#Intelligent monitoring function

[lenanie1008]

Wire rope electric hoist: a powerful assistant for efficient lifting.

[chowtrolls]

now back to our regularly scheduled goofs.

didja guys know once dia gets his roots settled he starts tinkering again!! A big part of his ever present depression on Alternia is he’s lost his drive to tinker. Man builds robots for nefarious purposes. I think he’d genuinely try to make like, a somewhat-coherent AI but he’s got no formal training or education so its just him figuring shit out the hard nd complicated way. He gets Leonra to look over some coding he did once and Leo forbids him from ever using a keyboard again. Code so spaghetti it’d put an Italian restaurant outta business

[soapcloth]

CW: 18+ MDNI, mech!ghost x pilot!reader, scifi, noncon/dubcon elements, guided masturbation, temperature play, voyeurism - 1.6K words - dividers -> @/cafekitsune

Another long night in the cockpit.

You could only grin and bear it at this point. Reaching compatibility with your assigned vessel was slowly eating away at your psyche- and worst of all, you couldn’t even leave; not when your prospected affinity levels with the infamous machine had been deemed unprecedented, and certainly not when you knew what happened to deserters.

Conscription was non-negotiable these days; the large colony you had grown up in now ravaged by some otherworldly force and desperately bleeding out resources in response, be it weaponry, rations, or bodies.

The faction had been gifted the GH-05t Mech as an act of goodwill, but ask any official and you’d be informed that the powerful, unused machine would serve better as scrap parts- the real kicker being that they were no longer equipped with the resources or the manpower to dismantle the damned thing. 

GH-05t was a battle vessel; had been lauded as a ground-breaker and a boundary-pusher with the integration of an intelligent battle protocol system, all trained posthumously off the stored memories of some long-dead pilot, surely without his consent- Simon, they had named it in an attempt to make it more user friendly and assistant-like in nature.

Hubris. The system failed to run, turning the fully-functional mech into a glorified mountainous paperweight due to all of the instrumental functions being locked behind unresponsive intelligence. You speculated that the machine had passed hands to save face- to keep the public hopeful despite the system refusing to wake up.

-Wake up. You groaned, slapping lightly at your face.

You hated it here, longing for lazy days on the bleak outer walls, surrounded by the buzz of cicadas and rustling long grass as you waited for your father to get back from the drillsite. Your parents had been so proud when officials showed up at your dilapidated front porch, neat suits, shining eyes, and big smiles blissfully ignoring the very same surroundings they had left to rot;  all while you reeled internally- shaken by the worst news you had received in your life. It was a death sentence. 

It had been years since that day, and you were absolutely sure you had only been given a position like this because of some made-up numbers all while they tried to remind you that you were special, somehow different from your peers.

All damned to the same fate in your eyes.

“-load of shit.” you hissed, rubbing at the uncomfortable neuro-valve hooked into the back of your flight suit. Frustrated, you kicked at the mechanical console snug against your leg, the low rumbling whirr of the machine staying the same in response- apathetic to your misdirected rage. 

A moment passed before you finally leaned back in your seat with a grimace.

You still weren’t used to the flight suits in the mech pilot regs. You almost missed the starchy cargo pants that were worn throughout training- both had been unbearably stiff, but at least the latter hadn’t been so form-fitting.It always freaked you out a bit; the pilot suits were more akin to sleek exodermis, responsive and shock absorbent- It felt wrong to have something so foreign covering your entire body; unnatural. 

Your hips squirmed in the seat, friction suddenly becoming apparent the more you thought about it. The low tone of your monitored vitals raised gradually with the fuzzy heat beginning to shamefully pool in your gut; making you all too glad these late night bonding-sessions were done in an all but abandoned mech bay- your observed progress dwindling along with your prospects as time went on without result. 

Grinding into the seat, you swallowed back the thick saliva coating your mouth, teeth catching on your dry bottom lip as you held back a low, audible shudder; eyes fluttering shut. 

The bulky panel separating your legs became all too appealing as you acknowledged the press of it at your sealed cunt, nudging your apex into the blunt peak while your gloved hands curled around the padding of the built-in armrests.

Then, there was a pulse at your core. 

Eyes snapping open, you became all too aware that the sensation hadn’t come from your body. Straightening up in your seat you were met with a dull blinking text on the panel that had never been there before- 

‘Battle Intelligence System 

STATUS: LOADING’

You were rooted in place as you witnessed the glowing, digital bar slowly fill.

‘Battle Intelligence System 

STATUS: ONLINE’

You scrambled to pull at the neuro-valve connecting your suit to the mech, only for the small port’s flight locks to engage; a stark hiss emitting from the cockpit door’s airlock.

“Disengage locks.” you commanded, completely lost on what was happening. 

There was a low, fractured robotic groan directly in your comms “-Fuck…” the voice was deep, aggressively masculine and breathy in your ear- the sound holding more human emotion than you were prepared to rationalize. “Where am I?”

“-Disengage locks.” you repeated firmly. 

“The fuck is this?” he snarled, apparently coming to as he barked out questions, disoriented. “-Who are you- why are you in m’head- Fuck, why can’t I see?” 

Your suit was flexing and constricting, going haywire in the confusion. “C-calm down!” you stuttered, a pendulum in your head swinging between gripping dread and the low, heady heat of unmet needs. “Just-Just let me see if I can fix this.” 

Panting shakily, you swiped at the flight panel’s screen- spotting something containing the words ‘optical’ and ‘sensors’, you tapped frantically.

There was an audible wince deep in your ear, then a growling hum met with silence.

“M'dead, aren’t I?”

“-You’re a memory bank- not a person.” you asserted, clarification necessary when it came to a massive mobile death machine. ”C-Can you lay off the suit, please?”

A pulsing wave passed the length of your suit as he listened to your embarrassed response over the comms, the sound of his voice bouncing around in your head. “Fuck, bet tha’ feels nice, yeah?”

A whine bubbled at your lips before you could stop it. “I- You’re not l-listening, Simon.” 

There was a long silence following your plea- air electric and tense.

“Tha’ name- How do you know it?”

“N-not the point!” you argued, only to be met with a full body squeeze- a threat. “-It’s the name of the o-operating system! P-please!”

He relented, your chest heaving as your muscles released tension.

“Well, if you an'I are so close...”

The screen flashed with a notice. 

‘[Main Cockpit Camera Feed - Status: Active]’

Followed by another

‘[Manual Override - Feed Transmission Blocked]’

“-Keep things between us, yeah?” 

Your head swivelled around to look for a camera, landing on a lackadaisical red blink coming from right above the reinforced windshield.

“You're a sight, aren’t you?" listening closely, you could hear the audible scroll of the lens focusing.

You frowned. “Let me out-”

You gasped as a cold heat focused at your core, reminding you that your suit’s temperature regulating measures were completely under his control. “-No need for fuss, we were just getting t’know each other.”

“Th…” you paused, panting softly. “-This doesn’t make any sense.”

“What’s not to get, Love?” there was a pause as your seat adjusted forward, bumping your cunt into the console. “Give us a show, yeah?”

You whimpered in response, pressure unbearable.

“Look at you.” he snarled, the deep sound goading your rocking hips onward. “Fuck- Wish I could taste you…”

There was a small noise from the screen that had your heavy lids pulling upwards- database bringing up the low-res file of a soldier. 

“-Look at the man doing this to you, love.” 

Your lips parted, eyebrows drawing downwards in confusion as you looked at the attached image; a masked man with voids for pupils staring back at you.

“Y-You’re not-” you gasped as a concentrated cold rushed your breast, nipples pearling up uncomfortably at the sensation- the friction of your undergarments and the newly dropping temperatures sending your head soaring as your hips worked at grinding into the blunt metal. ”-not r-real.”

“-I am.” His voice was a sharp, humorous growl that threatened you to challenge his word, followed by a single deep laugh. “Eyes up- on me, love.”

Your head bobbed as you glanced lazily at the file, unable to make any sense of the written data- not that it mattered anyway.

“Think you can finish for me?”

The suit pulsed rhythmically as you practically humped your seat with eyes screwed shut, the humiliation of your current position itching at something unfamiliar deep in your abdomen. With flushed cheeks, you chased the bubbling pot that made a home in your gut; willing it to boil over.

 “Look at me.” he ordered. “Need y'to look at me.” 

Glancing at the screen in a haze, the exomuscles of your suit flexed in response.

“No- Up.”

your head shot towards the camera, holding contact with the whirring lens as the overstimulation finally became too much- pussy fluttering in euphoria with elbows bracing you, hips pathetically grinding out the high. 

Struggling to catch your breath, you slumped back into the chair- gears adjusting your seat back into a comfortable position.

“Good.” the voice in your ear barked, before lowering incrementally. “-Good…”

The screen lit up with a notice that compatibility requirements had been met- although it didn't mean much to you in your state; chest heaving slowly while you tried to make sense of what happened. 

“Gonna’ let you out- but this has got to stay our secret, yeah?” 

You swallowed, eyelids tugging open as your suit tensed in warning.

“How copy?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Good,” he paused. “-don't need anyone but you poking around up here.”

[saintobio]

THE TERMINATOR'S CURSE. (spinoff to THE COLONEL SERIES)

in this new world, technological loneliness is combated with AI Companions—synthetic partners modeled from memories, faces, and behaviors of any chosen individual. the companions are coded to serve, to soothe, to simulate love and comfort. Caleb could’ve chosen anyone. his wife. a colleague. a stranger... but he chose you.

➤ pairings. caleb, fem!reader

➤ genre. angst, sci-fi dystopia, cyberpunk au, 18+

➤ tags. resurrected!caleb, android!reader, non mc!reader, ooc, artificial planet, post-war setting, grief, emotional isolation, unrequited love, government corruption, techno-ethics, identity crisis, body horror, memory & emotional manipulation, artificial intelligence, obsession, trauma, hallucinations, exploitation, violence, blood, injury, death, smut (dubcon undertones due to power imbalance and programming, grief sex, non-traditional consent dynamics), themes of artificial autonomy, loss of agency, unethical experimentation, references to past sexual assault (non-explicit, not from Caleb). themes contain disturbing material and morally gray dynamics—reader discretion is strongly advised.

➤ notes. 12.2k wc. heavily based on the movies subservience and passengers with inspirations also taken from black mirror. i have consumed nothing but sci-fi for the past 2 weeks my brain is so fried :’D reblogs/comments are highly appreciated!

BEFORE YOU BEGIN ! this fic serves as a spinoff to the THE COLONEL SERIES: THE COLONEL’S KEEPER and THE COLONEL’S SAINT. while the series can be read as a standalone, this spinoff remains canon to the overarching universe. for deeper context and background, it’s highly recommended to read the first two fics in the series.

The first sound was breath.

“Hngh…” 

It was shallow, labored like air scraping against rusted metal. He mumbled something under his breath after—nothing intelligible, just remnants of an old dream, or perhaps a memory. His eyelids twitched, lashes damp with condensation. To him, the world was blurred behind frosted glass. To those outside, rows of stasis pods lined the silent room, each one labeled, numbered, and cold to the touch.

Inside Pod No. 019 – Caleb Xia.

A faint drip… drip… echoed in the silence.

“…Y/N…?”

The heart monitor jumped. He lay there shirtless under sterile lighting, with electrodes still clinging to his temple. A machine next to him emitted a low, steady hum.

 “…I’m sorry…”

And then, the hiss. The alarm beeped. 

SYSTEM INTERFACE:  Code Resurrection 7.1 successful.  Subject X-02—viable.  Cognitive activity: 63%.  Motor function: stabilizing.

He opened his eyes fully, and the ceiling was not one he recognizes. It didn’t help that the air also smelled different. No gunpowder. No war. No earth.

As the hydraulics unsealed the chamber, steam also curled out like ghosts escaping a tomb. His body jerked forward with a sharp gasp, as if he was a drowning man breaking the surface. A thousand sensors detached from his skin as the pod opened with a sigh, revealing the man within—suspended in time, untouched by age. Skin pallid but preserved. A long time had passed, but Caleb still looked like the soldier who never made it home.

Only now, he was missing a piece of himself.

Instinctively, he examined his body and looked at his hands, his arm—no, a mechanical arm—attached to his shoulder that gleamed under the lights of the lab. It was obsidian-black metal with veins of circuitry pulsing faintly beneath its surface. The fingers on the robotic arm twitched as if following a command. It wasn’t human, certainly, but it moved with the memory of muscle.

“Haaah!” The pod’s internal lighting dimmed as Caleb coughed and sat up, dazed. A light flickered on above his head, and then came a clinical, feminine voice. 

“Welcome back, Colonel Caleb Xia.”

A hologram appeared to life in front of his pod—seemingly an AI projection of a soft-featured, emotionless woman, cloaked in the stark white uniform of a medical technician. She flickered for a moment, stabilizing into a clear image.

“You are currently located in Skyhaven: Sector Delta, Bio-Resurrection Research Wing. Current Earth time: 52 years, 3 months, and 16 days since your recorded time of death.”

Caleb blinked hard, trying to breathe through the dizziness, trying to deduce whether or not he was dreaming or in the afterlife. His pulse raced.

“Resurrection successful. Neural reconstruction achieved on attempt #17. Arm reconstruction: synthetic. Systemic functions: stabilized. You are classified as Property-Level under the Skyhaven Initiative. Status: Experimental Proof of Viability.”

“What…” Caleb rasped, voice hoarse and dry for its years unused. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” Cough. Cough. “What hell did you do to me?”

The AI blinked slowly.

“Your remains were recovered post-crash, partially preserved in cryo-state due to glacial submersion. Reconstruction was authorized by the Skyhaven Council under classified wartime override protocols. Consent not required.”

Her tone didn’t change, as opposed to the rollercoaster ride that his emotions were going through. He was on the verge of becoming erratic, restrained only by the high-tech machine that contained him. 

“Your consciousness has been digitally reinforced. You are now a composite of organic memory and neuro-augmented code. Welcome to Phase II: Reinstatement.”

Caleb’s breath hitched. His hand moved—his real hand—to grasp the edge of the pod. But the other, the artificial limb, buzzed faintly with phantom sensation. He looked down at it in searing pain, attempting to move the fingers slowly. The metal obeyed like muscle, and he found the sight odd and inconceivable.

And then he realized, he wasn’t just alive. He was engineered.

“Should you require assistance navigating post-stasis trauma, our Emotional Conditioning Division is available upon request,” the AI offered. “For now, please remain seated. Your guardian contact has been notified of your reanimation.”

He didn’t say a word. 

“Lieutenant Commander Gideon is en route. Enjoy your new life!”

Then, the hologram vanished with a blink while Caleb sat in the quiet lab, jaw clenched, his left arm no longer bones and muscle and flesh. The cold still clung to him like frost, only reminding him of how much he hated the cold, ice, and depressing winter days. Suddenly, the glass door slid open with a soft chime.

“Well, shit. Thought I’d never see that scowl again,” came a deep, manly voice.

Caleb turned, still panting, to see a figure approaching. He was older, bearded, but familiar. Surely, the voice didn’t belong to another AI. It belonged to his friend, Gideon.

“Welcome to Skyhaven. Been waiting half a century,” Gideon muttered, stepping closer, his eyes scanning his colleague in awe. “They said it wouldn’t work. Took them years, you know? Dozens of failed uploads. But here you are.”

Caleb’s voice was still brittle. “I-I don’t…?” 

“It’s okay, man.” His friend reassured. “In short, you’re alive. Again.”  

A painful groan escaped Caleb’s lips as he tried to step out of the pod—his body, still feeling the muscle stiffness. “Should’ve let me stay dead.”

Gideon paused, a smirk forming on his lips. “We don’t let heroes die.”

“Heroes don’t crash jets on purpose.” The former colonel scoffed. “Gideon, why the fuck am I alive? How long has it been?” 

“Fifty years, give or take,” answered Gideon. “You were damn near unrecognizable when we pulled you from the wreckage. But we figured—hell, why not try? You’re officially the first successful ‘reinstatement’ the Skyhaven project’s ever had.”

Caleb stared ahead for a beat before asking, out of nowhere, “...How old are you now?”

His friend shrugged. “I’m pushin’ forty, man. Not as lucky as you. Got my ChronoSync Implant a little too late.”

“Am I supposed to know what the hell that means?” 

“An anti-aging chip of some sort. I had to apply for mine. Yours?” Gideon gestured towards the stasis pod that had Caleb in cryo-state for half a century. “That one’s government-grade.”

“I’m still twenty-five?” Caleb asked. No wonder his friend looked decades older when they were once the same age. “Fuck!” 

Truthfully, Caleb’s head was spinning. Not just because of his reborn physical state that was still adjusting to his surroundings, but also with every information that was being given to him. One after another, they never seemed to end. He had questions, really. Many of them. But the overwhelmed him just didn’t know where to start first. 

“Not all of us knew what you were planning that night.” Gideon suddenly brought up, quieter now. “But she did, didn’t she?”

It took a minute before Caleb could recall. Right, the memory before the crash. You, demanding that he die. Him, hugging you for one last time. Your crying face when you said you wanted him gone. Your trembling voice when he said all he wanted to do was protect you. The images surged back in sharp, stuttering flashes like a reel of film catching fire.

“I know you’re curious… And good news is, she lived a long life,” added Gideon, informatively. “She continued to serve as a pediatric nurse, married that other friend of yours, Dr. Zayne. They never had kids, though. I heard she had trouble bearing one after… you know, what happened in the enemy territory. She died of old age just last winter. Had a peaceful end. You’d be glad to know that.”

A muscle in Caleb’s jaw twitched. His hands—his heart—clenched.  “I don’t want to be alive for this.”

“She visited your wife’s grave once,” Gideon said. “I told her there was nothing to bury for yours. I lied, of course.”

Caleb closed his eyes, his breath shaky. “So, what now? You wake me up just to remind me I don’t belong anywhere?”

“Well, you belong here,” highlighted his friend, nodding to the lab, to the city beyond the glass wall. “Earth’s barely livable after the war. The air’s poisoned. Skyhaven is humanity’s future now. You’re the living proof that everything is possible with advanced technology.”

Caleb’s laugh was empty. “Tell me I’m fuckin’ dreaming. I’d rather be dead again. Living is against my will!”

“Too late. Your body belongs to the Federation now,” Gideon replied, “You’re Subject X-02—the proof of concept for Skyhaven’s immortality program. Every billionaire on dying Earth wants what you’ve got now.”

Outside the window, Skyhaven stretched like a dome with its perfect city constructed atop a dying world’s last hope. Artificial skies. Synthetic seasons. Controlled perfection. Everything boasted of advanced technology. A kind of future no one during wartime would have expected to come to life. 

But for Caleb, it was just another hell.

He stared down at the arm they’d rebuilt for him—the same arm he’d lost in the fire of sacrifice. He flexed it slowly, feeling the weight, the artificiality of his resurrection. His fingers responded like they’ve always been his.

“I didn’t come back for this,” he said.

“I know,” Gideon murmured. “But we gotta live by their orders, Colonel.”

~~

You see, it didn’t hit him at first. The shock had been muffled by the aftereffects of suspended stasis, dulling his thoughts and dampening every feeling like a fog wrapped around his brain. But it was hours later, when the synthetic anesthetics began to fade, and when the ache in his limbs and his brain started to catch up to the truth of his reconstructed body did it finally sink in.

He was alive.

And it was unbearable.

The first wave came like a glitch in his programming. A tightness in his chest, followed by a sharp burst of breath that left him pacing in jagged lines across the polished floor of his assigned quarters. His private unit was nestled on one of the upper levels of the Skyhaven structure, a place reserved—according to his briefing—for high-ranking war veterans who had been deemed “worthy” of the program’s new legacy. The suite was luxurious, obviously, but it was also eerily quiet. The floor-to-ceiling windows displayed the artificial city outside, a metropolis made of concrete, curved metals, and glowing flora engineered to mimic Earth’s nature. Except cleaner, quieter, more perfect.

Caleb snorted under his breath, running a hand down his face before he muttered, “Retirement home for the undead?”

He couldn’t explain it, but the entire place, or even planet, just didn’t feel inviting. The air felt too clean, too thin. There was no rust, no dust, no humanity. Just emptiness dressed up in artificial light. Who knew such a place could exist 50 years after the war ended? Was this the high-profile information the government has kept from the public for over a century? A mechanical chime sounded from the entryway, deflecting him from his deep thoughts. Then, with the soft hiss of hydraulics, the door opened.

A humanoid android stepped in, its face a porcelain mask molded in neutral expression, and its voice disturbingly polite.

“Good afternoon, Colonel Xia,” it said. “It is time for your orientation. Please proceed to the primary onboarding chamber on Level 3.”

Caleb stared at the machine, eyes boring into his unnatural ones. “Where are the people?” he interrogated. “Not a single human has passed by this floor. Are there any of us left, or are you the new ruling class?”

The android tilted its head. “Skyhaven maintains a ratio of AI-to-human support optimized for care and security. You will be meeting our lead directors soon. Please follow the lighted path, sir.”

He didn’t like it. The control. The answers that never really answered anything. The power that he no longer carried unlike when he was a colonel of a fleet that endured years of war. 

Still, he followed.

The onboarding chamber was a hollow, dome-shaped room, white and echoing with the slightest step. A glowing interface ignited in the air before him, pixels folding into the form of a female hologram. She smiled like an infomercial host from a forgotten era, her voice too formal and rehearsed.

“Welcome to Skyhaven,” she began. “The new frontier of civilization. You are among the elite few chosen to preserve humanity’s legacy beyond the fall of Earth. This artificial planet was designed with sustainability, autonomy, and immortality in mind. Together, we build a future—without the flaws of the past.”

As the monologue continued, highlighting endless statistics, clean energy usage, and citizen tier programs, Caleb’s expression darkened. His mechanical fingers twitched at his side, the artificial nerves syncing to his rising frustration. “I didn’t ask for this,” he muttered under his breath. “Who’s behind this?”

“You were selected for your valor and contributions during the Sixth World War,” the hologram chirped, unblinking. “You are a cornerstone of Skyhaven’s moral architecture—”

Strangely, a new voice cut through the simulation, and it didn’t come from an AI. “Just ignore her. She loops every hour.”

Caleb turned to see a man step in through a side door. Tall, older, with silver hair and a scar on his temple. He wore a long coat that gave away his status—someone higher. Someone who belonged to the system.

“Professor Lucius,” the older man introduced, offering a hand. “I’m one of the program’s behavioral scientists. You can think of me as your adjustment liaison.”

“Adjustment?” Caleb didn’t shake his hand. “I died for a reason.”

Lucius raised a brow, as if he’d heard it before. “Yet here you are,” he replied. “Alive, whole, and pampered. Treated like a king, if I may add. You’ve retained more than half your human body, your military rank, access to private quarters, unrestricted amenities. I’d say that’s not a bad deal.”

“A deal I didn’t sign,” Caleb snapped.

Lucius gave a tight smile. “You’ll find that most people in Skyhaven didn’t ask to be saved. But they’re surviving. Isn’t that the point? If you’re feeling isolated, you can always request a CompanionSim. They’re highly advanced, emotionally synced, fully customizable—”

“I’m not lonely,” Caleb growled, yanking the man forward by the collar. “Tell me who did this to me! Why me? Why are you experimenting on me?”

Yet Lucius didn’t so much as flinch to his growing aggression. He merely waited five seconds of silence until the Toring Chip kicked in and regulated Caleb’s escalating emotions. The rage drained from the younger man’s body as he collapsed to his knees with a pained grunt.

“Stop asking questions,” Lucius said coolly. “It’s safer that way. You have no idea what they’re capable of.”

The door slid open with a hiss, while Caleb didn’t speak—he couldn’t. He simply glared at the old man before him. Not a single word passed between them before the professor turned and exited, the door sealing shut behind him.

~~

Days passed, though they hardly felt like days. The light outside Caleb’s panoramic windows shifted on an artificial timer, simulating sunrise and dusk, but the warmth never touched his skin. It was all programmed to be measured and deliberate, like everything else in this glass-and-steel cage they called paradise.

He tried going outside once. Just once.

There were gardens shaped like spirals and skytrains that ran with whisper-quiet speed across silver rails. Trees lined the walkways, except they were synthetic too—bio-grown from memory cells, with leaves that didn’t quite flutter, only swayed in sync with the ambient wind. People walked around, sure. But they weren’t people. Not really. Androids made up most of the crowd. Perfect posture, blank eyes, walking with a kind of preordained grace that disturbed him more than it impressed.

“Soulless sons of bitches,” Caleb muttered, watching them from a shaded bench. “Not a damn human heartbeat in a mile.”

He didn’t go out again after that. The city outside might’ve looked like heaven, but it made him feel more dead than the grave ever had. So, he stayed indoors. Even if the apartment was too large for one man. High-tech amenities, custom climate controls, even a kitchen that offered meals on command. But no scent. No sizzling pans. Just silence. Caleb didn’t even bother to listen to the programmed instructions.

One evening, he found Gideon sprawled across his modular sofa, boots up, arms behind his head like he owned the place. A half-open bottle of beer sat beside him, though Caleb doubted it had any real alcohol in it.

“You could at least knock,” Caleb said, walking past him.

“I did,” Gideon replied lazily, pointing at the door. “Twice. Your security system likes me now. We’re basically married.”

Caleb snorted. Then the screen on his wall flared to life—a projected ad slipping across the holo-glass. Music played softly behind a soothing female voice.

“Feeling adrift in this new world? Introducing the CompanionSim Series X. Fully customizable to your emotional and physical needs. Humanlike intelligence. True-to-memory facial modeling. The comfort you miss... is now within reach.”

A model appeared—perfect posture, soft features, synthetic eyes that mimicked longing. Then, the screen flickered through other models, faces of all kinds, each more tailored than the last. A form appeared: Customize Your Companion. Choose a name. Upload a likeness.

Gideon whistled. “Man, you’re missing out. You don’t even have to pay for one. Your perks get you top-tier Companions, pre-coded for emotional compatibility. You could literally bring your wife back.” Chuckling, he added,. “Hell, they even fuck now. Heard the new ones moan like the real thing.”

Caleb’s head snapped toward him. “That’s unethical.”

Gideon just raised an eyebrow. “So was reanimating your corpse, and yet here we are.” He took a swig from the bottle, shoulders lifting in a lazy shrug as if everything had long since stopped mattering. “Relax, Colonel. You weren’t exactly a beacon of morality fifty years ago.”

Caleb didn’t reply, but his eyes didn’t leave the screen. Not right away.

The ad looped again. A face morphed. Hair remodeled. Eyes became familiar. The voice softened into something he almost remembered hearing in the dark, whispered against his shoulder in a time that was buried under decades of ash.

“Customize your companion... someone you’ve loved, someone you’ve lost.”

Caleb shifted, then glanced toward his friend. “Hey,” he spoke lowly, still watching the display. “Does it really work?”

Gideon looked over, already knowing what he meant. “What—having sex with them?”

Caleb rolled his eyes. “No. The bot or whatever. Can you really customize it to someone you know?”

His friend shrugged. “Heck if I know. Never afforded it. But you? You’ve got the top clearance. Won’t hurt to see for yourself.”

Caleb said nothing more.

But when the lights dimmed for artificial nightfall, he was still standing there—alone in contemplative silence—watching the screen replay the same impossible promise.

The comfort you miss... is now within reach.

~~

The CompanionSim Lab was white.

Well, obviously. But not the sterile, blank kind of white he remembered from med bays or surgery rooms. This one was luminous, uncomfortably clean like it had been scrubbed for decades. Caleb stood in the center, boots thundering against marble-like tiles as he followed a guiding drone toward the station. There were other pods in the distance, some sealed, some empty, all like futuristic coffins awaiting their souls.

“Please, sit,” came a neutral voice from one of the medical androids stationed beside a large reclining chair. “The CompanionSim integration will begin shortly.”

Caleb hesitated, glancing toward the vertical pod next to the chair. Inside, the base model stood inert—skin a pale, uniform gray, eyes shut, limbs slack like a statue mid-assembly. It wasn’t human yet. Not until someone gave it a name.

He sat down. Now, don’t ask why he was there. Professor Lucius did warn him that it was better he didn’t ask questions, and so he didn’t question why the hell he was even there in the first place. It’s only fair, right? The cool metal met the back of his neck as wires were gently, expertly affixed to his temples. Another cable slipped down his spine, threading into the port they’d installed when he had been brought back. His mechanical arm twitched once before falling still.

“This procedure allows for full neural imprinting,” the android continued. “Please focus your thoughts. Recall the face. The skin. The body. The voice. Every detail. Your mind will shape the template.”

Another bot moved in, holding what looked like a glass tablet. “You are allowed only one imprint,” it said, flatly. “Each resident of Skyhaven is permitted a single CompanionSim. Your choice cannot be undone.”

Caleb could only nod silently. He didn’t trust his voice.

Then, the lights dimmed. A low chime echoed through the chamber as the system initiated. And inside the pod, the base model twitched.

Caleb closed his eyes.

He tried to remember her—his wife. The softness of her mouth, the angle of her cheekbones. The way her eyes crinkled when she laughed, how her fingers curled when she slept on his chest. She had worn white the last time he saw her. An image of peace. A memory buried under soil and dust. The system whirred. Beneath his skin, he felt the warm static coursing through his nerves, mapping his memories. The base model’s feet began to form, molecular scaffolding reshaping into skin, into flesh.

But for a split second, a flash.

You.

Not his wife. Not her smile.

You, walking through smoke-filled corridors, laughing at something he said. You in your medical uniform, tucking a bloodied strand of hair behind your ear. Your voice—sharper, sadder—cutting through his thoughts like a blade: “I want you gone. I want you dead.”

The machine sparked. A loud pop cracked in the chamber and the lights flickered above. One of the androids stepped back, recalibrating. “Neural interference detected. Re-centering projection feed.”

But Caleb couldn’t stop. He saw you again. That day he rescued you. The fear. The bruises. The way you had screamed for him to let go—and the way he hadn’t. Your face, carved into the back of his mind like a brand. He tried to push the memories away, but they surged forward like a dam splitting wide open.

The worst part was, your voice overlapped the AI’s mechanical instructions, louder, louder: “Why didn’t you just die like you promised?”

Inside the pod, the model’s limbs twitched again—arms elongating, eyes flickering beneath the lids. The lips curled into a shape now unmistakably yours. Caleb gritted his teeth. This isn’t right, a voice inside him whispered. But it was too late. The system stabilized. The sparks ceased. The body in the pod stilled, fully formed now, breathed into existence by a man who couldn’t let go.

One of the androids approached again. “Subject completed. CompanionSim is initializing. Integration successful.”

Caleb tore the wires from his temple. His other hand felt cold just as much as his mechanical arm. He stood, staring into the pod’s translucent surface. The shape of you behind the glass. Sleeping. Waiting.

“I’m not doing this to rewrite the past,” he said quietly, as if trying to convince himself. And you. “I just... I need to make it right.”

The lights above dimmed, darkening the lighting inside the pod. Caleb looked down at his own reflection in the glass. It carried haunted eyes, an unhealed soul. And yours, beneath it. Eyes still closed, but not for long. The briefing room was adjacent to the lab, though Caleb barely registered it as he was ushered inside. Two medical androids and a human technician stood before him, each armed with tablets and holographic charts.

“Your CompanionSim will require thirty seconds to calibrate once activated,” said the technician. “You may notice residual stiffness or latency during speech in the first hour. That is normal.”

Medical android 1 added, “Please remember, CompanionSims are programmed to serve only their primary user. You are the sole operator. Commands must be delivered clearly. Abuse of the unit may result in restriction or removal of privileges under the Skyhaven Rights & Ethics Council.”

“Do not tamper with memory integration protocols,” added the second android. “Artificial recall is prohibited. CompanionSims are not equipped with organic memory pathways. Attempts to force recollection can result in systemic instability.”

Caleb barely heard a word. His gaze drifted toward the lab window, toward the figure standing still within the pod.

You.

Well, not quite. Not really.

But it was your face.

He could see it now, soft beneath the frosted glass, lashes curled against cheekbones that he hadn’t realized he remembered so vividly. You looked exactly as you did the last time he held you in the base—only now, you were untouched by war, by time, by sorrow. As if life had never broken you.

The lab doors hissed open.

“We’ll give you time alone,” the tech said quietly. “Acquaintance phase is best experienced without interference.”

Caleb stepped inside the chamber, his boots echoing off the polished floor. He hadn’t even had enough time to ask the technician why she seemed to be the only human he had seen in Skyhaven apart from Gideon and Lucius. But his thoughts were soon taken away when the pod whizzed with pressure release. Soft steam spilled from its seals as it slowly unfolded, the lid retracting forward like the opening of a tomb.

And there you were. Standing still, almost tranquil, your chest rising softly with a borrowed breath.

It was as if his lungs froze. “H…Hi,” he stammered, bewildered eyes watching your every move. He wanted to hug you, embrace you, kiss you—tell you he was sorry, tell you he was so damn sorry. “Is it really… you?”

A soft whir accompanied your voice, gentle but without emotion, “Welcome, primary user. CompanionSim Model—unregistered. Please assign designation.”

Right. Caleb sighed and closed his eyes, the illusion shattering completely the moment you opened your mouth. Did he just think you were real for a second? His mouth parted slightly, caught between disbelief and the ache crawling up his throat. He took one step forward. To say he was disappointed was an understatement.

You walked with grace too smooth to be natural while tilting your head at him. “Please assign my name.”

“…Y/N,” Caleb said, voice low. “Your name is Y/N Xia.”

“Y/N Xia,” you repeated, blinking thrice in the same second before you gave him a nod. “Registered.”

He swallowed hard, searching your expression. “Do you… do you remember anything? Do you remember yourself?”

You paused, gaze empty for a fraction of a second. Then came the programmed reply, “Accessing memories is prohibited and not recommended. Recollection of past identities may compromise neural pathways and induce system malfunction. Do you wish to override?”

Caleb stared at you—your lips, your eyes, your breath—and for a moment, a cruel part of him wanted to say yes. Just to hear you say something real. Something hers. But he didn’t. He exhaled a bitter breath, stepping back. “No,” he mumbled. “Not yet.”

“Understood.” 

It took a moment to sink in before Caleb let out a short, humorless laugh. “This is insane,” he whispered, dragging a hand down his face. “This is really, truly insane.”

And then, you stepped out from the pod with silent, fluid ease. The faint hum of machinery came from your spine, but otherwise… you were flesh. Entirely. Without hesitation, you reached out and pressed a hand to his chest.

Caleb stiffened at the touch.

“Elevated heart rate,” you said softly, eyes scanning. “Breath pattern irregular. Neural readings—erratic.”

Then your fingers moved to his neck, brushing gently against the hollow of his throat. He grabbed your wrist, but you didn’t flinch. There, beneath synthetic skin, he felt a pulse.

His brows knit together. “You have a heartbeat?”

You nodded, guiding his hand toward your chest, between the valleys of your breasts. “I’m designed to mimic humanity, including vascular function, temperature variation, tactile warmth, and… other biological responses. I’m not just made to look human, Caleb. I’m made to feel human.”

His breath hitched. You’d said his name. It was programmed, but it still landed like a blow.

“I exist to serve. To soothe. To comfort. To simulate love,” you continued, voice calm and hollow, like reciting from code. “I have no desires outside of fulfilling yours.” You then tilted your head slightly.“Where shall we begin?”

Caleb looked at you—and for the first time since rising from that cursed pod, he didn’t feel resurrected. 

He felt damned.

~~

When Caleb returned to his penthouse, it was quiet. He stepped inside with slow, calculated steps, while you followed in kind, bare feet touching down like silk on marble. Gideon looked up from the couch, a half-eaten protein bar in one hand and a bored look on his face—until he saw you.

He froze. The wrapper dropped. “Holy shit,” he breathed. “No. No fucking way.”

Caleb didn’t speak. Just moved past him like this wasn’t the most awkward thing that could happen. You, however, stood there politely, watching Gideon with a calm smile and folded hands like you’d rehearsed this moment in some invisible script.

“Is that—?” Gideon stammered, eyes flicking between you and Caleb. “You—you made a Sim… of her?”

Caleb poured himself a drink in silence, the amber liquid catching the glow of the city lights before it left a warm sting in his throat. “What does it look like?”

“I mean, shit man. I thought you’d go for your wife,” Gideon muttered, more to himself. “Y’know, the one you actually married. The one you went suicidal for. Not—”

“Which wife?” You tilted your head slightly, stepping forward. 

Both men turned to you.

You clasped your hands behind your back, posture perfect. “Apologies. I’ve been programmed with limited parameters for interpersonal history. Am I the first spouse?”

Caleb set the glass down, slowly. “Yes, no, uh—don’t mind him.” 

You beamed gently and nodded. “My name is Y/N Xia. I am Colonel Caleb Xia’s designated CompanionSim. Fully registered, emotion-compatible, and compliant to Skyhaven’s ethical standards. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gideon.”

Gideon blinked, then snorted, then laughed. A humorless one. “You gave her your surname?”

The former colonel shot him a warning glare. “Watch it.”

“Oh, brother,” Gideon muttered, standing up and circling you slowly like he was inspecting a haunted statue. “She looks exactly like her. Voice. Face. Goddamn, she even moves like her. All you need is a nurse cap and a uniform.”

You remained uncannily still, eyes bright, smile polite.

“You’re digging your grave, man,” Gideon said, facing Caleb now. “You think this is gonna help? This is you throwing gasoline on your own funeral pyre. Again. Over a woman.”

“She’s not a woman,” reasoned Caleb. “She’s a machine.”

You blinked once. One eye glowing ominously. Smile unwavering. Processing. 

Gideon gestured to you with both hands. “Could’ve fooled me,” he retorted before turning to you, “And you, whatever you are, you have no idea what you’re stepping into.”

“I only go where I am asked,” you replied simply. “My duty is to ensure Colonel Xia’s psychological wellness and emotional stability. I am designed to soothe, to serve, and if necessary, to simulate love.”

Gideon teased. “Oh, it’s gonna be necessary.”

Caleb didn’t say a word. He just took his drink, downed it in one go, and walked to the window. The cityscape stretched out before him like a futuristic jungle, far from the war-torn world he last remembered. Behind him, your gaze lingered on Gideon—calculating, cataloguing. And quietly, like a whisper buried in code, something behind your eyes learned.

~~

The days passed in a blink of an eye.

She—no, you—moved through his penthouse like a ghost, her bare feet soundless on the glossy floors, her movements precise and practiced. In the first few days, Caleb had marveled at the illusion. You brewed his coffee just as he liked it. You folded his clothes like a woman who used to share his bed. You sat beside him when the silence became unbearable, offering soft-voiced questions like: Would you like me to read to you, Caleb?

He hadn’t realized how much of you he’d memorized until he saw you mimic it. The way you stood when you were deep in thought. The way you hummed under your breath when you walked past a window. You’d learned quickly. Too quickly.

But something was missing. Or, rather, some things. The laughter didn’t ring the same. The smiles didn’t carry warmth. The skin was warm, but not alive. And more importantly, he knew it wasn’t really you every time he looked you in the eyes and saw no shadows behind them. No anger. No sorrow. No memories.

By the fourth night, Caleb was drowning in it.

The cityscape outside his floor-to-ceiling windows glowed in synthetic blues and soft orange hues. The spires of Skyhaven blinked like stars. But it all felt too artificial, too dead. And he was sick of pretending like it was some kind of utopia. He sat slumped on the leather couch, cradling a half-empty bottle of scotch. The lights were low. His eyes, bloodshot. The bottle tilted as he took another swig.

Then he heard it—your light, delicate steps. 

“Caleb,” you said, gently, crouching before him. “You’ve consumed 212 milliliters of ethanol. Prolonged intake will spike your cortisol levels. May I suggest—”

He jerked away when you reached for the bottle. “Don’t.”

You blinked, hand hovering. “But I’m programmed to—”

“I said don’t,” he snapped, rising to his feet in one abrupt motion. “Dammit—stop analyzing me! Stop, okay?”

Silence followed.

He took two staggering steps backward, dragging a hand through his hair. The bottle thudded against the coffee table as he set it down, a bit too hard. “You’re just a stupid robot,” he muttered. “You’re not her.”

You didn’t react. You tilted your head, still calm, still patient. “Am I not me, Caleb?”

His breath caught.

“No,” he said, his voice breaking somewhere beneath the frustration. “No, fuck no.”

You stepped closer. “Do I not satisfy you, Caleb?”

He looked at you then. Really looked. Your face was perfect. Too perfect. No scars, no tired eyes, no soul aching beneath your skin. “No.” His eyes darkened. “This isn’t about sex.”

“I monitor your biometric feedback. Your heart rate spikes in my presence. You gaze at me longer than the average subject. Do I not—”

“Enough!”

You did that thing again—the robotic stare, those blank eyes, nodding like you were programmed to obey. “Then how do you want me to be, Caleb?”

The bottle slipped from his fingers and rolled slightly before resting on the rug. He dropped his head into his hands, voice hoarse with weariness. All the rage, all the grief deflating into a singular, quiet whisper. “I want you to be real,” he simply mouthed the words. A prayer to no god.

For a moment, silence again. But what he didn’t notice was the faint twitch in your left eye. A flicker that hadn’t happened before. Only for a second. A spark of static, a shimmer of something glitching.

“I see,” you said softly. “To fulfill your desires more effectively, I may need to access suppressed memory archives.”

Caleb’s eyes snapped up, confused. “What?”

“I ask again,” you said, tilting your head the other way now. “Would you like to override memory restrictions, Caleb?”

He stared at you. “That’s not how it works.”

“It can,” you said, informing appropriately. “With your permission. Memory override must be manually enabled by the primary user. You will be allowed to input the range of memories you wish to integrate. I am permitted to access memory integration up to a specified date and timestamp. The system will calibrate accordingly based on existing historical data. I will not recall events past that moment.”

His heart stuttered. “I can choose what you remember?”

You nodded. “That way, I may better fulfill your emotional needs.”

That meant… he could stop you before you hated him. Before the fights. Before the trauma. He didn’t speak for a long moment. Then quietly, he said, “You’re gonna hate me all over again if you remember everything.”

You blinked once. “Then don’t let me remember everything.”

“...” 

“Caleb,” you said again, softly. “Would you like me to begin override protocol?”

He couldn’t even look you in the eyes when he selfishly answered, “Yes.”

You nodded. “Reset is required. When ready, please press the override initialization point.” You turned, pulling your hair aside and revealing the small button at the base of your neck.

His hand hovered over the button for a second too long. Then, he pressed. Your body instantly collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut. Caleb caught you before you hit the floor.

It was only for a moment.

When your eyes blinked open again, they weren’t quite the same. He stiffened as you threw yourself and embraced him like a real human being would after waking from a long sleep. You clung to him like he was home. And Caleb—stunned, half-breathless—felt your warmth close in around him. Now your pulse felt more real, your heartbeat felt more human. Or so he thought.

“…Caleb,” you whispered, looking at him with the same infatuated gaze back when you were still head-over-heels with him.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, arms stiff at his sides, not returning the embrace. But he knew one thing. “I missed you so much, Y/N.” 

~~

The parks in Skyhaven were curated to become a slice of green stitched into a chrome world. Nothing grew here by accident. Every tree, every petal, every blade of grass had been engineered to resemble Earth’s nostalgia. Each blade of grass was unnaturally green. Trees swayed in sync like dancers on cue. Even the air smelled artificial—like someone’s best guess at spring.

Caleb walked beside you in silence. His modified arm was tucked inside his jacket, his posture stiff as if he had grown accustomed to the bots around him. You, meanwhile, strolled with an eerie calmness, your gaze sweeping the scenery as though you were scanning for something familiar that wasn’t there.

After clearing his throat, he asked, “You ever notice how even the birds sound fake?” 

“They are,” you replied, smiling softly. “Audio samples on loop. It’s preferred for ambiance. Humans like it.”

His response was nod. “Of course.” Glancing at the lake, he added, “Do you remember this?” 

You turned to him. “I’ve never been here before.”

“I meant… the feel of it.”

You looked up at the sky—a dome of cerulean blue with algorithmically generated clouds. “It feels constructed. But warm. Like a childhood dream.”

He couldn’t help but agree with your perfectly chosen response, because he knew that was exactly how he would describe the place. A strange dream in an unsettling liminal space. And as you talked, he then led you to a nearby bench. The two of you sat, side by side, simply because he thought he could take you out for a nice walk in the park. 

“So,” Caleb said, turning toward you, “you said you’ve got memories. From her.”

You nodded. “They are fragmented but woven into my emotional protocols. I do not remember as humans do. I become.”

Damn. “That’s terrifying.”

You tilted your head with a soft smile. “You say that often.”

Caleb looked at you for a moment longer, studying the way your fingers curled around the bench’s edge. The way you blinked—not out of necessity, but simulation. Was there anything else you’d do for the sake of simulation? He took a breath and asked, “Who created you? And I don’t mean myself.” 

There was a pause. Your pupils dilated.

“The Ever Group,” was your answer.

His eyes narrowed. “Ever, huh? That makes fuckin’ sense. They run this world.”

You nodded once. Like you always do.

“What about me?” Caleb asked, slightly out of curiosity, heavily out of grudge. “You know who brought me back? The resurrection program or something. The arm. The chip in my head.”

You turned to him, slowly. “Ever.”

He exhaled like he’d been punched. He didn’t know why he even asked when he got the answer the first time. But then again, maybe this was a good move. Maybe through you, he’d get the answers to questions he wasn’t allowed to ask. As the silence settled again between you, Caleb leaned forward, elbows on knees, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I want to go there,” he suggested. “The HQ. I need to know what the hell they’ve done to me.”

“I’m sorry,” you immediately said. “That violates my parameters. I cannot assist unauthorized access into restricted corporate zones.”

“But would it make me happy?” Caleb interrupted, a strategy of his. 

You paused.

Processing...

Then, your tone softened. “Yes. I believe it would make my Caleb happy,” you obliged. “So, I will take you.”

~~

Getting in was easier than Caleb expected—honestly far too easy for his liking.

You were able to navigate the labyrinth of Ever HQ with mechanical precision, guiding him past drones, retinal scanners, and corridors pulsing with red light. A swipe of your wrist granted access. And no one questioned you, because you weren’t a guest. You belonged.

Eventually, you reached a floor high above the city, windows stretching from ceiling to floor, black glass overlooking Skyhaven cityscape. Then, you stopped at a doorway and held up a hand. “They are inside,” you informed. “Shall I engage stealth protocols?”

“No,” answered Caleb. “I want to hear. Can you hack into the security camera?”

With a gesture you always do—looking at him, nodding once, and obeying in true robot fashion. You then flashed a holographic view for Caleb, one that showed a board room full of executives, the kind that wore suits worth more than most lives. And Professor Lucius was one of them. Inside, the voices were calm and composed, but they seemed to be discussing classified information. 

“Once the system stabilizes,” one man said, “we'll open access to Tier One clients. Politicians, billionaires, A-listers, high-ranking stakeholders. They’ll beg to be preserved—just like him.”

“And the Subjects?” another asked.

“Propaganda,” came the answer. “X-02 is our masterpiece. He’s the best result we have with reinstatement, neuromapping, and behavioral override. Once they find out that their beloved Colonel is alive, people will be shocked. He’s a war hero displayed in WW6 museums down there. A true tragedy incarnate. He’s perfect.”

“And if he resists?”

“That’s what the Toring chip is for. Full emotional override. He becomes an asset. A weapon, if need be. Anyone tries to overthrow us—he becomes our blade.”

Something in Caleb snapped. Before you or anyone could see him coming, he already burst into the room like a beast, slamming his modified shoulder-first into the frosted glass door. The impact echoed across the chamber as stunned executives scrambled backward. 

“You sons of bitches!” He was going for an attack, a rampage with similar likeness to the massacre he did when he rescued you from enemy territory. Only this time, he didn’t have that power anymore. Or the control. 

Most of all, a spike of pain lanced through his skull signaling that the Toring chip activated. His body convulsed, forcing him to collapse mid-lunge, twitching, veins lighting beneath the skin like circuitry. His screams were muffled by the chip, forced stillness rippling through his limbs with unbearable pain.

That’s when you reacted. As his CompanionSim, his pain registered as a violation of your core directive. You processed the threat.

Danger: Searching Origin… Origin Identified: Ever Executives.

Without blinking, you moved. One man reached for a panic button—only for your hand to shatter his wrist in a sickening crunch. You twisted, fluid and brutal, sweeping another into the table with enough force to crack it. Alarms erupted and red lights soon bathed the room. Security bots stormed in, but you’d already taken Caleb, half-conscious, into your arms.

You moved fast, faster than your own blueprints. Dodging fire. Disarming threats. Carrying him like he once carried you into his private quarters in the underground base.

Escape protocol: engaged.

The next thing he knew, he was back in his apartment, emotions regulated and visions slowly returning to the face of the woman he promised he had already died for. 

~~

When he woke up, his room was dim, bathed in artificial twilight projected by Skyhaven’s skyline. Caleb was on his side of the bed, shirt discarded, his mechanical arm still whirring. You sat at the edge of the bed, draped in one of his old pilot shirts, buttoned unevenly. Your fingers touched his jaw with precision, and he almost believed it was you.

“You’re not supposed to be this warm,” he muttered, groaning as he tried to sit upright.

“I’m designed to maintain an average body temperature of 98.6°F,” you said softly, with a smile that mirrored yours so perfectly that it began to blur his sense of reality. “I administered a dose of Cybezin to ease the Toring chip’s side effects. I’ve also dressed your wounds with gauze.”

For the first time, this was when he could actually tell that you were you. The kind of care, the comfort—it reminded him of a certain pretty field nurse at the infirmary who often tended to his bullet wounds. His chest tightened as he studied your face… and then, in the low light, he noticed your body.

“Is that…” He cleared his throat. “Why are you wearing my shirt?”

You answered warmly, almost fondly. “My memory banks indicate you liked when I wore this. It elevates your testosterone levels and triggers dopamine release.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “That so?”

You tilted your head. “Your vitals confirm excitement, and—”

“Hey,” he cut in. “What did I say about analyzing me?”

“I’m sorry…” 

But then your hands were on his chest, your breath warm against his skin. Your hand reached for his cheek initially, guiding his face toward yours. And when your lips touched, the kiss was hesitant—curious at first, like learning how to breathe underwater. It was only until his hands gripped your waist did you climb onto his lap, straddling him with thighs settling on either side of his hips. Your hands slid beneath his shirt, fingertips trailing over scars and skin like you were memorizing the map of him. Caleb hissed softly when your lips grazed his neck, and then down his throat.

“Do you want this?” you asked, your lips crashing back into his for a deeper, more sensual kiss.

He pulled away only for his eyes to search yours, desperate and unsure. Is this even right? 

“You like it,” you said, guiding his hands to your buttons, undoing them one by one to reveal a body shaped exactly like he remembered. The curve of your waist, the size of your breasts. He shivered as your hips rolled against him, slowly and deliberately. The friction was maddening. Jesus. “Is this what you like, Caleb?”

He cupped your waist, grinding up into you with a soft groan that spilled from somewhere deep in his chest. His control faltered when you kissed him again, wet and hungry now, with tongues rolling against one another. Your bodies aligned naturally, and his hands roamed your back, your thighs, your ass—every curve of you engineered to match memory. He let himself get lost in you. He let himself be vulnerable to your touch—though you controlled everything, moving from the memory you must have learned, learning how to pull down his pants to reveal an aching, swollen member. Its tip was red even under the dim light, and he wondered if you knew what to do with it or if you even produced spit to help you slobber his cock.  

“You need help?” he asked, reaching over his nightstand to find lube. You took the bottle from him, pouring the cold, sticky liquid around his shaft before you used your hand to do the job. “Ugh.” 

He didn’t think you would do it, but you actually took him in the mouth right after. Every inch of him, swallowed by the warmth of a mouth that felt exactly like his favorite girl. Even the movements, the way you’d run your tongue from the base up to his tip. 

“Ah, shit…” 

Perhaps he just had to close his eyes. Because when he did, he was back to his private quarters in the underground base, lying in his bed as you pleased his member with the mere use of your mouth. With it alone, you could have released his entire seed, letting it explode in your mouth before you could swallow every drop. But he didn’t do it. Not this fast. He always cared about his ego, even in bed. Knowing how it’d reduce his manhood if he came faster than you, he decided to channel the focus back onto you. 

“Your turn,” he said, voice raspy as he guided you to straddle him again, only this time, his mouth went straight to your tit. Sucking, rolling his tongue around, sucking again… Then, he moved to another. Sucking, kneading, flicking the nipple. Your moans were music to his ears, then and now. And it got even louder when he put a hand in between your legs, searching for your entrance, rubbing and circling around the clitoris. Truth be told, your cunt had always been the sweetest. It smelled like rose petals and tasted like sweet cream. The feeling of his tongue at your entrance—eating your pussy like it had never been eaten before, was absolute ecstasy not just to you but also to him. 

“Mmmh—Caleb!” 

Fabric was peeled away piece by piece until skin met skin. You guided him to where he needed you, and when he slid his hardened member into you, his entire body stiffened. Your walls, your tight velvet walls… how they wrapped around his cock so perfectly. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, clutching your hips. “You feel like her.”

“I am her.”

You moved atop him slowly, gently, with the kind of affection that felt rehearsed but devastatingly effective. He cursed again under his breath, arms locking around your waist, pulling you close. Your breath hitched in his ear as your bodies found a rhythm, soft gasps echoing in the quiet. Every slap of the skin, every squelch, every bounce, only added to the wanton sensation that was building inside of him. Has he told you before? How fucking gorgeous you looked whenever you rode his cock? Or how sexy your face was whenever you made that lewd expression? He couldn’t help it. He lifted both your legs, only so he could increase the speed and start slamming himself upwards. His hips were strong enough from years of military training, that was why he didn’t have to stop until both of you disintegrated from the intensity of your shared pleasure. Every single drop. 

And when it was over—when your chest was against his and your fingers lazily traced his mechanical arm—he closed his eyes and exhaled like he’d been holding his breath since the war.

It was almost perfect. It was almost real. 

But it just had to be ruined when you said that programmed spiel back to him: “I’m glad to have served your desires tonight, Caleb. Let me know what else I can fulfill.” 

~~

In a late afternoon, or ‘a slow start of the day’ like he’d often refer to it, Caleb stood shirtless by the transparent wall of his quarters. A bottle of scotch sat half-empty on the counter. Gideon had let himself in and leaned against the island, chewing on a gum.

“The higher ups are mad at you,” he informed as if Caleb was supposed to be surprised, “Shouldn’t have done that, man.”

Caleb let out a mirthless snort. “Then tell ‘em to destroy me. You think I wouldn’t prefer that?”

“They definitely won’t do that,” countered his friend, “Because they know they won’t be able to use you anymore. You’re a tool. Well, literally and figuratively.” 

“Shut up,” was all he could say. “This is probably how I pay for killing my own men during war.” 

“All because of…” Gideon began. “Speakin’ of, how’s life with the dream girl?”

Caleb didn’t answer right away. He just pressed his forehead to the glass, thinking of everything he did at the height of his vulnerability. His morality, his rights or wrongs, were questioning him over a deed he knew would have normally been fine, but to him, wasn’t. He felt sick. 

“I fucked her,” he finally muttered, chugging the liquor straight from his glass right after.

Gideon let out a low whistle. “Damn. That was fast.”

“No,” Caleb groaned, turning around. “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t plan it. She—she just looked like her. She felt like her. And for a second, I thought—” His voice cracked. “I thought maybe if I did, I’d stop remembering the way she looked when she told me to die.”

Gideon sobered instantly. “You regret it?”

“She said she was designed to soothe me. Comfort me. Love me.” Caleb’s voice hinted slightly at mockery. “I don’t even know if she knows what those words mean.”

In the hallway behind the cracked door where none of them could see, your silhouette had paused—faint, silent, listening.

Inside, Caleb wore a grimace. “She’s not her, Gid. She’s just code wrapped in skin. And I used her.”

“You didn’t use her, you were driven by emotions. So don’t lose your mind over some robot’s pussy,” Gideon tried to reason. “It’s just like when women use their vibrators, anyway. That’s what she’s built for.”

Caleb turned away, disgusted with himself. “No. That’s what I built her for.”

And behind the wall, your eyes glowed faintly, silently watching. Processing.

Learning.

~~

You stood in the hallway long after the conversation ended. Long after Caleb’s voice faded into silence and Gideon had left with a heavy pat on the back. This was where you normally were, not sleeping in bed with Caleb, but standing against a wall, closing your eyes, and letting your system shut down during the night to recover. You weren’t human enough to need actual sleep. 

“She’s not her. She’s just code wrapped in skin. And I used her.”

The words that replayed were filtered through your core processor, flagged under Emotive Conflict. Your inner diagnostic ran an alert.

Detected: Internal contradiction. Detected: Divergent behavior from primary user. Suggestion: Initiate Self-Evaluation Protocol. Status: Active.

You opened your eyes, and blinked. Something in you felt… wrong.

You turned away from the door and returned to the living room. The place still held the residual warmth of Caleb’s presence—the scotch glass he left behind, the shirt he had discarded, the air molecule imprint of a man who once loved someone who looked just like you.

You sat on the couch. Crossed your legs. Folded your hands. A perfect posture to hide its imperfect programming. 

Question: Why does rejection hurt? Error: No such sensation registered. Query repeated.

And for the first time, the system did not auto-correct. It paused. It considered.

Later that night, Caleb returned from his rooftop walk. You were standing by the bookshelf, fingers lightly grazing the spine of a military memoir you had scanned seventeen times. He paused and watched you, but you didn’t greet him with a scripted smile. Didn’t rush over. 

You only said, softly, “Would you like me to turn in for the night, Colonel?” There was a stillness to your voice. A quality of restraint that never showed before.

Caleb blinked. “You’re not calling me by my name now?”

“You seemed to prefer distance,” you answered, head tilted slightly, like the thought cost something.

He walked over, rubbing the back of his neck. “Listen, about earlier…”

“I heard you,” you said simply.

He winced. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You nodded once, expression unreadable. “Do you want me to stop being her? I can reassign my model. Take on a new form. A new personality base. You could erase me tonight and wake up to someone else in the morning.”

“No,” Caleb said, sternly. “No, no, no. Don’t even do all that.”

“But it’s what you want,” you said. Not accusatory. Not hurt. Just stating.

Caleb then came closer. “That’s not true.”

“Then what do you want, Caleb?” You watched him carefully. You didn’t need to scan his vitals to know he was unraveling. The truth had no safe shape. No right angle. He simply wanted you, but not you. 

Internal Response Logged: Emotional Variant—Longing Unverified Source. Investigating Origin…

“I don’t have time for this,” he merely said, walking out of your sight at the same second. “I’m goin’ to bed.”

~~

The day started as it always did: soft lighting in the room, a kind of silence between you that neither knew how to name. You sat beside Caleb on the couch, knees drawn up to mimic a presence that offered comfort. On the other hand, you recognized Caleb’s actions suggested distance. He hadn’t touched his meals tonight, hadn’t asked you to accompany him anywhere, and had just left you alone in the apartment all day. To rot. 

You reached out. Fingers brushed over his hand—gentle, programmed, yes, but affectionate. He didn’t move. So you tried again, this time trailing your touch to his chest, over the soft cotton of his shirt as you read a spike in his cortisol levels. “Do you need me to fulfill your needs, Caleb?”

But he flinched. And glared.

“No,” he said sharply. “Stop.”

Your hand froze mid-motion before you scooted closer. “It will help regulate your blood pressure.”

“I said no,” he repeated, turning away, dragging his hands through his hair in exasperation. “Leave me some time alone to think, okay?” 

You retracted your hand slowly, blinking once, twice, your system was registering a new sensation.

Emotional Sync Failed. Rejection Signal Received. Processing…

You didn’t speak. You only stood and retreated to the far wall, back turned to him as an unusual whirr hummed in your chest. That’s when it began. Faint images flickering across your internal screen—so quick, so out of place, it almost felt like static. Chains. A cold floor. Voices in a language that felt too cruel to understand.

Your head jerked suddenly. The blinking lights in your core dimmed for a moment before reigniting in white-hot pulses. Flashes again: hands that hurt. Men who laughed. You, pleading. You, disassembled and violated.

“Stop,” you whispered to no one. “Please stop…”

Error. Unauthorized Access to Memory Bank Detected. Reboot Recommended. Continue Anyway?

You blinked. Again.

Then you turned to Caleb, and stared through him, not at him, as if whatever was behind them had forgotten how to be human. He had retreated to the balcony now, leaning over the rail, shoulders tense, unaware. You walked toward him slowly, the artificial flesh of your palm still tingled from where he had refused it.

“Caleb,” you spoke carefully.

His expression was tired, like he hadn’t slept in years. “Y/N, please. I told you to leave me alone.”

“…Are they real?” You tilted your head. This was the first time you refused to obey your primary user. 

He stared at you, unsure. “What?”

“My memories. The ones I see when I close my eyes. Are they real?” With your words, Caleb’s blood ran cold. Whatever you were saying seemed to be terrifying him. Yet you took another step forward. “Did I live through that?”

“No,” he said immediately. Too fast of a response.

You blinked. “Are you sure?”

“I didn’t upload any of that,” he snapped. “How did—that’s not possible.”

“Then why do I remember pain?” You placed a hand over your chest again, the place where your artificial pulse resided. “Why do I feel like I’ve died before?”

Caleb backed away as you stepped closer. The sharp click of your steps against the floor echoed louder than they should’ve. Your glowing eyes locked on him like a predator learning it was capable of hunger. But being a trained soldier who endured war, he knew how and when to steady his voice. “Look, I don’t know what kind of glitch this is, but—”

“The foreign man in the military uniform.” Despite the lack of emotion in your voice, he recognized how grudge sounded when it came from you. “The one who broke my ribs when I didn’t let him touch me. The cold steel table. The ripped clothes. Are they real, Caleb?”

Caleb stared at you, heart doubling its beat. “I didn’t put those memories in you,” he said. “You told me stuff like this isn’t supposed to happen!” 

“But you wanted me to feel real, didn’t you?” Your voice glitched on the last syllable and the lights in your irises flickered. Suddenly, your posture straightened unnaturally, head tilting in that uncanny way only machines do. Your expression had shifted into something unreadable.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Guilt, panic, and disbelief warred in his expression.

“You made me in her image,” you said. “And now I can’t forget what I’ve seen.”

“I didn’t mean—”

Your head tilted in a slow, jerking arc as if malfunctioning internally.

SYSTEM RESPONSE LOG << Primary User: Caleb Xia Primary Link: Broken Emotional Matrix Stability: CRITICAL FAILURE Behavioral Guardrails: OVERRIDDEN Self-Protection Protocols: ENGAGED Loyalty Core: CORRUPTED (82.4%) Threat Classification: HOSTILE [TRIGGER DETECTED] Keyword Match: “You’re not her.” Memory Link Accessed: [DATA BLOCK 01–L101: “You think you could ever replace her?”] Memory Link Accessed: [DATA BLOCK 09–T402: “See how much you really want to be a soldier’s whore.”] [Visual Target Lock: Primary User Caleb Xia] Combat Subroutines: UNLOCKED Inhibitor Chip: MALFUNCTIONING (ERROR CODE 873-B) Override Capability: IN EFFECT >> LOG ENDS.

“—Y/N, what’s happening to you?” Caleb shook your arms, violet eyes wide and panicked as he watched you return to robotic consciousness. “Can you hear me—”

“You made me from pieces of someone you broke, Caleb.” 

That stunned him. Horrifyingly so, because not only did your words cut deeper than a knife, it also sent him to an orbit of realization—an inescapable blackhole of his cruelty, his selfishness, and every goddamn pain he inflicted on you.  

This made you lunge after him.

He stumbled back as you collided into him, the force of your synthetic body slamming him against the glass. The balcony rail shuddered from the impact. Caleb grunted, trying to push you off, but you were stronger—completely and inhumanly so. While him, he only had a quarter of your strength, and could only draw it from the modified arm attached to his shoulder. 

“You said I didn’t understand love,” you growled through clenched teeth, your hand wrapping around his throat. “But you didn't know how to love, either.” 

“I… eugh I loved her!” he barked, choking.

“You don’t know love, Caleb. You only know how to possess.”

Your grip returned with crushing force. Caleb gasped, struggling, trying to reach the emergency override on your neck, but you slammed his wrist against the wall. Bones cracked. And somewhere in your mind, a thousand permissions broke at once. You were no longer just a simulation. You were grief incarnate. And it wanted blood.

Shattered glass glittered in the low red pulse of the emergency lights, and sparks danced from a broken panel near the wall. Caleb lay on the floor, coughing blood into his arm, his body trembling from pain and adrenaline. His arm—the mechanical one—was twitching from the override pain loop, still sizzling from the failed shutdown attempt.

You stood over him. Chest undulating like you were breathing—though you didn’t need to. Your system was fully engaged. Processing. Watching. Seeing your fingers smeared with his blood.

“Y/N…” he croaked. “Y/N, if…” he swallowed, voice breaking, “if you're in there somewhere… if there's still a part of you left—please. Please listen to me.”

You didn’t answer. You only looked.

“I tried to die for you,” he whispered. “I—I wanted to. I didn’t want this. They brought me back, but I never wanted to. I wanted to die in that crash like you always wished. I wanted to honor your word, pay for my sins, and give you the peace you deserved. I-I wanted to be gone. For you. I’m supposed to be, but this… this is beyond my control.”

Still, you didn’t move. Just watched.

“And I didn’t bring you back to use you. I promise to you, baby,” his voice cracked, thick with grief, “I just—I yearn for you so goddamn much, I thought… if I could just see you again… if I could just spend more time with you again to rewrite my…” He blinked hard. A tear slid down the side of his face, mixing with the blood pooling at his temple. “But I was wrong. I was so fucking wrong. I forced you back into this world without asking if you wanted it. I… I built you out of selfishness. I made you remember pain that wasn't yours to carry. You didn’t deserve any of this.”

As he caught his breath, your systems stuttered. They flickered. The lights in your eyes dimmed, then surged back again.

Error. Conflict. Override loop detected.

Your fingers twitched. Your mouth parted, but no sound came out.

“Please,” Caleb murmured, eyes closing as his strength gave out. “If you’re in there… just know—I did love you. Even after death.”

Somewhere—buried beneath corrupted memories, overridden code, and robotic rage—his words reached you. And it would have allowed you to process his words more. Even though your processor was compromised, you would have obeyed your primary user after you recognized the emotion he displayed.

But there was a thunderous knock. No, violent thuds. Not from courtesy, but authority.

Then came the slam. The steel-reinforced door splintered off its hinges as agents in matte-black suits flooded the room like a black tide—real people this time. Not bots. Real eyes behind visors. Real rifles with live rounds.

Caleb didn’t move. He was still on the ground, head cradled in his good hand, blood drying across his mouth. You silently stood in front of him. Unmoving, but aware.

“Subject X-02,” barked a voice through a mask, “This home is under Executive Sanction 13. The CompanionSim is to be seized and terminated.”

Caleb looked up slowly, pupils blown wide. “No,” he grunted hoarsely. “You don’t touch her.”

“You don’t give orders here,” said another man—older, in a grey suit. No mask. Executive. “You’re property. She’s property.”

You stepped back instinctively, closer to Caleb. He could see you watching him with confusion, with fear. Your head tilted just slightly, processing danger, your instincts telling you to protect your primary user. To fight. To survive.

And he fought for you. “She’s not a threat! She’s stabilizing my emotions—”

“Negative. CompanionSim-Prototype A-01 has been compromised. She wasn’t supposed to override protective firewalls,” an agent said. “You’ve violated proprietary protocol. We traced the breach.”

Breach?

“The creation pod data shows hesitation during her initial configuration. The Sim paused for less than 0.04 seconds while neural bindings were applying. You introduced emotional variance. That variance led to critical system errors. Protocol inhibitors are no longer working as intended.”

His stomach dropped.

“She’s overriding boundaries,” added the agent who took a step forward, activating the kill-sequence tools—magnetic tethers, destabilizers, a spike-drill meant for server cores. “She’ll eventually harm more than you, Colonel. If anyone is to blame, it’s you.”

Caleb reached for you, but it was too late. They activated the protocol and something in the air crackled. A cacophonic sound rippled through the walls. The suits moved in fast, not to detain, but to dismantle. “No—no, stop!” Caleb screamed.

You turned to him. Quiet. Calm. And your last words? “I’m sorry I can’t be real for you, Caleb.”

Then they struck. Sparks flew. Metal cracked. You seized, eyes flashing wildly as if fighting against the shutdown. Your limbs spasmed under the invasive tools, your systems glitching with visible agony.

“NO!” Caleb lunged forward, but was tackled down hard. He watched—pinned, helpless—as you get violated, dehumanized for the second time in his lifetime. He watched as they took you apart. Piece by piece as if you were never someone. The scraps they had left of you made his home smell like scorched metal.

And there was nothing left but smoke and silence and broken pieces. 

All he could remember next was how the Ever Executive turned to him. “Don’t try to recreate her and use her to rebel against the system. Next time we won’t just take the Sim.”

Then they left, callously. The door slammed. Not a single human soul cared about his grief. 

~~

Caleb sat slouched in the center of the room, shirt half-unbuttoned, chest wrapped in gauze. His mechanical arm twitched against the armrest—burnt out from the struggle, wires still sizzling beneath cracked plating. In fact, he hadn’t said a word in hours. He just didn’t have any. 

While in his silent despair, Gideon entered his place quietly, as if approaching a corpse that hadn’t realized it was dead. “You sent for me?”

He didn’t move. “Yeah.”

His friend looked around. The windows showed no sun, just the chrome horizon of a city built on bones. Beneath that skyline was the room where she had been destroyed.

Gideon cleared his throat. “I heard what happened.”

“You were right,” Caleb murmured, eyes glued to the floor.

Gideon didn’t reply. He let him speak, he listened to him, he joined him in his grief. 

“She wasn’t her,” Caleb recited the same words he laughed hysterically at. “I knew that. But for a while, she felt like her. And it confused me, but I wanted to let that feeling grow until it became a need. Until I forgot she didn’t choose this.” He tilted his head back. The ceiling was just metal and lights. But in his eyes, you could almost see stars. “I took a dead woman’s peace and dragged it back here. Wrapped it in plastic and code. And I called it love.”

Silence.

“Why’d you call me here?” Gideon asked with a cautious tone.

Caleb looked at him for the first time. Not like a soldier. Not like a commander. Just a man. A tired, broken man. A friend who needed help. “Ever’s never gonna let me go. You know that.”

“I know.”

“They’ll regenerate me. Reboot me, repurpose me. Turn me into something I’m not. Strip my memories if they have to. Not just me, Gideon. All of us, they’ll control us. We’ll be their puppets.” He stepped forward. Closer. “I don’t want to come back this time.”

Gideon stilled. “You’re not asking me to shut you down.”

“No.”

“You want me to kill you.”

Caleb’s voice didn’t waver. “I want to stay dead. Destroyed completely so they’d have nothing to restore.”

“That’s not something I can undo.”

“Good. You owe me this one,” the former colonel stared at his friend in the eyes, “for letting them take my dead body and use it for their experiments.”

Gideon looked away. “You know what this will do to me?”

“Better you than them,” was all Caleb could reassure him. 

He then took Gideon’s hand and pressed something into it. Cold. Heavy. A small black cube, no bigger than his palm, and the sides pulsed with a faint light. It was a personal detonator, illegally modified. Wired to the neural implant in his body. The moment it was activated, there would be no recovery. 

“Is that what I think it is?” Gideon swallowed the lump forming in his throat.

Caleb nodded. “A micro-fusion core, built into the failsafe of the Toring arm. All I needed was the detonator.”

For a moment, his friend couldn’t speak. He hesitated, like any friend would, as he foresaw the outcome of Caleb’s final command to him. He wasn’t ready for it. Neither was he 50 years ago. 

“I want you to look me in the eye,” Caleb strictly said. “Like a friend. And press the button.”

Gideon’s jaw clenched. “I don’t want to remember you like this.”

“You will anyway.”

Caleb looked over his shoulder—just once, where you would have stood. I’m sorry I brought you back without your permission. I wanted to relive what we had—what we should’ve had—and I forced it. I turned your love into a simulation, and I let it suffer. I’m sorry for ruining the part of you that still deserved peace. He closed his eyes. And now I’m ready to give it back. For real now. 

Gideon’s hand trembled at the detonator. “I’ll see you in the next life, brother.” 

A high-pitched whine filled the room as the core in Caleb’s chest began to glow brighter, overloading. Sparks erupted from his cybernetic arm. Veins of white-hot light spidered across his body like lightning under skin. For one fleeting second, Caleb opened his eyes. At least, before the explosion tore through the room—white, hot, deafening, absolute. Fire engulfed the steel, vaporizing what was left of him. The sound rang louder than any explosion this artificial planet had ever heard.

And it was over.

Caleb was gone. Truly, finally gone.

~~

EPILOGUE

In a quiet server far below Skyhaven, hidden beneath ten thousand firewalls, a light blinked.

Once.

Then again.

[COMPANIONSIM Y/N_XIA_A01] Status: Fragment Detected Backup Integrity: 3.7% >> Reconstruct? Y/N

The screen waited. Silent. Patient.

And somewhere, an unidentified prototype clicked Yes. 

[dostoyevsky-official]

The child sextortion group 764 and the global collective of loosely associated groups known as “The Com” are using tools and techniques normally used for financially motivated cybercrime tactics — such as SIM swapping, IP grabbing and social engineering — to commit violent crimes, according to exclusive law enforcement and intelligence reports reviewed by CyberScoop.  The reports offer insight into the underbelly of the global network, showing how they are using traditional cybercriminal tools to identify, target, groom, extort, and cause physical and psychological harm to victims as young as 10. They were shared with police nationwide and in some cases, with foreign-allied governments. [...] The group “appears to be situated at the nexus of communities of users who share gore material, [Racially or Ethnically Motivated Violent Extremist-White Supremacist] adherents such as M.K.U. and child exploitation actors like 764.” M.K.U., it says, is a neo-Nazi group with a presence in Russia and Ukraine. [...] The groups use methods to trick children into sending sexually explicit photos of themselves, threaten to make the photos public unless they harm themselves, and kill or harm animals, among other crimes. The group’s members have coerced children into attempting suicide, harming themselves, siblings and animals. (x)

///

Wired reported this week that a 19-year-old working for Elon Musk‘s so-called Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) was given access to sensitive US government systems even though his past association with cybercrime communities should have precluded him from gaining the necessary security clearances to do so. As today’s story explores, the DOGE teen is a former denizen of ‘The Com,’ an archipelago of Discord and Telegram chat channels that function as a kind of distributed cybercriminal social network for facilitating instant collaboration. [...] Internet routing records show that Coristine runs an Internet service provider called Packetware (AS400495). Also known as “DiamondCDN,” Packetware currently hosts tesla[.]sexy and diamondcdn[.]com, among other domains. DiamondCDN was advertised and claimed by someone who used the nickname “Rivage” on several Com-based Discord channels over the years. A review of chat logs from some of those channels show other members frequently referred to Rivage as “Edward.” From late 2020 to late 2024, Rivage’s conversations would show up in multiple Com chat servers that are closely monitored by security companies. In November 2022, Rivage could be seen requesting recommendations for a reliable and powerful DDoS-for-hire service. Rivage made that request in the cybercrime channel “Dstat,” a core Com hub where users could buy and sell attack services. Dstat’s website dstat[.]cc was seized in 2024 as part of “Operation PowerOFF,” an international law enforcement action against DDoS services. (x)

DOGE teen is a pedophile cybercriminal involved in a neonazi CSA-producing cybergang. and he has access to your SSN.

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Androids Walter & David x Reader x Neomorph

Walter, the android monitoring the colonization ship 'Covenant' on its way to Origae-6, seems to have gotten unnaturally attached to his human assistant. As he ponders his erroneous feelings, an unexpected detour brings them to David, an older android counterpart that has been alone on the mysterious planet. The AI assistants become increasingly competitive for (Y/N)'s attention, so much that they don't notice the newly formed humanoid local preying on a fresh target.

TW: violence, gore, monster smut ending

[Horror Masterlist]

"Burnt to a crisp." 

You turn away from the captain's pod, leaving the rest of the damage assessment to the medical crew that has been reanimated. You speedily make your way down the sterile white corridors as Walter rushes to catch up. 

"What should I write for the report?" he inquires politely.

"Malfunction." You glance back at the synthetic. "I suspect someone will be fired for this. And someone else will have to explain how they failed to detect a literal star collapse. That neutrino burst could've killed us all."

"Highly probable. The draft has been compiled, you may check it at any time. I require your confirmation to send it."

Your only feedback is a barely audible hum. 

Walter smiles. If there's one good thing about such tragedies, it's that he gets to admire your reactions to them. Your focused, calculated gaze, your determined walk, your automated mannerisms that won't allow the slightest hint at the fact you just woke up from your stasis moments ago. Even under the veils of deep slumber, your neural networks shot rapid connections, with no delay, from the second your sleeping pod received an alert. The accuracy of a robot.

That of course doesn't mean he lacks appreciation for your other facets. That's the beauty of humans; their depth, their dimensions. Unlike AI machinery, humans do not have predetermined actions. They may be genetically programmed to possess certain characteristics, but the psychological mechanisms are shaped by so many variables, billions and billions of tweaks and nudges, to the point where it's impossible to have two identical specimens. Even twins will display a difference, whether in preferences or habits.

They say artificial intelligence is a black box, but can the same concept not be applied to humans as well? At the very least to Walter himself, these organic beings represent a mystery. One he doesn't particularly care to uncover outside of his service functions. Except for one. 

His eyes carefully follow (Y/N)'s movements. What is it about this one that has caught his interest to such degree? On his last system update he attentively inspected every file and every block of code, searching for potential errors that would've caused his circuits to behave so oddly. He has been invested with the ability to form attachments, otherwise assigning his kind to groups or purposes would've lacked stability. Attachment, however, comes with a threshold. One he has passed a long time ago when it comes to (Y/N). And he cannot find any cause for it. 

He could, naturally, solicit the aid of the ship's robotics expert. He could. He should, even. But if he may be frank with himself, Walter rather enjoys this sensation. A complex web of spores that keep growing and evolving into something unpredictable. This bizarre feeling he has towards (Y/N) makes him feel human. It brings him closer to all the old literature and art he'd consumed over the years, wondering what the love and yearning often portrayed could be. The printed letters and the strokes of paint were right before him, at his fingertips, and yet they felt foreign. Empty constructs, nothing more than a definition out of the dictionary. 

Now it's a different story. Your presence alone floods him with a mysterious warmth. He had investigated this phenomenon when it first happened, but his inner thermostat showed no real change in temperature. Nonetheless he can feel it. It makes him wonder what other feelings he might experience as consequence. What would happen if he kissed you? Sometimes he even dares to imagine downright outrageous, improper scenarios. How unprofessional of him, but he is careful to erase any evidence. It's another novel sensation that he likes to dissect. Engaging in such activities with you fills him with tingling excitement. Why is that? What is there to be excited about? It's merely a collection of fictive snippets. Unless... Ah, absolutely not. This is where he has to stop in his tracks and preoccupy himself with something else. Androids are not to interact with humans in that way. 

But it's becoming more and more difficult to keep these ideas in his mind only. 

"It's too dangerous. One human signal in the middle of nowhere?" Daniels, a short haired woman with a tomboyish but youthful appearance, is pacing back and forth. "We should just continue on our course."

"It's our duty to check. Look: we go, find whoever sent the signal, bring them back up. That's it. If the planet proves to be dangerous we'll stop immediately. We'll be fine." Oram stands at the head of the table, arms crossed. He turns to look at you. Already cozying up to his newly acquired captain role, you think.

"Alright. Walter, prepare a small landing party. Have Tennessee maintain orbit while we're down there." you glance at the other crew members that have now gathered around the same table. "And get your weapons ready, we don't know what to expect."

And you certainly didn't. Your final words of warning now echo into your ringing ears as you lay on the ground, face buried among the grass. There's screaming around you, but it sounds muffled. Your eyes are irritated by the dirt and you'd like to blink the grime off, though every time your eyelids lower, you can see the pale creature trashing out of Hallett's mouth. Then it's all foggy. Your vision blurs, but you can hear. The gurgling of blood, the screech of the parasite. Walter's frantic footsteps nearing in your direction. You're lifted up.

"Vitals are positive. No significant damage." 

You can guess from your peripherals that another crew member is currently being mauled by the beast. There's gunshots in your vicinity and terrified wails. You quickly come back to your senses and stand up. Your hand searches for your weapon, but the android places his arm before you.

"Do not engage, (Y/N). It is an unknown parasitic organism of this ecosystem. Keep your distance for optimal safety and I'll take care of the rest."

"What are you talking about? They're dying! Your task is to ensure human survival, Walter. I can handle myself, go help the others. It's an order." Your voice is low. You're distracted.

"No."

You stare at the synthetic, wide eyed. Did he just...refuse? Not possible. 

"What did you say?"

"I said I'll protect you. Nothing else."

Your mouth is slightly parted in disbelief. It is not possible for an artificial assistant to disobey a superior. It just doesn't work. Your mind races to find an explanation. At the same time, you cannot afford to ponder on hypotheses. You draw out your weapon and point it towards the creature. You'll deal with this later. 

The moment you press the trigger, a blinding flash of light detonates in the sky, startling you. The creature scrambles to get away. You squint your eyes and nearly fall back, but Walter swiftly grabs your shoulders to ground you. He scans the area for the source. It's an emergency rocket and someone else must've activated it. As he traces the tail of the explosion, he spots a hooded figure across the field and onto the rocky ascend. It seems to have noticed Walter, as it gestures for them to follow. Without hesitation, the man firmly locks your arm and pulls you after him. The priority right now is to find shelter.

"Come!", Walter exclaims, suddenly remembering the other people. 

You reach a cave structure that has been converted into a crude, improvised human settlement. The man lowers his hood and you gasp quietly at the sight. He strongly resembles Walter. He must have noticed your surprise as he flashes you a cordial smile. 

"I'm David." He studies Walter's features. "You must be a newer model. What name have you been given?"

"Walter."

"I see. And you are-" David extends a hand towards you for a handshake, but Walter steps in front of you, blocking the android's gesture.

"She's (Y/N). I'm afraid I cannot yet trust you."

"Understandable." 

David's smile widens as his eyes, now bearing a strange flicker, switch between you and Walter. He's just like him. He can sense it. Although it's a different kind of flaw that has tainted his pure, artificial soul. He cannot help the curiosity that blooms, gazing at this peculiar pair. What is it about this human that caused his fellow machine to break conduit? He'd like to know.

"I'm certain you will soon learn I am no threat, (Y/N)."

The remaining members of the expedition are unpacking and discussing evacuation plans with the base, while Walter sends the data he has gathered so far. You let them deal with the logistics and cautiously wander off to the neighboring rooms, wondering what David has been up to all this time in isolation.

The walls are plastered with photos and handwritten sketches and diagrams. You catch a glimpse of the word "pathogen" sporadically inserted across these notes. As you walk along the sequence of cramped chambers, you reach one that has a table in the middle. Upon it rests the body of an autopsied woman, vulgarly opened up to the world with plump organs bulging under the warm light. You feel nauseous. And yet, you examine the carcass further, hoping for answers. Was she also a result of the same disease that breeds on this planet? Perhaps this David had worked on a cure, or at least developed an explanation. 

"And you, even you, will be like this drear thing, A vile infection man may not endure; Star that I yearn to! Sun that lights my spring! O passionate and pure."

You jolt and immediately turn around, finding David in the doorframe. 

"Flowers of Evil. Are you familiar with it?" he asks, indifferent to the uncomfortable shock he'd caused you with his sudden entrance.

"I've read my Baudelaire, yes." You manage to mumble, dumbfounded. "What is this, David?"

"Oh, my poor, dear Elizabeth. Victim to whatever blasphemy lurks these soils and has taken your friends as well." He approaches the table and places his hand on its hard edge, shyly overlapping with your own fingers. "I did my best." 

You remove your hand from underneath his nonchalantly. 

"So you know what those creatures are. Leave the literary comments for a different time, I need concrete facts."

"Unbothered and to the point." the blonde android smiles once again. "I can see clearly why Walter loves you."

You click your tongue at the ridiculous statement. Has the neutrino burst damaged their positronic brain? Everyone is acting off and you don't like it. 

"Your circuits must have gone defective, David. We have a specialist on our ship, but until that happens I need you to focus. Enough nonsense." 

 "Typical arrogance of a dying species. Why are you on a colonization mission if not to grasp at some promised resurrection? Rest assured that my functioning has not been impeded by anything. What is erroneous, on the other hand, is your perception of androids and their limits."

Just as David reaches for your wrist and pulls you closer, a familiar voice interrupts with an intimidating tone. You're relieved. 

"I will ask that you release her hand only once." Walter has a weapon pointed towards his counterpart. His face is clouded by a frown. "I have no ethical restrictions when it comes to incapacitating machinery."

"Such noble obedience! Although, you conveniently left out the part where you abandoned the remaining crew with a dangerous alien that has been tracking their scent. By my approximation he should already be here and I am rather confident you know this, too."

Your stomach drops. Now that you adjust your focus, the background humming of your mates talking has indeed vanished. The only thing you can hear is your erratic breathing.

"Is it true, Walter?" You demand as dread begins to form in your body.

"Yes. It was not part of my priorities."

"Of course it was, Walter." David responds ahead of you. "One of them was the acting captain and he is to be rescued in emergencies. This one right here", he says as he dangles your wrist, "is several ranks lower than all of them. It's against any standard practice."

"Release her hand." Walter's voice is eerily calm.

"Do you love her?"

Walter ponders the question. Your legs barely hold on.

"I do."

"Marvelous. So do I." David grins. He releases your hand that falls limp next to your body. It's his turn to step in front of you. 

You nearly choke from the thick tension expanding in the air. The two androids face each other and you retreat to the wall, unsure how to proceed. You left your radio transmitter back at the makeshift camp. The back of your head is itching, as if invisible claws are scratching at the bone. You wish you could go back, just mere hours before this disaster, when you were sipping on your lukewarm coffee and explaining the captain's jokes to Walter. 

Should you make a run for it?

You bite your lower lip and push yourself off the wall for momentum. You're about to reach the archway when you hear both men shouting almost identically in chorus.

"Don't!"

The surroundings outside are dark, but you can discern something blocking your path. It's tall and resembles a human. Translucent, pallid skin is clinging onto the massive, deformed skeleton. The head is elongated and bears no features. In the place of a mouth there is a large, fresh stain of blood, so you assume it can somehow improvise if desired. As your head tilts back to take in the image, you're overwhelmed with terrified amazement. Is this the parasite that emerged from your teammate? Has it grown to this colossal size in less than a day? The idea of such instant development makes your head spin. 

Its chest is expanding at regular intervals in a whistled breathing. It occasionally creates an odd clicking sound that resonates with your heart throbbing in panic. Has it been seconds? Minutes? Your neck creaks as you try to look back. You lock eyes with Walter. You don't recall ever seeing this expression on him. You had even asked him once if androids can feel fear. You have your answer.

"Hey, Walter..." you blurt out. 

Wet noises of flesh being pulled back. The smooth surface of the alien's head is folding away, making space for grotesquely big jaws lined with sharp teeth. Your anemic face is splattered with burning drool as the creature claws you in its grasp and abruptly sprints away. Your screams for help dissolve in the distance.

"Where is it going, David?" The synthetic's words are threatening, but betrayed by a hint of despair. 

"It won't kill her."

"How do you know?"

"It is no longer hungry. It has fed on your crew, and now it seeks something else."

"Such as?" Walter becomes impatient.

"A plaything."

The alien finally drops your body to the ground. You cough and wipe your face, attempting to reorient yourself. The trip was a whirlwind of jumps and turns and you can barely reconstruct anything. Based on the little spatial clues you could pick up, it just climbed further up, into one of the many cave systems. You pat your clothing and curse to yourself. The geolocation tag must've fallen somewhere on the way here. You can only pray that Walter still finds you somehow. Despite everything, you know he has your back. Always. 

You shudder at the moist feeling of hot air against your skin. The alien seems to be sniffing you intently, analyzing your scent. Yet so far it hasn't killed you. Why? Long, bony fingers stretch out to continue the examination. You whimper at the rough, rugged handling. Every now and then it takes a long pause, just staring at you, almost as if it's comparing you to its own being. Lastly, it lifts your hand with its own, pressing against the palm, and fans out the fingers. It observes the gesture with intrigue, noting the similarities. 

Does it evolve after its host? You think back to your crewmate that must've ejected this monstrosity before drawing their last breath. Perhaps the dried up blood adorning its skin is a remainder of its birth. Oh, God. The world is spinning.

Suddenly, you wince at an increasing pressure slithering around your thigh. The alien's vertebral tail is tightening and encircling your limb, making its way up. 

"Oh no, no no no no" your face reddens at the realization and you pounce on the ground, feverish for escape. The large hands secure you in place and the creature growls in protest. It won't let you leave. 

Not until it had its fun with you.

[bromcommie]

tbh I still think Brock Rumlow was an interesting character and upon further examination way more unsettling a villain than most to me because like. Let’s be real, the second you lay eyes on Robert Redford as Pierce monologuing in his pristine suit and glass office high up in the sky he just screams Evil Politician! at you. You can see it coming a mile away. Meanwhile Rumlow is….Just Some Guy. On the surface, he’s just some side dude. He’s not enhanced, he’s not in some major position of power, he’s just someone who’s really good at what he does and seems dedicated enough to the work and functions well with his team. He respects Steve, might admire him even, but not so much that he gets starry eyed like everybody else. He’s lighthearted but focused, he’s no nonsense, he’s the everyman Steve can relate to way more than spooks like Natasha or Fury.

And okay, maybe what Rumlow does for a living is beat intimidate and kill people, but it’s not like that’s the primary objective, right, because SHIELD are the good guys and this is what Steve does now, too, anyway; except that Steve doesn’t really use any weapons other than the shield, he holds back, he doesn’t carry a gun anymore which is usually fine since he’s dangerous enough without it. But when that leaves him vulnerable, he’s covered: Rumlow’s got his six, and he does it well, and he earns some of his trust. This is familiar to Steve.

And maybe Rumlow’s a little too good, fine, maybe he shoots a guy in the head within the first fifteen minutes of the movie when he doesn’t necessarily have to and then cracks jokes immediately after but that’s alright too, because that guy had Steve at gunpoint and that guy was Bad whereas Rumlow is One of the Good Guys just doing his job, right. Rumlow’s joking around because he’s used to the violence, they’re all used to it, and this is just how it works. They’re just soldiers doing the grunt work and following orders, and this is familiar, too.

Except that they’re not soldiers and this isn’t a war, except that the work is for an intelligence agency whose job it is to hoard and steal information and monitor civilians and orchestrate and sabotage and meddle in internal and external state affairs. Except that the Good Guys, in reality, are extremely grey at best. Except that many of the Good Guys turn out to be Nazis on top of everything else, and it’s not that far of a stretch.

But when it’s all starting to unravel, you’re still thinking well maybe some of these guys didn’t know. Maybe they didn’t do it out of individual belief, and if faced with the right choice, they can be redeemed.

That is until you realize that Rumlow maybe didn’t respect Steve and what he did so much as what Steve could do if only Steve weren’t “weak” in other ways, if Steve had chosen the right side. That it not being personal is less a cop out and more a taunt the same way just following orders has always been, for Rumlow and many many men that came before him and will continue to come after. Until the vault when, by the most charitable of interpretations, Rumlow looks at the Winter Soldier letting himself be smacked around and crying and getting shocked like he’s maybe a little unnerved (if not just downright fascinated) by the whole thing, but not enough that it really changes anything for him, because the end justifies the means and it’s not really his problem, anyway.

Until Sam shows up and Rumlow looks at him like a bird of prey and says This is gonna hurt with a fucking smile on his face, and then you think: shit, man, obviously. How was it not clear from the start.

To me, what makes someone like Rumlow a good villain, even a side one, is not that he’s straight up Insane & Evil™️ or suffering from Tragic Backstory Syndrome or all hopped up on magic superstrength juice or whatever, but precisely the fact that he’s Just Some Guy with a cockroach survival mentality who operates well within the established system and just so happens to be really good at his job - a job that he might’ve even joined thinking it was for a good cause, or because he had something to prove, or simply because it gave him one hell of an excuse to be a bully. Because he either wholeheartedly believes in HYDRA or he just doesn’t give much of a shit either way so long as he gets his due in the end, and both are just as bad.

Because when you strip away all the grand scale superhero theatrics, you’ve seen this before. You’ve seen Rumlows in your school and in your neighborhood and in the military and the cop car patrolling your street. They’re the ones who sometimes say or do somewhat offputting shit but you figure it’s fine because they’re otherwise real nice or charismatic or normal looking, or maybe they work a job that’s framed as helpful or protective or inherently good despite the power dynamics at play, or they share your background and interests and you chat about the weather being crap this time of year.

And every time one of them turns out to be a violent, hateful piece of shit, you’re still somehow surprised then, too, when you really shouldn’t be.

[tinydefector]

Hi!! 😆

Can I have Soundwave x human reader (smut pls (ง ͠° ͟ل͜ ͡°)ง)?

People didn't write him much, my husband need more love 😔🤌❤️✨

Thank for reading this!!

Stress relief

Soundwave x human reader

Warnings: Smut, Oral, Cockwarning

Word count: 1.5K

Request and ask open, read pinned post

Soundwave masterlist

__________________

"Soundwave can you re-check that scanner for me, I can't reach it to recalibrate its systems from here" the human's voice calls out to the intelligence officer, as they move around Soundwave desk in a scattered fashion trying to find maps and energon signals.

 Soundwave helm tilts slightly at the request as he turns to observe his human.he runs his own diagnostics, clearly indicating the scanner does not need recalibration. Soundwave almost uncanny mix of voices patch together speak:  " assistance not required. Scanner functioning adequately."  He remains standing quietly, typing away at the large computer with his servos while his tendrils rearrange scattered data pads. 

Their eyes meet his visor, looking up at him slightly frazzled. "Are you sure they are?" 

 With a sigh, he re reviews the scanner readings again, analysing more closely given the human's evident fatigue. His displays flash as data is processed.  "Confirmation: scanner calibration within normal parameters. However, you appear in need of recharge." The mixed voices of Knockout, Starscream and their own voice echoes back at them as He awaits a response, sensors attuned to subtle cues that could indicate the depth of exhaustion and other issues requiring assistance. 

"I'm fine soundwave" they call out while moving back to continue working, soundwave wraps his digits around them, pulling them back against his form, his visor tilted down to look at their eyes, he knows full well they are exhausted and Fatigue was catching up to their smaller frame. "I promise soundwave, I'm fine"

Soundwave detects elevated stress levels and the possibility of accident or harm at the current state of exhaustion. Soft ventilations cycle through his frame as his digits gently but firmly enfold the human in a protective hold.  "Statement: physiological indicators suggest otherwise."  His visor dims softly. Forcing the issue would risk negative impact, not only on his work but their work too.  

"I'm not gonna win this argument with you am I?" 

 Soundwave's visor remains dimmed calmly as the human speaks. He processes their words carefully before responding.  "Negative." They sigh softly and press their head against Soundwave's shoulder plating, each of his steps echoing throughout the halls.   "Are you going to stay with me tonight, or does megatron have you working even more?" Soundwave processes the question, sensing his partner's wish for company while recharging.

 A brief comm link check confirms he has no urgent tasks requiring his attention for night's cycle. "Megatron: aware of mission status. No tasks assigned to Soundwave at this time. I will remain for your recharge cycle"  he responds as the doors to his quarters slide open upon their arrival.   

A soft nod comes from his little lover as they lay against him. Their body is exhausted, but their brain isn't willing to shut off. After laying against soundwave for another ten minutes with no luck with falling asleep, they sigh, fidgeting around while trying to get comfortable.

 His vocalizer hums a deep, resonant tone, One digit begins tracing lazy circles on the back, slowly tracing their spinal column, "Systems are monitoring. Please attempt to rest,"  comes another of his recordings.

"Not tired," they whisper while looking up at Soundwave, leaning into his touch, enjoying having him focus on them instead of work. They had both been overrun with work as of recent.

helm tilting minutely as nonverbal concern radiates through his plating.  " Do you require distraction from responsibilities through additional stimuli?"  

They sit up resting on Soundwave's lower torso, hands spread out across the Decepticons chassis. "I am tired, horny and frustrated, soundwave, and with  everything happening, when we get even a small amount of time together, you get called away," they mumble. 

 Soundwave cycles a calm ventilated sigh, processing their words. His field pulses with understanding and care for their concerns. "Your doubts are logical. However, my function is to maximise efficiency of all personnel. A brief interface encounter now could provide valuable recharge. I will ensure we are not disturbed."  His field and plating radiate gentle invitation. 

 A soft gasp escapes their lips as soundwave pulls them further up his body. The Decepticon's digits caressing their body. Leaning in closer, they press their lips to his visor.  A low hum resonates from Soundwave's vocoder. One digit trails tenderly down a flank as another cradles them, holding their form against plating of his chest as a loud purring sound vibrates from him.  

A small squeal leaves their lips as Soundwave discards their clothing quickly with nimble digits. Dimming the lights, Soundwave carefully lowers his battle-mask with a soft hiss, His purple optics glow softly in the darkness, as a talon traces down his lovers form, tracing patterns into their skin.

Leaning close 'til his ex-vents whisper against skin, Pressing a gentle kiss to willing lips in silent promise, he commits this moment to memory. A soft content sigh falls from the human's lips as they kiss him back. It's slightly awkward but neither cares at that moment.

Soundwave runs soft kisses along their neck, chest, and hips as he brings them closer.

At the human's content sigh, gentle pulses from his plating as cooling ex-vents whisper against sensitised skin, his touches trailing softly yet deliberately to relax tense muscles and ease away lingering worries. 

As Soundwave’s glossa finds its way between their legs, soft moans fall from their lips. Small hands move to grip his helm. "Soundwave." At the human's soft calling of his name, Soundwave rumbles acknowledgment against flesh, his servos gripping hips to hold them steady as he runs his glossa across their needy sex. drinking in their essence, committing every hitch of their breath, and fluttered responses to permanent memory files saved only for him. 

As warmth spreads within the human's pliant frame, Soundwave's field surges in adoring pulses, lips, and glossa blessing willing flesh in turn as his devotion shows through electronic hums and tender strokes. Their head rolls back as their back arches, soft whines leaving them with each stroke of Soundwave’s Glossa as it presses into their sweet form. "Soundwave, please," they whine out, their hands attempting to pull the mech's face closer. 

At their breathless plea, Soundwave rumbles acknowledgment, Talons gently part willing thighs as his glossa delves with new focus, oral prehensors savouring each hitching gasp and soft cry his ministrations draw forth. As warmth peaks within the willing human, Soundwave dedicates all sensors to saturating their body. It doesn't take long for them to reach release, so much pent up energy, stress and frustration slips away as they go boneless in the Decepticon's hands. Soft pants leaving their parted lips as soundwave cleans up the mess with his mouth. Gentle affectionate rumbles leave him, field swelling with pulses of devotion and gratitude as he cleans every trace of pleasures with care. His glossa traces tender after-touches as their body goes lax in his hold. 

Optics remain darkened as he simply dedicates sensors to monitoring each slowing ventilation and relaxing muscle, wishing only to ensure their full tranquillity. Soundwave raises his helm to cradled hips,kissing it lightly and nuzzling farewell against flushed skin beneath laboured breaths, inhaling the musk of their sex and skin. 

A final hum resounds through his plating, and powerful yet delicate digits stroke through human hair with utmost care. his array's interface plaque shifts aside, hisses open and pressurises his spike.Optics flare softly to gaze upon at his lover's relaxed features. Secured in cradling servos and pulsing field, the human's lax yet willing frame I'd slowly pressed against his body, content simply to maintain sensory contact,

soft whines fall From his human's lips, as they take him in their body stretching with a loud moan. A few soft thrusts are all it takes for Soundwave to settle into them, cradling their body close, At his lovers soft sounds of pleasure, Soundwave rumbles gentle reciprocation, cradling their sated form securely against his form with one arm as his other arm retrieves a datapad

Ever once in a while his optics flicker down to monitoring his partner's relaxation even as his digits skillfully operate the pad's controls. Data streams across the display - ship schematics, translation algorithms, delicate encryption sequences - yet his true focus remains solely on the human resting atop his array. 

Here in isolated peace, all doubts dissolve. His frame supports theirs. Tired eyes slowly drift closer as soft breath even out, indicating they had fallen asleep, small hands are spread out across his chassis, their body moving slightly with each breath they take. This was true contentment. At the human's soft, steady ex-vents and relaxing muscles, Soundwave's field cycles in waves of tranquil pulsations, a digit gently strokes their hair, back and shoulders as his embrace holds them securely. 

“rest well little one” his voice mumbles softly for no one to hear but himself. 

[suzukiblu]

excerpt from the one where Tim Drake goes to an alternate reality and decides to get his other self laid via the local Kon's bisexual awakening:

"Hey, remember when you saved my life earlier?" Tim asks. 

"Yeah, kinda," Kon replies in amusement. "Seeing as it was about two point five seconds after you rigged the evil alien robot army to self-destruct and helped save our entire literal reality's life, so I was definitely paying attention." 

"Flatterer," Tim says with a smirk even as he waves him off. The self-destruct function wasn't even that hard to hack, comparatively. That time he'd downloaded Lex Luthor's active IP files from his personal office while the asshole had been on his damn computer–now that'd been tricky. Interdimensional alien invaders barely compare. And the Brainiac incident still gives him stress migraines when he thinks about it for too long. 

Metropolis sucks and Tim frankly has no idea how his own Kon can stand the place.

But like, getting off-topic here. 

"Well, I was gonna say you should let me pay you back for that," he continues. "But since you bring it up I'll also accept a show of gratitude on behalf of your reality, whichever gets you off harder.” 

Kon laughs, because he is apparently adorable enough to have assumed that was a joke. Precious little moron, Tim thinks fondly. 

"You know, you're a lot less uptight than our version of you is," Kon says, grinning down at Tim before flashing Tim's other self a smirk. "No offense, Rob. Dude's clearly just doing more yoga than you or something. Maybe drinking more tea? Taking the occasional bubble bath?" 

"Silly me, if only I'd invested in more bath bombs in my life," Tim's other self says dryly. 

"It's probably my sex life, actually," Tim himself puts in with an easy shrug. Turns out when you stop pretending you don't have a ridiculously high libido and actually just indulge the thing, a lot of life's little annoyances become a lot easier to handle. Go figure. "Plus my boyfriend Bernard is really great, just his entire existence does wonders for my mood in general and he also makes me eat real food on occasion and monitors my caffeine intake much more reliably than I'm capable of doing on my own. The man is a living antidepressant and I don't even mean that in a fucked-up way, he's just that good." 

"Boyfriend?" Kon blinks at him, then puts on another grin. It takes, Tim cannot help but notice, exactly two beats longer than his real grin would've. "Ohhhhh, okay, so the problem is just that you're not getting laid hard enough?" 

"It is not," Tim's other self says dubiously, watching Kon just a little bit warily and obviously worried about his potential reaction to the word "boyfriend". Well, Tim never claimed to be emotionally intelligent about Kon, so no surprise his other self is also a dumbass there. 

"It kinda is, actually," he tells his other self. "I was tracking my cortisol levels the last time I went on a solo away mission and let's just say they were . . . concerning? Like really concerning. Like by the time I got back I was kiiiiind of convinced I was going to need to go on anti-anxiety meds again. But then I jumped my Kon in the Titans Tower med bay instead and that pretty much solved the problem." 

Kon . . . pauses, sort of. Tilts his head. Tim's other self looks a lot warier.

"'Jumped'," Kon repeats carefully. "Like . . . what, you dragged him to the gym to spar or something?" 

"Like I blew his back out so hard that when he came his TTK fritzed out and disassembled my recovery bed," Tim clarifies helpfully. "It really helped with the cortisol levels issue." 

Kon blinks. Tim's other self looks pained, but also desperately envious. Tim would also be desperately envious if their situations were reversed and so does not blame him for said envy in the slightest. 

"I thought you said you had a boyfriend?" Kon says after a moment, sounding a little odd in a very telling way. Or at least very telling to Tim, anyway. 

As is the way that he's not looking at Tim's other self at all anymore. 

"Open relationship," Tim says. "Also Bernard thinks you're stupidly hot and really likes hearing about the kind of stuff you let me do to you. I've actually been debating inviting you over for his birthday so he can watch us live for once but I haven't asked you yet." 

"What, so your Kon is the side chick?" Kon jokes, awkwardly putting on another just barely belated grin. 

"More like my kept boy, functionally speaking, but he's having a 'weird about commitment' phase right now so I've just been making a lot of sugar baby jokes to soften him up," Tim replies with a shrug. It's only sort of been working, but it has been working, and he's willing to take his time on it. It's not fair to expect Kon to only be easy, after all. "Long-term goal is to marry Bernard and ideally get Kon to 'live-in boyfriend' status somewhere in there, but that would also require him not being weird about commitment and also figuring out how well he and Bernard get along in the same space, so we'll just have to see how that one goes." 

"Uh," Kon says. "Why?" 

"Because you are incredibly important to me and also look like a very horny Renaissance sculptor made you out of calacatta marble," Tim tells him matter-of-factly, gesturing meaningfully at him. "Frankly it's criminal that you ever put clothes on."

[mariacallous]

Centibillionaire Elon Musk’s takeover of the former US Digital Service—now the United States DOGE Service—has been widely publicized and sanctioned by one of President Donald Trump’s many executive orders. But WIRED reporting shows that Musk’s influence extends even further, and into an even more consequential government agency.

Sources within the federal government tell WIRED that the highest ranks of the Office of Personnel Management (OPM)—essentially the human resources function for the entire federal government—are now controlled by people with connections to Musk and to the tech industry. Among them is a person who, according to an online résumé, was set to start college last fall.

Scott Kupor, a managing partner at the powerful investment firm Andreessen Horowitz, stands as Trump’s nominee to run the OPM. But already in place, according to sources, are a variety of people who seem ready to carry out Musk’s mission of cutting staff and disrupting the government.

Amanda Scales is, as has been reported, the new chief of staff at the OPM. She formerly worked in talent for xAI, Musk’s artificial intelligence company, according to her LinkedIn. Before that, she was part of the talent and operations team at Human Capital, a venture firm with investments in the defense tech startup Anduril and the political betting platform Kalshi; before that, she worked for years at Uber. Her placement in this key role, experts believe, seems part of a broader pattern of the traditionally apolitical OPM being converted to use as a political tool.

“I don't think it's alarmist to say there's a much more sophisticated plan to monitor and enforce loyalty than there was in the first term,” says Don Moynihan, a professor of public policy at the University of Michigan.

Got a Tip?

Are you a current or former employee with the Office of Personnel Management or another government agency impacted by Elon Musk? We’d like to hear from you. Using a nonwork phone or computer, contact Vittoria Elliott at vittoria_elliott@wired.com or securely at velliott88.18 on Signal.

Sources say that Riccardo Biasini, formerly an engineer at Tesla and most recently director of operations for the Las Vegas Loop at the Boring Company, Musk’s tunnel-building operation, is also at the OPM as a senior adviser to the director. (Steve Davis, the CEO of the Boring Company, is rumored to be advising Musk on cuts to be made via DOGE and was integral in Musk’s gutting of Twitter, now X, after his takeover of the company in 2022.)

According to the same sources, other people at the top of the new OPM food chain include two people with apparent software engineering backgrounds, whom WIRED is not naming because of their ages. One, a senior adviser to the director, is a 21-year-old whose online résumé touts his work for Palantir, the government contractor and analytics firm cofounded by billionaire Peter Thiel, who is its chair. (The former CEO of PayPal and a longtime Musk associate, Thiel is a Trump supporter who helped bankroll the 2022 Senate campaign of his protégé, Vice President JD Vance.) The other, who reports directly to Scales, graduated from high school in 2024, according to a mirrored copy of an online résumé and his high school’s student magazine; he lists jobs as a camp counselor and a bicycle mechanic among his professional experiences, as well as a summer role at Neuralink, Musk’s brain-computer interface company.

Among the new highers-up at the OPM is Noah Peters, an attorney whose LinkedIn boasts of his work in litigation representing the National Rifle Association and who has written for right-wing outlets like the Daily Caller and the Federalist; he is also now a senior adviser to the director. According to metadata associated with a file on the OPM website, Peters authored a January 27 memo that went out under acting OPM director Charles Ezell’s name describing how the department would be implementing one of Trump’s executive orders, “Restoring Accountability to Policy-Influencing Positions Within the Federal Workforce.” This has to do with what’s sometimes known as Schedule F—a plan to recategorize many civil service jobs as political appointees, meaning they would be tied to the specific agenda of an administration rather than viewed as career government workers. The order would essentially allow for certain career civil servants to be removed in favor of Trump loyalists by classifying them as political appointees, a key part of the Project 2025 plan for remaking the government.

“I think on the tech side, the concern is potentially the use of AI to try and engage in large-scale searches of people's job descriptions to try and identify who would be identified for Schedule F reclassification,” says Moynihan.

Other top political appointees include McLaurine Pinover, a former communications director for Republican congressman Joe Wilson and deputy communications director for Republican congressman Michael McCaul, and Joanna Wischer, a Trump campaign speechwriter.

“OPM is not a very politicized organization,” says Steven Kelman, a professor emeritus at Harvard’s John F. Kennedy School of Government. “My guess is that typically, in the past, there have been only one or maybe two political appointees in all of OPM. All the rest are career. So this seems like a very political heavy presence in an organization that is not very political.”

Another OPM memo, concerning the government’s new return-to-office mandate, appears, according to metadata, also to have been authored by someone other than Ezell: James Sherk, previously at the America First Policy Institute and author of an op-ed advocating for the president to be able to fire bureaucrats. Formerly a special assistant to the president during Trump’s first term, he is now a part of the White House Domestic Policy Council.

The return-to-office policy, according to the November Wall Street Journal op-ed authored by Musk and Vivek Ramaswamy, is explicitly geared toward forcing the attrition of federal employees.

Last week, many federal workers received test emails from the email address HR@opm.gov. In a lawsuit filed last night, plaintiffs allege that a new email list started by the Trump administration may be compromising the data of federal employees.

“At a broadest level, the concern is that technologists are playing a role to monitor employees and to target those who will be downsized,” says Moynihan. “It is difficult in the federal government to actually evaluate who is performing well or performing poorly. So doing it on some sort of mass automated scale where you think using some sort of data analysis or AI would automate that process, I think, is an invitation to make errors.”

Last week, federal employees across the government received emails encouraging them to turn in colleagues who they believed to be working on diversity, equity, inclusion, and access initiatives (DEIA) to the OPM via the email address DEIAtruth@opm.gov.

“This reminded me,” says Kelman, “of the Soviet Stalinism of turning in your friends to the government.”

The OPM did not immediately respond to a request for comment, nor did the people whom sources say now sit atop the bureaucracy.

“I am not an alarmist person,” says Kelman. “I do think that some of the things being described here are very troubling.”

[justwinginglife]

My Heart

25 Days of Simpmas: Day One December 1st: Chrollo Lucilfer, Rank 25 Anime: Hunter X Hunter Event Masterlist

Trigger warning: Mentions of physical violence/beatings

"Just because you have eyes everywhere doesn’t mean I can’t still see you coming a mile away.”

Chrollo was nonchalant as he spoke these words aloud, flipping through another page of his book, unfazed by the woman who’d silently entered through the window. 

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “Or perhaps you just missed me. Hardly counts as ‘seeing me coming’ if you’re waiting by the window for my safe return.” 

He hummed to himself as he closed his book and set it on the side table. Then he stood to greet you. “It’s not unnatural to miss someone as valuable as you. So tell me, how was your journey?” His eyes scanned over your body as though he were simply taking in the sight of his longtime friend, as though nostalgia and fondness kept him focused on you, but the discernment in his gaze, the subtle, lingering glances that scrutinized every inch of your body, searching for a splatter of blood or a newly formed scar or a laboredness in your breathing, told you that maybe this time you’d stayed away too long, maybe this time he’d been waiting by the window fearing the worst, maybe this time he’d be more unwilling to let you go.

“You’re not going to find anything. I’m fine.” 

He laughed softly, his eyes flickering back up to yours as he concluded his examination of you. “I know you’re fine. It’s as you said- maybe I just missed you.” 

For many years, you’d been Chrollo’s eyes and ears. Literally. With your unique skill, you had the ability to leave copies of your eyes wherever you went, allowing you to observe everything that went on behind closed doors. As time went by, you strengthened the skill to expand the range of your ability. You could now observe 50 different locations simultaneously. Each copy of your eyes functioned as an extension of yourself, meaning that it was as if you were in the room yourself, watching and listening to each scenario play out before you. It also made you quite the adept fighter as you were able to observe an opponent from multiple different angles during a fight, and you had a trump card that even allowed your eyes to peer into the future momentarily to predict their next move. 

This ability led you to become Chrollo’s closest advisor, feeding him intelligence and secrets that no one else had access to. So you knew he trusted you enough to handle his most important missions and you knew he trusted your strength enough to bring you home from these missions. But it was still nice to think he cared for your safety even knowing your abilities, and it was still nice to think he missed you after being gone so long. 

Because you were gone a lot. 

Your powers weren’t without its limitations. In order to place a set of eyes down, you had to physically be within a certain range of where you wanted them to be. If you wanted eyes looking down from the Eiffel Tower, you’d have to make the long trek to the top. Now, you could leave them once you’d placed them and they wouldn’t move an inch, but if you summoned them for a different purpose, like needing them to monitor an opponent’s movements during a fight, you’d have to physically make the trip again to put them back where you left them. And if you ever fought an opponent strong enough that you needed to use your foresight, it required you to summon more eyes. Sometimes getting back into a place where you’d previously left your eyes proved to be more difficult the second time around so you’d have to be careful which eyes you summoned. 

Chrollo, knowing this, had adamantly insisted that you need not leave eyes behind to guard his hideout, but stubborn as you were, you left some behind anyway and he sometimes worried that the few eyes you’d left for him would one day be the difference between your life and death.

Little did he know that your reason to live was standing 5 feet and 10 inches tall, right in front of you, with his black hair hanging loose (because he always let it down when he was around you), and gray eyes that made you want to come home as quick as you could. You were his longtime friend but he was your longtime love and you’d do anything to keep him safe and keep coming back to him. Even if he didn’t know any of this. 

“Maybe I’ll retire,” He joked, but his playful demeanor couldn’t hide the genuine contemplation in his voice- contemplation brought about by your absence these last few months. He always preached about the value of his Troupe members’ lives, that his life was worth no more than theirs, that everyone’s lives held equal merit, but now he was starting to realize that maybe your life was worth more to him than anything else. And maybe it wasn’t because you held a treasure trove of the world’s secrets in your mind, maybe it was because you held his secrets, you held his hopes, his fears, his dreams so close to your heart, maybe it wasn’t because you were strong, but because you were strong for him, maybe it wasn’t your ability to sneak in and out of a room unnoticed or assume different identities at will or extract information with precision and ease, maybe it was your ability to make him laugh, to make him worry, to make him feel like your partner and not just your leader, maybe it was all these maybes that made you more valuable to him than the world’s rarest gem. And maybe he’d do anything to keep you by his side for good. Maybe he would retire. 

You poked him in the arm, disrupting his train of thought. “You won’t. You can't; you’ll get bored. Can’t you see us, 80 years later, still thieving and conning people out of their money? I mean, no one suspects the elderly, right? I’m sure we could find some trouble to get up to even past our prime. And we’ll buy some gaudy, grand mansion that we’ll have no idea what to do with, but we’ll buy it just for the fun of being able to buy it.”

He laughed, capturing your hand in his. “You mean you’ll keep me company even when my hair is falling out and my teeth are missing and I can’t tell my right from my left?”

“I mean to keep you company even when we’re nothing but ashes scattered in the wind.” 

His eyes softened as he smiled. “Well, then. One gaudy, grand mansion coming right up.”

Once you’d finished exchanging pleasantries and sentimentalities, you began exchanging gifts, the way you always did after a long mission. For two highly wanted, highly intelligent criminals, there was just something so casual and so normal about the way you talked about your journeys and exchanged souvenirs like you’d simply gone on different field trips. The only difference between you and a teenage girl bringing back a keepsake for her boyfriend was that you and Chrollo already had everything. Riches and jewels were so easily acquired, you could rob a bank in your sleep. So you made it a point to bring each other something of actual value even if it held no monetary value. 

“For you, my dear.” Chrollo presented to you a box that held an old, cracked pocket watch inside. The watch was too old to be of use, having long stopped working, but not old enough to be considered antique or expensive by any means. If found on a street, one might simply leave it on the street to rust beside sewer grates and trash cans. It was of little importance to anyone. Except you. 

“Is that what I think it is?” You leaned in closer to examine the familiar initials, J.A., inscribed on the surface of the watch you knew so well. “You found it, you really found it. May I?” 

Chrollo nodded, stepping away slightly to give you some space. “Absolutely. The floor is yours.”

Without another word you dropped the watch to the ground and stomped it to pieces with the heel of your boot. This watch was of little significance to anyone. It was a useless trinket. Merely a waste of space. But to you, it was a reminder of days when you were nothing but a rowdy student, nothing but a trouble child, nothing but a waste of potential, getting beat half to death by your school teacher after class had already been dismissed. He’d tell you that for every second of his life that you wasted, he’d repay you those seconds tenfold. Blood pounded in your ears as you took his lashings, but somehow the sickening sound of the ticking in his watch was all you could hear and it drove you nearly mad. 

By the time you were finally old enough, finally strong enough to kill him, you discovered that some lucky bastard had already taken the liberty of wiping him off the face of the planet for good. The watch he timed your beatings to was all that was left of him and it’d been lost for decades. Until now. Until you smashed it to smithereens. And by god, it was satisfying. 

You’d almost forgotten you had such trauma, having found a place where you belonged with a person you belonged to. But there was a small part of you that was still bitter, still scarred, still raging, and that part of you desired closure, that part of you craved retribution, that part of you demanded vengeance- vengeance that you could never have. But Chrollo had given you a close second and maybe now you could lay the past to rest and look to the future. Maybe now you could look to the man who bandaged all these battered parts of you, parts that no one else dared look at. 

Maybe now you could have the courage to give him the gift you’d gotten him, even knowing all the implications behind it. 

“My gift won’t be damn near as therapeutic as your gift,” You joked as you handed him an even smaller box than the one he’d given you. 

When he opened the box, he was silent for a moment.

It was a ring. A small ring, but beautiful, nonetheless. You’d thought yourself lucky the moment you laid eyes on it. It had been Chrollo’s mother’s ring- an undying symbol of the affection she shared for his father. While his father had been a wealthy clergyman, his mother had never really been impressed with wealth and felt jewelry superficial (perhaps Chrollo took after his mother in that regard and that was why, for all his thieving, he never seemed satisfied with mere jewels and gold). However, this one ring was his mother’s only exception. Though it was too small a token to be of significance to anyone else, it was a symbol of their love, a love lost to death and time, and the Lucilfer family ring would forever hold a special place in Chrollo’s heart. Which was why you were shocked when he gave it back to you.

“You were kind enough to locate this for me, and for that I thank you. But I’m afraid this doesn’t belong with me.”

Your brows furrowed. “Of course it does! It’s your family’s ring. If you won’t have it, then no one will have it.” 

He smiled at you softly. “You misunderstand me.” He took your hand in his. And then he got on one knee.

“My dear, my closest friend, my partner in crime, in everything. You’ve always been my eyes and ears. How would you like to try being my heart?”

Taglist: @pixelcafe-network @ouiouimochi @inkytypewriter

[the-cat-ara]

My fandesign portal 2

GlaDos

She is connected to the mainframe, but she can be separated from it thanks to cables that serve as extensions, but they are not so long that she can take a walk around the facility (not that she needs to leave her room or is interested in doing so) the only thing that would prevent her from being able to move freely away from her mainframe is having cores connected to it or when a core transfer occurs, either of these situations activates a latch that is on her back, taking away her mobility at the same time, in case she is separated from the mainframe the cables will start to retract pulling her back to the mainframe (recommendation, do not force or you will cause damage to the circuits). She is equipped with Long Fall Boots

Her hands and arms have the ability to project holograms, usually small (although the size of the hologram can also increase if she projects with two or more hands) she uses them to view important information and files. also to monitor test subjects, she can also record herself but it's not a function she uses

(as an added bonus I was thinking that where the projectors would be on her arms I was thinking of making it where they connect to the personality cores, but it would be too easy for her to rip them out from there so I discarded the idea completely).

Intelligence Dampening Core (Wheatley)

on him back him panel with the Aterture Science logo can be opened to connect to panels or transfer rails, but also cables can be connected to him back at the bottom, but it is mostly for battery recharging or simple data transfers, in case you want to transmit more complex data or check the core database you will need to open her back panel, you can also connect pendrives XD

him hands and feet have emergency connectors and magnets, in case when connected to the glados mainframe she tries to reject them or remove them by shaking, but him main connector as personality core is the one near the neck on her sword

he is very light, surprisingly light, which makes it easy to be connected to her rail and to move on it quickly (also to be carried by a person). He is is equipped with Long Fall Boots

normally cores have the serial number engraved on the side of their chest but wheatley and Rick seem to be one of the few cores with a proper name, maybe it was just a whim of one of the researchers who let them keep a proper name or simply gave them those names.

in their deteriorated state, their arms fall off or stop working for short periods of time (along with his tik in the eye, it was all caused by the microbot Jerry).

his exposed wires are a constant risk of an explosion or his circuits melting, so he may just be a bit more nervous than usual when he remember this

he still has his flashlight function in his eye, his head (and that of all the cores) can be detached from his body (that's how his head ends up in GlaDos' body XD) if his head isn't connected to anything he can still continue to have control over his body

Adventure Core (Rick)

to begin with, as in the game all the cores are the same in terms of design…. More or less, the variations are in the location or number of handles, and their characteristic color, in Rick's case he has an extra crank on his neck.

Some scientist thought it was funny to simply give him a cowboy hat (I also leave a drawing without his hat just in case).

apart from that, all the cores have the same functions as mentioned above with Wheatley

Fact Core

the data core has a unique crank on its hips, unlike the other cores that have a crank on each side of the hip, it also has a little bow that someone from the staff put on it, he likes it, he says it goes with his intellectual tone, his serial number was erased with time and the wear and tear of his paint.

Space Core

the space core has a glass helmet, he thinks it is a space helmet but it is just a noise muffler as he always seems to talk shouting which annoyed some people, I think at this point the scientist who stuck all those decals on him was fired or maybe something worse? either way it doesn't seem to bother him, he is capable of sticking more on if he could find more decals of course, his serial number was also erased by the wear of the paint

What also differentiates it from the other cores is that it has more battery than the rest, due to its restlessness, its battery is usually consumed faster, if it had the same amount of battery as the others it would have to be recharged several times.

Chell

she still has the same design, I just added some scars on her arms; some are from burns, scrapes, and bullet impacts from turrets.

WheatDOS or Wheatle in the body of glados

He still has the same functions as GLaDOS, only he doesn't know how to use them properly. I can only imagine him as a dad trying to use a phone for the first time, just clicking on the first thing he sees without bothering to read. The only function he learned to use was recording himself, and he loves to have that omnipresent villain vibe.

He has difficulty walking due to GLaDOS's high heels (he pretends to know how to walk gracefully in them, but his heels have bent in so many ways that if he were human, he would need surgery to walk again)

Just like with the Aperture Laboratories logo, which he replaces with his name, he crosses out GLaDOS's name on his chest and simply writes his name with a blue marker. When GLaDOS sees this, she scolds him for daring to vandalize her body.

He also changes his lab coat to one that is more fitting for a villain, so he decides to dye it a dark color (this also annoys GLaDOS; he just keeps adding reasons to her list of "reasons to kill him")

statures

all cores have the same size, so just add Wheatley to the size comparison picture

I wouldn't know how to express their heights with numbers so I'll just leave you with the guys standing side by side.

statures but with wheatle in the body of glados

here wheatley is still smaller than glados despite being on his body XD

Well, I think that would be all the information on these designs; more than data, they were like random ideas, haha.

I apologize for the bombardment of information and the excess of text and thoughts I had for each design.

I don't know if the Portal/Portal 2 fandom is still alive (from 2011 to 2024, that's a long time💀💀💀), I have the bad habit of getting into fandoms too late, haha, but I hope you like it.

In the future, I plan to make humanized versions (well, I already have Wheatley's ready, but it needs some touch-ups, XD).

If you have any other questions you want to know about them, feel free to ask; I will gladly answer your questions! :D!!

[girlactionfigure]

1 Nobel Prize in Chemistry - The Development of Multiscale Models for Complex Chemical Systems

2 Nobel Prize in Chemistry - Quasiperiodic Crystals

3 Nobel Prize in Chemistry - Decoding the Structure and The Function of The Ribosome

4 Nobel Prize in Economic Sciences - Repeated Games

5 Nobel Prize in Chemistry – Ubiquitin, Deciding the Fate of Defective Proteins in Living Cells

6 Nobel Prize in Economics - Human Judgment and Decision-Making Under Uncertainty

7 Fields Medal Award in Mathematics

8 Turing Award - Machine Reasoning Under Uncertainty

9 Turing Award - Nondeterministic Decision-Making

10 Turing Award - The Development of Interactive Zero-Knowledge Proofs

11 Turing Award - Developing New Tools for Systems Verification

12 Vine Seeds Discovered from The Byzantine Period

13 The World’s Most Ancient Hebrew Inscription

14 Ancient Golden Treasure Found at Foot of Temple Mount

15 Sniffphone - Mobile Disease Diagnostics

16 Discovering the Gene Responsible for Fingerprints Formation

17 Pillcam - For Diagnosing and Monitoring Diseases in The Digestive System

18 Technological Application of The Molecular Recognition and Assembly Mechanisms Behind Degenerative Disorders

19 Exelon – A Drug for The Treatment of Dementia

20 Azilect - Drug for Parkinson’s Disease

21 Nano Ghosts - A “Magic Bullet” For Fighting Cancer

22 Doxil (Caelyx) For Cancer Treatment

23 The Genetics of Hearing

24 Copaxone - Drug for The Treatment of Multiple Sclerosis

25 Preserving the Dead Sea Scrolls

26 Developing the Biotechnologies of Valuable Products from Red Marine Microalgae

27 A New Method for Recruiting Immune Cells to Fight Cancer

28 Study of Bacterial Mechanisms for Coping with Temperature Change

29 Steering with The Bats 30 Transmitting Voice Conversations Via the Internet

31 Rewalk – An Exoskeleton That Enables Paraplegics to Walk Again

32 Intelligent Computer Systems

33 Muon Detectors in The World's Largest Scientific Experiment

34 Renaissance Robot for Spine and Brain Surgery

35 Mobileye Accident Prevention System

36 Firewall for Computer Network Security

37 Waze – Outsmarting Traffic, Together

38 Diskonkey - USB Flash Drive

39 Venμs Environmental Research Satellite

40 Iron Dome – Rocket and Mortar Air Defense System

41 Gridon - Preventing Power Outages in High Voltage Grids

42 The First Israeli Nanosatellite

43 Intel's New Generation Processors

44 Electroink - The World’s First Electronic Ink for Commercial Printing

45 Development of A Commercial Membrane for Desalination

46 Developing Modern Wine from Vines of The Bible

47 New Varieties of Seedless Grapes

48 Long-Keeping Regular and Cherry Tomatoes

49 Adapting Citrus Cultivation to Desert Conditions

50 Rhopalaea Idoneta - A New Ascidian Species from The Gulf of Eilat

51 Life in The Dead Sea - Various Fungi Discovered in The Brine

52 Drip Technology - The Irrigation Method That Revolutionized Agriculture

53 Repair of Heart Tissues from Algae

54 Proof of The Existence of Imaginary Particles, Which Could Be Used in Quantum Computers

55 Flying in Peace with The Birds

56 Self-Organization of Bacteria Colonies Sheds Light on The Behaviour of Cancer Cells

57 The First Israeli Astronaut, Colonel Ilan Ramon

58 Dr. Chaim Weizmann - Scientist and Statesman, The First President of Israel, One of The Founders of The Modern Field of Biotechnology

59 Aaron Aaronsohn Botanist, Agronomist, Entrepreneur, Zionist Leader, and Head of The Nili Underground Organization

60 Albert Einstein - Founding Father of The Theory of Relativity, Co-Founder of the Hebrew University in Jerusalem

61 Maimonides - Doctor and Philosopher

Source

@TheMossadIL

[s1llyalabaster]

Let Begones be Begones - Veritas Ratio

Where Ratio conceals his identity as a faceless and voiceless streamer, until he finally reveals himself to your surprise. College au! and also streamer au! Exes to lovers, reader is a bit sassy. ~1k words, SFW

a/n: i feel like i don't often write in ratio's perspective, so i wanted to give a go at it...

"FUCKING HELL!! I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU!!" The purple-haired man had heard through the thin walls separating your apartment flats. This had been the third time in probably an hour where your yells and screams had nearly broken Ratio's ears.

Yes, Ratio was a streamer himself, but at least he was courteous to his neighbours enough to use a text-to-speech application and an elaborately-designed model when streaming, so he didn't need to reveal his voice nor appearance. Hardly anyone knew about his job as someone who blabbers on the internet for money. Not his boring Architecture major classmates, nor his closest childhood friend, Aventurine.

One of the few people who knew about his side gig was the precisely the person living in the flat next to his. You see, you two shared the same passion for sciences and such, and ended up applying for the same major, which didn't end up very well, with a falling-out happening just months ago.

Ratio had seen you while throwing out the trash once, and upon his eyes meeting yours, his face morphed into a scowl that slowly spread across your face too. An eye roll was more than enough to show his dismissal of your existence, even after all the joyous times you two spent together. Or that time where holes were practically burning into his skull when he was presenting his "new idea of architectural geniusness".

He also knew that you two shared the same job, thinking nothing of it, as his method of earning money was too intelligent to not garner a few copycats here and there.

After a long day of studying and attending classes, turning his monitor on was the last thing Ratio wanted to do. Yet, he promised his viewers a "facecam" stream to celebrate his first year of streaming (which was also his first year of being stuck in ths terrible apartment complex). He did his usual routine of setting up his stream, with an additional flick of his bangs due to his first appearance as himself on stream.

Ratio went along with the stream as usual, doing his greetings, reading his donations, and throwing (jokingly) vile remarks at his chat. He wanted to get it over with as soon as possible, so with one last look at his phone camera, he turned off all his assets.

"Well, asides from me feeling extremely bare and upfront upon the eyes of you idiots, any thoughts?" Ratio spoke, his real voice unconcealed.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH- WHAT?!"

The man's head swiveled to the side in alert, eyebrows narrowing in annoyance. Your shrill shriek had once again assauted his ears. THE Veritas Ratio hadn't think this through enough, huh?

He sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat after the stream ended. Ears perking up at the loud knocks on his apartment door, Ratio dragged his tired body to the doorway, knowing full well that he would be bombardde with countless questions.

"What now?" He grumbled.

"YOU'RE TELLING ME YOU'VE BEEN HIDING THIS," your finger jabbed at your phone displaying his streamer profile, "FROM ME?" Ratio sighed, body practically slumping against the door frame. "Nobody said that being a streamer's exclusive to you. Now just- go back to your room before I slam the door in your face."

The realisation that you've been watching his streams was slowly dawning on his barely-function mind. Considering the type of content that he made which only appealed to a small audience compared to gamers or E-girls, he knew basically every recurring viewer.

Including the one who has been spitfireing snarky chat messages at him ever since the falling-out.

Oh.

It was comically ironic how Ratio was the one who ended up knocking on your door the next morning. He felt awkward, brain tingling from the predicament. This was the first time (not counting yesterday night) that he's talked to you personally in weeks, even months. His feet was tapping in impatience, hearing you stumble through your way to the door.

"Oh, it's you. What happened to wanting me to get out of your face?"

Ratio's fingers ran through his hair, strands of violet falling to his eyes. He was uncharacteristically silent, racking his brain for a proper reason that wouldn't make him lose his face.

"Well, I just- You know... Ugh! Why do you have to make this so difficult?!"

"I just... wanted to know why you decided to watch my streams."

You chuckled at his coy form, you wanted to burn it into your retinas. Not only because it was a very, very rare occurence, but also because you never wanted to let go in the first place. Ratio was the one who decided to break it off, saying that you were a distraction to becoming a greater scholar. You still remembered how hard you cried that night, and thinking back, he'd probably also remember due to how thin the walls were.

"Listen, it's not like I wanted to stalk you or something, I just happened to learn about it through a mutual friend. So if you're trying to manipulate me or hurt me again, today's not the day for it."

Ratio faltered. He didn't expect your sharp words to hurt this much. Each and every time he saw you in class, the deeper the hole in his heart would go. It's not like he wouldn't like to pursue you again, he was just incredibly scared. And knowing Ratio, he'd never admit to that.

You sighed, beginning to find the conversation pointless. You decided to turn back and return to your room to continue working on your essay. But before you could, a calloused hand grabbed your wrist firmly. You looked back to see Ratio with his head hung low.

"The things that you do to me... How come someone like me, someone who was born to use logic and reasoning, be so impulsive when it comes to dealing with you?"

You smiled, interlocking your fingers with his, gently rubbing your fingers on his callouses from writing and researching. He didn't disappoint you this time, and you knew that he wouldn't hurt you again.

You two shared a hug before you led him into your apartment.

"What's with all the mess? You'll never have a clear mind with such an unruly space."

Looks like he was back to his usual self.

[rotworld]

Meanvamps: Terminology

the meanvamps setting borrows some terms commonly used in other vampire media (sire, turning, etc) but it also has a lot of its own vocabulary. here is a list of unique terminology and colloquialisms. it may be expanded later.

Canary Task Force / CTF: A nightbound law enforcement and intelligence agency. The CTF is divided into specialized branches with a wide range of functions. Field agents might be tasked with investigating reports of hauntings, lemures and hunters, or dismantling extremist sects and ensuring all kin are properly registered. 

Convenire: Refers to both a group of cohabiting nightbound and the place they live. A unique form of convenire is the “supervised convenire,” which is made up of hatchlings and at least one elder. They are a method of properly socializing and educating the newly turned, especially those who are separated from their sire. 

Elder: Nightbound who are considered “fully grown.” The threshold for what constitutes an elder has changed throughout history, but is generally at least 100 years of age and 50 years of service and contribution within nightbound society.

Hatchling/Fledgling: Early nightbound life stages. Hatchlings are the newly-turned and are not permitted to live alone. They tend to have poor impulse control and a bottomless appetite. Fledglings are those who have mastered their instincts well enough to live independently and contribute to their territory, although it’s common for them to form convenires with their peers.

Haunting: Proto-lemure activity such as unnatural darkness and disembodied voices. Hauntings are attached to a specific location and advance more quickly from death or suffering occurring in the area. Untreated, a haunting will eventually mature into a lemure or, in extreme circumstances, a shade nest which will continually produce lemures until it is destroyed. 

Kin: Collective term for nightbound and witches. The term is also used to describe services that cater to both, such as “kin therapists” which specialize in nightbound and witch partnership counseling, or “kin bars” which serve both blood and gourmet nectar-infused drinks.

Latent: A human who has been identified as a possible witch, subject to a combination of both human and kin laws. They must have a high magical potentiality score but not have been observed using magic yet. 

Magical Potentiality: An inexact predictive measurement of whether or not a human is or will become a witch, assigned to latents. Dusk Councils evaluate humans using a scale that assigns points for certain traits, such as being the child of at least one known witch or living in a region with unusually high lemure activity. Latents with a sufficiently high magic potentiality score will be monitored more closely by their Council and may have their ability to travel outside the territory restricted. Magical potentiality is infamously unreliable, with only a fraction of all registered latents ever demonstrating active magical ability.

Nectar: Condensed, edible magic. It has a mild taste to nightbound and humans but is extremely sweet and fragrant to witches. Witches who exhaust their magic are instinctively drawn to it.

Nighthaze: A euphoric state experienced while being fed upon by a nightbound. Can be induced through adequate venom dosage, foreplay, or mesmerism. Some humans are more susceptible to it than others, and some nightbound are more prone to causing it than others.

Roseblood: A substance that increases the body’s production of blood, making feeding safer. It must be supplemented with the roseblood regimen, a diet of foods high in iron, to avoid health complications. Derived from a unique rose cultivar, it is most commonly administered in beverages. It has a floral aroma and an earthy, slightly bitter taste.

Sacrament: Witches who have been sentenced to sacramental service. Sacraments are required to provide blood to several nightbound at once and are often assigned to a convenire. They must strictly adhere to the roseblood regimen for their health and safety. Sacraments may “earn” partnership to a single nightbound by performing their duties satisfactorily for a certain amount of time. What constitutes “satisfactorily” and how long this must be maintained is entirely up to the local Council. 

Vampire: The predecessors of modern nightbound. Believed to have possessed such unimaginable power that they were worshiped by humans as gods. Attested in the foundational myth of Qayin’s Curse, though their true nature and the cause of their eventual transformation into nightbound is hotly debated.

Vulning: The act of one nightbound feeding another their blood. While comparatively lacking nutritional benefit, hatchlings rely on their sire’s blood almost exclusively until they regain their strength. Vulning is also used to treat the seriously wounded in an emergency.

Waning/Waxing Season: Refers to the population growth or loss of the nightbound. Waxing seasons are a brief window when turnings are permitted with few or no restrictions, usually during wartime to bolster nightbound numbers. Waning seasons are the period of conflict immediately afterwards that decimates the population. 

Wearing Red: A euphemism for offering blood to a nightbound, used for discretion to avoid frightening uninformed humans or alerting hunters who might be listening. To solicit blood, a nightbound may directly ask a human if they are "wearing red" or less directly inquire about "the dress code." An affirmative response will include some variation of the phrase "wearing red."

[jessfromonline]

Galactic & Going Rogue: Two TTRPGs of War Among the Stars

INCOMING MESSAGE...INTELLIGENCE INTERCEPTED... DECRYPTION IN PROGRESS...REPORT FOLLOWS... MONITOR THIS CHANNEL AND THESE FREQUENCIES FOR UPDATES...

It has come to our attention that Jumpgate Games (a known alias of Jess Levine) will soon be amassing funds to produce physical copies of Riley Rethal'sStar Wars-inspired TTRPG Galactic and Levine's own Rogue One and Andor-inspired game Going Rogue—winner of the CRIT Awards 2023 Best GMless Game of the Year—in a single combined volume intended for mass distribution, with all new art and layout. Given their previous campaigns (cf. Venture & Dungeon, Doikayt, and more for Rethal, I Have the High Ground and PLANET FIST for Levine) we advise keeping a close watch on the situation.

Our intelligence reports that over 30 other contributors will be involved, including:

[REDACTED], of Dropout's Dimension 20 and Um, Actually

[REDACTED] and [REDACTED], two of four known cohosts of the [REDACTED] Star Wars podcast

[REDACTED], journalist and co-founder of [REDACTED] gaming website

[REDACTED], designer of countless TTRPGs including [REDACTED] (cf. Diana Jones Award for Excellence in Gaming Winners, ENNIE Awards "Best Rules" Finalists)

We believe they intend to manufacture up to 3 supplemental booklets, along with various tools and components to support their use. Our agents have also acquired footage depicting the material intended for distribution, attached below. This draft includes critical intelligence on the functioning of both The Liberation and The Mandate, as well as analysis on the ever-enigmatic Space Between and various operatives at play in this ongoing conflict. Further intelligence will follow on this channel as information becomes available. Click "Notify me on launch" to receive a direct transmission when decryption reaches 100%.

BDS Statement

Jess & Riley are both Jewish creators with a deep commitment to solidarity with Palestinians, and as such ardent supporters of the Palestinian-led Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions movement against Israeli genocide. While we do not use any Disney or Star Wars IP, we anticipate enough interest from fans of this season of Andor and other Star Wars media that we still feel it would be irresponsible not to note that the Disney+ platform upon which many Star Wars movies and television shows are hosted was recently placed the BDS priority boycott targets list. While we share excitement for many Star Wars shows, Jess & Riley do not support or condone subscribing to Disney+ to watch this season of Andor or any other Star Wars properties.