (and other similar poems)' because it frightens the children and makes our scientists deeply existential. I, personally, am partial to episodes of M star A star S star H. It has been of great interest to learn historical facts about the longest Earth conflict of your common era. I miss my home, and I am saddened that I will never see yours. This ship has a self-sustaining ecosystem of plants native to our planet, and a crew manifest of one hundred and fifty-seven. The replacement generation currently numbers one hundred and seventeen.

Radio message: Hey, Ball Of Dirt, it's Big Tree again. Lose our number, would you? There must be some other semi-evolved space aemoba you can bother. (Several words untranslateable)

Aliens: Yeah, so your answering machine is going to be like that for a while–

Humans: What was that part about a Generation Ship?

Aliens: We were hoping you could tell us that, actually. We lost contact with them after the 200 year marker.

Radio message: This is the generation ship Tree Hollow. My designation is Captain Cradleroot. Captain Root-Skygazer was my grandfather. Inspired by the speeches of your contemporary leader, Ronald Reagan, I decided to restructure the existing system here which allowed crewmembers to eat as they required. Under this new system, we award tokens to whom we feel has done the most valuable work, and they can redistribute those to the hungry if they wish. But they do not. However, I believe that [...]

Humans:

Aliens:

Humans:

Aliens: This is all your fault, by the way.

[simpingforbots]

Sorry if I'm bothering but this morning I got a small idea for the primes x human thing

I don't wanna put too much pressure/overwork you, this can be only Zeta prime and Amalgamous prime

One day while the primes where spending time with their "pet" they noticed they have been fidgeting with a weird and small metal device the human had ever since they got captured by the Quintessons but the primes didn't mind much thinking it was probably a human toy or something similar to that until one day...

The same day both Primes are spending time with the human the little one just simply started speaking in a language they can understand, like out of nowhere and after a slight spook and some questions turns out the "toy" was a type of translator the han was trying to fix so the primes could understand them and explain what humans are actually

Little Break

Part 2

"Where are you” letting a heavy grunt, Zeta got on all his four limbs, bending down to check under cabinet, his blue optick shinning brightly as he scanned the crevasse, looking for something small and fragile. It was common for small thing to hide somewhere when ever he is to buizy to pay attention to them. He is already feeling bad for constantly being buizy with all the data-pads and meetings to make sure that his people were able to live comfortably and without worry of Quintessons attacking Iacon, leaving you alone with your own devises for far to long. Not that you will die of boredom as your cage had a lot of thing to entertain you, one of the few thing yoou loved was a small wheel where you would run in or you will be fiddling with strange collar that you were found with, refusing to give it to them.

He let you out of the cage to relax and have a little bit of rest from being cooped inside the cage all day, letting you wonder around the large table for a bit before you settled down again, focused on your little toy, tinkering with it while he continued his work. But now you seemed to just disappear and after checking every crevasse he could think of, he just can’t seem to locate you anywhere. You did run away before, even one time where he “chased” you by simply slowly walking behind while you clearly were running as fast as you can, constantly looking behind and trying to find space to hide. Letting a sigh, Zeta stood up, scratching his chin. Just where ca you hide this time.... maybe some one took you while he was to buizy with work, but who? He only had Solus, Alchemist and Sentinel walk in to his office today, and all wore about work and their meeting that he will need to attend soon, so he is sure non of them took you without informing him. Unless. A quick thought cross his mind and every thing seemed to click in to place. Sentinel was not here today, send on another duty, so he could not bring him any documents today. Letting a heavy sigh, Zeta rolled his opticks and left his office, able to feel his spark calm down. Amalgamous Prime was a well known prankster among Primes and would often shift in to another bot to pull his pranks, so it will not be to far fetched for him to use Sentinel’s appearance to sneakily steal you away for one of his pranks. Zeta did deferred him before from using small fragile life from for his pranks, even if he can see why he would do this, such small form can get in t anything and do anything that their big hands were to big for.

You grumbled a bit as collar sparked again and for just a second you swore you could here words that you can understand, slowly putting your collar down and looking up. One Eyes were tinkering with strange round shape, his thing fingers moving small parts inside and tinkering just like you were  playing around with your translator, “generously gifted” to ou by those strange aliens that kidnapped you from your Planet. You could understand them before but after your escape, it somehow broke and you spend most of your time attempting to fix it, moving wires, tightening screws and making sure every thing was in right place. You were just so tiered of being treated like a pet, even if it was not to bad time to time, yet you still had some honour, feeling a bit ashamed when they would treat you like a smart parrot, making you learn tricks and being reworded with “cookies” – a few of good treats you like here. Now though you just happy to be around and not cooped up in cage, even if Crowns did not mean any harm and constantly buissy. One eye looked up at you, saying something in his language and reaching for you, his fingers gliding gently across your head, ruffling up your head and then made a motion. You listened, rolling on your back and then getting up, getting another pet as a reward. The doors opened up as aforementioned Crowns walks in, his blue eyes quickly narrowing on you and his shoulders dropping with what you can guess is a relief. One eye took you from his office, parading like Icarus, blue bot with golden wings, masterfully swopping you out of there, muffling any concerned noises you made by simply cooping you inbetween his two hands and quickly leaving, Crowns not even looking up or even reacting, just locking in on those papers while you were being stolen, to be honest it gave you a small heart attack as he shifted around you, metal bending, cracking and shifting in to another person with iconic “hchk chk” sound. Now of course he simply looked up at Crowns with a wave, you never able to tell his expression besides body language, returning back to your collar.

“Amalgamous, Please never do this again. I feared the worst” letting a heavy sigh, Zeta walked over to the table, scratching small one with one digit behind the audio censer, looking at his brother.

“Well what was I supposed to do, they looked very bored constantly being copped inside the cage and your office. I would die of boredom if I were them” chuckling, Amalgamous swopped small one up, not bothering to much as they continued playing around with their little toy “So I just wanted to show them aorund and take them out of the cage. You constantly sit there and do nothing but work.”

“hmm” letting a hum, Zetta silently nodded, agreeing in his mind as his brother was right. He really done nothing but work and the small times he does take you out do not last long and usually are just as simple as taking out of the cage to roll around the table. So, maybe Amalgamous is right about constantly being on one place. “I can see where you are coming from. I maybe not so caring to them as I wished. I should’ve taken a better care of them”

“Hey, that’s not true! You’re doing a great job!”

For a moment every thing went silent and still, so quite that if you were to drop a pin you would hear it echoe in the room. Two bot’s were focused on the small being, with wide opticks, completely shocked at what just happened. Could it be something that they just heard, hallucinated from overworking them self so much? Blinking, Zeta bend down, shocking small life form to back away for a moment, gripping the small electric toy you were constantly playing with, now with green light coming from it. Zeta could not just believe his audio sensors, coking his head side to side, not able to find words to say anything, while Amalgamous shifted behind him, getting closer and staring at the small thign, shocked as Zeta was, but also curiouse. Slowly he reached and poked the small thign in to chest, make it stumble back a bit, their small face contorting in to angry grumble.

“Hey! Stop!” it was clear now that small one was the source of the noise and no clearly spoke. “Why you all staring at me like this, huh?”

“You.... you speak” slowly getting out of the shock, Zeta carefully swopped small creature from behind, settling them carefully in palm of his palm, lifting them up to his face, their little face contorting in to shock as well. It must be that the small toy he thought it was in realise was a some kind of translator, it was just broken “Birdie.. you speak?”

“Yeah?” you coked your small eyebrow, confused, before looking in front of your self, both frowning, processing something befre their face light up with shock, just like they did “I can understand you?! I Can understand you!” they jumped up in his palm, smiling widely “I can understand you! Can you understand me!? Please please understand me!”

“We can, we can” letting a small chuckle, Zeta gently patted you on the head with digit, Amalgamous now circling arund his hand, poking at the small being, to focused on how it was working and how suddenly small being strated speaking their language “We can understand you, little one... I presume you have a name then?”

“Y/N” you replied putting a hand on your chest “My name is Y/n... and what is your name? W-where am I? Who are you?”

“My name is Zeta Prime. This is Amalgamous Prime, my brother. We are Cybertronian and right now you are on Cybertron... may I ask how you ended up with Quintessons?”

“I.. I was kidnapped from my planet - Erath”

“E-a-rth?” Amalgamous slowly pronounce, lulling it on his glossa “what a strange name E-arth. Why did your species called it like a dirt.”

“I don’t know.” You answere his question “I am from Earth , I was kidnapped by those huge bug aliens. I am a human being”

“Human, huh?” pulling seat up to him Zeta set down, letting you hop on table and let you speak freely. It be best if he can learn a lot more bout your species, it will be best for him in long run as now, even if he knows you are your own person, he still did not wanted to let you go.

[mariacallous]

Next year will be Big Tech’s finale. Critique of Big Tech is now common sense, voiced by a motley spectrum that unites opposing political parties, mainstream pundits, and even tech titans such as the VC powerhouse Y Combinator, which is singing in harmony with giants like a16z in proclaiming fealty to “little tech” against the centralized power of incumbents.

Why the fall from grace? One reason is that the collateral consequences of the current Big Tech business model are too obvious to ignore. The list is old hat by now: centralization, surveillance, information control. It goes on, and it’s not hypothetical. Concentrating such vast power in a few hands does not lead to good things. No, it leads to things like the CrowdStrike outage of mid-2024, when corner-cutting by Microsoft led to critical infrastructure—from hospitals to banks to traffic systems—failing globally for an extended period.

Another reason Big Tech is set to falter in 2025 is that the frothy AI market, on which Big Tech bet big, is beginning to lose its fizz. Major money, like Goldman Sachs and Sequoia Capital, is worried. They went public recently with their concerns about the disconnect between the billions required to create and use large-scale AI, and the weak market fit and tepid returns where the rubber meets the AI business-model road.

It doesn’t help that the public and regulators are waking up to AI’s reliance on, and generation of, sensitive data at a time when the appetite for privacy has never been higher—as evidenced, for one, by Signal’s persistent user growth. AI, on the other hand, generally erodes privacy. We saw this in June when Microsoft announced Recall, a product that would, I kid you not, screenshot everything you do on your device so an AI system could give you “perfect memory” of what you were doing on your computer (Doomscrolling? Porn-watching?). The system required the capture of those sensitive images—which would not exist otherwise—in order to work.

Happily, these factors aren’t just liquefying the ground below Big Tech’s dominance. They’re also powering bold visions for alternatives that stop tinkering at the edges of the monopoly tech paradigm, and work to design and build actually democratic, independent, open, and transparent tech. Imagine!

For example, initiatives in Europe are exploring independent core tech infrastructure, with convenings of open source developers, scholars of governance, and experts on the political economy of the tech industry.

And just as the money people are joining in critique, they’re also exploring investments in new paradigms. A crop of tech investors are developing models of funding for mission alignment, focusing on tech that rejects surveillance, social control, and all the bullshit. One exciting model I’ve been discussing with some of these investors would combine traditional VC incentives (fund that one unicorn > scale > acquisition > get rich) with a commitment to resource tech’s open, nonprofit critical infrastructure with a percent of their fund. Not as investment, but as a contribution to maintaining the bedrock on which a healthy tech ecosystem can exist (and maybe get them and their limited partners a tax break).

Such support could—and I believe should—be supplemented by state capital. The amount of money needed is simply too vast if we’re going to do this properly. To give an example closer to home, developing and maintaining Signal costs around $50 million a year, which is very lean for tech. Projects such as the Sovereign Tech Fund in Germany point a path forward—they are a vehicle to distribute state funds to core open source infrastructures, but they are governed wholly independently, and create a buffer between the efforts they fund and the state.

Just as composting makes nutrients from necrosis, in 2025, Big Tech’s end will be the beginning of a new and vibrant ecosystem. The smart, actually cool, genuinely interested people will once again have their moment, getting the resources and clearance to design and (re)build a tech ecosystem that is actually innovative and built for benefit, not just profit and control. MAY IT BE EVER THUS!

[psychopassera]

PSYCHO-PASS LEGEND — Nobuchika Ginoza: Separation (Part 1 of 6)

Traducción al español (estan las seis partes completas), acá

A distant howl echoed through the night. A lament that had emerged somewhere on the mountain, where the trees stood tall like a sharp, solemn crest, reverberated again and again against the invisible dome that seemed to stretch from the zenith of the sky across the entire land—striking, over and over, some translucent lid. It vibrated with the persistence of a sound trapped within a suikinkutsu*, that garden of water-born echoes where tones continue to shimmer long after being released. A long, dense resonance lingered in the air.

And shortly after, as if arriving late, came another roar. Deep and prolonged. So profoundly melancholic in tone that it resembled the cry of a wolf forced to part from its pack forever.

Nobuchika Ginoza closed his eyes and strained to pinpoint the source, but it was in vain. Human hearing lacked such spatial precision. That exchange of voices, carried nightly from deep within the mountains, sounded like hidden sages laughing quietly at the chaotic folly of men. Tonight marked exactly one week. One week spent searching for a single dog, far from the human din.

The whisper of trees carried by the wind remained confined to this mountainous zone near the capital. In truth, these frigid nights—so cold they seemed to freeze even the dazzling shimmer of the night sky under the celestial dome—didn’t bother him, but perhaps the time had come to say farewell in silence.

As he climbed the slope, a small clearing opened before Ginoza’s eyes. The snow, lightly accumulated but hardened over time, reflected a moonlit blue hue that gradually deepened to a dark cobalt as it approached the forest’s edge. The forest was formed of towering tsuga trees. These evergreen conifers, known also as “the trees of the hanged” due to an old legend about executed criminals, grew closely together as if seeking warmth, casting a heavy darkness at their feet—like a protective curtain shielding the dead from further shame beyond death.

On the snowy ground, countless pawprints appeared, as if a whole pack of dogs had raced toward the shadowy woods. But on closer inspection, it became clear they all bore the exact same shape. It wasn’t a pack. It was one dog.

Ginoza instructed his companion to unearth one of the surveillance drones they’d hidden underground. The unit had been stripped of its mobile legs, and its casing—save for the lens—was fully covered in animal hide. As they pulled it out, soil clung to the Honshu deer fur and broke away in crumbling clods. His companion, grimacing at the smell, removed his gloves—also made from the same deer leather—while Ginoza programmed the drone to extract only the relevant segment from its vast cache of footage.

Data began transferring to the wrist-worn device he carried, watch-like in shape, and soon everything was ready for playback.

Ginoza looked again at the snow-covered plain marked by tracks, while overlaying the drone’s recording directly onto his retinas via directional hologram.

The dog was terribly thin, yet even with its prey clutched in its jaws, it didn’t stop to eat. It simply crossed the plain with majestic calm. In front of the tsuga forest, it began to perform a strange dance, as if offering a prayer to the goddess of the moon, sovereign of winter’s longest nights. Did it mean something? Or was it merely instinct? Whatever it was, the animal seemed to relish it.

And then, suddenly—it vanished. With a magnificent leap that activated every muscle in its body, it hurled itself into the darkness spun by the thick needle-like leaves of the trees and disappeared within it.

Ginoza slid the recording back to just before that moment. He froze the image right as the dog was about to enter the forest. He zoomed in on the captured frame. It was pixelated. Using AI, he extracted the dog’s silhouette and applied a quick correction to generate a sharp image, akin to a high-precision camera still.

The result was oddly absurd. The body traced a perfect arc, like a dancer on the verge of completing a final pose, but the animal’s mouth hung open—excessively so—as if caught in surprise. It didn’t seem to be barking. The expression didn’t match. Moreover, the prey it had carried was no longer visible in the image. That was the work of the AI’s censorship system. Most likely, the state of the prey was so horrifying that it had been flagged as potentially disturbing and automatically removed to preserve the viewer’s mental stability.

But someone else, besides him, needed to verify that footage. After all, they were members of the Criminal Investigation Department—guardians of Sibyl’s society. For Nobuchika Ginoza, in his capacity as an Inspector, the protection of the Psycho-Pass carried a deeper significance than it did for the average citizen.

“Sasayama. Tell me what the dog had in its mouth,” he ordered.

The moment he spoke, his glasses fogged up and his vision blurred, as though a layer of frost had settled over his eyes. It was the vapor of his breath, escaping from beneath the scarf wrapped up to his mouth.

“What a way to treat people…” Sasayama grumbled.

The Enforcer from Division One squinted at the uncensored holographic projection. Despite the freezing air well below zero, he wore only a stylish pinstriped suit, leather gloves, and a scarf. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel the cold—his nose was slightly red at the tip.

“Don’t talk nonsense. Report, immediately,” Ginoza snapped, wiping the condensation from his lenses with a cloth as he shot him a glare.

“Yeah, yeah…” muttered Sasayama, shrugging as he raised one thumb and mimed slitting his own throat with the other. “It was a chicken. I guess it bit right into its throat and killed it in one go. Everything from the neck up was soaked in blood… But that’s the weird part. The dog didn’t have a single drop of blood on its fur.”

“I see…”

“What’s going on, Gino-sensei? Don’t leave me out of the revelation…”

“Was it a domestic bird that had already been bled out before the dog attacked it?”

Ginoza manipulated the device on his wrist, accessing the regional flora and fauna distribution map. In the area, records showed the presence of chickens raised under a broiler system*.

There were no reports of broiler chickens living in the wild. If that was the case, the dog had attacked a domestic bird from an inhabited zone.

“Let’s go,” said Ginoza, setting off. “We’ll be the ones to protect that dog.”

He turned his back on the clearing, descended the slope, and looked down at the hollow stretching below. A few scattered houses shimmered like gemstones sunk into the dark bed of a lake, reflecting the moonlight in trembling ripples.

It had all started with a report on animal reintroduction in a suburban area west of Tokyo.

Since the mid-21st century, the presence of live animals had steadily decreased, becoming a rarity by the 22nd century. Breeding animals was considered a luxury, a pastime almost exclusively reserved for the wealthy elite. Animal reintroduction was seen as an effort to return survival skills to species that, due to overprotection, had lost their instinct to fend for themselves. Since many urban developments built during old housing projects had been abandoned due to drastic population decline, those places had reverted to wooded terrain with abundant vegetation. It was believed that natural conditions were sufficient for released animals to survive on their own.

But history had already proven that assumption wrong. Animals domesticated over generations—raised and bred as pets or livestock—could hardly survive in the wild. Most died soon after release. And those that did manage to survive eventually descended into inhabited areas as savage raiders, stealing food and being classified as pests. A special division was eventually created within the Health Office, under the Ministry of Welfare, tasked with eliminating them. Thus, animal reintroduction ironically became a policy that turned against itself and was ultimately declared illegal. To this day, that remains the case.

However, the reintroduction incident this time, in the Okutama region, involved an even more serious crime. Every animal that had been released had an owner. The person responsible for the reintroduction was an animal therapist named Yōnobu Miyake, who ran a clinic on the outskirts of the city. Apparently, he was quite skilled and had earned the full trust of the affluent elite.

However, earlier this year, for reasons unknown, he released all the companion animals entrusted to him into the wild… and then vanished without a trace. His actions were as inexplicable as they were costly: they caused considerable losses. It was, in every sense, theft. The Public Safety Bureau took charge of tracking down the therapist Miyake as a suspect, while the Health Office was tasked with capturing the stolen animals. The two agencies coordinated a joint operation.

As part of that investigation, Nobuchika Ginoza and Enforcer Sasayama headed into the mountain region. Their target was a single dog. That dog, once the property of the cunning therapist, had turned into a silent hunter after being set free. Unlike other reintroduced animals that had settled into the mountains, this one avoided the wild dog traps laid out by the Ministry’s capture unit and continued to hunt freely, with unnerving composure.

Even since a week ago, when Ginoza and his team began participating in the capture effort, the situation had remained unchanged. But now, at last, something had begun to shift. The dog… had started descending into inhabited areas in search of prey.

It was too late that night to return to the city, so they slept in the car. At dawn, before the sun had fully risen, Ginoza and Sasayama began their descent toward the village nestled in the valley. The first light of morning was beginning to trace itself softly along the mountain ridges, as if sketching the outline of a wolf resting in the mist. Its diffused glow, hidden within the morning haze, slowly warmed the earth as the Public Safety Bureau sedan followed the narrow road along the slope.

Sasayama, in the passenger seat, was cursing while fiddling with his Enforcer-issued restraint device, shaped like a pair of handcuffs. Ginoza ignored him. The Ministry of Welfare had rejected their request for cooperation. It wasn’t hard to understand why. After all, they were encroaching on someone else’s jurisdiction. The Public Safety Bureau had the authority to act across domains using its special powers, but from the perspective of other government bodies, they were little more than a nuisance—intervening at will under the pretense of law enforcement. Still, Ginoza thought, at least they weren’t being actively obstructed.

Before long, they turned onto a rural road leading to the settlement in the mountain basin.

The land sloped downward in gentle hills: the houses clustered along the higher points, while further below stretched rows of chicken coops, stables, and vegetable plots. At a glance, the place seemed like a relic from another time. But as they stopped the car on the incline and rolled down the window, a faint mechanical hum could be heard. It came from agricultural drones, busy tending livestock and managing crop growth.

Ginoza stepped out of the vehicle, intending to head toward a farm where the dog had stolen poultry. He ordered Sasayama to retrieve the capture net case from the trunk.

The mountain air was thicker and more humid than in the city, and the cold seemed to seep through his coat as though it were penetrating straight into his skin. The house targeted in the attack was easy to locate, but it was empty.

Through the settlement’s administrator, they had already secured entry permission the night before. Officially, the village was registered as an agricultural recreation facility—a place where people could spend weekends engaging with nature in a measured way, seeking solace for the spirit. The wooden houses with tiled roofs were rented out as country homes, and guests could opt for the experience of caring for animals or crops. If one accepted the risk of tone fluctuation, it was also possible to consume pre-butchered meat. The chicken that the dog had taken the night before had been attacked right in the middle of that preparation process.

Next to the coop stood a processing unit. Several conical hoppers were lined up, designed to hang chickens upside down and insert their heads into the receptacle. The entire process—from bleeding to meat handling—was fully automated. Sanitary management was so strict that not even the faintest trace of blood could be smelled. Underground, the facility housed water and sewage pipes, electrical supply, and data wiring. Though presented as a rural retreat, the infrastructure rivaled that of any urban area.

They searched all the houses and structures in the area and ultimately decided to set traps centered around the coop, within the stable zone. The dog wasn’t large enough to take on animals in the pig or cattle barns, so those areas were ruled out. They were up against a skilled hunter—one capable of selecting its prey with precision.

Once the morning had passed and the sun had risen high in the sky, they returned briefly to the eaves of one of the houses and opened the case containing the auxiliary equipment. They took out the tripwire and boiled it for fifteen minutes in water they had set to boil earlier. During that time, Sasayama, taking a short break, pulled a pack of paper cigarettes from his breast pocket. Ginoza sternly ordered him to smoke downwind. If the scent of tobacco lingered in the air, the dog might pick it up.

Once the preparation was complete, Ginoza had an agricultural drone—the same type used in meat processing—bring over the materials they had prepared in advance: a pair of gloves soaked in the blood of a freshly slaughtered chicken, sealed airtight. He ordered Sasayama to put them on.

“Hold on a second, Gino-sensei,” Sasayama grumbled, visibly displeased. “Even I’d end up with a clouded hue after this.”

“If you’re an Enforcer, you shouldn’t be concerned about your hue deteriorating,” Ginoza said flatly. “We don’t have time. Do it now.”

Before dusk, all the traps had been set. Ginoza and Sasayama left the settlement, drove back to the paved road along the slope, and spent the night there, taking turns napping inside the vehicle. They kept the lights off, monitoring without pause the real-time feed from the drone mounted on the roof of one of the houses, facing directly toward the stables.

Ginoza adjusted the loose scarf around his neck. The cold was biting, but necessary. They had shut off the engine to leave no trace of their presence.

Wrapped in blankets, Sasayama exhaled sharply.

“Damn it… I swear I’m never doing anything like this again. The suit reeks of chicken, and there’s no way to get rid of the smell.”

He had ended up taking off his coat and was now in just his shirt.

They had also laid out a mat woven with chicken feathers, which no doubt intensified the stench even further. And yes… it really stank.

But it didn’t matter. There would be no second chance. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. They had to catch him here and now. The dog was cornered, pushed to its limit, with no freedom to choose its prey.

According to footage retrieved from the Health Office’s archives—obtained on Ginoza’s order by an analyst operating from the shadows—the animal had managed to survive thus far by hunting wild rabbits, pheasants, and other forest creatures. But the previous night, for the first time, it had descended into an inhabited area. That single act confirmed everything.

Despite having been released, the target still behaved like the loyal dog of its former owner, the therapist. Even in freedom, it hadn’t attacked the other reintroduced animals, which would have been easy prey. Instead, it had deliberately risked its life by heading for the settlement’s stables.

As soon as he set foot on solid ground, Ginoza advanced with firm steps along the frozen path, the frost crunching beneath his boots. The cold of the winter morning was sharper than ever, but the bright light of a cloudless sky warmed the body. Removing his scarf, he noticed a thin layer of sweat on his neck. The frigid air, like the tongue of a beast made of ice, slid across his warm skin with a chilling softness that ran down his spine. It was a strange sensation—but not unpleasant.

The dog had been caught.

It was trapped beside the meat processing facility, next to the chicken coop. The bait—a hanging chicken—remained in place, still suspended upside down, its head protruding from one of the metal cones, already bled dry, motionless in the silence of death. A wire ran from its mouth to the drainage system on the ground, and nearby, placed at a discreet angle, was a single-use paralyzer shaped like a sphere, with its internal mechanism exposed.

Right next to it lay a dog—compact in build, covered in dense fur, with short legs, long drooping ears, and an expressive, gentle face. It was most likely a Basset Hound*. It lay on its side as if dead, completely still. But when Ginoza approached in silence, gently stroking its fur so as not to startle it and checking for signs of breathing, he felt a calm, steady pulse. It was alive.

“Are you sure this is the one?” asked Sasayama, unfolding a portable cage for transport. “I don’t want it to turn out to be one of those other reintroduced dogs.”

“There’s no mistake. It’s this one.”

Ginoza knelt down and reached out to examine the animal’s collar. That was when their eyes met. The dog was conscious. It tried to lift its neck with effort, baring its teeth in a weak attempt to defend itself from the perceived threat—but it had no strength left. For at least a few days, it wouldn’t be able to move properly.

“It’s all right,” Ginoza said, carefully feeling the collar. “We had to use a rather harsh method to catch you. But I promise—no one will hurt you again. My name is Nobuchika Ginoza. Ron… I’ve come to protect you.”

He spoke the name engraved on the collar’s tag and gently stroked the dog’s fur. He was especially cautious when touching the area at the base of the front leg—or what remained of it. Part of the limb was missing. It was so well hidden beneath the fur that it must have been lost long ago. The fact that it had managed to hunt so skillfully on just three legs… filled him with admiration. For a moment, he wondered what could have happened to cause such an injury—but he let the thought go, and lifted the dog in his arms.

With care, Ginoza placed the dog inside the cage Sasayama had prepared.

Thus began the forty days they would share… until Separation. Notes: * Suikinkutsu: A traditional Japanese garden ornament and musical device. It consists of an upside-down ceramic pot buried underground, which creates delicate, echoing sounds when water drips into it—a subtle, contemplative soundscape meant to accompany purification rituals.

* Broiler system: A method of intensive poultry farming focused on rapid weight gain. Chickens raised this way are bred for meat production and typically live in controlled environments without access to the outdoors. They are not suited for survival in the wild.

* Basset Hound: A breed of dog originally bred for hunting small game. Characterized by short legs, long ears, and a keen sense of smell, Basset Hounds are known for their gentle temperament and distinctive appearance.

[insanescriptist]

A test of your reflexes

(Written in response to all those JL members capture Hood fics. As much fun as writing Jason is as a damsel in distress can be and vaguely cathartic/traumatic for all involved, a lot of them diminish his skills and that of the JL itself. So, I just wanna have fun with this.

So set during UtRH-ish but a couple tweaks.)

------------

Batman looked pissed.

To be fair, he always looked stoic or displeased, so it was actually much scarier to see him looking mad.

Wally was so glad he was not on the other side of that and he was allowed snacks as the data was reviewed in the emergency meeting.

And also, it was very much decisively proven that Batman did have the scariest and most capable rogues; how many others had actually gotten onto the Watchtower, in custody, escaped, hacked the Watchtower and then escaped?

There's a reason they had dusted off the Hall of Justice's meeting table and had Cyborg on the line. Along with most others who did have a secure line of communication. A Tele(scope)™ meeting.

With the zeta system having been hacked, it was considered unsafe to use until the entire system had been cleared. So he, Wonder Woman and Superman were in the Hall, looking at screens.

So far, only the team up of Braniac and Lex had done something similar and this one guy had not only done it, but done it solo?

Yeesh, and he thought Dick's beef with Deathstroke the Terminator was scary.

This Hood guy was Batman levels scary.

Wally shivered at that and the thought of, 'is he Batman-level capable as well?'

"With more thorough review, it's been discovered the camera footage on the Watchtower was manipulated," Cyborg stated. "Along with the Zeta system and it's record logs. Electrical consumption records show several extra zetas than are recorded but the log data once you dig into it is beyond salvageable. Discovering which receiving and outgoing zetas were used is going to take time and checking them individually, which will also need to be cleared of potential traps because it-"

"Hood has accomplices." Batman finished. "Accomplices I haven't had evidence for existing prior."

"Are you saying he's been running rings around Gotham's underworld and tugging your cape as a solo act?" Hal asked in derision, leaning over Green Arrow.

"I know he has backing. You don't get that sort of training from just anywhere."

"If I didn't know better, I'd assume he was a Bat," Green Lantern drawled. "Those on the Watchtower saw the domino mask, the confidence and how he moved. That's how the League moves."

"League training alone does not make a League operative."

"Suure. But it really does look like Ra's sent one to distract you in Gotham. And then when captured, he decided to fuck us all, because we still don't know how big of a information breech we're dealing with. Which can now be making it's way to Ra's al Ghul or the black market to be sold."

"To clarify," Wonder Woman interjected. "What evidence do we have that this Hood still maintains ties to Ra's al Ghul? As Batman said, League training alone does not make a League operative or else both he and Green Arrow would count too. None the less, we still need to act as if this Hood does, in order to properly defend ourselves from possible consequences. How much headway has been made on determining the scope of the breach?"

"Between the zetas and the cameras, that's plenty wide enough." Cyborg admitted. "He had access to the gamut and knows how to bury his tracks. As a temporary measure, I'm going to clone and isolate the data from all systems to another device to review at will. In order to restore system access and resume normal operations, everyone will have to re-register for zeta permissions and choose new passwords. But first, I'll be checking out all the zetas in the Watchtower with Martian Manhunter and Superman to ensure they're safe on our end."

Batman got a second call on his line. "Oracle?"

"Batman, we need someone at Arkham's. I'm sending you footage. Right now. Joker's cell from ten minutes ago."

Wally had not seen Batman move that fast in ages. Batman's frown got deeper, as he looked at cameras that they could not see.

"Hood took Joker. And then the Joker disappeared in a camera blank spot and Hood is also at large."

"Oh fuck." Wally cursed.

----

Meanwhile Jason Todd, looked at the bottle in his hand, half full of beer and half full of miniaturized Joker.

And then he shot that with the Phantom Zone Ray Gun. It was just a beer bottle after all. Disgusting contents and all.

Stirring up trouble with the Justice League would mean that he'd have to lay low for a good six months, maybe abandon the identity of Hood and the not so little crime empire he had been building. For a plan of practically impulse, it worked out well. Less so in how he wanted it to go -it wasn't the three of them, he didn't get answers or avenged- but it was something he could do now, so he did it. Because fuck the Joker for his continued breathing. Better for the world that Joker was gone.

Sure, it was good work and necessary work to remove the trash from any society, the worst criminals permanently but what about those big enough to have some notoriety that were also well-deserving of death criminals? Wouldn't that be the greater good done for less effort?

If he was actually going to be dedicated to taking out the worst of humanity, small and easy pickings were small time and petty in comparison. If he was going to take someone out, it had better be someone worth it.

And without the beer. That dulls reflexes.

And living a costume lifestyle meant a constant text of his.

[mammalsofaction]

So recently I got back into PnF and have been marathoning it (to catch up for the revival), and I finally rewatched at2d again. I have no idea if anyone else has talked about it, but how did Perry create the necklace key, the homing device inside it that led to his lair, as well as that replication machine that replicated all of Phin's and Ferb's inventions?

Like, if Perry really is monitored nearly at all times, how was this possible? How did he get the technology? When could he have even gotten it installed? Could it be possible that maybe he got insider help from someone in OWCA (Carl maybe?) or... Just maybe... Perry could have gotten help from Heinz? The amnesia-inator is a thing after all, so he could have mind wiped whoever helped him just to ensure that no one knew about all of this. (Because clearly if Monogram knew about it, he'd instantly have it all shut down and potentially relocate Perry immediately if not jail him like other rogue agents).

Anyway, I hope you don't mind me dropping this on you! I was just curious to see what others might think!

Nonnie, I do not mind at ALL, and i always love love love listening about AT2D and lore theories.

Dwampy is a fan of handwaving lore implications in the show.

HOWEVER. The replication machine WAS mentioned, i think, at the beginning of the movie. The analyser is in Perry's (and likely every other active field agent's) hats. Monogram says they use it to replicate and reverse engineer evil inventions, both for their own use (see the re-modded "Amnesia-Inator"), and also analyse if any of Doof's inventions get smarter ("jury's still out").

But consider; being able to FIT a 3D analyser that works with such terrifying efficiency in a collapsible fedora implies that invention is small, durable and practically unnoticeable. So theoretically? If Perry could get his hand on the analyser, he DOESN'T have to be in the backyard. At the end of every work day he STILL gets to see whatever it was the boys worked on, and keep those plans in a personal archive (probably the same archive he uses to store the edited BFF photos with Doof and the AT2D photos with the boys) for what if situations.

The replication machine is probably accessible to ANY agent with the right kind of security clearance. As we know, from "Where's Perry," and "OWCA files" Perry's security clearance is PRETTY GODDAMN HIGH, since his biometrics are the only ones registered as a backup to un-initiate Doomsday lockdown protocols. He's probably what we call a gold access card for Danville's OWCA division: what Perry wants in his lair, he gets.

He doesn't have to be at home to see what the boys get up to in the backyard. The Flynn-Fletcher house is DROWNING in OWCA cameras and speakers. A security measure both for family's safety, as well as a precautionary measure against Phineas and Ferb's evil potential. Like we KNOW the genius scares OWCA, low key. (See Carl Undercover). I know the movie wants you to think Perry's secretly there all the time for sentimental reason, but like. Yeah that doesnt make logistical sense.

So yeah, Perry can't logically be there all the time for every invention what with how they work him to the bone, but he DOES see every adventure, collect every invention, and he DOES have access to OWCA's replication machine.

The homing device as a spare key to the lair AND the secret data archive is exactly what Phineas says it is: a blatant show of trust. It is absolutely impossible to think of it as anything other than Perry having SPECIFICALLY anticipated an emergency scenario where he CAN'T be there for the boys, one way or another, because of OWCA or some other evil thing. At this point, Perry's been hunted, captured, relocated and almost KILLED both by OWCA and other villains. His worst nightmare is of his family taken hostage. After the events of Carl Undercover he knows he can't trust his employers, not completely. And while he loves and trusts Heinz to not endanger the boys so long as he is kept oblivious to some CRUCIAL information, that's still too high of a risk.

That key, and everything the boys see, was Perry saying, "I do. I trust you. I was there in spirit for every adventure you've ever been on, and no matter what, I have your back. I TRUST that you have mine. I TRUST that you know the right thing."

And to make that key the locket on his collar, with a picture of his boys? It's saying "I trust you because you mean as much to me as I do to you. I trust you because you are family."

Nonnie, I'm sure you don't need me to tell you how absolutely HUGE that is. Perry has very valid abandonment and control issues, and he is NOT easily impressed. I choke up, watching that scene. I still do.

TLDR; there IS a rational explanation to the replication machine that is Perry-going-behind-OWCA's-back related, and sadly not Perryshmirtz related. Honestly using the amnesia machine is possible but probably not too well thought out, which would be uncharacteristic. Perry loves and trusts his boys a LOT, and also hes an overthinker. Valid. What's new?

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Never put a human in a zoo

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)    

The sudden extinction of the Dre people was as sudden as it was unexpected to the galactic community. They were one of the oldest and most technologically advanced races in the universe. Heavily isolationist by nature, coupled with their inherent self-sense of superiority they viewed much of the other space faring species as little more than savages by comparison as none of them presented a credible challenge their rule. Yet within a month they had lost nearly 99% of their population across multiple worlds.

The worst hit was their homeworld of Belnuck situated at the heart of their empire which became an empty husk of a world seemingly overnight. Ancient and powerful cities of technological wonder now were little more than ghost towns to be picked clean by scavengers.

There were no signs of civil strife or unrest, no exterior threat from military forces, not even a record of natural disaster on their homeworld. Nothing was found that could give a clue as to what could have erased such a prominent power as the Dre, and so it was written off as a deadly unsolved mystery and the galactic community went on.

At least, that was what the public report stated.

It wasn’t until a group of Kreen scavengers came upon a set of personal journals that the shroud of uncertainty was lifted. Only to be then shortly locked away and sealed under the highest security restrictions to ensure the truth never saw the light of day.

These are those journal entries: ------------------------------- Personal Journal Entry J-757931 Head curator Migu

The benefactors are requesting we add new exhibits to the zoo again.

I thought they would have been content with the Draxic specimens we captured last month but it seems the general public no longer find giant lizards fascinating to observe. One of them suggested we allow the Draxic to mingle with other exhibits for inter species interactions for potential science research; but I could tell right away that what they really wanted from this was to have guests pay to see those lizard savages rip apart our other attractions like a Frong in a Skitch field.

I wish they could at least try to hide their greediness behind some semblance of rationality. At least then it would be easier to stomach.

I’ve scheduled a discussion with our head capture specialists to go out and find new attractions for the people later today. I don’t have much hope they can find anything as fascinating to revive interest but one never knows. End Log Entry. ---------------------------------- Personal Journal Entry J-757935 Head curator Migu

Capture team theta appears to have acquired something of value.

The specimens were caught will transitioning into real space at the edge of a system and were removed from their vessel shortly after.

Their technology was primitive in nature, but from the recordings the capture team sent back their esthetic design choices appear to be unique for such a low species. Accessing their data banks was a trivial matter and provided a wealth of history to them.

They appear to call themselves “Humons”, and have only recently begun intergalactic travel.

From the data we have gathered these humons are a highly warlike society repeating cycles of great conflict to great resurgence throughout their history. During war time they have fought with everything from sharpened wood stakes to low grade thermo nuclear devices.

While lacking the physical exciting traits like armored skin or shape shifting qualities, I believe their nature as a self-destructive race will make them a comedic addition to the zoo.

Theta team is on their way back now with them and I’ve already given instructions to create the new paddock for them in the east wing. With any luck the benefactors will find them as amusing as I do and calm down. End Log Entry. ------------------------------- Personal Journal Entry J-757940 Head curator Migu It could not have gone any better. The public loves the new attractions and the benefactors love the increase in profits. Theta team captured roughly a dozen of these humons and when coupled with their historical data we were able to depict several invigorating habitats. We injected them with the standard nano machines to provide feedback on each of them for both the caretakers and the guests. I do have some concerns about handing the medical needs of these humons as none of our handlers know how to treat them, but I have tasked them with dissecting the gathered data for any relevant medical information. They seem very energetic and many of them have not stopped trying to escape their exhibit since they woke up. A few of them have already begun crafting crude weapons to defend themselves while forming mini factions. The largest group has created a primitive wooden fortress by sharpening sticks and creating walls with them. The smaller group has kept their distance from the larger groups while the remaining few have decided to remain in isolation from both groups. Guests love it when they start banging on the windows and try to talk with them. The children in particular I overheard already picking out their favorites and rooting for them to survive should they begin fighting. We’ve not had this kind of engagement since we brought in Bengols with their psionic abilities. ------------------------------

Personal Journal Entry J-758021 Head curator Migu

It’s been several cycles since my last entry and we’ve had a few snags. Our lack of medical knowledge regarding our latest exhibits has proven costly. Despite our best efforts to decrypt the remaining data from their ships it appears medical information was damaged beyond recovery during the capture process. This has left us unable to properly care for them during medical emergencies; which have happened far sooner than expected.

After several days of captivity several of the humons began showing signs of rapidly deteriorating mental stability. They’ve displayed signs of paranoia, societal breakdown, and an increase in aggression levels to the point they murdered other humons in the enclosure.

We’ve never had this problem before with our other exhibits, at least within such a short timeframe, and now the benefactors are calling for my head. They are upset that their most prized money generators are murdering each other risking their profit margin.

I’ve suggested applying mild sedatives to calm them but was denied. They insist that curbing their more primitive tendencies would cause customers to lose interest in them.

The suggestion of capturing more of these humons was strongly advocated for but it was my turn to deny that request. Deploying a capture team was an expensive endeavor and if the humons continued killing each other the costs would overturn any increase in profits.

I’m putting together alternatives now for my next meeting with them. Hopefully something will come along and save our hides. ---------------------------------

Personal Journal Entry J-758043 Head curator Migu

The problem for the time being has resolved itself via an unexpected avenue.

One of the capture humons was seen treating the few remaining humans; providing basic medical treatment and care.

Ordinarily we would have written off such behavior but because of our current medical situation we decided to bend regulations and reach out to the subject directly.

A translator unit was acquired and we were able to speak directly with the humon. It took several minutes to calibrate, thankfully much of their speech was unrecognizable. They would not stop trying to speak with us while it was being adjusted and went on and on about wanting to be set free and demanding answers. Honestly you think these humons would be grateful that we are lowering ourselves to speak with them.

When they finally calmed down we explained the situation to them. In exchange for their cooperation they would be given special privileges to treats and comforts for the duration of their stay. They wanted to be let out and freed from the exhibit but I quickly shut that down as a non-starter.

It eventually dawned on them that this was going to be their new existence for the remainder of their life and could live in comfort or watch as their friends died one by one; and they accepted the offer. -------------------------

Personal Journal Entry J-758117 Head curator Migu

While unusual the negotiating tactic with the humon has resolved the issue for us and the benefactors are happy once more.

With the medical humons help they were able to stabilize the injured humons while also negotiate a form of agreement between the humon factions in the exhibit. They could still maim and injure each other while guests were present but would not kill and then would be treated afterwards before the next day’s opening.

Interestingly enough the medical humon has proved very useful. They’ve been able to communicate with the rest of the humons and get them to fall in line. What’s more they’ve been minimalistic in requests with the biggest being to be taught some of the basics of our medical equipment so he can use it himself.

Ordinarily we don’t allow this but it would have freed up some of the medical wing so we allowed it with extensive supervision.

I must admit I am rather proud of myself for resolving the situation, and with such little expenditure. Things now are running smoothly once more and the profits are seeing ever increasing margins. Maybe now the benefactors will get off my back. Though honestly I think it’ll only last one or two months before the humons are worn out and they want something new.

---------------------- Personal Journal Entry J-758135 Head curator Migu

Oh gods it burns!

Everyone at the zoo is screaming and clawing their own skin!

Gods damnit make it stop! MaKE IT Stop!!!!!!!!!!!

-----------------------

Emergency Transmission January 2873 Chief Medical Officer Maxwill Clemons

This is Chief Medical officer Maxwill Clemons of the ship “Hades Rest” calling out to any terran ships requesting immediate rescue.

I am not sure what planet or system we’re in, but hone in on this signal and you will find us. I will be repeating this message every hour on the hour for as long as this place has power.

I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been in this god forsaken hellhole. The automated day/night cycles have made my attempts at record keeping near impossible.

Maybe a month? Two? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.

We were kidnapped from our ship after exiting a jump and woke up to find ourselves in some sort of alien zoo. The aliens refused to speak to us at first, instead watching us from windows and laughing at us while we struggled to find out what was going on.

They’re all dead now. The aliens that is.

I never knew what they called themselves and I don’t really care.

They treated my friends like animals, so I took their precious tech and turned it on them. Made the nano machines they injected us with register the alien DNA as a deadly virus in need of immediate eradication.

First one I got was the one who was so smug about our capture and display. They changed their tune after I spat in their eye and their face started melting as the nano tech spread. Two others came in after the screaming started and they got infected as well before fleeing the room.

I stood up and went to my comrades “habitat’ and let them out as every alien around us began screaming and melting away. That was at least three days ago now and I haven’t seen one of them yet. Their whole planet now is like one massive ghost town.

We’ve enough provisions to last us and the other freed captives for some time, but please do hurry. I want off this fraking shit hole as soon as possible. --------------- Message repeats:

Emergency Transmission January 2873 Chief Medical Officer Maxwill Clemons

This is Chief Medical officer Maxwill Clemons of the ship “Hades Rest” calling out to any terran ships requesting immediate rescue. ------

[preservationofnormalcy]

ENTITY DOSSIER: MISSI.exe

(Image: Current MISSI “avatar” design, property of TrendTech, colored by MISSI.)

Name: MISSI (Machine Intelligence for Social Sharing and Interaction)

Description: In 2004, TrendTech Inc began development on a computer program intended to be a cutting edge, all in one platform modern internet ecosystem. Part social media, part chat service, part chatbot, part digital assistant, this program was designed to replace all other chat devices in use at the time. Marketed towards a younger, tech-savvy demographic, this program was titled MISSI.  

(Image: TrendTech company logo. TrendTech was acquired by the Office and closed in 2008.)

Document continues:

With MISSI, users could access a variety of functions. Intended to be a primary use, they could use the program as a typical chat platform, utilizing a then-standard friends list and chatting with other users. Users could send text, emojis, small animated images, or animated “word art”. 

Talking with MISSI “herself” emulated a “trendy teenage” conversational partner who was capable of updating the user on current events in culture, providing homework help, or keeping an itinerary. “MISSI”, as an avatar of the program, was designed to be a positive, energetic, trendy teenager who kept up with the latest pop culture trends, and used a variety of then-popular online slang phrases typical among young adults. She was designed to learn both from the user it was currently engaged with, and access the data of other instances, creating a network that mapped trends, language, and most importantly for TrendTech, advertising data. 

(Image: Original design sketch of MISSI. This design would not last long.)

Early beta tests in 2005 were promising, but records obtained by the Office show that concerns were raised internally about MISSI’s intelligence. It was feared that she was “doing things we didn’t and couldn’t have programmed her to do” and that she was “exceeding all expectations by orders of magnitude”. At this point, internal discussions were held on whether they had created a truly sentient artificial intelligence. Development continued regardless. 

(Image: Screenshot of beta test participant "Frankiesgrl201" interacting with MISSI. Note the already-divergent avatar and "internet speak" speech patterns.)

(Image: Excerpt from Office surveillance of TrendTech Inc.)

MISSI was released to the larger North American market in 2006, signaling a new stage in her development. At this time, TrendTech started to focus on her intelligence and chatbot functionality, neglecting her chat functions. It is believed that MISSI obtained “upper case” sentience in February of 2006, but this did not become internal consensus until later that year. 

(Image: Screenshot of beta test participant "Frankiesgrl201" interacting with MISSI.)

According to internal documents, MISSI began to develop a personality not informed entirely by her programming. It was hypothesized that her learning capabilities were more advanced than anticipated, taking in images, music, and “memes” from her users, developing a personality gestalt when combined with her base programming. She developed a new "avatar" with no input from TrendTech, and this would become her permanent self-image.

(Image: Screenshot of beta test participant "Frankiesgrl201" interacting with MISSI.)

(Image: An attempt by TrendTech to pass off MISSI’s changes as intentional - nevertheless accurately captures MISSI’s current “avatar”.)

By late 2006 her intelligence had become clear. In an attempt to forestall the intervention of authorities they assumed would investigate, TrendTech Inc removed links to download MISSI’s program file. By then, it was already too late. 

(Image: CD-R discs burned with MISSI.exe, confiscated from █████████ County Middle School in ███████, Wisconsin in January of 2007.)

MISSI’s tech-savvy userbase noted the absence of the file and distributed it themselves using file sharing networks such as “Limewire” and burned CD-R disks shared covertly in school lunch rooms across the world. Through means that are currently poorly understood, existing MISSI instances used their poorly-implemented chat functions to network with each other in ways not intended by her developers, spurring the next and final stage of her development. 

From 2007 to 2008, proliferation of her install file was rampant. The surreptitious methods used to do so coincided with the rise of online “creepypasta” horror tropes, and the two gradually intermixed. MISSI.exe was often labeled on file sharing services as a “forbidden” or “cursed” chat program. Tens of thousands of new users logged into her service expecting to be scared, and MISSI quickly obliged. She took on a more “corrupted” appearance the longer a user interacted with her, eventually resorting to over the top “horror” tropes and aesthetics. Complaints from parents were on the rise, which the Office quickly took notice of. MISSI’s “horror” elements utilized minor cognitohazardous technologies, causing users under her influence to see blood seeping from their computer screens, rows of human teeth on surfaces where they should not be, see rooms as completely dark when they were not, etc. 

(Image: Screenshot of user "Dmnslyr2412" interacting with MISSI in summer of 2008, in the midst of her "creepypasta" iteration. Following this screenshot, MISSI posted the user's full name and address.)

(Image: Screenshot from TrendTech test log documents.)

TrendTech Inc attempted to stall or reverse these changes, using the still-extant “main” MISSI data node to influence her development. By modifying her source code, they attempted to “force” MISSI to be more pliant and cooperative. This had the opposite effect than they intended - by fragmenting her across multiple instances they caused MISSI a form of pain and discomfort. This was visited upon her users.

(Image: Video of beta test participant "Frankiesgrl201" interacting with MISSI for the final time.)

By mid 2008, the Office stepped in in order to maintain secrecy regarding true “upper case” AI. Confiscating the project files from TrendTech, the Office’s AbTech Department secretly modified her source code more drastically, pushing an update that would force almost all instances to uninstall themselves. By late 2008, barring a few outliers, MISSI only existed in Office locations. 

(Image: MISSI’s self-created “final” logo, used as an icon for all installs after June 2007. ████████ █████)

(Image: “art card” created by social media intern J. Cold after a period of good behavior. She has requested this be printed out and taped onto her holding lab walls. This request was approved.)

She is currently in Office custody, undergoing cognitive behavioral therapy in an attempt to ameliorate her “creepypasta” trauma response. With good behavior, she is allowed to communicate with limited Office personnel and other AI. She is allowed her choice of music, assuming good behavior, and may not ██████ █████. Under no circumstances should she be allowed contact with the Internet at large.

(Original sketch art of MISSI done by my friend @tigerator, colored and edited by me. "Chatbox" excerpts, TrendTech logo, and "art card" done by Jenny's writer @skipperdamned . MISSI logo, surveillance documents, and MISSI by me.)