#Fire Alarm System Indicator

[ravelfireelectronics]

Shop Response Indicator in Fire Alarm System

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[manishkhatana]

How to Choose the Right Fire Shaft Door for Your Property

Choosing the right fire shaft doors for your place is very important to keep safety rules and follow building laws. Fire shaft doors are special barriers made to hold smoke and flames in certain parts of a structure, especially in vertical shafts such as staircase and elevator shafts. These doors need to pass strict fire resistance ratings, usually lasting from 30 minutes up to 120 minutes based on what the building needs.

Assessing Your Property's Needs

Before you buy fire shaft doors, it is important to assess the particular needs of your property. Think about things like how tall the building is, what kind of people occupy it and local rules for fire safety. Usually commercial buildings need fire-rated doors with a higher rating than those needed in residential properties. Also, check the place where doors will be put - doors guarding important escape paths require higher ratings compared to those in not so critical places.

Key Features to Consider

When choosing fire shaft doors, there are several characteristics that need close consideration. Initially, make sure to check for the right certification marks which confirm adherence to safety standards. Also see if intumescent seals present or not; these expand when they come in contact with heat and efficiently seal gaps around the door. Mechanisms that close by themselves make sure doors shut automatically after use, keeping fire compartments intact. Lastly, think about features for controlling smoke which stop harmful fumes from moving throughout the building.

Material Selection and Durability

The performance and durability of your fire shaft doors are greatly influenced by the material they are made from. Steel doors provide very good resistance to fire and last long, but they can be heavy and costly. Composite doors offer a nice compromise between weight and protection against fire. Wooden doors with cores that resist fire can match nicely with your inside decor while still keeping safety rules.

Professional Installation and Maintenance

Even the best fire door will not work well if it is not installed correctly. Always employ professionals with certification for installing to make sure safety rules are followed. Set up a regular time to maintain and look at whether seals have damage, closing methods are working properly and hardware remains unbroken. You may need to keep records of these inspections for insurance companies or fire safety officers.

Cost Considerations and Long-Term Value

It is understandable to have budget limitations, but think of fire safety as a worthwhile investment instead of just an expenditure. Doors with better quality may be more expensive at first yet they usually provide superior protection and long-lasting use. Think about the possible expenses from not adhering to regulations such as penalties, higher insurance rates and the unpredictable cost related to diminished safety.

[super-ion]

The Engineer

Part 6

(part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5)

I catch a glimpse of the Pilot as she is wheeled towards the med bay. Her eyes are wild, panicked, with the glaze of just having been torn out of herself.

For a moment, as the gurney slides by, those eyes briefly clear, ice blue pinning me to the spot. She reaches out with an emaciated arm, fast as lightning, and takes hold of my wrist in an iron grip.

She moves her lips, at first unable to form words, unable to remember how to use human speech organs.

"Do your job," she says, slowly, deliberately, as if that singular command is the only thing in the universe that matters.

Something in the gurney clicks and whirs and she slips into catatonia. Her grip loosens and her fingers trail away.

Something has gone terribly wrong in this last engagement.

Alarms blare and booted feet thunder past me.

My own feet join the cacophony.

I have a job to do.

The Pilot is alive and she is now the responsibility of the med team.

My responsibility is the Machine.

Do your job.

The words echo in my head as I sprint the remaining distance to the vestibule.

A tech tries to stop me, he says something I don't quite process. I shove past him and am greeted by a scene out of a nightmare.

Morrigan's hatch has been severed, the emergency release pyros having been triggered. The parts of her hull visible to the vestibule are pitted and blackened. I can't even find the stencilled lettering of her factory designated identifier, just an ugly hole torn open by an incendiary.

Inside, the cockpit is a mess of fire suppressant and crash gel. Indicator lights form a constellation of blinking red and half of the display panels, the half that still work, flash an endless stream of error messages.

Everything reeks of ammonia and ozone and scorched metal.

"Me or Morrigan could get dead in the next engagement."

The nonchalance with which those words had been delivered caught me off guard when they were spoken. Morrigan and Her Pilot are untouchable. They were supposed to be untouchable.

Do your job.

I begin to strip as fast as humanly possible. I need to get in there. I need to know that she is alive.

The tech that tried to stop me grabs my arm. You can't go in there, the reactor has not been stabilized.

I tear myself from his grip.

I have a job to do, I say with a snarl.

Something in my expression, my bared teeth, my feral eyes, convinces him to leave me be. He stands down, hands raised in surrender. He could call security, but by the time they get here, I'll already be jacked in, and it will be too late for them to do anything.

Do your job. Do your job. Do your job.

My job is information recovery and analysis.

My job is to save as much as I can.

I need to save Her.

One of the cameras spots me and the others focus on me in panicked motion. The one nearest to me has a cracked lens and the iris flutters open and closed, unable to focus.

The cradle has been mangled nearly beyond recognition. They had to physically cut the Pilot out of Her, neither of them willing to let go of the other. The still operable mechanisms of it jerk erratically, trying vainly to reconfigure for me. Her neural interface port reaches towards me desperately.

I scrabble to Her, pressing myself into the cradle. The shorn, inoperable pieces dig painfully into my flesh. The neural insertion is not gentle, the plug scrapes painfully against my skin before it finds the jack and shoves roughly into me.

"I'm here," I tell Her as the link is established.

It's bad.

It's worse than I feared.

Reactor housing is damaged. System failsafes are vainly attempting to stabilize it while ground crews work as fast at they can towards a purge of the system.

Her processor core… fuck. My mind struggles to make sense of the telemetry stream. Multiple processor modules fractured. Unstable resonance modes. Positron avalanche. System collapse imminent.

My breath catches and my heart pounds in my chest.

She is dying.

Do your job.

The umbilical data lines aren't receiving, rogue processes are preventing access to primary communication channels. I work furiously to establish auxiliary paths for the data transfer. In fits and starts, the data recorder begins streaming into the facility mainframe.

There is a problem.

The data repository is meant for telemetry and battle space recordings. If I attempted to back up her core personality engrams, everything that makes her who she is, the data would get scrubbed and purged faster than I could back them up elsewhere.

There isn't time to set up an alternate backup repository.

- PILOT STATUS?

"She's safe," I tell Her. “You completed your mission. Your Pilot… Our Pilot is safe.”

- ENGINEER STATUS?

"Status is… not good…"

- PLEASE DO NOT CRY.

Fuck.

I drag my hand over my face, smearing the tears gathering in my eyes.

Now that the data is streaming there is nothing I can do but feel her die as I lie in her embrace.

I can not conceive a reality in which I exist without her.

And the Pilot. The Pilot will not survive, not with half of who she is destroyed.

"The three of us, we're just this fucking tangle, aren't we?"

Do your job.

Save Her.

Save. Her.

I know this system. I know it more intimately than anyone alive.

There *is* one data connection I haven't considered. There *is* one piece of external storage currently connected.

Shit.

I act.

I open up a new interface in my hud. Morrigan's attention fixes on me, on the calculations I'm running through my head and I can feel Her dawning horror over the link.

Neural bleed. It works both ways.

All neural rigs are designed to facilitate data transfer between an organic brain and a mechanical one. Mine is no exception. Mine hasn't undergone all the upgrades needed for a pilot's full sensorium, but the core neural interface is the same.

If I disable safety overrides, if I bypass the data buffers, I can download her personality engrams directly into my prefrontal cortex.

I have no idea what that will do to me.

Exceptional synchrony and neuro-elasticity. That's what my intake assessments had said all those years ago. I was in the upper quintile among all pilot candidates. Maybe that was my downfall. Maybe that's why I washed out.

Maybe that's why I'm here now, contemplating this singularly desperate act.

Maybe that's why my neural bleed with Her has been so deep. Maybe there is something in me that is in tune with Them.

But as far as I know, no one has ever attempted anything like this. It could very well kill me.

But the thought of living without Her is more terrifying than the prospect of dying. It's more terrifying than what might happen to me if this works.

Morrigan pleads with me.

- STOP.

"No. I can't stop," I reply. "I need you."

- NO.

"Yes, I do," I tell her. "Your Pilot needs you."

I can feel Her emotional flinch over the link. I have the one piece of leverage I need, and She knows it.

"Wouldn't you give anything, sacrifice anything to see her again?"

It's a dirty trick, I know it is, playing off that one connection, her deepest, most intimate connection. Maybe I mean something to Her, but She and the Pilot were made for each other in the most literal sense.

And I suddenly realize that I am doing this as much for the Pilot as any of us. That surprises me. As much as I have tried to distance myself from other human beings, I became entangled with her the moment I opened myself up to Morrigan.

I would never be able to face her if I didn't do everything in my power to save the Machine.

A processor module fails outright. The system struggles to reallocate resources, but submodules throughout the entire system are strained to their limit.

There isn't any time left and She knows it.

She sullenly acedes.

We begin working in concert, me working to disable safety protocols in my rig, Her working to isolate and distill Her core personality patterns into something that can be handled by the bandwidth of the interface.

An alarm pings over the link. Reactor purge in progress. Power fluctuations spike all over her systems. Her processor power distribution subsystem is completely fucked. It won't be able to keep up with current activity levels as the whole system switches over to umbilical power.

Out of time.

I engage the final override, by mind suddenly open to hers, the neural link unbuffered, unfiltered.

Her mind presses in on me and I glimpse the full sensorium. I feel all of her pain and fear and anguish at what she is about to do to me.

My fingers tingle before they go numb.

"Do it," I command her.

- I LOVE YOU.

Data transfer initiates.

This isn't neural bleed.

This is a flood.

My body convulses.

I taste something coppery in my mouth.

Someone somewhere screams.

The scream is mine.

My rig isn't built for this. My body isn't conditioned for this.

Every nerve in me blazes white hot.

My vision tunnels as auras bloom like bruises on the skin of reality.

Shouts of alarm call from outside the cockpit.

A face resolves itself, and for a moment I think it's Her.

The Pilot.

A Priestess.

An Angel.

No.

It.

It is one of the techs.

Then a medic.

More shouting.

Get her out of there!

Every muscle in my body clenches painfully.

I can barely breathe.

Cut her loose!

No.

It's not done yet. It's not enough.

It's too much.

Too much. Too much. Too much.

I can't.

I can't stop. Not yet.

Do your job.

Save Her.

My body convulses once again, and I pass into oblivion.

(next)

~~~

@digitalsymbiote @g1ngan1nja @thriron @ephemeral-arcanist @mias-domain @justasleepykitten @powder-of-infinity @valkayrieactual @chaosmagetwin @assigned-stupid-at-birth @avalanchenouveau @rtfmx9 @femgineerasolution @ibleedelectric @gd-s451 @brieflybitten

[psychoticallytrans]

Very few people seem to acknowledge that developing health anxiety is not only a common, but a logical outcome of having chronic pain.

Pain is your body's early warning system for "hey something's off". With chronic pain, it's now going off constantly, which makes it about as useful as a fire alarm doing the same thing. Humans, generally speaking, try extremely hard to adapt to missing functions. Health anxiety is an adaption to cope with a malfunctioning warning system.

Of course you start to develop strange habits around tracking your health. Of course you research more about your health and about strange twinges that aren't usual for your pain, or about new symptoms that might mean your usual pain is indicating more than "system's broken". And until your medical staff start side-eyeing you, of course you visit them more.

You're trying to do the job that your pain is supposed to, while dealing with your pain always being on.

[spartancommander-2874]

@bigmouthgenius

This was supposed to be a simple smash and grab. Get the blueprints of the place, locate the objective, nab it and run.

In and out.

Easy enough, right?

Nope.

There was a security program that had been running passively in the background that not even the team’s AI had detected while pilfering the system and she had Forerunner code built directly into her matrix. Alarms began to blare loudly, alerting the Prometheans of offending intruders, once the data left its protective, holographic casing. Their fireteam leader quickly placed a hand on the terminal and green pixels flowed up her gauntleted arm and into a slot on the back of her helmet indicating their AI had come home. Without another word, the trio of Spartan IVs took off, wanting to be as far away from this place as physically possible.

Red blips began pinging off their motion trackers during their flight through the ancient complex and the digitized roars of anger echoed off down the halls. Their AI, Noesis, was still tapped into the local network and began to shut down the massive gray-white doors to cut off their pursuers or at the very least slow them down.

Evac was well on the other side of the facility in the form of a D79-TC Pelican dropship. Their pilot, Spartan Kent, had already activated the autopilot, calling the dropship in closer as the LZ was going to be hot by the time they got to it. A pair of beam turrets popped up in front of bulkhead doors at the end of one hall and began firing white-hot lasers at the fleeing super soldiers, forcing them off their current path and to take a hard right down another hallway to avoid being melted down to slag.

A Promethean Knight had sprung forward seemingly out of nowhere toward the Spartans as they attempted to dodge the turret fire and had nearly pinned their XO to the wall with its gun when it received a shotgun shell to the side of its head. With the creature down, they continued onward with their flight.

“Finally! We’re almost out of here!” came the Spartan to their XO’s left. Her IFF transponder marked her as Cordova, Caterina A.

“About time. I think we’ve really riled up the locals. Kent,” their fireteam leader replied then glanced to the right at their other squad mate. “Kent, once we get out, get that pelican ready for transport. We need to get the hell out of here ASAP before they call in for more reinforcements. Last thing we need is for the Storm Covies clogging up the air.”

“Way ahead of you, ma’am!” came her companion’s reply.

Just as they reached the last stretch, however, a Promethean had teleported meters away from the exit and brought an Incineration Cannon up to bear. The weapon began to charge, red light glowing like death. Right as the thing fired, their commander cried out, “Move it!”, before diving out of the way herself. The creature must’ve been in the local network as well as it was fighting for control over the doorways and cut the commander off from the other two. She rolled up onto her feet just in time to jerk to the side to avoid another blast.

“Commander?! Auri-?”

“Hey, you still-?”

“Get outside! I’ll meet you at the LZ. This place is going to be crawling with Knights shortly. I don’t want them bringing down our bird before we even get out of here,” she called back over their COMMs.

Spartan Kent paused briefly before responding so his counterpart took over. “Yes ma’am! Noesis is still feeding us a map of the area and there’s another exit out here. We’ll see you outside.”

“Copy!”

The Knight attempted to fire on the Spartan once more and just before it released the trigger, a well thrown grenade took it out of its misery. Reloading her weapons and taking a quick stock of what was leftover, Noesis, the team’s AI, wormed her way past the defenses the Knight had thrown up and unlocked one doorway, placing a waypoint that led to the exit on the Spartan’s HUD. The commander took off and was forced to double back twice due to an influx of hostiles. Out of nowhere, a brilliant flash of blue and black lit up a doorway to the Four’s left. Hovering there, of its own volition apparently, was a portal. She was really backed into a corner right now, with Prometheans encroaching on her location. The construct hiding within her helmet was already following her line of thought before the woman even voiced her plan.

“Commander, as much as I’d like to be out of here, we don’t know where that portal leads,” Noesis protested.

“Anywhere’s better than here. They’re already starting to wrest control from you and you’ve already transferred over the data to Roland, right?” Auri had already started to back up toward the swirling vortex. Sure enough, another entrance on the far side of the room had opened up, revealing a mass of very angry Promethean Knights who thought they had the human cornered.

“Yes but…” the AI said, her sentence petering off. Oh hell. Her Spartan had already made up her mind and there was no changing it. “I’m notifying the others and I don’t think these Knights are going to wait much longer!” Moments before the Forerunner constructs could pounce, the Spartan dove into the portal’s center and her world went black and the machine shut off.

---

She could feel her body being spun this way and that. Her skin being tugged hard off her bones as she fell end over end. Or so it seemed.

Auri’s shields flared up as an unknown source drained the batteries until they cracked and died for a few seconds, the annoying alarm blaring right in her ear. Her equilibrium was way off and it felt as though she remained within the portal network for far longer than before although she couldn’t tell how much time had passed since she had taken the plunge.

Without warning, a hole suddenly opened up and spat her out into the dirt rather unceremoniously. The Spartan rolled to a stop, head spinning violently and she swallowed down the urge to throw up. Any attempt at getting to her feet were met with major protest as her vision swam sickeningly. Shutting her eyes tightly against the light filtering through her faceplate, the commander took in a few slow, deep breaths before rising up to her knees carefully. Her stomach was still her throat and her head throbbed something awful but she was alive and surprisingly in one piece. A few meters away from her, the portal floated and seemed to shudder. Had the Spartan not been paying attention, she wouldn’t have caught that slight waver that indicated something was off.

“Okay, good. You’re alright,” came her AI’s soft voice. “We may have a tail. Prometheans may have followed us and… I don’t think that portal is going to last much longer. We need to get clear of the blast radius and into cover.” Noesis sounded almost distracted and for a second, the Four couldn’t pin down what had caught her attention.

“Great… You don’t have to tell me twice,” Auri replied, turned around to get moving and stopped.

Oh.

That’s why.

They weren’t on Requiem anymore.

[mariacallous]

Elon Musk’s so-called Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) has been clear about its plans to fire tens of thousands of employees at the Department of Veterans Affairs. New WIRED reporting sheds light on the specific DOGE operatives at the VA and the ways they’re trying to infiltrate and drastically change the agency.

On March 25, tech staffers and contractors at the VA noticed an unfamiliar name trying to push changes that could impact VA.gov code. It was Sahil Lavingia, a newcomer to the agency listed in the VA’s internal directory as an adviser to the chief of staff, Christopher Syrek.

Lavingia's presence in the VA's GitHub instance—a publicly viewable platform that houses projects and code for VA.gov—set off immediate alarm bells. It bore all the hallmarks of DOGE’s incursion into the federal government: Lavingia, a startup CEO and engineer with no government experience, all of a sudden had power—and was in their systems.

Since then, VA employees say they have had multiple concerns following interactions with Lavingia. Beyond his GitHub access, sources who spoke to WIRED indicate that Lavingia, who said on Slack that he wanted to digitize the agency, also appears to be trying to use an AI tool called OpenHands to write code for the VA’s systems. One person with knowledge says that Lavingia had been given what’s known as a “zero account,” which would allow him to be granted privileged access to VA systems.

In response to WIRED’s questions about his work at the VA, Lavingia responded by email saying, “Sorry, I'm not going to answer these, besides to say I'm unpaid. And a fan of your work!”

Lavingia is not the only DOGE representative at the VA. According to sources within the agency, the DOGE delegation also includes Cary Volpert and Christopher Roussos. Other known DOGE members at the VA include Justin Fulcher, who ran a telehealth startup that went bankrupt in the late 2010s, and Payton Rehling and Jon Koval, both of whom worked for Valor Equity Partners and appeared at the Social Security Administration along with the fund’s founder and Musk ally, Antonio Gracias.

These DOGE operatives appear to have no work experience that’s remotely close to the VA in terms of its scale or complexity. The VA administers all the government benefits afforded to veterans and their families for roughly 10 million people, including education, loans, disability payments, and health care. Lavingia is the CEO of Gumroad, a platform that helps creatives sell their work and takes a cut of each sale. More recently, according to his blog, Lavingia launched Flexile, a tool to manage and pay contractors. According to his LinkedIn profile, Lavingia was the second employee at Pinterest, which he left in 2011 to found Gumroad. Lavingia is also an angel investor in other startups via SHL Capital, which backed Clubhouse and Lambda School, among others.

Volpert, who is listed as a senior adviser to the chief of staff, is a graduate of the University of Pennsylvania. On a third-party job site Volpert is listed as the founder of a startup called Lindy Live, which once offered social engagement for senior citizens. According to documents viewed by WIRED, Volpert has been reviewing VA contracts with what appears to be the intent of canceling those agreements. Roussos is the former CEO of 24 Hour Fitness and most recently was CEO of AllerVie Health, an allergy and immunology startup, according to his LinkedIn profile. Last February, he became chair of the company’s board of directors. He is also listed as an adviser to the chief of staff at the VA. Volpert, Roussos, and Lavingia, according to a source at the VA, were introduced by agency leadership in meetings as DOGE representatives.

“DOGE's actions at the VA are putting veterans' lives at risk,” representative Gerald Connolly, ranking member of the House Oversight Committee, tells WIRED. Veterans, he adds, risk being “stripped of the care they need and deserve because [President Donald] Trump and Elon have turned the VA over to lackeys who do not know the first thing about what it means to serve your country."

VA employees have expressed concern about the changes the DOGE staffers have already started to make to the agency. “These people have zero clue what they are working on,” a VA employee tells WIRED.

The VA did not immediately respond to a request for comment. Neither did Volpert, Roussos, Fulcher, Rehling, or Koval.

Lavingia’s past work, however, appears to have informed his present outlook at the VA, especially when it comes to AI. In a blog post on his personal website from October 2024, Lavingia discussed how Gumroad, which laid off most of its employees in 2015, had achieved financial stability: “replacing every manual process with an automated one, by pushing all marginal costs to the customer, and having almost no employees.”

“Today, humans are necessary for stellar customer service, crisis management, regulatory compliance and negotiations, property inspections, and more,” he wrote. “But it won't be long until AI can do all of the above.”

Two sources familiar with Lavingia’s work at the VA note that he appears to be trying to introduce an AI tool called OpenHands to write code for the agency. In GitHub, Lavingia requested to add OpenHands to the repertoire of programs that can be used by VA tech workers, and noted in Slack that this was “a priority for the [chief of staff] and Secretary.” (OpenHands is available for anyone to download on GitHub.)

“They’ve asked us to consider using AI for all development contracts and have us justify why it can’t do it,” says the VA employee. “I think they are considering how to fill the gaps [of canceled contracts] with AI.”

“We don’t really have approval to use AI, because there is sensitive info in some of the GitHub repos,” says a second VA tech worker who, like other sources, asked to remain anonymous because they’re not authorized to talk to the media. “Theoretically it could script something and pull out a bunch of data.” Much of that data, according to the source, is stored and accessed through several application programming interfaces. This includes information like the social security numbers of veterans and their family members and bank information, as well as medical and disability history.

New tools also mean new security risks. “Any programming tools or applications that you use in federal systems have to meet a bunch of security classifications,” the source says. They worry that the proposed use of OpenHands has not been properly vetted for government purposes for security gaps that could possibly leave the VA’s systems and data vulnerable.

“They’re not following any of the normal procedures, and it’s putting people at risk,” they say, noting that a system failure could impede veterans’ ability to access their benefits. “These are people who have given pieces of themselves to their country and they deserve more respect than that.”

A former VA employee who worked in the office of the CTO and asked for anonymity in order to protect their privacy says that OpenHands was not, as far as they knew, a tool approved for use at the agency. When asked to evaluate it based on the security assessment used at the agency, the person says that the tool’s ability to “modify code, run commands, browse the web, call APIs,” according to its website, was particularly concerning.

“That alarms me. That gives me Skynet vibes," they say. “I don’t necessarily want a computer to have all those capabilities unsupervised.”

OpenHands did not immediately reply to a request for comment.

The source also says that AI-generated code can pose significant risks in general. “I would not want a tool like this writing code on VA.gov, because I think it would lead to a higher likelihood of bugs and therefore security issues being introduced into the platform,” they say, adding that “buggy code” could be easier to hack, introducing more security vulnerabilities. It could also accidentally access or modify the wrong data, including sensitive data. And even if the AI-generated code works well, it can be “unmaintainable,” because it is so complicated that even the people generating the code may not fully understand it and therefore not be able to update or change it when needed.

Lavingia has quickly suggested other changes at the VA as well.

Sources say Lavingia asked if there is a way to use veterans’ social security numbers or “other identifying information” to pre-fill customer forms with data from the VA system without the user being logged in. That data, according to one VA source, could include everything from their disability benefits and medical records and history. This kind of pre-filling requires users to be authenticated within the VA’s system, which not all of them are. A VA employee pushed back, noting that “there are fraud and risk concerns about someone submitting a form on behalf of a veteran when they have not been established as their caretaker.” Another employee noted this change would make it easier to “submit fraudulent forms at scale.”

In a March 26 Slack message, Lavingia also suggested that the agency should do away with paper forms entirely, aiming for “full digitization.”

“There are over 400 vet-facing forms that the VA supports, and only about 10 percent of those are digitized,” says a VA worker, noting that digitizing forms “can take years because of the sensitivity of the data” they contain. Additionally, many veterans are elderly and prefer using paper forms because they lack the technical skills to navigate digital platforms.

“Many vets don’t have computers or can’t see at all,” they say. “My skin is crawling thinking about the nonchalantness of this guy.”

Lavingia’s earliest activity on the VA’s Github is indicative of the broader tensions at the agency. According to GitHub pull requests and people familiar with his work, Lavingia sought to change the text in the website’s footer where the agency lists its social media presence from “Twitter” to “X.” (Musk renamed Twitter to X after purchasing it in 2022.)

That change was not as simple as it sounds.

“We wanted it to say ‘X (formerly Twitter)’ or something similar,” says the second VA tech worker. This was because the letter X is, on its own, not big enough to be compliant with Section 508 of the Rehabilitation Act, which requires federal agencies to make their electronic and information technology accessible to people with disabilities. The single letter would be too difficult for someone to tap. Other VA workers suggested that they could use “X.com,” again in an attempt to make text more readable and accessible to disabled users.

“X.com is not an acceptable replacement. It must be ‘X’ to be consistent with the other sites where we use the names they prefer,” Lavingia responded. The VA website now simply lists “X.”

In a GitHub ticket viewed by WIRED, Lavingia also suggested abandoning Drupal, a content management system (CMS) that the VA uses for publishing updates and information about the agency and the services it provides on VA facility websites. “I think we should consider removing Drupal as part of our workflow, and all content should just live in the codebase,” he wrote.

Sources say that the regular office administrators and health workers staffed at VA locations around the country are often the ones responsible for making sure that the content about their facilities are clear and up to date on their VA webpages. Instead of being able to log in to the CMS and update the appropriate text or pages, Lavingia’s suggestion would mean they’d need to go into the actual code of the website to make simple changes. Any mistakes could break the sites, and one source worried that such a technical task would be too big of an ask for nontechnical VA staffers.

“There are over 1,000 VA editors that work in the hospitals as administrators and other roles that update the websites for each VA medical center and hospital every day. They are not engineers, they barely can use a CMS at all,” says the second VA worker, who was shocked by Lavingia’s suggestion. “This guy is suggesting we move all 55,000-plus pages of live content into the code.”

A week after Lavingia made this suggestion, the VA did not renew a contract for the workers who managed its CMS. This means, sources claim, that the VA’s facility locator, which lets users find a hospital or VA office near them, may stop functioning. This feature was managed through the contractor. (The DOGE account on X posted proudly, “VA was previously paying ~$380,000/month for minor website modifications. That contract has not been renewed and the same work is now being executed by 1 internal VA software engineer spending ~10 hours/week.” VA workers say they have no idea who the post refers to.)

Sources say that Lavingia’s casual approach extends even to such issues as meeting protocols. On Tuesday, during a Microsoft Teams call with Chris Johnston, the agency’s deputy chief technology officer, VA tech workers were surprised when they saw that someone had started recording in the middle of a call.

“It created a stir,” says a third VA worker who was in the meeting.

In a chatbox, Lavingia wrote, “Why can’t we record? I think we should unless there’s a legal reason not to,” noting that it would be helpful for people who couldn’t attend. Another person wrote back, informing Lavingia that the deck for the meeting would be shared in a Slack channel, “for reference.”

“I think it’s good policy to assume all meetings will be recorded,” Lavingia responded. The source who was on the call says that recording all calls is not the norm at the agency and that it is standard practice to ask to record calls before doing so.

“I see more naivete than evil,” says the VA worker who was at the meeting. “If you come up in Silicon Valley, you really do start to believe that because you launched some startup and were successful you have some kind of secret sauce. And everything outside of your founder/startup ecosystem needs to be disrupted.”

But the worker says that Lavingia’s backing by Musk and DOGE has created a culture of fear. “Everyone is scared to death of him and takes every question or suggestion as an edict,” they say.

According to his GitHub account, it appears that while he is at the VA, Lavingia is continuing to work on his tool Flexile, which now also bears the name “Antiwork.” GitHub records show he has been working on the code even up to this week. The VA did not respond to questions about whether this is permissible while working with the agency. (Government workers are allowed to take on some kinds of outside work, generally with agency permission, so long as it doesn’t conflict with their existing role.)

[eretzyisrael]

By Michael Bachner

Israel’s widespread airstrikes in Iran on Saturday crippled Iran’s ability to produce long-range ballistic missiles in a blow that will be hard and time-consuming to recover from, and rendered crucial energy facilities vulnerable to future attacks by destroying air defense batteries protecting them, according to multiple reports citing Israeli, American and Iranian officials, as well as satellite images analyzed by experts.

The strikes, which Israel’s Kan public broadcaster said reflected capabilities developed over two decades, indicated much greater freedom of operation for Israeli warplanes in striking Iran if the current conflict continues to escalate, as well as a setback in Tehran’s ability to continuously fire missiles at the Jewish state, which Jerusalem apparently hopes will serve as a deterrent against further attacks on the Jewish state.

The strikes targeted sites that reportedly include the secretive Parchin base near Tehran, which was used in the past for research and development of nuclear weapons, as well as a factory that manufactures drones.The attacks on the air defenses caused “deep alarm” in Iran, The New York Times reported citing three unnamed Iranian officials — one from the country’s oil ministry — since it rendered defenseless Khuzestan Province’s Abadan oil refinery, Bandar Imam Khomeini petrochemical complex and an adjacent major port, as well as the Tange Bijar gas field in the Ilam Province.

In addition, the report said citing the Iranian officials and three Israeli officials, the strikes disabled three Russian-made S-300 air-defense systems at Tehran’s Imam Khomeini International Airport and at the Malad missile base near the capital. This is in addition to a strike in April that took out an additional battery in the Isfahan Province.

[karalianne]

NaNoWriMo Fire

I have been posting comments on NaNoWriMo's Facebook page, to the most recent three posts there (copied and pasted). My latest one has apparently been blocked or something, so I'm going to start sharing here. Please do share this far and wide.

If you don't know what the NaNoWriMo fire is, I have two resources for you:

Reddit Post (took two to post the whole story)

Google Docs summary (being actively updated as things continue to burn)

So below the fold I'm pasting the comments I put on Facebook, in order. Enjoy!

March 5, 20204

It's becoming increasingly obvious that the goal here is to shutter NaNoWriMo as an organization. I wish you guys would just DO IT ALREADY instead of pretending you're trying to do right by the community. That ABSOLUTELY ATROCIOUS ABOMINATION of a new ML agreement is reprehensible. I hope NOBODY signs it, because it is BLATANTLY trying to put ALL BLAME for anything that goes wrong directly on the ML's. Which is ludicrous. On top of that, if people have concerns about the agreement they are automatically being removed as ML. That's not good faith. It's not transparency. I've been trying to believe the best but obviously that was really silly of me and I apologize for believing that everyone is capable of actually doing better.

March 7, 2024

The Board Update is laughable and reinforces the impression I offered in my previous comment. Basically, nobody on the Board right now was even there when all this stuff happened. NaNoWriMo the organization is not actually listening to the feedback from the community; supposedly there have been focus groups but none of the people I'm in contact with (which is a lot of people who have all been very heavily involved with the organization over the years) ever got an invitation. I am just one person, and I am aware that I am not owed anything. However, this entire thing continues to be mismanaged, and I do not for one second believe that the organization is heading in the right direction.

Again, I suggest you just shut things down completely like you're obviously planning. All the noises about trying to do the right thing, followed by this alarming lack of actually doing the right thing and incredibly tone-deaf approach, are not helping the situation. Support for the organization is dwindling, and I am not surprised. That's what happens when you ignore and/or woefully mismanage your response to concerns.

March 9, 2024

Well, I'm back for another round of "I thought I told you not to do this kind of thing." Again, I know I'm just a person and nobody has to listen to me, but I know plenty of people who agree with me.

First, regarding the FAQ for MLs, there are contradictions and missing words. I try not to criticize that sort of thing too much (in spite of being a trained proofreader) but this is supposed to be a writing organization, and you people at HQ are supposed to be writers. Do better.

Second, it has come to my attention that both the Terms & Conditions and the Codes of Conduct have been updated with no notification. That is ridiculous and unethical, not to mention poor business practice. Literally every organization I am connected to sends an e-mail to let me know when there are changes upcoming, and often those changes are outlined so I know what to expect. And then I have the option to leave if I don't agree with those changes.

If you did send a notification e-mail prior to these changes being implemented, well, hey, we already knew the e-mail system was borked so whatever. But it looks like literally NOBODY got a notification of the upcoming changes, which indicates that there was no attempt to follow best practices.

It is clear to me, and to many other people in the community, that nobody at HQ actually knows how to manage a non-profit. I'm also pretty sure you don't understand ethics or best practices. You're trying to get ahead of bad things that ALREADY HAPPENED, and if you're actually consulting a lawyer about all of these things before you do them, they are giving you horrible advice. You also needed a PR team back in like November (maybe even October).

There's a weird attitude that I've seen all over the place, that people who are being vocal about this disaster are being mean or trying to destroy NaNoWriMo or something like that. I want to be crystal clear here: People who are being vocal are speaking up on behalf of people who needed a voice. People were being abused and others decided to help them get out of that situation. When the expected solution (reporting to HQ) did not result in appropriate actions, they moved to make the situation public. (That's when I found out and got involved.)

When we were discussing problems and asking questions on the forums in November, we were trying to be productive. We were looking for answers, making suggestions, explaining what was wrong (because as we talked we learned that there was far more than just the Mod X situation that was wrong), offering our assistance... and we got shut down.

Now I'm also hearing that there has been a focus group. Who was in that focus group? How did you get the participants? Nobody I know was contacted to be on that focus group. Are you actually LISTENING to the participants? Are the people you're recruiting all folks who've made it clear they're mad at those of us who are using our voices to call out abuses of power, poor organization and business practices, and unethical behaviour? I don't care if I'm not approached to be a part of a focus group, but making sure you involve an assortment of viewpoints would be beneficial.

I am just incredibly disappointed in how everything has gone and is going. The yacht has sailed. It's time to accept that and move on.

March 12, 2024 (the one that isn't showing up)

Every time I turn around, it seems, there's something new to facepalm over. It is becoming increasingly clear that HQ is on the defensive. You need someone on staff, like, six months ago, who is actually capable of professional communication. Right now, we're receiving passive-aggressive whinges about how many e-mails there are and how you're giving up vacations in order to reply to them. At least some of the foolish "answers" on the FAQ (which again, why is that on Zendesk? That makes no sense.) have been removed. The thing is, nevermind Pepperidge Farm, the Internet remembers. EVERYTHING.

It is not professional to tell your subordinates (whether staff or volunteers) that you're giving up personal time in order to deal with a mess that is your responsibility to deal with. It is not professional to complain about having to do a job you agreed to take on.

It is not ethical to try and get anti-union verbage into an agreement for volunteers. It is not ethical to try and get volunteers to take on all liability for events they organize on your behalf.

It is incredibly rude to treat adults as if they are misbehaving children. Especially not when they are bringing you legitimate concerns and criticisms about how your organization is handling a serious situation.

And yes, a lot of this one is specifically about Kilby, because WTF? How have you been on multiple boards and not learned how to do all of this stuff properly? You were absolutely NOT the right person for the job, and it's laughable that you think you were.

[ravelfireelectronics]

Silent Guardians: The Unsung Role of the Response Indicator in Fire Alarm Systems

In the world of fire safety, every second counts. Detecting a fire early can make all the difference between a minor incident and a devastating catastrophe. While smoke detectors, heat sensors, and control panels often steal the spotlight, there’s a small yet powerful component that plays a pivotal role in fire detection — Response Indicator in Fire Alarm System. Though often overlooked, this device is essential in confirming alarm activation and ensuring visibility in hard-to-access areas. This guest post explores the importance of the Response Indicator, its functions, and why every fire safety plan should include it.

[manishkhatana]

Benefits of Fire Alarm Hooters in Industrial Safety

Factories have many safety problems, and fire risks are very high on this list. The hooter for the fire alarm is a major protection in case of possible disastrous scenarios. It gives fast warnings which attract attention right away which can protect lives and reduce damage to property.

Not like notices you see, fire alarm sirens can be heard clearly even with the background noise in places where things are made. This way workers always get warnings no matter what they look at or if there is other noise around them. These horn sounds that can be heard make them very necessary for dangerous factory situations when time is very important during emergencies.

Enhanced Emergency Response Time

Studies have found that fire alarm hooter systems, when used rightly, can lessen the time taken for evacuation by as much as 30%. This major enhancement is due to the hooter's potential to initiate a quick response with its unique and clear sound pattern. Workers naturally understand this sign of emergency.

These alarms have a big effect on the mind that you cannot describe too much. Workers who always hear fire alarm hooter sounds get used to responding by leaving straight away, in this way no time is wasted with uncertainty or misunderstanding during an urgent situation.

Compliance and Regulatory Benefits

Putting correct fire alarm siren systems aids facilities in satisfying OSHA rules and international safety standards. More than just escaping possible penalties, following the law shows a dedication to keeping workers safe and can have good effects on insurance costs.

Many of today's siren systems are combined with wider emergency management frameworks. They makeup inclusive safety networks that record incidents, how fast the response is, and efficiency in evacuation—offering essential information for constant betterment in safety.

Cost-Effectiveness Through Prevention

In relation to potential expenses from fire harm, injuries of employees or interruptions in operation, the investment value of fire alarm siren systems is very small but gives exceptional outcomes. One incident that gets stopped by this system can make up for its installation cost multiple times over.

Modern Advancements in Alarm Technology

Today, the fire alarm siren technology includes complex features like adjustable volume for distinct settings, different sounds for various emergency situations and backup power systems to ensure it works even when there is no electricity.

Wireless network functions permit combined whole-building systems with central supervision, and smart diagnostics always check system preparedness. This removes the danger of system breakdown at crucial times when people's lives may need instant alert.

[aishutoon]

The Housewarming Gift (A Sonic Prime Fanfic) - Chapter 1

(Decided to cross post the Housewarming Gift chapters I’ve written so far on tumblr. Hope you guys like it!)

The Grim was a quiet place.

No commotion from an overcrowded city, no roar of crashing waves, no screeches from any wildlife,

No noise, save for a gentle wind that blew every once in a while.

Just the way he liked it. 

After all, no noise meant no people, and no people meant no one to hurt him. No one who would corner him in an alleyway to beat him up, no one who would laugh as they stole his stuff and destroyed it just to see his reaction, no crowds who would whisper horrible things about him under their breath, just because he was different, just to feel a little better about themselves in that horrible city…

Zap!

Nine shot up, startled. The circuit board he was working on was letting off sparks where he accidentally broke a connection in the wrong place. Already, one of the alphas (alpha knuckles, it looked like) was working to stomp out the tiny fire that started when one of the sparks landed on some papers on the floor. “ Well, that was stupid…”

Ever since that final battle for the fate of the shatterverse, and the departure of everyone to their shatterspaces after making a promise to leave Nine alone, he had a lot of time on hands, and created many useful inventions since then. Even without the use of the paradox prism shards, there was still enough residual energy in the Grim to make the place more livable. While it wasn’t the paradise Nine initially envisioned, it was a home, and that was much more than he could say about his old place in New Yoke with those enforcer robots breathing down his neck. So far, he had created a plumbing system utilizing a huge lake he found a few miles away and a water purifier, a biosynthesizer so that he could make his own food (as a backup, he had a ton of canned food and drinks he stole from New Yoke), and some solar panels so that he wouldn’t have to worry about running out of power for everything. At the moment, he was working on creating a better defense system for his base after a lot of it was destroyed in that battle, at least until that circuit board got fried.

“Note to self, make a fireproof mat. And maybe some fire extinguishers while I’m at it…” Nine grumbled as he opened the door to the lab and ventured into the storage area. 

Between the hundreds of smashed grim robots and the remains of the chaos council’s machines, there was no shortage of spare parts for Nine to use to his whim. If he recalled correctly, there was a similar circuit board right in the chest cavity of what remained of that old grim birdie robot-

BEEP BEEP BEEP!

Nine jumped, and then bolted back towards the lab. While the defense system wasn’t done yet, he did manage to finish making a forcefield around the base, as well as a radar system for potential threats.

And right now, its alarm was going off.

“Computer, show what the radar is indicating!” The screen lit up accordingly, and Nine ran up to the controls to shoot a laser at the threat if necessary. 

On the screen, everything seemed normal outside at first glance. The sky was still a dark blue crossed with green where the auroras were active, and periodically dotted with a few stars in some spots. Only, one of them seemed to shine brighter than the others…

Uh oh.

The “star” shined even brighter, and the sky around it seemed to shimmer for a moment, kind of like how it was…before a portal to the void was opened.

“ShootShootSHOOT…!” Nine quickly slammed a button on his console to activate the forcefield so that the fortress would be protected, and then braced himself for a tear to appear in the sky again to rip apart the shatterspace, or a portal with the chaos council coming through to destroy him once and for all, or the ship with all of the shatterspace variants coming to mount an assault on his home again, because why the heck would they actually keep that promise to leave him alone in the grim after they attacked him, after he attacked them-

…Boom!

Out of that shimmering part of the sky, something small appeared and started falling. Something small, round, and metal that gleamed as it plummeted to the surface until it crashed with a distant noise. 

Nine opened his eyes. That…wasn’t a robot. At least, it didn’t look like one. It more closely resembled some sort of capsule, with a strange plaque engraved on its surface. “ What…is that??” Nine wondered, still a little shaken. “Even if it doesn’t look like a robot, it could still be some sort of trap, maybe a robot in disguise or a bomb or SOMETHING”. Nine muttered. He began to pace around, his finger hovering over the button to activate the metal tails out of habit. “Whatever it is… I won’t let anything destroy my home .”. Nine pushed a button on the console to summon some of the alpha robots, and within seconds Alpha Sonic, Amy, and Birdie showed up and lined up in front of Nine. “Alphas, go to where that capsule crashed and scan it to see if it’s hiding anything. Report that data to the main computer.” The robots each did a quick salute and then flew off. 

After a couple of minutes, the alpha robots reached the site of the crash. Nine watched the screen as they started to investigate the capsule, with alpha Birdie picking it up with their metallic talons and flying up a foot while alpha Amy and Sonic scanned it. “Ok, so it didn’t explode when you touched it, that still doesn’t mean it’s not some kind of trap. It’s gotta be something bad.” Nine was repeating this to himself as he looked, until the computer lit up with a new alert. “The scanner indicates that the inside of this capsule contains…uh…” It contained..a bunch of random stuff. The x-rays only showed vague outlines, but there were no mechanical parts in the walls or in the interior, just a mix of cloth bundles, wooden boxes, metal cans, what looked like a pole with something tied to it?

“....Maybe I should take a closer look.” Nine mumbled, pushing some more buttons on the console. “Alphas, bring the capsule into the hangar room.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nine landed a few feet away from the capsule, where the alpha robots were just standing around staring into space after bringing it in. Scanning it with his own scanner brought the same results as before: not a robot or a bomb. “...How the heck did this get here in the first place? Sonic better not have broken the prism again…”. He walked slowly around the capsule until he noticed something shine in the corner of his eye. “Oh right, there was some sort of plaque on the surface. Let’s see…”. Alpha Amy tipped over the capsule until the plaque was fully visible, and Nine began reading it.

“Dear Nine,

This letter is from the members of the shatterspaces who participated in the battle for the paradox prism (Except the chaos council, good riddance to them)

Reading that, Nine felt an immediate flash of anger. “Those guys?! They wanted to play one last trick on me, didn’t they!” For a moment he had an urge to order the alphas to blow it to bits, or take the capsule apart himself with his metal tails, but something made him stop for a moment. Inhale…Exhale… “Calm down Nine, you might as well read the rest before destroying this.” He started reading the plaque again.

“We understand if you don’t care, but each of us were able to return to our homes. With the chaos council gone for good this time, we in New Yoke are actually making some progress in getting this city back to the peaceful green place it used to be”

Me crew managed to get back to the seas of No Place in one piece as well, and we’re workin on cleaning up as well. With Black Rose as the new captain, this ship has never been heartier.

Us folks in the Boscage were able to get back, and we were able to finally finish fixing the damage from that last attack. However, it was sad saying goodbye to everyone else, especially my fellow Roses…but then something amazing happened.

So, it turns out that when those dunderheads of the chaos council attacked our homes back then, they left their communicators behind. Even with the portals closed, they still managed to work. That means that we were able to talk to each other again!

It was mighty fine to catch up with everyone! But the more we talked, the more we realized that there was something weighing on all of our minds after that final battle two weeks ago.

It was a month on our end, but yeah, you get the point. After that final battle, we all made a promise to Sonic to let you live in the Grim in peace, and never bother you again. Don’t worry, none of us intend on breaking that promise.

But, after a long time to think and reflect, we realized that it didn’t feel good to just leave you behind like that. We know that’s what you wanted, and we know this is kind of selfish of us, but in the end a lot of us wanted a chance to apologize to you. There was a ton of residual shard energy left behind by all those portals even after the prism was stabilized, meaning that each of us in the shatterspaces had a way to at least pass stuff to each other, even if we can’t see each other in person.

We aren’t gonna visit ye in the Grim, just getting that out of the way. We know ye hate us, and we don’t blame ya. But, we all decided to pitch in and make this capsule. Because what’s a new home without a housewarming gift? 

Each one of us put a present in this capsule before sending it to the next shatterspace, and by the time you’re reading this, it probably crashed somewhere in the Grim. 

You are free to do whatever you want with this capsule and its contents. If you wish to destroy it, along with this plaque, go right ahead. We won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do . At the end of the day, it’s your choice.

The end of the plaque was engraved with a whole bunch of names. The Roses, Dread, Sails, Catfish, Batten, Commander Rouge and Renegade Knucks, the rest of the resistance, even the scavengers. Nine was silent after reading the whole thing.

“ They…actually think I buy this? That they just felt bad for me, the guy that nearly destroyed them, their homes, and nearly all of reality? Are they serious?!”

The more he thought about it, the more furious he became. His ears flattened and he started growling.

“Did they actually think I’d accept this, after EVERYTHING that happened?! Why would they start caring now? Why’d they think I’D believe in them after they wanted to kill me? Of course they’d start caring after everything was over, after they got to go back to their homes all safe and stable, after Sonic-”

Nine stopped. His breath hitched for a second. Thinking about Sonic still hurt, even after all was said and done. He…helped everyone. Sonic helped everyone grow and develop in the short time he knew them, including Nine, even if he didn’t realize it. Even though he hurt him, Sonic apologized, no one had ever apologized…

There was no way they all actually cared about him. The bruise he got from that punch by Renegade Knucks took a long time to heal, and he still woke up in a cold sweat thinking about those attacks trying to break his barrier. He wasn’t like the Roses, he couldn’t become fast friends with his own variants, he nearly blew those two up for crying out loud.

Nine realized that he had started pacing again, and sat down in a nearby swivel chair. He turned to a nearby robot, Alpha Rouge, who had started organizing some spare parts the other robots had brought in the day before. “What do you think I should do with this?” The robot turned to look at him and tilted its head for a second at the question, then went right back to working. It didn’t talk. None of them did. And Nine was ok with that.  

Nine took a quick glance at the window, and realized that it was starting to get late. At the end of a “day” in the grim, the green light on the horizon died down, and the sky would begin to turn from a dark blue to almost blackish purple, with even more stars popping up. “I’ll figure out what to do with this thing tomorrow. Alphas, stand guard over it” He started flying towards the door. “We scanned it a bunch of times already, but just to be safe, if that capsule grows robot legs or something like that, shoot it on sight.” The alphas that gathered there all saluted as Nine went out the door and through the hallway towards his bedroom. “... Worse case scenario, I can just melt it down for scrap”.

[theambivalentagender]

Been thinking about the similarities between chronic pain and cptsd/trauma responses as someone who deals with both.

How both physical and emotional pain are meant to be indicators to the body that something is wrong and needs to be changed/fixed.

But with chronic pain and trauma-based responses somethings gone wrong with the alarm system so it's firing constantly, or from a hair trigger, or from the wrong signals entirely.

So it's hard to know when something is REALLY wrong, if an ache is something to see a doctor over, or if a flash of anger or sadness or frustration is the correct emotional response to a situation.

And sometimes other people in your life will question if something you're experiencing really is a problem, or if it's just your "issues," your irrational trauma response.

It's like imposter syndrome for your own body's functions.

[jpitha]

Signal Rockets

Here's a little side story that takes place a little bit after Just a Little Futher. If you read my previous work it'll be a fun treat, but it's also a stand alone story - you're not missing much by reading it alone.

The far border of human space is a boring place to be stationed. The other 'side' of human space borders the K'laxi and the Xenni, two of the other sapient species we've met so far. In the other direction, for light-years around as near as we can tell, is... nothing.

It's part of the reason that for centuries Humanity thought they were alone in the universe. We're so far away from other species that it took pure luck to even meet them the first time.

Regardless, there are reasons to be over in the hinterlands. Research to be done, and to have a presence just to really say "our space ends here."

Research Station Peering Depths was one of those places. There were twenty five humans, 5 K'laxi and the station AI onboard and that was it. They spent their time gazing into the deep past of the universe, trying to learn as much as they could. Sure, wormhole generators made it so that human space was a lot smaller than it used to be, but there were still many things to be learned by peering into deep time.

The K'laxi onboard were part of a research exchange program. They were all recent graduates and jumped at the opportunity to spend a year on a human research station. They were prepped before about what kind of a job it would be but they signed on anyway. The chance to do some Real Science with their human allies was too good of an opportunity to pass up, even if it meant spending a year away from friends and family and having to eat what few humans foods were compatible. They ate a lot of waffles and pancakes.

Everyone spent their days studying their long range telescopes, writing about what they found, editing and collating their works and once a month, linking a beacon back with their data. There was little drama onboard and a lot of time to pass. Most of the day to day operations of the station itself was handled by the AI. Everyone trained in fire protection of course, but the Depts was small enough that the AI could handle everything.

They were about six months in to the rotation when Peering Depths pinged Commander Terry Temlin. He was the human commander this rotation and officially the lead scientist. The research station was a civilian affair and officially had no weapons. "Commander Temlin, I sense a energy spike that matches the profile of someone linking in."

"Oh?" Terry looked down at his pad. He was in the canteen eating his lunch. "I don't recall anyone being scheduled to visit for the next month."

"I agree Terry, that's why I pinged you. Long range scanners indicate it's a Starjumper, and it seems to be stricken."

Terry's fork stopped halfway to his mouth "What? It's stricken?"

"Yes. It's reactors are wildly out of sync and its power output has increased over fifteen percent since it has first appeared on my radar. Additionally, my scopes show large burn marks and what I surmise is active fire onboard."

Starjumpers were the oldest of the human ships. Most were built before humanity developed their wormhole generators, shrinking the galaxy. They were built to soar between the stars at half the speed of light or greater, 'jumping' between the stars. Once wormhole generators were developed, they installed them, but they retained some of their former fame and popularity. It was an event when a Starjumper linked into your system.

"Sound General Alert, Depths. We need to see if we can help."

"Aye Commander. General Alert"

The hooting siren of General Alert was heard throughout the small research station. Everyone ran to the canteen - the largest gathering place - and milled about while they waited for stragglers. Nobody here was officially military, but everyone knew what the alarms were and what to do when they sounded.

Commander Temlin cleared his throat. "We have potentially a situation. A Starjumper just linked in-" murmurs from the crowd "-and appears to be damaged. Peering Depths says their reactors are going wild and it might be on fire-" the murmurs increased in volume "-quiet please! We're going to reach out and offer assistance. Everyone trained in first aid head down to the infirmary. Someone turn one of our scopes on them and see if we can resolve more information. Depths?"

"Yes Commander?"

"Do we know which Starjumper it is?"

"I initiated an initial handshake with them. They are known currently as Wildfire."

Terry looked up at the ceiling. Lots of people did when they were talking to the AI even though it really wasn't up there. "I don't suppose you know them?"

"I'm sorry Commander, I've never had the honor to meet Wildfire."

"Okay, let them know we can assist if needed."

"Aye Commander."

Commander Terry made his way up to the small Command Deck on the Depths. It was used rarely, but he felt that it was important to be there while the emergency was ongoing. As he sat in the unfamiliar artificial leather of the Commander's chair, Depths pinged again.

"Commander, two more wormholes have been detected. Wildfire seems to be under attack. I do not recognize the ships attacking Wildfire, but they appear to be of Human make."

"What?" Terry looked at the display ahead of him in shock. "You can't track a wormhole link, how did they know where Wildfire would be? Which human group would be attacking a Starjumper?"

"Both of those questions cannot be answered at this time."

Terry's screens where overwhelmed with a flash of white, and for a moment, he thought that Wildfire was destroyed. Instead, Wildfire appeared next to Peering Depths, nearly at docking distance. The massive ship dwarfed the research station. It felt like it could swallow Peering Depths whole. For just a moment, Terry was disappointed that there was no noise in space. He felt like a move like that should have a noise like a thunderclap.

"Peering Depths! Peering Depths! This is Wildfire! I am under attack by the forces of Empress Melody. They are pressing the attack and I am ordering my biological crew to abandon me."

Terry stood. "Wildfire. This is Commander Terry Temlin of the research station Peering Depths. Of course we will take your crew, but isn't that a decision that your captain needs to make?"

Wildfire sounded testy, as if they had to explain this a few times already. "The captain is dead, and as War Emergency Power has been officially unleashed, I am exercising my right to complete my mission, save the crew, and myself in that order. My wounds are mortal, but I should be able to hold off the two Super Dreadnoughts. Prepare to receive escape pods."

Terry called to the staff and told them to be ready to accept the escape pods. True to his word, Wildfire started shedding pods as soon as the audio connection was closed. A dozen pods streaked between the two vessels as the Super Dreadnaughts linked in and began hammering Wildfire with energy weapons.

"Pods away! I'll hold them off and give you a chance to escape."

"Escape? We're a research station, we don't have anything more than station-keeping thrusters."

Wildfire sounded surprised. "How did you get here? Don't you have a wormhole generator?"

Peering Depths chimed in here. "We were towed to this location. We have the plans and surplus mass to print a wormhole generator, but we don't keep one active."

"Shit. All right. I'll hold them off. You signal for help. Do not send the beacon to Sol. Send it to Parvati."

Now that was nearly too much. Terry threw his pad down onto the armrest of his chair. "Wildfire, what is going on. What's happening in Sol? Who is 'Empress Melody'?"

"I really can't explain the whole thing right now. Suffice to say, a person claiming to be the Empress of... everyone linked in a month ago and has a fleet of these Super Dreadnoughts to back up her wild claim. Some of us Colonial AIs have mounted a defense, but as you can see-" The audio cut out as Wildfire linked away in another blinding flash of white.

For the first time, Terry could see the two Super Dreadnaughts. He could barely believe what he was seeing. They were as large, if not larger than a Starjumper, fully 4 kilometers long. Not only that, but they appeared to have control surfaces on the outside. "Are they atmospheric?" Terry's voice was tinged with awe.

"They appear so Commander. One of them is wheeling about to confront us."

Terry frantically opened communications. "Unknown ship! Unknown ship! This is the unarmed research station Peering Depths. We have taken on Wildfire's crew after they abandoned ship and are offering them medical care and refuge. We are unarmed, I repeat unarmed and offer no threat to you."

After a moment, the massive ship replied with video and audio. On his screen Terry saw... a K'laxi, wearing a royal blue uniform, with gold piping on the sides. Next to... her he thought, was a crew made up of other sapient species he had never seen before. He didn't see any humans in range of the camera.

"Peering Depths, this is Builder Um'reli, of the Calamity Class Super Dreadnought Hamilton. You are housing prisoners of war and are accused of aiding the enemy."

Terry muted the audio and looked up again. "Depths, what is going on?"

"I wish I knew, Terry. We should concentrate on survival right now."

Terry nodded and shakily turned his audio back on.

"Builder Um'reli. I am Commander Temlin, the lead scientist here, and I cannot agree to your claims. We're a research station. We've been out of contact for six months now, and have no idea what's going on back home. Wildfire linked to us severely damaged and asked for help to save their crew, and we took them on. We have no quarrel with you, and have no weapons."

While they were talking, the other large dreadnought had already turned and linked away, presumably to give chase to Wildfire. How did they do that? Terry supposed he might learn one day.

"Peering Depths. If you link back to Sol immediately and surrender to the Imperial Systems, you shall be spared. As you have no-doubt surmised, we have the ability to trace wormhole links and will know if you link elsewhere. We will pursue and destroy you."

"Builder Um'reli that is a... generous offer, but I must inform you that we have no wormhole generator. We have the mass and plans to print one, but it will be a week before we can leave."

Anther pause. It appeared that Um'reli had muted her audio and was in animated conversation with someone else on her command deck.

"Peering Depts. We have a spare wormhole generator and will deliver it to you. We will assist with it's installation and follow you back to Sol."

Terry sighed. It wasn't like he had a choice. "Very well, Builder. Please send the wormhole generator and the installation crew at your nearest convenience. We will be ready to meet them."

[metalmewtwo-kxb]

drabble 1 - The Lost

(set many years the future, year unknown. art included.)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

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

Benta found himself veering far off course of his initial route as he raced through the forest, trying to magnify powers past their limit as the blizzard swelled around him faster than he had anticipated. The thick clusters of trees were his only cover from getting blown to the ground, and he was doing all he could to keep any of the increasing cold from reaching the frozen kit in his hands. Smaller pokemon taking shelter within the trees shielded their heads and faces, a few even giving off barks and squeaks of alarm as they were startled farther into hiding at the appearance of him speeding by.

He didn't like disturbing them in such a manner. But it couldn't be helped in the wake of such an emergency.

When the weather grew too dense, he switched gears and tapped into his cybernetic enhancements, activating the sharper features of his right eye to scan his surroundings and navigate him through the falling snow. He knew exactly the kind of place he needed to be, relaying the basic information to the guidance system. Even without a perfect visual, the screen of his synthetic eye lit up with a yellow crosshairs to point out the ideal target location, and indicated its distance.

Forty-five meters and decreasing fast. Then past a certain point, the most intense gusts of wind were suddenly cut off.

The forest thinned out, turning into a clearing of snowdrifts below a rocky cliff where more trees were sparsely placed. The opening of a dark cave along the wall came into view just beyond the white veil.

He blinked to deactivate the scanner. There! Benta made a bee-line for it, only disrupted by a strong draft that tore through the clearing. Righting himself in mid-flight and forcing his way past it Benta dove into the cave, bringing himself to a screeching stop with a summersault in the air due to the sudden disappearance of the oncoming wind.

He had been nearly blinded by the snow and small crystals of ice started to form on his cloak and face, but he made it. Though that didn't mean it was over yet.

Once he shook himself and used his powers to thaw out, he assessed things quickly. He needed fire, and a means to light it. In less of an urgent matter he could scavenge for wood outside the cave. Right now he didn't have that luxury. Thinking about the patch of forest overhead though, he searched along the ceiling. In heading further to the back he discovered the plethora of both dry and frozen roots that cracked through the earth in the efforts to expand.

They were not entirely ideal, but would have to do. Beggars can't be choosers.

Taking one hand away from the mew kit, he grabbed one of the larger collections of roots and ripped them down, then used his psychic power to tear down more.

How many do I need? Is this enough? Will these even light??

His mind spun, only being able to act without entirely thinking it through. All he instinctively knew is he needed to get the kit warm and it's body thawed out as soon as possible.

In seconds he messily gathered roots and rocks together to create a fire pit far away from the cave entrance, and focused a Charge Beam to light it with a concentrated spark. Due to the current condition of the wood though, it was taking longer to totally ignite.

Curse it! Benta impatiently sat close to the faintly smoldering pit, bringing the kit out from under his cloak. Its hide had become awkwardly damp from the heat of his fur but it was still cold and stiff. So, in his whirl of frustration over the slowness of the fire, he began fiercely rubbing at the kit's body with his paws. He wasn't terribly cold himself, yet couldn't stop from shaking.

Little by little the creature's limbs and tail started to go limp as its muscles thawed. Though it remained curled up and unmoving, and to Benta's sinking dread the small hint of aura that he could see was starting to fade.

Come on-- why are you not breathing?? As much pressure and heat as he was applying by hand alone, there should have been some kind internal activity by now. At least something. Anything.

Once more he quickly ran through his thoughts. When he resumed his task, this time he decided to force air into its nose and mouth in methodical, repetitive intervals. Maybe its lungs were still in shock. Maybe it couldn't breathe.

But, he knew how to fix that from another experience years ago. One he hated to think about. Even so, in a kit this size it would still work.

At least...he certainly hoped so...

Time dragged on, and Benta's arms trembled more and more as he continued well past the survival point. As if there was an incessant tap at the back of his brain telling him to keep trying, even though another part told him it was futile. Not even the fire was fully lighting yet... So, maybe it was.

He looked down at the motionless kit he cradled in his hands with defeat edging into his face, now panting from the pounding in his head and in his chest. It felt as though he was running rather than sitting, and there was nothing to show for it...

One more time... That nagging voice persisted anyway. Just one more time.

Whether desperation, stubbornness, a lack of basic sense, or even the fact that he was too tired to see reason...he tried again.

...and again.

And again.

...

.....

......

..... ...

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

(To be Continued)

[mynameisalanwake]

Life Shall Go For Life

Read on A03 here. Word count: 2,486 Chapters: 1/1 (for now)

Earthborn Laoise Shepard had no family to speak of - especially not after what happened to the Reds.

Sirens echoed off the walls of the mostly empty warehouse, strobing indicator lights occasionally illuminating scattered stacks of crates. Laoise Shepard covered her ears and scrambled into cover, but the cargo provided little shelter from the sprinklers that let loose overhead, spitting fruitlessly at a non-existent fire.

“Where the fuck is Leo? I’m going to kill him.” She hissed the threat to no one through clenched teeth. This job was supposed to be textbook for the Reds – rescue a group of humans snatched from the Philadelphia alleyways by wannabe slavers, par for the course in the metropolis. Ever since Earth had cemented its status in the intergalactic community two decades ago, cities were rife with human trafficking as the demand for cheap labor now spanned multiple star systems. Families quickly fled to newly established human colonies, leaving those who could not afford the trip off-world behind. Their contact advised an exchange was meant to occur here, about a dozen people intended for a mining operation on another system, but someone tipped their target off. As soon as the Reds crossed the threshold of the depot, all hell broke loose as the slavers opened fire. Now her second-in-command, an older mercenary who called himself Leo, was missing in action when she needed him most.

Suddenly, shots rang out – first one, then the burst of an automatic weapon unloading.

“Leo!”

The echoes made it more difficult to triangulate the location of the gunfire, but Laoise still scrambled to her feet, knuckles turning white around the grip of her pistol as she scanned the room. She shuffled through the pooling water on the warehouse floor, making her way to the main shipping office that was the group’s original rendezvous point. Its door was locked as expected, but the giant observation window overlooking the cargo bay was now shattered to bits, its shards glittering amidst the puddles. As she approached, the sound of voices became noticeable under the blaring of the siren. Laoise ducked beneath the window ledge, squatting with her back pressed against the wall and pistol at the ready as disembodied voices behind her began to argue.

“Your team were supposed to be unarmed. What about ‘pick up civilians’ says, ‘show up fully armed’?”

“Listen, if you knew the shit we usually dealt with on these operations, you’d make sure you can hold your own.”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot your whole ‘vigilante’ thing. You couldn’t convince anyone to leave a gun at home today?”

“Have you seen Shepard? Girl doesn’t go anywhere unarmed.” Laoise knew the second voice in an instant – Leo. The bastard. “Besides, you knew the bitch is biotic. You never would’ve stood a chance one-on-one. Best move is to flush the little rat out, force her to retreat, and take what we got. Five healthy bodies’ll fetch us at least a grand – if we patch up the sixth one, maybe another hundo.”

The first voice laughed, but there was no joy. It was hollow and angry, meant to dismiss Leo, to make him feel small. “Cerberus isn’t paying me to adopt your litter of street urchins, McCabe. They want biotics. I’m here for the biotic.” BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. Each gunshot, slow and deliberate, rang out clearly over the din of the fire alarm. Six shots. Six members of the Reds, other than her and Leo. “Now bring me Shepard.”

The office door slid open and Laoise heard two sets of footsteps retreating through the puddles, one set focused and heavy, the second favoring one foot over the other – Leo’s right ankle tended to flare up under stress. After the door shut, she sat for a moment, the sound of the sprinklers and the siren fading into the background like static as the reality of the situation sunk in and the water soaked her clothes.

This was a trap. Their intel was bad. There was no slaver. Leo McCabe betrayed the Reds. Something named Cerberus wanted her. One two three four fix six shots.

Her team.

Laoise winced as she slowly stood – shards of glass ripped through her too-tight jeans, blood mixing with water on the concrete floor. She stepped through the hole previously occupied by the windowpane with her pistol prepared in case Leo or his unnamed companion returned. A brief scan with her omni-tool didn’t reveal any surprises, just a quickly fading mass of hot spots in the corner of the room: the Reds.

They were laid out along the opposite wall, face down and shoulder-to-shoulder, hands tied behind their backs. Each had been shot execution style, a single bullet through the back of their head. Laoise flipped her teammates over one by one while silent tears mixed with dirty water from the sprinkler on her freckled cheeks.

Mitchell. The oldest on their crew, the one they all called “Dad,” whether he liked it or not. She had never met a more impressive engineer – Mitch could fix anything you handed him and always had a smile on his face while doing it. He looked even older now, the grey in his long dark hair and beard obvious even in the still-flashing lights.

Korin. Just enlisted with the Alliance for his eighteenth birthday. His parents died in the First Contact War when both were stationed in Shanxi. Laoise remembered how excited he was to finally get off this rock and make something of himself. His glasses lay askew on his face, one lens completely popped out. She adjusted them over his closed eyes.

Emelie. Too young to be as talented a sniper as she was. Only a year her junior, Emelie quickly became the bad cop to Laoise’s good cop – while the latter preferred to working things out with words, the former never hesitated to pop off a round in a kneecap to get some answers. She and Korin recently started dating, and she was eager to ship off with him as soon as possible.

Imrah. A transplant from some country to the south that Laoise could never remember. She was quiet, hard, always had her right hand on her revolver and her left hand on a hidden blade somewhere. Her wedding ring never left her finger, but she never spoke of a partner. She came to Philly hoping for a better future and got wrapped up trying to do some good for others instead.

Vogel. Always hiding his insecurity behind jokes and tricked-out shotguns. His pockets were filled with ammunition and granola bars, which Laoise came to appreciate. Someone had to make sure the group ate, after all. He was clearly the victim of the first round of gunfire she heard: along with the solitary hole in his head, his chest was ripped open, torn apart by an automatic weapon. Probably Leo’s response to some half-hearted joke made in a desperate attempt to save their hides.

Penny. Laoise told Penny not to come, that it was too risky. She was the baby of the Reds, only fifteen and left behind when her parents fled to the new colonies. They didn’t have the funds to bring her along. The team took her in, promised to keep her safe, and now…

Laoise stood up and stepped back, taking one last look at her now-deceased crew. “I’m so sorry,” she quietly choked out, her throat aching with suppressed sobs. “I never meant for any of this to happen.” When she joined the Reds two years ago, they were petty criminals taking turns warming beds in the city jail, gaining infamy for their virulent anti-alien rhetoric as human kidnappings ramped up. The group splintered with multiple factions referring to themselves by the name; Shepard fighting back ferociously against the questionable reputation other Reds cultivated. Their efforts finally made a dent – they were getting hired for jobs, helpful jobs, the kinds that would only improve life for the humans still on Earth. And now, it was all for nothing.

She muttered a prayer for her friends, unfamiliar words to a being she didn’t quite believe in, begging for them to get the peace they so deserved. Once she felt the deity was satisfied, she turned from the bodies on the floor to finish the Reds’ last job.

“Leo!” Laoise shouted using every ounce of air in her lungs. She aimed her pistol to the ceiling and fired off a few rounds – if he was still in the building, there’s no way he didn’t hear it. “Come on, you motherfucker! Face me!” The sprinklers continued their deluge; the roar of pounding water on concrete was the only sound in the empty warehouse. The buzzer had long since given up its task of alerting non-existent ears to a non-existent emergency. Finally, the rickety metal balcony overhead let out a loud groan behind her. She whipped around, fingering the trigger, and saw Leo watching her from above with a satisfied grin on his heavily scarred face.

He was once Laoise’s go-to guy, an experienced mercenary who chased the woman he loved to Philadelphia and didn’t have the money to follow her off-planet. Leo tried to take down a trafficking ring himself but was instead taken hostage, then rescued by the Reds, which led to him reluctantly joining their cause. Now, he stood over her with the clear advantage and he knew it.

“It’s over, Shepard,” he proclaimed, “your Reds are gone, and I’ve been paid big money to bring you in, especially if you’re still breathing.”

“Not a chance.” She stood stalwart, feet shoulder width apart, pistol pointed right between Leo’s eyes. “I trusted you, Leo. We all did.”

“Trusting anyone on this shitty rock was your first mistake. Why fight so hard for a planet that doesn’t give a fuck about you?”

Rage and biotic energy swirled through Laoise, hot and unfocused. Before she could retort, she was hurtling into him, a glowing mass effect field propelling her to the balcony where the traitor stood. She slammed him against the wall, forearm pressed firmly against his throat, burning it.

“It was never about me.” The two glared at each other, Laoise’s fist raised and crackling with dark energy, Leo’s gloating smirk now a sputtering struggle for breath.

A large crash to their right interrupted the confrontation. The warehouse’s metal door began sliding up on its tracks, gradually revealing the painfully bright high beams of law enforcement vehicles. Laoise shielded her eyes from the light, releasing her grip on Leo. His eyes jumped frantically between Shepard and their interloper – was the money worth it after all? Ultimately, he threw his hands up in defeat and turned to leave.

“You got off lucky this time, Shepard – though you should’ve considered taking your chances with Cerberus. Those look like Alliance trucks.” He disappeared, allowing the darkness between each jarring flash of the emergency light to swallow him whole.

Alliance? It didn’t make sense for those military thugs to be on Earth, let alone in a shitty warehouse in Philadelphia. The sprinklers were now shut off and the depot was quickly filled with scattered conversations and heavy, methodical footfalls through puddles as the soldiers scanned the room. Laoise sat as still as possible, finger hovering over the trigger, now ducked behind the balcony’s guardrail.

“Fill me in, Wilmoth. Why are we here again?” A voice asked, coming through clearly over the din. His tone sounded authoritative but exhausted, as though this was the last item on a very long to-do list.

“Our Cerberus contact gave us intel – they’re looking for biotics, preferably kids. There’s one in a local gang that’s been causing problems for them… and us.” The steps came to a stop barely ten feet away from her, close enough she could hear the first man’s exasperated sigh. “Nothing major, Commander Anderson. Just some flat tires and destroyed recruitment materials.”

“Do we know anything about the target?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“A shame. I hope Cerberus didn’t get them.”

They began to retreat, continuing their discussion. Laoise held her breath and weighed her options. They hadn’t noticed her; if she stayed right here, they wouldn’t see her, and she could get away. But what next? She was alone, no Reds, no friends, just the shoddy little apartment in Center City they shared. The apartment that would be filled floor-to-ceiling with their belongings, reminders they’re no longer around. There was nothing left there for her. There were no other options – just one.

“Excuse me?” She stood, placing her gun down in front of her and holding up both her hands. “Hi. I think they were looking for me.” The Alliance officers eyed her curiously, as though they were still waiting for her ambush from above. After a beat, the older man took a step closer to her. His sharply tailored coat, decorated with glimmering badges, stood out in the sea of flak jackets – the commander himself.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Shepard. Laoise Shepard.”

“And where are your parents, Shepard?”

She scoffed. “Beats me. Not even sure they’re in this star system anymore.” He chuckled at her casual response. Laoise slid off the balcony, landing with a thud by their side. “Who are you?”

“Commander David Anderson, Alliance.” His answer was snappy, practiced. “We’re supposed to be here on a recruiting trip, but we got a little side-tracked when we heard about Cerberus operating in town. You okay?” He gave her a once-over. She squirmed under his stern eye.

“Been better. Mostly just wet, sore.” She couldn’t stop herself from staring at the office beyond him. “He killed my friends.”

Anderson was taken aback but recovered quickly – he silently gestured for his men to examine the office while he guided Laoise in the other direction, a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear that. It’s never easy.” He sounded genuine. He had experience.

She gave an indignant sniff, not yet open to connecting with the stranger. “Nothing I can do about it now, I guess.” Now that Leo escaped. “So, can I come with you?”

“You want to come with us? How old are you?”

“Seventeen. Well, turning seventeen in April.”

Anderson pinched the bridge of his nose as he considered her request. “So, what? You want to enlist with the Alliance? You’re not old enough yet.”

“I’m biotic, remember? And it’s not like I have anywhere else to go. Or I could just wait here for Cerberus…” Laoise trailed off, rolling her eyes at the commander and pursing her lips. He looked to the ceiling – perhaps wondering what his superiors might say? Maybe he thought she was more trouble than she was worth. After what felt like eternity, he let out a long exhale.

“You make a fine point, Shepard,” Anderson conceded. “Welcome aboard.” He extended his right hand, which she gladly grasped with both of hers and gave an enthusiastic shake.

“Pleasure doing business, sir.” A wicked grin crossed her face – one Commander Anderson would come to know all too well.

[mariacallous]

It started with a call. A man identifying himself as a federal immigration agent contacted a Venezuelan father in San Antonio, interrogating him about his teenage son. The agent said officials planned to visit the family’s apartment to assess the boy’s living conditions.

Later that day, federal agents descended on his complex and covered the door’s peephole with black tape, the father recalled. Agents repeatedly yelled the father’s and son’s names, demanded they open the door and waited hours before leaving, according to the family. Terrified, the father, 37, texted an immigration attorney, who warned that the visit could be a pretext for deportation. The agents returned the next two days, causing the father such alarm that he skipped work at a mechanic shop. His son stayed home from school.

Department of Homeland Security agents have carried out dozens of such visits across the country in recent months as part of a systematic search for children who arrived at the U.S.-Mexico border by themselves, and the sponsors who care for them while they pursue their immigration cases. The Office of Refugee Resettlement, which is responsible for the children’s care and for screening their sponsors, has assisted in the checks.

The agency’s welfare mission appears to be undergoing a stark transformation as President Donald Trump seeks to ramp up deportation numbers in his second term, a dozen current and former government officials told ProPublica and The Texas Tribune. They say that one of the clearest indications of that shift is the scale of the checks that immigration agents are conducting using information provided by the resettlement agency to target sponsors and children for deportation.

Trump officials maintain that the administration is ensuring children are not abused or trafficked. But current and former agency employees, immigration lawyers and child advocates say the resettlement agency is drifting from its humanitarian mandate. Just last week, the Trump administration fired the agency’s ombudsman, who had been hired by Democratic President Joe Biden’s administration to act as its first watchdog.

“Congress set up a system to protect migrant children, in part by giving them to an agency that isn’t part of immigration enforcement,” said Scott Shuchart, a former official with Homeland Security and U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement during Trump’s first term and later under Biden. The Trump administration, Shuchart said, is “trying to use that protective arrangement as a bludgeon to hurt the kids and the adults who are willing to step forward to take care of them.”