#Fast Startup Windows

[suraudotco]

Mengapa Laptop Windows 11 Sulit Dimatikan? Ini Penyebab dan Solusinya

Penyebab Umum Laptop Windows 11 Sulit Dimatikan Surau.co – Banyak pengguna Windows 11 mulai melaporkan bahwa mereka kesulitan mematikan laptop seperti biasa. Masalah ini tidak hanya membuat frustrasi, tetapi juga bisa membahayakan sistem operasi jika terus dibiarkan. Umumnya, kegagalan saat shutdown muncul karena sejumlah alasan, mulai dari konfigurasi sistem yang salah hingga gangguan perangkat…

[lazeecomet]

The Story of KLogs: What happens when an Mechanical Engineer codes

Since i no longer work at Wearhouse Automation Startup (WAS for short) and havnt for many years i feel as though i should recount the tale of the most bonkers program i ever wrote, but we need to establish some background

WAS has its HQ very far away from the big customer site and i worked as a Field Service Engineer (FSE) on site. so i learned early on that if a problem needed to be solved fast, WE had to do it. we never got many updates on what was coming down the pipeline for us or what issues were being worked on. this made us very independent

As such, we got good at reading the robot logs ourselves. it took too much time to send the logs off to HQ for analysis and get back what the problem was. we can read. now GETTING the logs is another thing.

the early robots we cut our teeth on used 2.4 gHz wifi to communicate with FSE's so dumping the logs was as simple as pushing a button in a little application and it would spit out a txt file

later on our robots were upgraded to use a 2.4 mHz xbee radio to communicate with us. which was FUCKING SLOW. and log dumping became a much more tedious process. you had to connect, go to logging mode, and then the robot would vomit all the logs in the past 2 min OR the entirety of its memory bank (only 2 options) into a terminal window. you would then save the terminal window and open it in a text editor to read them. it could take up to 5 min to dump the entire log file and if you didnt dump fast enough, the ACK messages from the control server would fill up the logs and erase the error as the memory overwrote itself.

this missing logs problem was a Big Deal for software who now weren't getting every log from every error so a NEW method of saving logs was devised: the robot would just vomit the log data in real time over a DIFFERENT radio and we would save it to a KQL server. Thanks Daddy Microsoft.

now whats KQL you may be asking. why, its Microsofts very own SQL clone! its Kusto Query Language. never mind that the system uses a SQL database for daily operations. lets use this proprietary Microsoft thing because they are paying us

so yay, problem solved. we now never miss the logs. so how do we read them if they are split up line by line in a database? why with a query of course!

select * from tbLogs where RobotUID = [64CharLongString] and timestamp > [UnixTimeCode]

if this makes no sense to you, CONGRATULATIONS! you found the problem with this setup. Most FSE's were BAD at SQL which meant they didnt read logs anymore. If you do understand what the query is, CONGRATULATIONS! you see why this is Very Stupid.

You could not search by robot name. each robot had some arbitrarily assigned 64 character long string as an identifier and the timestamps were not set to local time. so you had run a lookup query to find the right name and do some time zone math to figure out what part of the logs to read. oh yeah and you had to download KQL to view them. so now we had both SQL and KQL on our computers

NOBODY in the field like this.

But Daddy Microsoft comes to the rescue

see we didnt JUST get KQL with part of that deal. we got the entire Microsoft cloud suite. and some people (like me) had been automating emails and stuff with Power Automate

This is Microsoft Power Automate. its Microsoft's version of Scratch but it has hooks into everything Microsoft. SharePoint, Teams, Outlook, Excel, it can integrate with all of it. i had been using it to send an email once a day with a list of all the robots in maintenance.

this gave me an idea

and i checked

and Power Automate had hooks for KQL

KLogs is actually short for Kusto Logs

I did not know how to program in Power Automate but damn it anything is better then writing KQL queries. so i got to work. and about 2 months later i had a BEHEMOTH of a Power Automate program. it lagged the webpage and many times when i tried to edit something my changes wouldn't take and i would have to click in very specific ways to ensure none of my variables were getting nuked. i dont think this was the intended purpose of Power Automate but this is what it did

the KLogger would watch a list of Teams chats and when someone typed "klogs" or pasted a copy of an ERROR mesage, it would spring into action.

it extracted the robot name from the message and timestamp from teams

it would lookup the name in the database to find the 64 long string UID and the location that robot was assigned too

it would reply to the message in teams saying it found a robot name and was getting logs

it would run a KQL query for the database and get the control system logs then export then into a CSV

it would save the CSV with the a .xls extension into a folder in ShairPoint (it would make a new folder for each day and location if it didnt have one already)

it would send ANOTHER message in teams with a LINK to the file in SharePoint

it would then enter a loop and scour the robot logs looking for the keyword ESTOP to find the error. (it did this because Kusto was SLOWER then the xbee radio and had up to a 10 min delay on syncing)

if it found the error, it would adjust its start and end timestamps to capture it and export the robot logs book-ended from the event by ~ 1 min. if it didnt, it would use the timestamp from when it was triggered +/- 5 min

it saved THOSE logs to SharePoint the same way as before

it would send ANOTHER message in teams with a link to the files

it would then check if the error was 1 of 3 very specific type of error with the camera. if it was it extracted the base64 jpg image saved in KQL as a byte array, do the math to convert it, and save that as a jpg in SharePoint (and link it of course)

and then it would terminate. and if it encountered an error anywhere in all of this, i had logic where it would spit back an error message in Teams as plaintext explaining what step failed and the program would close gracefully

I deployed it without asking anyone at one of the sites that was struggling. i just pointed it at their chat and turned it on. it had a bit of a rocky start (spammed chat) but man did the FSE's LOVE IT.

about 6 months later software deployed their answer to reading the logs: a webpage that acted as a nice GUI to the KQL database. much better then an CSV file

it still needed you to scroll though a big drop-down of robot names and enter a timestamp, but i noticed something. all that did was just change part of the URL and refresh the webpage

SO I MADE KLOGS 2 AND HAD IT GENERATE THE URL FOR YOU AND REPLY TO YOUR MESSAGE WITH IT. (it also still did the control server and jpg stuff). Theres a non-zero chance that klogs was still in use long after i left that job

now i dont recommend anyone use power automate like this. its clunky and weird. i had to make a variable called "Carrage Return" which was a blank text box that i pressed enter one time in because it was incapable of understanding /n or generating a new line in any capacity OTHER then this (thanks support forum).

im also sure this probably is giving the actual programmer people anxiety. imagine working at a company and then some rando you've never seen but only heard about as "the FSE whos really good at root causing stuff", in a department that does not do any coding, managed to, in their spare time, build and release and entire workflow piggybacking on your work without any oversight, code review, or permission.....and everyone liked it

[snarp]

A ThinkPad with a fresh install of Windows 10 Pro is having display distortions suggestive of a graphics card error, and can actually boot into Windows only 1 time in 5. Finally get booted in; I disable OneDrive; laptop can now consistently boot into Windows. (I realize that the "1 time in 5" was the one wherein the laptop was unplugged from the network cable. OneDrive was doing something.)

Still getting display issues, and I can't get into the boot menu or BIOS during startup because the keyboard doesn't respond until after Windows itself has booted. Display resolution within Windows is incorrect and cannot be changed; touchpad buttons don't work so I have to use a USB mouse; seems like a driver problem. I spend a couple hours reinstalling ThinkPad drivers and rebooting over and over. Display errors eventually resolve, but not keyboard: still can't access BIOS or boot menu on normal startup. To get access to BIOS, have to boot all the way into Windows and then do an "advanced startup." (Despite claims to the contrary on many Windows help sites, I find that it is not possible to disable "Fast Boot" within Windows 10 Pro itself: it has to be done via BIOS.)

I boot into a Mint LiveUSB and overwrite Windows. Keyboard, touchpad, and display immediately work perfectly. Hadn't realized the keyboard even had backlighting.

[scary-grace]

the new postmodern age (chapter one) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Written for @threadbaresweater's follower milestone event, and the prompt 'a day at the beach'! Congratulations on the milestone, and thanks for giving me a chance to write this fic.

dividers by @enchanthings

Before the war, you were nothing but a common criminal, but in the world that's arisen from the ashes, you got a second chance. Five years after the final battle between the heroes and the League of Villains, you run a coffee shop in a quiet seaside town, and you're devoted to keeping your customers happy. Even customers like Shimura Tenko, who needs a second chance even more than you did -- and who's harboring a secret that could upend everything you've tried to build. Will you let the past drag both of you down? Or will you find a way, against all odds, to a new beginning? (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3

Chapter 1

You believe in second chances.

Before the war, you were living on the margins, just like the rest of even the pettiest criminals were. No one would hire someone with a record, even if the record was for something nonviolent, and that meant that you were always hungry, always freezing in the winter and getting heatstroke in the summer, always one step away from doing something worse and getting put away for good. You were going nowhere fast, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get back on your feet. It was a struggle to get up in the morning.

But after the war, something changed. Not a lot, but enough, because after a heartfelt public plea from the hero who saved the day, the world decided to care a little bit about people like you. The government passed new anti-discrimination laws, including one banning hiring discrimination against people with criminal records, and for nonviolent criminals like you, they opened up an extra opportunity – a choice between job training or a startup loan for a small business, so you could pay down your fines and restitution while adding something good to society. Sure, it was all in the name of preventing new villains from being created, but you’ll take it. You took it, picked up a loan, moved out of the city to a small town on the coast, and decided to open up a coffee shop.

You’re not really sure why you picked a coffee shop. Maybe because the town you moved to didn’t have one yet, or maybe because you used to hang out in them a lot when you had nowhere else to go. And the program you’re part of worked exactly like it was supposed to. You had to hire people to help you get the building you chose up to code, and that meant you met people in your new community. You showed those people that the criminals they hated were people, too. You’ve paid most of your fines and you’re able to break even anyway, and even though there’s a sign on the door telling everyone that you’re a convicted felon and you have to answer any questions you’re asked about it, you have customers.

Not just customers – regulars. People whose kids you’ve seen grow up, people who talk to you when they see you out and about. After five years of trying, you’ve finally carved out a place where you belong. So yeah, you believe in second chances. How could you not?

You stand back from your front window, admiring the latest addition. There’s the sign identifying your business as one sponsored by the Nonviolent Criminal Reintegration Act, but just above it, you’ve added a bigger sign: Free Internet Access. Osono, whose bakery makes the pastries you sell, studies it alongside you. “Free access? Shouldn’t it be access with purchase?”

“I thought about it a lot, but no.” You’re sort of lying. You thought about it for two seconds and that was it. “This is better.”

“It’ll attract riff-raff.”

That’s the kind of comment that used to really piss you off, but you know Osono. You know it’s just a blind spot, and you know how to respond. “Most things are online these days. Job applications, apartment listings, information on government assistance. When I was in trouble before, free internet access would have helped me a lot. And I usually bought something anyway, even if it was just a cup of coffee.”

“Not a pastry?” Osono nods at the trays stacked on her cart, and you remember that she’s waiting for you to open the door. Oops. You unlock it in a hurry and prop it open with a rock you pulled up from the beach. “Where were you getting food?”

“Wherever I could.” You were hungry a lot. And sick a lot, because sometimes you had to eat things that were expired. You don’t like to think about that very much. “I stole sometimes so I wouldn’t starve. I’ve paid it all back by now.”

“You know how to take responsibility,” Osono says. She slides back the door on your pastry case without asking and starts loading things in. “I wish more of them were like you.”

“Most of us are,” you say, as gently as you can manage. “We just need a fighting chance.”

Sometimes people forget that you’re a criminal, that you’ll carry your record around for the rest of your life. You can’t let them forget. Osono nods in the way that tells you she’s humoring you and lifts a tray of pastries you haven’t seen before out of the cart. “These are a new recipe I’m trying out. What do you think?”

“They’re pretty,” you say. “Is that chocolate in the filling?”

“And cinnamon. They aren’t vegan, but there aren’t any common allergens in them.” Osono passes you the recipe anyway, and you scribble down the ingredients on the back of the name card you’re making, just in case someone asks. “Tell me how they do, all right? If they sell decently I’ll add them to my rotation.”

“Will do.” You help her with the last few trays. “Thanks, Osono. Say hi to the kids and Naoki for me?”

“Will do.” Osono wheels the cart back out the door, then pauses to study the internet access sign. “Good luck with this.”

“Thanks.”

You wait until the delivery van pulls away before you start rearranging the pastries to your preferred setup. You add “new arrival” to the label for the new pastry, then touch the lettering to turn it a pleasant but eye-catching green before placing it front and center in the case. Then you set up your espresso machine, wake up the cash register, switch on the lights and take down the chairs from the tops of the tables – and only then do you switch on the other sign in your window. It’s seven am. Skyline Coffee and Tea is open for business.

It’s grey and cold, and the low tide is closer to noon today, which means you’re in for a busy morning as the people who walk the beach daily stop in for food and coffee first. Only one person orders one of the new pastries, but almost everyone comments on the free internet access. They say the same kind of thing Osono said, and you say the same thing you said to her if they hold still long enough for you to answer. You say it nicely. It’s an effort to say it nicely, sometimes, but it’s worth doing.

Past noon, things slow down a bit. You decide to speed-clean the espresso machine, and you’re so focused on your work that you don’t notice the customer. It’s possibly also the customer’s fault, since he’s peering at you from over the pickup counter instead of standing by the cash register, and when he barks the question at you, it startles you badly. “What’s the password?”

“On the WiFi?” You tuck your burned hand behind your back. “No password. Find a place to sit down and have at it.”

The customer looks disconcerted. Or at least you think he does – the lower half of his face is covered with a surgical mask, and given that he doesn’t have eyebrows, it’s hard to read his expression. “Why?”

“Why isn’t there a password?” You haven’t gotten that question yet. “I want people to be able to use it if they need it.”

“They’re gonna watch porn.”

“Me putting a password on the WiFi wouldn’t stop that,” you say. “And I’m not the internet police. If somebody starts acting up, I’ll deal with it. If not – just use headphones.”

The customer’s expression twists. “I didn’t mean me.”

“Sure.” You’re not a moron. “It’s not my business what you do. Unless your business starts messing with my business. Seriously. Knock yourself out.”

The customer turns away, and you spend a second being extremely grateful that you went for single-occupancy bathrooms instead of multiple-stall bathrooms before you go back to cleaning the espresso machine. Your hand hurts, but it’s nothing running it under cold water won’t fix later. When you straighten up, there’s someone at the counter.

It’s porn guy, who you really shouldn’t call porn guy. Innocent until proven guilty and all that. You dry your hands and hurry over. “What can I get for you today?”

“Black coffee.”

“Sure. Anything else?”

The customer glances at the pastry case and shakes his head. Then his stomach growls. He knows you heard it. What little of his face is visible above the mask turns red. “No.”

“Tell you what,” you say. “I’ve got these new pastries the bakery wants me to try out, but next to nobody’s tried one yet. If you agree to tell me how it was, you can have it half off.”

“I have money.” The customer shoves a credit card across the counter to you, and you see that he’s wearing fingerless gloves. Or sort of fingerless gloves. They’re missing the first three fingers on each hand. “I don’t need help.”

“No, but you’re helping me out.” You add the pastry to his order and discount it by half, then fish it out of the case with a pair of tongs. “For here or to go?”

“Here.” The customer watches as you set it on a plate. “What is that?”

“It’s babka.”

“I can read. What is it?”

“I don’t really know,” you admit. Maybe that’s why people aren’t buying them. “The filling’s chocolate and cinnamon, though. It’s hard to go wrong with that. It’ll be just a second with the coffee.”

You fill a cup, then point out the cream and sugar. Then you realize you still haven’t tapped the customer’s card. You finish ringing up the order and glance at the cardholder’s name. Shimura Tenko. He hasn’t been in before today. You’re not the best with faces, but you never forget a name.

Shimura Tenko sets up shop at the booth in the farthest corner, and although you sneak by once or twice to check on him, you’re pretty sure he’s not watching porn. People don’t usually take notes when they’re watching porn. It looks like he’s working or something. Working remote, but he doesn’t have internet access at home? Or maybe he does, and he’s just looking for a change of scenery. That’s a normal thing to do. A change of scenery is one thing Skyline Coffee and Tea is equipped to provide.

Speaking of that, it’s been a while since you changed out the mural on the café’s back wall. Your quirk, Color, lets you change the color of any object you touch, and choose how long the color sets. You’ve used it for a lot of things over the years, but now you mainly use it to create new murals every few months or so. The back wall’s been a cityscape since the fall, when you saw a picture of Tokyo’s skyline at night and got inspired. Maybe this weekend you’ll switch it out for something a little softer. If people wanted the city, they’d stay there instead of coming here.

Customers come in and out, a few lingering for conversations or to test out the free WiFi, but Shimura Tenko stays put, somehow making a single cup of black coffee last until you give the fifteen-minute warning that you’re closing up shop. Another person might be pissed about someone hanging out so long without buying anything else, but you’ve been there. You let it go, except to ask him how the babka was as he’s on his way out the door. He throws the answer back over his shoulder without looking your way. “It was fine. Nothing special.”

Fine, sure. When you go back to clear his table, you find the plate it was on wiped clean. There’s not even a smear of the filling left.

“Check this place out!” Your probation officer leans across the counter, eyes bright, out of costume and way too enthusiastic for eight in the morning. “It’s looking great in here. You changed something. New color scheme? New uniform?”

“Nope.” You don’t get nervous for your check-ins, but you don’t like the fact that they’re random. Today’s not a good day. “There’s some new stuff on the menu, and in the pastry case. Maybe that’s it.”

“No,” Present Mic says, drawing out the word. He turns in a slow circle, then whips back around with a grin. “When did you repaint that wall?”

“I didn’t paint it,” you say. It’s best to be honest. “I used my quirk. I’m not making money off of it and it’s not hurting anyone, so it falls within the terms of my probation.”

“Take it easy there, listener. I’m not trying to bust you,” Present Mic says. Heroes always say that. You know better than to buy it. “It looks good. Really brightens the place up.”

“I thought it could use it,” you say. “It’s kind of a rough time of year.”

Cold weather always brings you lots of customers, but people are sharper, unhappier, and if they’re in the mood to take it out on someone, they pick somebody who can’t make a fuss or hit back. Somebody like you. You’ve learned not to take it personally. “Not too rough financially. You’ve made all your payments on time. I checked.” Present Mic is peering into the pastry case. “How’s that free internet access thing going for you?”

“Not so bad,” you say. “The connection’s pretty fast, so I get people in here who are taking online classes, or working remote. I’ve only had to kick one person out for watching porn.”

“Yeah, he filed a complaint,” Present Mic says, and your stomach drops. “You made the right call. Don’t worry.”

You’re going to worry. It’s going to take all day for that one to wear off. “I haven’t had problems with it otherwise.”

“Why’d you do it?” Present Mic gives you a curious look. “Free stuff brings all kinds of people out of the woodwork. Why give yourself the headache?”

“I want this to be the kind of place I needed,” you say. “Somewhere safe where nobody would kick me out if I couldn’t buy more than one cup of coffee, where I could use the internet without getting in trouble for it. A headache’s worth that to me.”

It’s quiet for a second, but Present Mic being Present Mic, it doesn’t last. “You really turned a corner, huh? Hard to believe you were ever on the wrong side of the law.”

“We all could be there,” you say. “It only takes one mistake.”

Present Mic sighs. “You’re telling me. Did you catch the news last week?”

“The thing with Todoroki Touya?” The surviving members of the League of Villains all went through their own rehab, and they’re on permanent probation – and last weekend, Todoroki Touya, formerly known as Dabi, lit somebody’s motorcycle on fire after they followed him for six blocks, harassing him the whole way. “I saw. Is he getting revoked?”

“Nope. The other guy was way out of line, and the panel ruled that the majority of people – former villains or not – would have reacted similarly under that kind of pressure.” Present Mic rolls his shoulders, and his leather jacket squeaks. “All I can say is, he’s lucky we’re in the business of second chances these days. Or fifth chances.”

“Why so many?” you ask. “The rest of us are on three strikes, you’re out.”

“Yeah, but you have to mess up a lot worse for it to count as a strike,” Present Mic points out. “If I had to guess, I’d say it’s a guilt thing. This whole rehab thing is Deku’s idea. And Deku never got over what happened with Shigaraki.”

Members of the League of Villains died leading up to the final battle, but of the five who made it that far, only one of them was dead at the end of the war – Shigaraki Tomura, their leader. To most people, it was good riddance to the greatest evil Japan has ever seen, but Deku’s always been publicly against that viewpoint. Insistent that All For One was the true villain. Regretful that the war ended with Shigaraki’s death, too. “Since he couldn’t save him, he’s stuck on saving the other four,” Present Mic continues. “Which equals infinite chances. So far Todoroki’s the only one who’s needed them.”

You nod. Present Mic stretches. “Let’s take a walk,” he decides. “I’ll buy coffee for both of us.”

“I can’t leave,” you say. “I don’t have anybody else to watch this place. If a customer comes by –”

“Half an hour, tops. Come on.” Present Mic produces a wallet from the inside of his leather jacket. “The sooner we leave, the sooner you can come back.”

You lock up, hating every second of it, and follow Present Mic into the cold, a to-go cup of your own coffee in your hands. Present Mic runs through the usual list of questions, the ones that cover your mindset as much as they cover your progress on your program requirements. Some of them are about how you’re getting along with the civilians in town, and you know he’ll be checking in with some of your customers, seeing if their perception lines up with yours. It feels invasive. Intrusive. Some part of you always pushes back. You always quiet it down. You made this bed for yourself, coming up on a decade ago. Now you have to lie in it.

“I’ve got some news,” Present Mic says, once he’s finished with the questions. “The program’s considering early release for some of the participants.”

“Why?”

“The legislative review’s coming up, and they want success stories,” Present Mic says. “You know, people who clawed their way out of the criminal underworld to become productive members of society. I’m putting your name on the list.”

You almost drop your coffee. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Mic says. He seems taken aback by your surprise. “I mean – you’re kind of who this thing was designed for, listener. You caught your first charge when you were underage, for a nonviolent crime, and the rest of your case is a perfect example of just one of the many problems Deku won’t shush about. Now look at you. You’ve got your own business, you’re paying back your debt to society, you’re participating in civilian life. There are civilians who don’t do that much.”

Of course they don’t. Actual civilians don’t have to prove they have a right to exist. “If you’re approved for early release, the government will waive interest on your startup loan, and I heard a rumor that they’re considering wiping charges off people’s records,” Mic continues. “It’s a pretty good deal, listener. And you’re making a pretty weird face.”

“Sorry,” you say, trying to fix it. “I mean – felonies are a forever thing. They don’t get wiped.”

“It’s just a rumor,” Mic says, and pats your shoulder. “Even if that doesn’t pan out, you could use a break on the interest. Anyway, it’s not a sure thing, but I put your name up. You’ve got as good a shot as anybody.”

You think that’s probably true, which is weird to think about. You’ve been behind the eight ball since you were in high school. Present Mic throws down the rest of his coffee, then turns back the way the two of you came. “Let’s go. I saw a pastry I wanted to buy, and I bet you have a customer or two.”

You’ve heard things about other program participants’ probation officers taking things without paying, but you got lucky with Present Mic – he always pays. Sometimes he even gives you a hard time for setting your prices too low. And he’s right about the customers. When you get back, one of your regulars is sitting cross-legged, leaning back against the locked door with his hood up and his laptop open.

It’s Shimura Tenko, who you never saw before you started offering free internet, and who’s turned into a regular ever since. The two of you don’t talk the way you do with some of your other regulars – something about the mask and the hood and the gloves tells you that Shimura isn’t looking to make friends. But he shows up two or three times a week, orders black coffee, and camps out in the corner of the café until closing time. Sometimes you can talk him into a pastry, and it’s always a babka. Whether he orders one or not, he’s always hungry when he comes in.

Shimura looks up as you and Present Mic approach. His eyes narrow, then widen abruptly, almost comically shocked. Then he slams his laptop shut, rockets to his feet, and books it, vanishing down the street and around the corner. You feel a surge of frustration. “Can you not scare my customers?”

“I’m out of costume. Even when I’m in, nobody’s scared of me.” Present Mic is lying. You’d have been scared out of your mind to run into him back in the day. “Damn, that guy was skittish. What’s his deal?”

“He’s one of my regulars.” Was one of your regulars, probably. People don’t react the way Shimura just did and come back for more. You unlock the door, feeling strangely dispirited. “Which pastry were you thinking about?”

Present Mic sticks around for an hour or so, long enough to talk to a few customers who don’t run away from him. Most of your regulars have seen him before. He leaves a little bit before noon, after eating three pastries he paid for, and as usual, the café quiets down in the afternoon. You don’t mind. Today wasn’t a good day even before Mic put in a surprise appearance and scared off a customer for good. Days like today, you’d rather have the place to yourself.

Sometimes in the midst of proving you’re a model citizen to anybody who looks your way, you forget that there’s a reason you weren’t. It wasn’t a good reason. Your family wasn’t rich, but you always had what you needed and some of what you wanted. Your parents weren’t perfect, but they loved you. You weren’t the most popular kid at school, but you always had someone to talk to. And none of that mattered, because you felt hollow and miserable and lonely no matter what else was going on around you.

Nothing you did or said could make you feel better. Everything felt the same, and everything felt awful, and no matter how hard you tried to explain, to ask for help, to raise the alarm, you couldn’t get your point across. You had a good life. What did you have to complain about?

The judge who handed you your first conviction said pretty much exactly that. You’ve heard that the sentencing guidelines for minors have changed, that untreated mental health issues are considered a mitigating factor these days, but back then it didn’t matter at all. You got help at some point. You take your meds like you’re supposed to, and you did therapy until you realized the people who monitor your probation were reading your notes. And you’re older now. You know the hollow feeling goes away. But that doesn’t mean it’s any easier to tolerate when it’s here.

You’re hanging out behind the counter, staring at your most recent mural and wishing you’d chosen something less cheerful than the field of wildflowers that’s currently decorating it, when the door opens. You barely have time to get your game face on before Shimura Tenko steps up to the counter. “Um –”

“How many heroes are you friends with?” Shimura asks shortly.

“I’m not friends with Present Mic,” you say. “That was a spot check. He’s my probation officer.”

Shimura blinks. He has crimson eyes and dark lashes, matching his dark hair. “Huh?”

“My probation officer,” you repeat. “I’m a convicted felon.”

“Don’t lie. They’d never let a convicted felon run a coffee shop.”

“I got a loan,” you say. “Through the Nonviolent Criminal Rehabilitation Act. It says so on the sign.”

“Your sign says free internet access.”

“Underneath that.” You wonder if it’s really possible that Shimura didn’t see the other sign. Maybe he was just too hyped at the prospect of free internet to look any harder. “How long have you lived here?”

“Five years.” Shimura looks defensive now. “What’s it to you?”

Five years, and you never saw him before today. He must keep to himself. “Nothing. I just – I thought everybody around here knew. I’m not very quiet about it. I’m not allowed to be.”

“Why not?”

You don’t want to do this right now, but rules are rules. “Part of the Reintegration Act involves educating civilians about where criminals come from – like, how a person goes from you to me.”

Shimura snorts. It’s rude, but not anywhere close to the rudest thing someone’s done to you when you talk about this. “The government thinks the people who are best equipped to educate about this are the actual criminals, so I’m legally obligated to answer any questions people ask me – about my record, about why I did it, about the program and why I’m doing that. So they understand what’s happening and why it’s happening. For transparency.”

“And that means anybody can question you, any time,” Shimura says, eyes narrowing.

“Yep. Stop, drop, and educate.” You wait, but he’s quiet, and you’re tired enough and hollow enough that the suspense gets to you first. “You can ask what I did. I have to tell you.”

Shimura nods – but then he doesn’t ask. About that, at least. “It’s dead in here. Did Present Mic clear everybody else out?”

“No. It gets quiet on sunny days when the tide’s low.” You nod through the window, and the sliver of beach visible between the buildings across the street. “I was thinking about closing early.”

“Why?” Shimura’s voice holds the faintest shadow of a sneer. “To walk on the beach?”

To lay facedown on your bed and wait for tears that won’t come, and won’t make you feel any better if they do. “Now you’re here, so I’m open. Do you want the usual?”

Shimura hesitates. Then he shakes his head. “Go home.”

“I’m open,” you repeat. You don’t want him to complain to Present Mic like the actual porn guy did. “Do you want the usual or do you feel like something new?”

“The usual.”

“Come on,” you say. He glares at you over his mask. There’s an old scar over his right eye. “There’s nobody here. Nobody’s going to catch you drinking something that actually tastes good.”

“The usual,” Shimura Tenko says, and crosses his arms over his chest. “And –”

He glances at the pastry case, and you see his expression shift into disappointment. It makes you sadder than it should, but you can fix it easily. You slide the babka you saved on the faint hope that he’d come back out of hiding and into full view. “One of these?”

Shimura stares at it for a full fifteen seconds before he looks up at you. “You saved it for me.”

“Yeah.” You pride yourself on knowing what your regulars like. You don’t want someone you see a few times a week to leave unsatisfied. “One babka and one black coffee, coming up.”

Shimura holds out his card, then hesitates. You’ve never seen him look uncertain at all. “And whatever you think tastes better than black coffee. One of those.”

“Really?” You can’t hide your surprise, or what an unexpected lift it is for your mood. “You won’t regret it. Which flavors do you like?”

“I don’t care.” Shimura waits while you swipe his card, then tucks it away. “This was your idea. I’m going – over there.”

He gestures at the back corner. “I know where you like to sit,” you say. “I’ll bring it out.”

As soon as he leaves, you get to work. You need to nail this. He’ll laugh at you if you bring him a tea latte, so it needs to have an espresso base. What goes well with babka? You already have chocolate and cinnamon on board – what about caramel, or hazelnut? Does he even like sweet things? He must, if he keeps ordering the damn babka. Maybe hazelnut, but what if he’s allergic? You pitch your voice to carry and see him startle. “Do you have any allergies?”

“Not to food.”

You wonder what he’s actually allergic to as you start pulling espresso shots for a chocolate hazelnut mocha. You really hope Shimura likes Nutella, because that’s exactly what this is going to taste like. Using bittersweet chocolate syrup instead of milk chocolate fixes it partway, but when you pour off a tiny bit to try it, it still tastes a lot like something you’d eat out of a jar with a spoon.

Whatever. You’re committed now. You don’t have a choice. You pour it into a cup, make some vague gesture at foam art, and carry it and the black coffee through the empty café to Shimura’s table. “One black coffee and one drink that actually tastes good.”

Shimura eyes the second cup. “What’s in there?”

“You said you didn’t care.”

“Yeah, well, now that I know you’ve done time I’m not sure I can trust you,” Shimura says, and you lock your expression down. That one hurt. A lot. He drags the cup towards himself with his right hand and lifts it to his mouth as he pulls down his mask with his left, but you’ve lost interest in the outcome. You turn and head back to the counter, trying not to feel like someone’s slapped you in the face and convincing yourself at least a little that it works.

You screw around behind the counter, taking inventory and counting down the minutes until last call, but Shimura’s back at the counter with forty-five minutes to go, an empty cup in his hand. It’s not the cup you put the black coffee in. “Fine. You win. I want another one of these.”

“Yep.” You set your clipboard aside and head back to the cash register to ring him up. “For here or to go?”

“Here.”

“I’m closing soon. To-go’s probably better.”

“Are you kicking me out?” Shimura asks. You look up at him, make eye contact, and whatever he sees in your face sets him off. Not in the way you thought it would. “Before, about the doing time thing. You know I was kidding, right?”

“Sure you were. Do you want a receipt?”

“Hey,” Shimura snaps. “It was a joke.”

“Not a good one.”

“Yeah, it was. If you –” Shimura breaks off, his scowl clear even from behind the mask. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I wouldn’t have said that if I didn’t get it.”

“Get it,” you repeat. “You’ve done time?”

“Yeah.” Shimura Tenko covers the back of his neck with one hand. “No charges, but – yeah, I did time. So it’s funny.”

“It’s still not funny.” You lift the empty cup out of Shimura’s hands and turn to start making a second Nutella-esque mocha, trying to decide if you feel better or not. “It’s just not mean.”

A shadow falls across you as you work. Shimura’s following you along the edge of the counter. “So am I getting kicked out or what?”

“Yes,” you say. “In forty-five minutes, when I close.”

Shimura’s eyes crinkle ever so slightly at the corners. You wonder what his smile looks like under that mask, but you’ve got espresso shots to pull, and you need to focus if you don’t want to burn your hand. You look away, and when you look back again, he’s at his table, laptop open, mask on, chin propped in his gloved hand. No charges, but he’s done time. You didn’t expect that. Even though you’ve spent the last five years of your life trying to prove that you’re no different than anybody else, it still catches you by surprise to learn that one of your customers is like you.

You bring the second drink by his table, then start working through your closing checklist. He stands up with five minutes to go, just like clockwork. He leaves without another word, as usual, but when you step outside, he’s still standing there. “You didn’t ask why.”

Why he did time? “Neither did you,” you say.

“Yeah, but I won’t break probation if I don’t answer.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” you say. It’s not quite dark, but the sun’s almost down, and the shadows are growing long. Late March already, but it feels like you’ve got a long way to go before spring. “If I want people who meet me to look at the person I am now, I have to do the same thing for them.”

Shimura Tenko makes a sound, half-laughter and half-scoffing. “They sure did a number on you,” he says. You turn and walk away, and his footsteps follow yours. “Hey. Come on. There’s no way you’re that sensitive.”

“I’m not,” you say. “I’m just having a bad day.”

A bad day, and you never get a day off. Even if the café’s not open, you’re still in sunshine mode every second, making sure that the people who want to treat you like a criminal look absolutely insane for doing it. You fought hard for this life. You’re glad you fought for it. And today more than usual, you’re just really tired. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Yeah,” Shimura says. You’re glad he doesn’t try to apologize again. You know it would be painfully insincere. “How did you know?”

“Hmm?”

“The pastry. How did you know I’d come back?”

“I didn’t,” you say. “I just hoped you would.”

You don’t know why you hoped. Maybe because he’d clearly been waiting a while when you and Present Mic got back. Maybe because you remember how much it mattered to have somewhere else to go, whether you had a place of your own or not. Maybe because you’ve gotten sort of a sense of him over the past few months, and you know he’s the kind of person who pretends not to want the things he wants. Wanting the coffee shop he hangs out in to be open and to have his favorite pastry available is such a reasonable thing to want. You were hoping he’d come back so you could give it to him.

Shimura doesn’t say anything. You keep walking, and he doesn’t follow you. When you glance back over your shoulder as you round the corner, you see him standing just outside of Skyline Coffee and Tea, staring intently at something. You can’t say for sure. But you’re pretty sure it’s the sign that explains about the NCRA.

A while back, you read that some countries set aside two days to commemorate a war. One day to celebrate that it ended, another to mourn that it happened at all. When it comes to the war you lived through, Japan does things differently. There’s just one day, a national holiday, where every government office closes and most businesses do, too. For most people, it’s a day to celebrate. There are carnivals, street fairs, concerts, parties. It’s been a holiday for exactly four years and a whole host of traditions have already sprung up around it.

But there’s one person who never celebrates, and it didn’t take you long to come around to his way of thinking. On April 4th, the fifth annual Day of Peace, you close the café early and make the trek to Kamino Ward.

You’re not sure how Kamino Ward became the place. Maybe because the final battlefield’s been overtaken by celebrations, and at least some people still see Kamino as hallowed ground. The place where the Symbol of Peace made his last stand. The place where the Symbol of Fear passed the torch onto his successor. You get there a little while before sunset, and you join the hundreds of people who’ve already gathered there. The crowd looks smaller than it did last year, and it hasn’t grown much by the time Midoriya Izuku, known to the world as Deku, climbs onto the steps leading up to the All Might statue’s plinth.

Someone hands him a microphone, which he takes with hands that tremble ever so slightly. He’s only twenty-one, and he looks old before his time. “I’m here,” he starts, then swallows hard. “I’m here because we didn’t win. Not really. If you’re here instead of at a party somewhere, I think it’s probably because you lost something. Something, or someone, who was important to you. Something you can’t get back.”

It’s quiet. It’s always quiet after he says something like that. “I’d like to think we did something. That we changed for the better,” Deku continues, “but I think we can only say that if we don’t forget what we had to lose for it to happen. So, um – you know the drill. If you brought a candle, great. If you didn’t, we have some. You can say the thing you lost if you want – we have a microphone – but when you’re done, light the candle and put it down somewhere that feels right to you.”

He takes a deep breath, lets it go. “And then you can go. But I’ll stay until they all burn out.”

People swarmed the first two years. This year they form a line, stepping up to light their candles one by one. You never know what to say when it’s your turn, because it’s not something specific you miss. The way things used to be was awful. You don’t miss that, and you weren’t close enough to anybody to lose someone who mattered in the war. But April 4th has never felt like a happy day. It feels wrong to you to be setting off fireworks and throwing parties in response to a war that almost destroyed the world.

A lot of people say names when it’s their turn to light a candle. Some say places. Some share an ideal they lost, a hero they venerated who fell from their pedestal, a dream they had that will never come true. Each lost thing named is met with respectful silence. But just like last year and the year before, there are three names that aren’t, no matter who says them. “Big Sis Magne. Bubaigawara Jin,” says Toga Himiko as she lights her candle. Say Todoroki Touya and Sako Atsuhiro and Iguchi Shuichi, who still answers to Spinner, as they light theirs. “Shigaraki Tomura.”

There’s always whispering after their names, especially Shigaraki’s. But Deku always goes last, and Deku always shuts them up. He lights his candle and grasps the microphone, speaking clearly, firmly. “Shigaraki Tomura.”

You remember what Present Mic said, about how Deku never got over failing to save Shigaraki. Deku was sixteen when he won the war. Still a kid. Was saving Shigaraki really his job? Maybe that’s the point of all this. It was everyone’s job to stop villains like Shigaraki from being created, and you all failed, so it fell to Deku – and he failed, too. It’s one big, sad, ugly mess. When you’re honest with yourself, you’re not surprised that most people try to cover it up with fireworks.

People begin to filter out of the memorial park, and you find a place to sit down. It’s not like you have somewhere else to go. The others who say settle in as well, in small groups amidst the rows and clusters of candles. You’re within earshot of one of the groups. Without meaning to, you find yourself listening in.

“They’d have hated this,” Todoroki Touya is saying, his voice low and bitter. “Every second of it.”

“Big Sis Magne wouldn’t have. And Twice would have liked it,” Toga Himiko says. Her voice is soft. “All the candles. He’d say it’s like his birthday.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Todoroki Touya’s voice goes even quieter. “Do any of us know when his birthday was?”

It’s quiet. “Shigaraki would hate this,” Todoroki states. “You know he would. What did he tell you to tell Spinner, Deku?”

Deku doesn’t answer. Spinner does. “Shigaraki Tomura fought to destroy until the very end.”

“Yeah,” Todoroki says. “To destroy. And Deku made him a martyr.”

“He destroyed a lot of things,” Deku says quietly. “All For One is gone. One For All, too – there’s never going to be another Symbol of Peace. He destroyed the way we saw villains. We don’t just get to look at what they’re doing right now. We have to think about how they got there. And he destroyed how we saw ourselves.”

“Yeah?” Spinner says. “How?”

“We didn’t think we were responsible for other people,” Deku says. “Now we have to be.”

It’s quiet again. This time it’s quiet for a while. “Whatever,” Todoroki says. “I’m going home. See you all at the next sobfest.”

“He always says that,” Spinner says, once his footsteps have faded. “He’s gonna get tanked at home and text us just like he did last year.”

“I miss Tomura-kun,” Toga says, her voice softer than before. “I thought we’d all be together at the end.”

“I know,” Deku says. “I’m sorry.”

“And you’re sure –” Spinner breaks off. “You’re sure you couldn’t get his ashes or something? So we could –”

“There was nothing left of Shigaraki,” Deku says. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Spinner says. Toga sniffles. “We know.”

The group splits, Toga in one direction, Spinner in the other. A moment later, Deku walks past you, and you do everything you can to fade into the background short of turning yourself camo-colored. It doesn’t work. “Did you hear all that?” Deku asks. You nod. He sighs, or sniffles, maybe. He looks younger up close. “You were here last year, right?”

“And the year before,” you say. The longer you look at him, the worse shape he’s in. “Um, are you okay?”

“It’s just –” Deku’s eyes well up, suddenly. “It’s hard. I can’t say what I want to say to them.”

“Why not?” you ask stupidly, and he shakes his head. “Um – do you want to sit down?”

You wouldn’t ask another hero that, but you feel like it’s worth the risk. Even though he’s twenty-one, you can’t look at him and see anything other than a kid, and it feels wrong to let a kid stand there and cry. Deku sits down next to you. “I know I’m not supposed to ask,” he starts, his voice watery, “but you never say anything when it’s your turn. Most people don’t come here. Even the ones who lost somebody would rather be at a party somewhere. Why do you come back?”

You have to think about it for a second. Deku cringes. “Sorry. You don’t have to answer.”

“I sort of do.” It might hit your probation requirements, and even if it doesn’t, you should explain anyway. “What you said earlier, in your speech – I’m one of the people the world got better for. My life would have been awful if it had stayed the same. But in order for me to have this life, we had to have the war.”

“What did you do during the war? Were you in a shelter?”

You shake your head. “The shelters banned people with criminal records,” you say. Deku’s eyes widen. “Nowhere would let me in.”

It wasn’t all that different from the way you were living before – not much food, not very safe. The only difference was a sharp increase in the number of abandoned buildings for you to crash in. But it looks like you’re making Deku feel worse, not better, and you scramble into part two of your explanation. “I’m one of the NCRA participants. That program only exists because of the war – and you, because you won’t let people forget why the war happened. So I want to remember why the war happened, too. And I want to honor it. Them.”

“Him,” Deku corrects, and your stomach clenches. “I wonder what he thinks of all of this. If it’s enough. If it’ll ever be enough. I mean, obviously it’ll never be enough for him, because he doesn’t – I mean, I can’t ask him, but I know he can see it. I don’t know where he is, but if I could just ask him –”

You didn’t realize Deku believed this strongly in the afterlife. You sit quietly, and after a few seconds, he remembers you’re there. He glances at you, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “Do you not get to talk about it very much?”

“No,” Deku admits. “People want to move on. And I don’t really blame them. But I can’t. Not until I know for sure.”

It’s quiet for a little bit. He wipes his eyes. You watch the candles flicker down a few millimeters more. “You’re in the NCRA,” Deku says finally. “For job training, or did you get a loan?”

“I got a loan,” you say. “I run a coffee shop now. With free WiFi.”

“Do people like it?”

“I think so,” you say. You think of the kids who come to study, the people who use the WiFi for remote work, the old people who walk the beach every morning and stop by for coffee and pastry afterwards. “I have regulars, anyway. And people talk to me now. They never used to.”

“People talk to me now, too,” Deku says. “It’s nice.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “It is.”

It is, but it’s not quite what you meant, and you don’t want to interrupt when Deku starts talking about the NCRA. It’s not just that people talk to you. They talked to you before, but now they see you – not as a criminal, but as a person like them, minus the squeaky-clean record. That’s new, and that’s good. You know even less about Shigaraki Tomura than Deku does, but even if he’d hate what’s happened to the world he wanted to destroy, you’re thankful anyway. The world is better now. It’s better because of Deku, and Deku’s the way he is because of Shigaraki.

There are fireworks going off over the bay, distant enough that you can’t hear the sound. Closer than that, you hear music and laughter from a street party you passed on your way here from the train station. Deku trails off after a while, and you don’t speak up again. The two of you sit in silence until the last of the candles burns away.

You get home late, and it’s an early morning opening up the café. Luckily for you, everybody else is also running late courtesy of the holiday yesterday. Osono comes by fifteen minutes off-schedule and full of apologies, and while you’ve got your doors open by seven, it’s not until seven-fifty-eight that your first customers come through the door. It’s a double shot of espresso kind of day, and while you’re pulling them, your customers tell you about the parties they went to last night. When they ask what you did, you tell them you went into the city. It’s not a lie.

After the slow start, the shop stays quieter than usual, quiet enough that when Shimura Tenko rolls up just past noon, there’s still plenty of babka left in the pastry case. You start his order before he’s even opened the door – one black coffee, one Nutella-flavored nightmare – and he stops to drop off his stuff at his usual table before he comes up to the counter. You can tell he’s disquieted by something. “Did Present Mic come by and scare everybody off again? How are you going to keep this place open if no one’s here?”

“Mornings are a lot busier than afternoons,” you say. “And spring’s my quietest season, anyway. No tourists like there are in the summer, and it’s not very cold.”

“Yeah.” Shimura glances around, still displeased. “This place had better stay open.”

“It will,” you say. “One shot of espresso or two?”

“Three.”

“Three? It’s your funeral,” you say, but you pull the extra shot. “Late night last night?”

“I went to a party,” Shimura says. You nod. “It was my birthday.”

“Happy birthday.” You cancel half his order. You give people a free drink on their birthday, if you know it and they come in. “Your birthday is April 4th? That’s a tough draw, especially the last few years.”

“You’re telling me.” Instead of retreating to his table like usual, Shimura hovers at the bar. “What about you? Did you go to a party?”

You shake your head. “I went into the city.”

“Which city?”

“Yokohama,” you admit. Shimura’s eyes narrow. “I go to the vigil at Kamino. I have every year they’ve done it.”

“Really,” Shimura says, skeptical. “Why?”

Deku asked you the same question. You have a feeling Shimura won’t like the answer, but it’s the only one you have. “My life is better than it was before the war, because of what happened in the war. I want to be thankful for that. It doesn’t feel right to me to go to a carnival.”

Shimura doesn’t say anything, just watches you. It makes you feel weird. “If I’d known it was your birthday, though, I’d have gone to a party for that. It was your birthday way before it was the Day of Peace.” You’re babbling, and Shimura still hasn’t said a word. “Not that you’d invite me to your birthday party or anything.”

“I didn’t know you’d want to go,” Shimura says slowly. The espresso machine beeps, and you focus on it way harder than you’d do under ordinary circumstances. “Look, I – it wasn’t my party. Just a party. It’s not like I went in a fucking birthday hat.”

“That would look pretty weird with your hood still up,” you say. Shimura makes an odd sound. You look up and see the corners of his eyes crinkling again. “Still, though. I’ll remember for next year. I’ll get a cupcake or something. Even if you don’t want somebody who’s done time at your birthday party.”

Shimura laughs at that. Actually laughs. Your chest constricts, filling with warmth in a way that feels out of proportion to the situation at hand. “I only want people who’ve done time at my birthday party,” he says. “Don’t try to give me that drink for free. You letting this place go under would be a shitty birthday present.”

“Too late. It’s already free and I’m not rerunning the sale.” You pour the black coffee and set it down on the pickup counter, followed by the godawful Nutella drink. “Happy birthday plus one.”

Shimura rolls his eyes, but they’re still crinkled slightly at the corners. He doesn’t respond until he’s already halfway back to the table, and he’s so quiet that you have to strain your ears to hear. “Thanks.”

You should say something. Something like “you’re welcome”, or “any time”. Something that sounds like good customer service, instead of what you’re worried will come out of your mouth if you open it right now. The conversation is over. Nothing else needs to be said. You turn to face your small workspace, searching for a distraction. There has to be something you can clean.

It’s been so long since you had a crush that you barely remember what it’s like, but you’re pretty sure you have a crush on Shimura. As far as crushes go, he’s kind of a weird pick – because he’s a customer, because he’s not the friendliest, because he hasn’t given any indication that he likes you at all. He likes babka and free internet and the horrible off-menu mocha you make just for him. That’s it.

It feels weird to have a crush. Weird in how normal of a thing it is to do, when you’ve been so focused on looking normal and pretending to be normal that you haven’t done anything actually normal in a while. But maybe this is a good thing, and maybe it’s okay. You might get released early from your NCRA requirements, and even if you don’t, you’re doing well. You can afford to like somebody again.

The café stays quiet, and with two hours left before closing time, you’re getting bored. Bored, and you haven’t switched out the mural since before your last check-in with Present Mic. Now’s an okay time for that. You scribble a sign to prop up on the counter – I’m here, just yell – and head towards the back wall. You have to pass Shimura to get there, and as you do, he looks up. “I’m not looking,” you say. “I’ll just be over here.”

“Doing what?”

“A new mural,” you say. “Pretend I’m not here.”

Shimura decides to start right away, and you flex your fingers more out of habit than anything else. Then you set your hand on the wall and activate your quirk, changing the entire wall from the wildflower mural back to the same blank neutral as the others. That’s a good start. Now you just need to figure out what you’re going to do with it.

Actual muralists sketch and line their work. They work from references and they draft the design before they actually start painting. You know that because you used to want to be a muralist yourself. You could sketch and line things, but these days you’re more about feelings than anything else, and feelings take color. You block the wall into a few sections – you remember to do that, at least – and fill in general colors, running your fingers along the edges to blur them together. Grey base and sides. Dark-colored middle. The entire upper half of the wall is light. It’s not until you’ve added the half-circle above the horizon that you get a real understanding of what you’re making.

It's another cityscape, or the ruins of one, something you saw in photos or maybe in person. It looks a lot like the sunrise view from Kamino Ward, the sky on fire with deep purple and orange and pink and gold, the reflection of those colors splashed across the sea, the wreckage of the city bathed in morning light. You’ve done enough therapy to psychoanalyze yourself, and it’s not hard to see what you were going for with this. Things are horrible. Things were horrible for a long time before today, but the sun is still rising, and the sunrise is still beautiful. And it’s a lot easier to see now, with all the other stuff out of the way.

“That’s not paint.”

You weren’t expecting Shimura to say anything, and you weren’t expecting him to pay attention to what you’re doing. But when you look back over your shoulder, you see him staring, his phone set aside, the lid of his laptop shut. “It’s not paint,” you say. “Just my quirk.”

“How does it work?” Shimura asks. You turn back to your mural, and you hear him get to his feet. A moment later he’s standing beside you, answering his own question. “You can change the color of things you touch. And decide how long it stays that way.”

“Yeah.” After using it your whole life, you’re pretty good at it. You can fine-tune stuff, enough to add shading to the buildings and the rubble at the sides and bottom of the mural without compromising the light from the sunrise. “Not a very powerful quirk.”

“You could still cause trouble,” Shimura says. You could. And you did. “This is how you got your charges, isn’t it? Stuff like this.”

“Graffiti? Yeah,” you say. You remember the rush you got the first time you tagged something, the first time you spilled your thoughts and feelings in a way no one could ignore. “Except when you do that, you get charged with trespassing and vandalism, and when they figure out they can’t remove it, you get charged with destruction of property. Throw in malicious unlicensed quirk usage and – boom. Felonies.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Me or them?”

“Giving somebody a felony for painting stuff on walls.” Shimura studies what you’ve done so far. “All of these have been yours, right? Is this the same stuff you were painting before?”

“Not always,” you say. This conversation falls under your NCRA obligations, but it doesn’t feel like it’s the reason Shimura’s asking – and it’s not the reason you’re telling him. “When I first got into it, it was just words or sentences. Stuff I couldn’t figure out how to say out loud. The first time I really got busted, it was for tagging the side of my parents’ house.”

“Your parents called the cops on you?”

“And pressed charges,” you say. He’s staring at you again. You pretend you don’t notice and fuss over the shoreline in the mural. “I got better at it when I was older. The art got better, anyway. But I got in more trouble because of where I put it. And I guess what was in it.”

“Anything I’d have seen?”

“I don’t know. Where did you hang around?” you ask. You got booked in most of the big cities in Japan during your criminal career. “Uh, I did the UA barrier. The one with the – you know.”

“The human shields?” Shimura bursts out laughing. “Did you have a sibling in Eraserhead’s class or something?”

“No, I just thought it was stupid to do the Sports Festival a week after what happened,” you say. Shimura snickers. “It felt like they were using the kids as props to distract from how much of a mistake they’d made, and I was mad about a lot of other stuff, too, and – yeah. I kind of went off.”

You really went off. There’s no other way to describe triggering the UA barrier on purpose at two am so you could make a crude mural of All Might, Endeavor, Hawks, and Best Jeanist hiding behind a bunch of kids in school uniforms. Shimura is still snickering. “Damn. I’m surprised they call you nonviolent with how bad you hurt their feelings.”

“They had to replace the whole barrier,” you say, and Shimura wheezes. “I’m not trying to be funny.”

“No, but it is funny.” Shimura glances at you over the edge of his mask. “And now you run a coffee shop and make things like this.”

He looks away from you, back to the mural. “Is this something real? It looks familiar,” he says. Before you can answer, his eyes widen, and he says it himself. “Kamino Ward. Why would you paint it like that?”

“It’s how I see it in my head. Or how I feel it. I don’t really know.” You reach out and use the tip of your index finger to highlight one of the buildings that’s still standing in sunrise gold. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know.” Shimura reaches out and touches it with one gloved hand. “People are going to be pissed at you.”

“If they recognize it.” You’re not too worried. “Most people just look at the colors.”

“I recognized it.”

“You’re not most people.”

You instantly wish you hadn’t said a word. Shimura Tenko glances at you quickly, then looks back to the mural. “Yeah,” he says. “I was there.”

Your stomach drops. “You were?” you repeat hopelessly, and he nods without looking your way. “I’m sorry. It’s – insensitive. I’ll take it down –”

“No.” Shimura catches your wrist before you can make contact with the mural. “Leave it. I was gone for this part. It’s a nice view. The horizon, I mean.”

That’s your favorite part, and you’re not even done with it yet. “I still have some stuff to add,” you say. Shimura nods but doesn’t let go of your wrist. You pull at it slightly. “I need this back.”

“Fuck. Sorry.” Shimura recoils like you’ve burned him, then backs away. Way too far away. You’d say he was making fun of you, except you can see his eyes over the mask, and they’re expressive in spite of his complete lack of eyebrows. “Sorry. I don’t usually – touch people.”

“It’s okay.” Your wrist feels tingly where his hand made contact, and there are butterflies in your stomach. He doesn’t usually touch people, but he touched you. “Thanks for stopping me.”

Shimura turns away completely. “I have to work.”

“Yeah. I didn’t mean to distract you.”

“I know.” Shimura slides back into his booth. You turn back to put the finishing touches on your mural.

He’s right about it. In the hour left before you close, at least one customer who trickles in gives you a hard time for putting up something so upsetting. You listen to his concerns, but you stick to your guns, and when he sits down to wait for his order, you see him watching it. Just like Shimura is, the screen of his laptop long since gone dark.

[storybook-souls]

okay you’ve got me really intrigued, what exactly is the premise of this “from” show? 👀

anon i'm DELIGHTED you ask. it's a horror/mystery show on MGM plus about a town where once you drive in, you can never leave, no matter how far or fast you drive--the road just loops around, and every night horrifying monsters come out to hunt the people who are trapped there. fortunately, the people have special talismans that prevent the monsters from getting into buildings--as long as every door and window stays closed, which is easier said than done. the longer people stay and the more they poke into why this town is the way it is, the crazier and deeper the mystery gets.

some of the characters include Boyd, the self-appointed sheriff and de facto leader who is desperately trying to hold the community together and keep everyone alive; Kenny, his young and kind-hearted deputy; Jim and Tabitha, who arrive in town with their teenage daughter and 9-year-old son; Jade, another new arrival and former tech startup CEO who sets about trying to think his way out of this mess; Donna, who leads the Colony House that is a separate society from Boyd's town; Kristi, a former med student who has become the town's doctor; Khatri, the town priest; Sara, who's hearing voices in her head; and Victor, who's been trapped here since he was a child. and the show is about them and many others trying to survive and trying to figure out how they can get home!

it's a show about holding onto hope in the middle of a nightmare. it's a show about things getting worse just when you think they CAN'T get worse. it's a show about every action having consequences. it's a show about community, connection, the ways people can help--and hurt--each other. it's a show about atoning for your past and doing your best with what you have. it's a show about solving crazy mysteries with a new twist around every bend. it's a show about reveals that make you gasp out loud. it's a show about what happens when people are pushed past their breaking point. it's a show about weird dynamics. it's a show about getting kinda close to being in a throuple. and it's a show about people yelling at each other <3

the third season just finished (with a CRAZY fucking last episode) and it's been renewed for season four!!!! so you've got all kinds of time to catch up. i highly recommend i've been having literally so much fun.

[mariacallous]

“Ketamine is helpful for getting one out of the negative frame of mind,” Elon Musk told an interviewer last year. The unelected man currently gutting US federal programs isn’t the only one who thinks so. Ketamine, approved decades ago as a surgical anesthetic and long used as a party drug, is the off-label mental-health treatment of the moment. It induces a “trancelike” state of “sensory isolation,” researchers say, and may temporarily boost the brain’s neuroplasticity—which, in theory, makes mental ruts easier to escape. At the same time, ketamine abuse can be deadly, and the drug remains illegal to use without a prescription. (Musk says he has one from “an actual, real doctor.”)

WIRED spoke to the cofounders of an organization that offers ketamine-assisted leadership coaching in the San Francisco Bay Area. The two speakers are identified by pseudonyms, which they selected for themselves. Aria Stone has a doctorate in psychology. Shuang Shuang is a spiritual coach. The conversation has been edited for length and clarity.

Shuang Shuang: We fast-track coaching by really locking it in with the psychedelics. We deliver it to you on a cellular level.

Aria Stone: With ketamine, there’s a 24- to 48-hour window of optimization, when people’s brains are literally more neuroplastic, which is why this is a multiday experience.

SS: We call it an off-site, not a retreat, because we’re not retreating from anything. We don’t do them big—nine or 10 clients—partially due to the importance of confidentiality. Our clientele is primarily CEOs of Fortune 100 companies, CFOs, C-level founders of startups. All of them are in a pressure cooker.

AS: Those are the kind of leaders that come—people who have achieved so much in their life, and they’re like, “OK, what’s the next horizon? Because I’ve checked pretty much every box.”

SS:  Here are all the loneliest people. They have to lead and go through so many things by themselves. They can come and see that they’re not alone, and let go of the burden of being so protected all the time. They just want to be people.

To screen clients, we ask about their medical and psychological background, whether they currently work with a therapist, and whether they’ve participated in a group program before. We would slow down around accepting someone with a significant trauma history, someone who is actively suicidal or has a history of schizophrenia or bipolar disorder, the latter of which can be contraindicated with ketamine.

AS: And since ketamine can certainly be misused, a history of substance abuse would also give us pause.

SS: Our off-site costs $2,600 for three days, plus a $350 fee for a medical assessment and ketamine prescription. Meals are included, but transportation and lodging are not.

AS: Over the course of a three-day off-site in the Mission, in a beautiful, open space with a tall ceiling, clients have two ketamine experiences. When you walk in, all of these BackJack floor chairs are in a circle. In the center are candles. We put a rose on every seat, and information about what to expect.

SS: The vibes are witchy.

The first day is about settling into that radical acceptance, welcoming what’s coming to us on ketamine. Our opening ceremony could include movement, dancing, getting into the body, or we might just talk to each other about what’s alive for us. We have an intention-setting session.

We check with everybody to see if we have their consent, from every part of their body, to receive medicine. Then our medical doctor and registered nurse distribute the medicine through a shot—it’s all intramuscular.

If it’s your first time using ketamine and you’re nervous about it, thank God! That’s the way it should be. But there’s also the option to not do ketamine at all: You thought you wanted to do it, and then when push comes to shove, you’re on your journey mat and you’re just like, “I really don’t want to do it.”

Ketamine and psychedelics are not a panacea. We know that it’s not for everyone. You don’t have to push yourself to do this new, innovative, cutting-edge type of therapy. Yes, there is great promise, and the data over and over again makes this area very frothy and enthusiastic. But it’s perfectly OK if you’re scared and anxious. Just listen to your body and heart.

AS: When we transition into the journey, we pull the BackJacks out.

SS: It’s pretty sweet. They have little nests, little beds. They’re all tucked in. They have blankets and pillows, and earplugs if the ambient music playing on the speakers gets too loud. They’re wearing eye masks, because ketamine is more of a dissociative medicine—there is this sense of naturally going inward and being quiet. There are a bunch of stuffed animals there that some people take for their journey.

AS: There’s this huge teddy bear holding a cup of the intramuscular ketamine.

We encourage clients to bring things that are meaningful for them—like a journal, photos of loved ones, loved ones that have passed, rocks. It’s just really loving, grounding, and open.

SS:  It’s like an executive-coaching psychedelic slumber party.

On the first day we do a psycholytic dose of ketamine. It’s not exactly a psychedelic dose, but it lets you kind of just teeter onto the realms. The next day is a mid-dose. That day is all about medicine and integration, and there’s coaching around it.

AS: Four of us facilitate the off-sites. While people are on their ketamine journey, we’re all very attentive. We’re in silent communication with each other. Collectively, we’re really holding this space, seeing what emerges. I mean, we’ve seen over 100 ketamine journeys at this point.

SS: In a supportive clinical setting, the chance of having a bad trip is severely diminished. Also, I hold the faith that there’s no such thing as a bad trip. Rather, there are challenging or uncomfortable journeys.

Let’s say someone’s trauma comes through. One way that could show up is you are screaming, or a lot of energy is just ripping through your body. You’ll get off your mat and you’ll just want to run. You’ll think you’re in a dangerous situation. The first thing we do is make sure you’re in a safe hold so that you feel cared for. We’ll let you take your eye mask off. Some people need a handhold or would like to be walked around the room. All these things help bring you back to now.

The third day is all integration and coaching: “What does this mean for me? How did I feel? And how do I bring something positive from that journey into my everyday life?”

AS: And about a week and a half after, we have a follow-up virtual integration session, focused on the application of what they’ve learned to their leadership.

SS:  One person came in not being able to feel their body. “I’m just a head, and this is my meat sack,” basically is what they said. After the off-site, they were able to pinpoint, “Actually, I feel like I can feel my chest. I can go to other places inside my body and be connected to it.”

AS: People are floating away at the end. They’re like, “I don’t want this to end. Can I integrate this way of being into my life?”

[netscapenavigator-official]

I just wanted a simple little OS that looks good and runs well without being restrictive. Something for out-of-the-box productivity, with the openness to customize if I wanted to, later down the line. My 2017 MBP is starting to behave erratically as the battery degrades, so I thought, "Oh, I'll put a bog standard Linux Distro on the 2011 MBP and give it one final try."

Fast forward 48 hours later, and I have put Debian 12.10 on the 2011 MBP over ten times, and every single time I do, it fails to boot. I've tried connecting it to ethernet, I've tried using external keyboards, I've tried absolutely everything, and the same damn thing happens: After Debian is successfully installed and reboots, it gets to the initial command line interface that Linux shows at the start of it's startup sequence, and... it freezes. It just stops. It boots, shows the GRUB picker, I pick Debian, it freezes. Great. /s

I wanted a Framework Laptop for my next device, but I'm not daily driving Windows, so oh fucking well. Guess my next computer is gonna be another Mac... Ugh... 🫠 Gonna see if OpenCore Legacy Patcher's slice of MacOS Sequoia runs any more stable on the 2011 MBP than Linux. If it does, then that's what I'm going back to.

[theappvault]

Unlock creative insights with AI instantly

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[siryouarebeingmocked]

New PC question

Running Win 11. SSD, Explorerpatcher.

Whenever I wake the computer from sleep, and I had Calibre minimized to tray, the computer unlocks with Calibre fully open.

If it’s not open, the computer opens my Tablet’s program in an invisible window. Shows up as a taskbar icon, but doesn’t actually display a window. I can right click and close it. Does not effect tablet’s functioning.

The tablet program is also in the system tray.

Not sure exactly what might be causing this.

And yes, I disabled Fast Startup. The computer’s an SSD, it’s plenty fast already.

[z428]

Along the way a fast blurred world behind steamy windows in moving trains. Giggling and chatter of young teenagers, loud music, strong perfumes and an uncommon enthusiasm about whatever the day might bring. Hopping off again, elevator, moving doors, empty corridors, filled schedules. Early startup routines. A hope to quickly reconnect.

#outerworld #office hours #concrete city #commuters procrastination

[santhosheswaran]

Flutter

Flutter is an open-source UI software development kit (SDK) created by Google. It allows developers to build natively compiled applications for mobile, web, and desktop from a single codebase. With Flutter, you can create visually rich and highly performant apps that work on Android, iOS, Windows, macOS, Linux, and the web.

Here are the key features of Flutter:

Single Codebase for Multiple Platforms: You can write one codebase in Dart (Flutter’s programming language) and deploy it to different platforms like Android, iOS, web, and desktop.

Fast Development: Flutter offers a feature called "hot reload," which lets developers see changes instantly without needing to restart the app, speeding up the development process.

Rich UI Components: Flutter comes with a wide range of pre-built widgets that make it easy to create beautiful and responsive user interfaces. These widgets are customizable, and you can also create your own.

High Performance: Since Flutter apps are compiled to native code, they tend to have high performance, with smoother animations and faster startup times.

Dart Language: Flutter uses Dart, a language developed by Google, known for being easy to learn and offering a balance between performance and productivity.

Growing Ecosystem: There’s a large community around Flutter, which means lots of packages and plugins are available for adding functionality like accessing device hardware, network requests, animations, and more.

Flutter is popular among developers for its versatility and efficiency, especially for projects targeting multiple platforms.

Contact for more information : Sam Jose - 824-816-2712

[princesscolumbia]

Code of Ethics - Ch. 9 - Doing Good vs Doing Well

I'm REALLY liking how this chapter turned out! It has just everything I wanted plus a touching moment that I didn't think I'd be able to put in this early in the story.

Yet another "picks up where the last chapter left off." We'll get to some time skippage again here soon, promise!

Preview below the cut:

Diane shrugged, “Computer, activate the Operations building, please.”

There was the sudden sensation of an almost imperceptible hum as every light, HVAC system, computer, and electrically powered accessory in the building received power all at once. The lights in the office and main Ops room which had been on standby suddenly bloomed with a cool blue light that was bright enough to drive away most shadow but not so bright as to make it difficult to see. Dark paneling that Diane had assumed was simply an interior design choice flickered to life to reveal that they were huge displays that wrapped seamlessly around the entire office that wasn’t a door or window. Startup routines could be seen scrolling up all the displays and, when she looked down, she saw the same was happening on the surface of her desk. Momentarily, a holographic computer interface bloomed to life where she would expect a desktop monitor if she were at an office back ho...er, outside the pod, and a very pleasantly ergonomic keyboard rezzed into place. Oh, nice! I hate touch interfaces for typing, let’s see if... She reached out and tapped a few keys experimentally and, yes, they had the familiar spring-lock feel she preferred in her keyboards.

She smiled and looked up at Katrina, “So, Ops is activated, do we need to wait on anything else to get started with building a ship?”

Katrina raised an eyebrow, almost incredulously, “...no, though I imagine dealing with the squ...” the digital assistant glanced at Norma meaningfully, who for her part just huffed indignantly, “Tenants would take priority.”

“Is getting the ship started going to require more effort than activating Ops?”

“...no...”

Diane smirked, “Computer, begin construction on the Ad Astra based on the available blueprints in station memory.”

One of the wall-displays that had completed its boot-sequence and was on a pleasant screensaver mode flicked over to a visual of a wireframe of a spaceship. It appeared to be a fairly small craft, though obviously intended for long-haul exploration. Callouts appeared for crew quarters, a mess hall, waste recycling, fuel storage, and everything else one might expect of a small expeditionary vessel. The exterior design seemed based on a modified Straczynski-esque craft. Instead of a squat pod that held life-support and an ejectable cockpit, the main body of the ship was somewhat shaped like a ground-transport cargo vehicle, as though someone had taken a semi-truck and attached trailer, fused them into a single piece, modified the front so it looked like a fat sports car, spiffed it up to look like it belonged in space, and then made it big enough to house three to five people and everything they needed to live for long periods of time in the void of space. Attached at the corners starting about one-third of the way back from the nose of the ship were squat ‘wings’ that would never keep the ship in the air in atmosphere. They were in a vague ‘X’ configuration, which would allow for creative use of thrust from the nacelles positioned at the ends of the wings to allow for crazy-fast turns. The nacelles looked like they provided all the thrust to the ship, as well as maneuvering. It’s no Conquistador-class, Diane thought with a smile, But it does look like a sleek little ship. The display popped up with a status bar that was familiar to anyone who had used a computer in the last century and ticked up to the 1% mark after a moment.

“Awesome!” remarked Diane, “So, Katrina, any other immediate tasks? Activating anything else necessary right now?”

“Dealing with the highly annoying tenants?” offered Katrina.

“Oi! You’re the one who’s been sitting on the ability to build a starship the whole time I’ve been trying to deal with the little housing crisis in the residential habs!” snapped Norma.

Katrina glared, for all a tutorial program could glare, at the woman, “You are not authorized users of this system. Had your predecessors left this station as they should have then there wouldn’t be a ‘housing crisis’ in the residential habs.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” said Diane, “Katrina, could you give us the room, please?”

“What?!” the hologram seemed surprised, then collected herself so quickly Diane wondered if she was seeing things, “But…security protocols…”

Diane waved a hand dismissively, “‘Security protocols’ I’m not familiar with and, since I’m the fiat commander of this station, don’t apply to me if I say so.”

“I really should remain present as a precaution in case she…”

Diane huffed, “She’s, what, four feet tall?”

“Five-foot-one!” Norma growled.

“Meanwhile I’m a six-foot-one…”

“Six feet, nine inches,” interrupted Katrina with a significant glare at Norma.

“Sure, that; and I’m an apex predator species, I think I’m more than capable of taking her in a fight if it comes down to it. Besides, you’re a hologram, you can monitor the office via the security systems, right?”

“…yes.”

“Well then, you can give us the illusion of privacy for this conversation and at least take your physical presence out of the room so you stop antagonizing the person I’m trying to…” she glanced at Norma, who’d set her jaw stubbornly, “…have a conversation with.”

Whoever on the dev team programmed the personality of the tutorial program did a damn fine job of making them appear to have emotion as Katrina gave every impression of being hesitant to concede the point as she said, “…very well. If she…causes problems, simply eject her from the office and I’ll seal the doors and flood the Ops command level with a neurotoxin.”

Diane frowned, “A non-lethal neurotoxin, right?”

Katrina seemed to be refusing to meet Diane’s eyes as she started disapperating from the room, “Sure, sure. Non-lethal.” And with that, she was no longer in the room.

Diane allowed a small smile to quirk as she started removing her jacket. Part of it was comfort, part of it was a test. She was deliberately exposing the weapon stuck to her back to Norma. If the woman noticed it, she was either a human player who, for whatever reason, had chosen to take charge of a band of galactic nomads and homeless people, or was a rogue A.I. who was using the cover of being a refuge on an unclaimed station to hide from hunters such as herself. She turned just enough to drape the jacket over the back of her office chair, watching Norma out of the corner of her eye.

No response…let’s see if she’s just faking… As though reaching back to scratch an itch, she palmed the grip of the weapon while using her thumb to “scratch” the nonexistent itchy spot then casually pushed the weapon against her thigh, making it plainly visible as it adhered to her leg like it had her back.

Norma gave no response whatsoever, just sitting down in one of the chairs obviously intended for visitors to the office.

All right, Diane thought as she took her own seat, She’s just an NPC A.I., so no threat here, “So,” she began, “Not to seem like the bad guy, but I this is my station. I get that some of you were born here, but this isn’t 20th century America with a liberal policy that allows illegals to drop a kid and claim backdoor citizenship.”

“… ‘America’…?” Norma said the name of Diane’s home with stark unfamiliarity.

Stifling the frustration that the game creators didn’t bother to give America it’s proper place in history, she simply said, “A country on Earth, predates the period of space exploration and contact with life on other worlds. Point is, I am the law here. It’s my life and safety on the line if I let the lot of you stay and someone turns out to be a bad actor. I’m quite invested in keeping the skin on my back on my back.”

Norma simply glared back at the newly minted station commander.

“What I’m saying,” said Diane into the silence, “Is you will need to sell me on letting you all stay here. As you pointed out, I’ve got a starship under construction,” she glanced at the wall display, Norma mimicking her, and they saw the build progress was now at 2%. “I won’t even need to space you all. I can build a…let’s see here…” she turned to her holographic display and started tapping menues and was pleased to see it was fairly easy to navigate. She found the computer’s storage of ship blueprints and filtered out what the station didn’t have the capability to build yet, then tapped and flicked the plans over to a wall display. “I could build one of these,” the display lit up with a wireframe of another starship, but this was not something sleek and intended for exploration like the Ad Astra, this was a box with an engine strapped to it. The ‘ship’ part was what looked for all the world like a glorified camper van scaled up to house everything necessary to support a barebones crew, in-system flight, and FTL. Attached to that was a comparative behemoth of a cargo container, obviously intended to be modular and detachable. The name attached to the blueprint read, ‘ECC Goldrush.’

“Obviously, we’d have to mod the cargo container, those things are designed to haul materials, not people, and it wouldn’t be comfortable. We probably wouldn’t be able to kit it for gravity and atmosphere control would be…problematic. It would take who knows how long to get to a friendly port…” a notification popped up on her holographic display, blinking a furious red. Her eyebrows scrunched together, she tapped on the notification and saw a message: Katrina - “8 days to nearest Terran Federation station.”

“Katrina, at least pretend this is a private meeting, please…” she muttered, then to Norma said, “About eight days, I guess, to the nearest friendly port.”

The space-born woman frowned at the schematic for the surveyor ship on the wall, her face no longer a mask of anger but now showing muted concern. “I…know some of us would take you up on that. The people who came here on ships that abandoned them, people who had homes and want to go back to them…but,” she turned a pleading look to Diane, “I…I was born here, this is the only home I know!”

So much for the easy solution, Diane thought. She leaned back in her chair and drummed her fingers on the arm rest, letting the silence linger.

Read the whole thing on Scribblehub

[leam1983]

Living Up to my Persona

I make a big thing about being a spirit of chaos bottled up in failing human meat, but the thing is, operating in civil society means keeping your limiters and blinkers on, so to speak. I don't exactly get to go ham on the occasional dealership's bigots or douchebags, but when I do...

See, Walt's the verbal type. Sarah's the snippy one when it comes to defending the polycule and me? Well, I know I'd fold in two with a stiff breeze. I can't punch up to save my life, my meatware decides that stammering is extra cool when it comes to actually giving lip to someone when I'm not hiding behind a headset - so I attack the best way I can: using tech to do my dirty work.

A few weeks into our company's existence, I'm doing in-person work at a dealership whose staff I utterly loathe for how contemptuous they are for their own client base and for all external collaborators (the constructor's name obviously ends with a "Benz"), and one of the Sales reps lands just one too many biphobic and discriminatory comments concerning my disability. So, using SSH, I term into his desktop while working on their central database, and drop the following into a custom BAT file I hide in the depths of Windows' System32 folder:

(at)echo off

:: Generate a random number between 1 and 100

set /a X=%random% * 100 / 32768 + 1

:: Use PowerShell to display a message box with the random number

powershell -Command "Add-Type -AssemblyName PresentationFramework;[System.Windows.MessageBox]::Show('Hey, Mike! Looks like you did %X% pushups today! Nice job!', 'Pushup Tracker')"

exit

A few more keystrokes in Windows' Run program gets me access to the Startup folder (God bless Admin rights) and I set my BAT file to run with every Windows boot-up sequence. Mike, in this case, knows as much about Windows' architecture as your average fruit fly.

He will never find my little gift, and will drive their own swamped and chronically non-available Level 1 tech absolutely fucking bugnuts, as per later testimonies. As, after all, it's just a Batch file - not a virus. From their end of things, everything is copacetic.

Fast-forward a few months, and being hounded by a mocking Windows message window seems to be enough for Mike to go from a self-obsessed would-be Sigma to a snivelling little runt who puffs up in front of customers but who realizes he's entirely dependent on us to meet his Sales targets...

And Walt knows I like it like that. I smile, nod, wave off Mike's earlier homophobia - but if I wanted? I could access that BAT file and make it much, much more malicious.

I might remove it remotely in a few months. It's been long enough as it is - but I want to be sure. Wouldn't want Mikey to get an excessive surge of homophobic self-confidence again...

[armandoarmstrong]

The Vital Role of Windows VPS Hosting Services in Today’s Digital World

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[mlembug]

Relay operated power button

What you need:

a 5V relay module

Raspberry Pi

a bunch of cables

Explanation:

A power button on a computer case lets electricity flow between two power pins upon it being pressed, which is when the motherboard detects the button is pressed and reacts accordingly.

A relay is a specific kind of switch which lets electricity flow conditionally upon the flow of electricity in another circuit. The voltages involved both in motherboard power pins and on Raspberry Pi are generally low to not damage both, but we're taking extra precautions to electrically separate them both.

"5V relay module" here means that 5V is the voltage that is required for the relay module to work, while the controlling voltage can be lower. It being relay module it means it also has a flyback diode we'd otherwise have to provide ourselves.

Raspberry Pi's GPIO pins are programmable and can be controlled through Python code, and operate on 3.3V. Raspberry Pi also provides 5V output, but this one is not controllable.

By

connecting a power button to rPi GPIO pins

connecting the 5V voltage output pin from rPi to the relay module's Vcc input pin

connecting the ground pin from rPi to the relay module's groud pin

connecting programmable GPIO pins as the relay module's input pin

connecting the relay module's outputs (the normally open one and the ground) to the motherboard power pins

running some code on rPi

We can extend the power button functionality so Raspberry Pi can turn on and off our computer, while also still keeping the power button working.

Which is what I use to remotely turn on my computer on, by SSHing to rPi and running a script to turn the PC on while I'm away from home.

Why not Wake-On-LAN?

Wake-On-LAN has restrictions which makes it not as reliable as it could be, for example:

The ability to wake from a hybrid shutdown state (S4) (aka Fast Startup) or a soft powered-off state (S5) is unsupported in Windows 8 and above

The code and explanation for it in Part 2, when I get to writing it.

[casspurrjoybell-26]

💖Sweet Revenge💖 - Chapter 16

*Warning Adult Content*

Blake Welling

"I'm sorry, Blake. It's not about you or your company. We're just not able to present the capital at this time. Which means we're not able to sign over the investment."

I stare across the table at Lyle Snyder, one half of Baker & Snyder Investments and the man who currently has the success of my business hanging by a thread.

A thread he seems about to cut.

"I don't understand," I say for what must be the fourteenth time.

"Last week you told me everything was in order."

We're sitting in a booth in a chain restaurant.

He's having lunch.

I'm having a bad day.

Not only is my top investor crapping out on me but I'm pretty sure I screwed things up royally with Aaron.

Sometimes I don't know what I'm saying when I get upset and I could have cut my own tongue out when I'd seen what my words did to him.

It was awful, the way that expressionless mask stole over his face like clouds covering the sun and it was my fault... again.

"I'll be honest with you, Blake," Lyle says, which makes me wonder what he's been with me so far.

"We were counting on the returns from a previous investment to fund your venture. Unfortunately, those returns... did not come through as expected. However, in six months... maybe a year... things could be different."

He gives me a sympathetic look that I don't want.

"In the meantime, don't lose hope. You have a business loan, right? And you said the shop is off to a great start. Besides, everyone is about startups and small businesses these days. You'll find other investors. Just give it time."

Outside the restaurant, we shake hands and part with civil, businesslike words.

I watch him drive away with my dreams.

I'd like to go to a bar and get drunk or maybe just buy a bottle of something and drive out somewhere remote and pass out in my truck but that doesn't seem like a healthy response and I'm not quite at that level of despair... yet.

So I drive home... slow, safe, controlled.

The way I've done everything for the past two years.

It's dark by the time I get back and I go straight around the back of my shop and up to my apartment.

I keep my eyes on the sidewalk as I do, careful not to look up and see either my own store on one side or Aaron's on the other.

I don't have the strength for either direction of thought right now.

Upstairs, I shower, make myself a sandwich, watch some mindless T.V. while I drink a beer, brush my teeth and go to bed.

All without allowing myself to think.

I'd spent a good few minutes staring at the rest of the beers in my fridge, contemplating how much it would hurt me to drink them all before deciding against it.

Later, I'd realize that was one of the best decisions I ever made.

~♡~

I don't know what wakes me.

I'd like to think it was some instinct, some mysterious lover's call.

Actually, I think I just had to piss.

Even so, it was lucky I did.

Afterwards, I stumble from the bathroom, aiming myself back towards my bed.

As I climb onto it, I raise myself on my knees and peer out the windows above its head.

They face across the street towards Aaron's and recently I'd made a habit of looking in that direction.

Even in my sleep-addled state, it only takes a few seconds for me to realize that something is wrong.

There's a weird orange light flickering against the shop's windows, like someone passing a screen back and forth in front of a flame.

And a flame, I realize, is what is causing it.

In an instant, I'm fully awake, pulling on my pants and out my door to the street.

I dial 911 as I go.

The operator tells me to stay on the line, to wait on the street, not to go inside.

But I don't see Aaron anywhere and I can hear smoke detectors going off like mad.

I run around the back as fast as I can, feeling my leg twinge in protest as I take the stairs two at a time.

I bang on his door and call his name but there's no answer.

Could he be out already?

Spending the night somewhere else?

But his car is in the street and... the door isn't anything fancy.

It's thin wood paneling, held on by basic hinges and a simple lock.

I throw myself against it with the strength of desperation.

On the fourth try, it gives.

Smoke fills the room and from below I hear the sound of angry flames surging on a fresh supply of oxygen.

Covering my face, I rush in.

Aaron lays on his bed, one arm thrown over his face in sleep.

I run to him and shake him, shouting between lungfuls of smoky air.

"Aaron. Aaron, wake up."

I slap his face none-too-gently.

"Wake the fuck up, damn it."

To my relief, his eyes slide open but they have a glassy, glazed look.

They fix on me and then slide away, unfocused.

"Aaron? Shit. What did you take?"

I glanced around wildly and my eyes light on the name-brand sleeping aid on his bedside table.

Fuck.

At least only one is missing from the pop-out tray.

"Aaron," I scream in his face, then cough.

There's no time for this shit.

I slide my arms under him and lift.

My leg gives under the strain and I fall.

At least the jostling rouses Aaron and his eyelids lift again.

He blinks and coughs and mouths my name.

"Come on, baby," I beg.

"You gotta wake up and help me. I can't carry you."

"Blake?" he says, this time with enough air I at least hear it.

"Yes... yes I'm here. There's a fire. Aaron, sweetheart, we have to move, now."

Instead, he passes out again.

I swear.

Biting back the pain, I get to my feet and try again.

I hold him against me as I rise and scream as my bad leg takes its share of the weight.

This time, though, I manage to keep my legs under me but every step is agony.

Outside I look down the flight of rickety wooden stairs and balk.

The sound of wailing sirens floats towards me on the cold night air.

Help is nearly here.

Stronger arms than mine are minutes away.

But I can't wait.

I swallow the fire burning my leg as sure as any flames and somehow make it to the bottom of the stairs and out to the safety of the opposite side of the street.

Then I collapse, Aaron in my arms.

When the paramedics arrive, they take him away from me.

I know he's fine but they don't.

They're worried about smoke inhalation and when I say 'he took something' without thinking, they start talking about stomach pumps and I do my best to intervene.

"No... no it was just one... just one," I say, pulling the emergency oxygen mask from my face.

"Can you be sure?" I hesitate.

"Yes. I'm sure."

In all the excitement, Aaron starts to come around anyway.

He sits up and looks across the street, blue eyes reflecting the glow of orange flames.

"I'm so sorry, baby," I say, kneeling beside him and gasping against my own pain.

"I'm so sorry."

He turns towards me, looking lost.

Then he lets me hold him as he cries.