#Key Programming Tool

[liminul]

OC pixel art power tools/locksmith and car key programming tools... super niche but hey maybe some1 else out there will dig it too....

[neverendingford]

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[horsemage]

this is from the notes of the galaxy zoo post and agh. wrong. because first of all it is getting dumped on AI. zoobot is responsible for flagging galaxies of interest that would benefit from human classification and it's those galaxies that are showing up in this side of galaxy zoo. AI algorithms are necessary to help with these tasks because there are just so many galaxies. the classifications made by volunteers are used to further develop zoobot, so it's getting better over time but I doubt it's ever going to replace human classifications, citizen science or professional. & in the article it explicitly mentions zoobot is AI lol

[auto-max-tools]

Upgrade You Garage With Automax Tools Shop Now

Want to upgrade your garage or at the right place?

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The Automax tools have various advanced products that upgrade your garage.

Automax tools also provide 24*7 support services to more than 10,000 happy customers all around India.

For us you are not a customer you all are family.

The list of products Automax tools sell are:-

V2200 plus :

The V2200Plus is a 2-in-1  jump pack and battery tester that takes on the unexpected. Offering up to 35 jumps on a full charge, smart clamps to protect against common safety hazards, and features a 300-lumen LED light. A built-in Bluetooth module supports 12V battery tests by pairing an app with Bluetooth. The V2200Plus is a 2-in-1  jump pack and battery tester that takes on the unexpected. Offering up to 35 jumps on a full charge, smart clamps to protect against common safety hazards, and features a 300-lumen LED light. A built-in Bluetooth module supports 12V battery tests by pairing an app with Bluetooth. 

JS3000 :

The JumpSurge3000 is a 3000 Peak Amp jumpstarting tool and power bank for vehicles on and off the road. This device supports vehicles with 12V batteries on up to 9L gas engines and 7L Diesel engines. Capable of 45 jump starts on a single charge, the JumpSurge3000 is a robust and powerful tool capable of bringing a battery “back to life” in only 1 second. Its multiple protection systems and fast charging capability keep you ready for anything, no matter where you go or what you drive.

GScan Zenith Z5:

Introducing our first automotive diagnostic scan tool in the Z series.

With our vast diagnostics software and the world's best industrial tablet, Z5 will give you diagnostic confidence.

Tornado 90000:

The Tornado90000 is TOPDON's newest cutting-edge smart charger, made for professional and commercial users. This device is suitable for all types of 12V and 24V lead-acid and lithium batteries, with a wide battery capacity range from 5 to 90 amps.

Jaltest V9:

Jaltest V9 is the module of Jaltest Diagnostics' multi-brand and multi-system diagnostics tool designed to meet the most demanding workshop needs. It enables the most advanced diagnostics tasks for the repair and maintenance of commercial vehicles such as trucks, buses, trailers, light commercial vehicles, and pick-up trucks.

BT200:

TOPDON’s BT200 is an automotive battery tester perfect for new users, with easy plug-and-play operation, and an accurate display of test results. The tests will help users assess whether the battery needs to be replaced.

The tool is suitable for battery testing 12V with up to 2000 Cold Cranking Amps (CCA), cranking testing, and charging testing 12V&24V batteries. It can test Regular Flooded, AGM, GEL, EFB, and VRLA batteries. Test results are based on CCA, DIN, JIS, EN, IEC, GB, SAE, MCA, BCI, and CA Standards.

BT300:

TOPDON®’s BT300P is our newest 12V lead-acid vehicle battery tester with a Built-in Printer. It can test 100 to 2000 Cold Cranking Amps (CCA) batteries

BT600:

BT600 is TOPDON’s newest advanced battery tester for 12V vehicles. With a 3.5-inch color screen and a built-in thermal printer, this tool offers the ultimate solution for accurate, fast, and convenient testing. It allows you to easily view the battery's condition and print test reports in real time.  The BT600 adopts cutting-edge conductivity testing technology and includes reverse polarity protection to prevent improper connections. This multifunctional tool can measure the actual Cold Cranking Ampere capacity of the car’s battery, and its state of health, and quickly analyze the starter and charging systems.

TC001:

TOPDON’s TC001 is a portable camera that turns your Android smartphone/tablet or Windows laptop into a powerful thermal imager. Simply download the accompanying app, slot the TC001 in your device’s USB-C port, and unleash thermal technology that formally only belonged to special forces.

Perfect for home inspectors, HVAC technicians, electricians, automotive technicians, and even farmers looking to protect crops and livestock.

TB4000:

The Tornado4000’s smart technology matches the power output to the battery’s needs for safer repair and minimizes unnecessary energy consumption. With this, you can improve the performance and longevity of your batteries. With intelligent microprocessors, this product will charge two times faster than standard chargers, so you can offer timely and efficient services.

TB8000:

The Tornado4000’s smart technology matches the power output to the battery’s needs for safer repair and minimizes unnecessary energy consumption. With this, you can improve the performance and longevity of your batteries. With intelligent microprocessors, this product will charge two times faster than standard chargers so that you can offer timely and efficient services.

For any Queries contact the mentioned number and website:-

+91 92053 23885

+91 99580 57547

Watch Our Videos for More Details:

Automax Tools India YouTube

Topdon India YouTube

Available at Automax Tools India – Trusted by professionals nationwide!

For more details visit: www.automaxtools.co.in

[sanjida1]

AI HIGH TICKET COMMISSIONS

[mylocksmithpro]

Easy Ways to Program & Replace Car Remotes

Car remotes, or key fobs and transponders, used to be considered high-tech a couple of decades ago. Prospective car owners would search for and pay premiums for cars that came with these remote features. Nowadays, practically all new cars come with key fobs or transponders. As such, there are plenty of services and products available that are tailored for the car remotes. No longer do you necessarily have to go to a car dealer to program and/or replace car remotes. Locksmiths as well as other facilities offer these services as well. If you have any specific questions or concerns, or if you would like to save time and hire a professional, then feel free to call locksmith any time. They are always happy to help.

Where to Replace Car Remotes?

Let’s start with replacements. If you have lost a car remote or had it stolen, then there are several options.

You already know that you can head to your local dealership and sometimes must head to the dealership if the key fob is unavailable for sale by third parties, but there are drawbacks. Dealerships often charge the highest prices, they rarely provide mobile service, and your key type may not be available.

You can also head over to the local auto parts store. Again, you will likely have to drive to their location as they seldom offer mobile services. You also don’t get to enjoy professional insight like you would at the dealership. However, prices are more affordable and employees can offer some helpful information.

There is also the option of ordering the car remote online. This method offers the most variety of choice but there is a big risk as well: buyer’s remorse. The remote might be fake, faulty, or not even arrive. This is usually the cheapest option but you get what you pay for.

Finally, you can call a professional locksmith in Myrtle Beach. Most locksmiths offer mobile services, meaning they can come to your location. Technicians are also educated on remote types and can troubleshoot your keys for other issues.

Programming Car Remotes

The beauty of key fobs is that they allow you to lock, unlock, and even start your vehicle from a distance. This requires advanced technology, though. Key fobs communicate with the vehicle using specific codes and frequencies. When the two go out of sync, they need to be reprogrammed to match. So, how can you program your key fob?

Thanks to the internet, there is very little that you cannot learn online. There are plenty of DIY tutorials online that show you how to reprogram the keys. Even your owner’s manual may have directions.

If you prefer to save time, then consider hiring a locksmith Myrtle Beach. Their professional have the experience and equipment to handle car remote programming quickly and affordably. They are available around the clock to take requests, so do not hesitate to call.

[crushedsweets]

CREEPED VISUAL NOVEL Link, tutorial, extra art, Q&A, some chatter

The CREEPED Prologue is completely free and browser-ready. Gameplay is about 10 minutes. Please read the "tutorial" and notes before playing!

Follow Y/N and their dog, Max, through their grandparents' farm and a mysterious forest filled with...less than fortunate people!

PLAY HERE; works best on PC

This visual novel is powered by GOOGLE SLIDES! It has 0 programming and was created by one person in a little over a month, so please bear with any "bugs" and clunkiness!

TUTORIAL

>Click using mouse/trackpad >Go slowly to not break game >Do not use arrow or space keys

EXTRA NOTES:

>Works best on PC/Browser, I haven't tested the full game on mobile yet >In general, clicking the PNGs on the textbox (Apple, Teddy Bear, Hatchet, etc) will lead you to the right page >If you land on a page that tells you to "go back," that's when you should click the back-arrow key. If your cursor disappears, it doesn't register the click correctly >I recommend moving your cursor periodically to avoid it disappearing and sending you to the wrong page

EXTRA ART

some WIPS and the original sprite-style i was gonna choose LOOOOOOOL

Q&A

Q: Is this an x reader? A: This is a reader-insert, but it's not romantic and I try to keep it as neutral and unidentifiable as possible! Q: What's the plot? A: GENERALLY AND WITHOUT SPOILERS, your dog gets you into trouble and you're just looking to help him!

Q: Who is in the prologue? A: Tim, Brian, Toby, and Kate! More will be added in future chapters.

Q: When will future chapters be posted? A: Not sure! This took me about a month to do, and half was spent over winter break. I will try to get chapter 1 posted before summer, but I am a full-time student, employed, have extracurriculars, etc etc

ok thats all i only remember 4 questions feel free to ask more LMAO

CHATTER(because you know i can talk forever)

ok i just wanted to be able to talk about how the process was with this and how i feel about the results and whatnot...

ive been wanting to make a google slides visual novel since i was like 13 LOL it hit the point where i was repeatedly told i should just learn to code but i was like NOOOOO ITS GOTTA BE GOOGLE SLIDESSSS which is totally stupid but hey. i think that gives it some sort of simple charm that reminds me of being 16 and doing little projects in my room LOL i like working with the easiest tools . my bad

anyway. im just very happy LOL. it's not perfect but i feel like i came full circle in a sense?!?! i've been into creepypasta since i was 9 and it comforted me when things were really hard, and when i was 18 i was going through a really hard time and got back into creepypasta as a way to distract myself. i've always had a habit of throwing myself into fiction for escapism when things suuucked.

i'm 20 now but i've met SO many amazing people, had so many fun awesome exciting projects with friends, created tons of stuff im proud of, felt more motivated to create since i was like 13, have been inspired by so many amazing artists/authors on here, etc. just so so so lucky to find community in such a tight-knit cute fandom that thrives off of creativity and playing around! i hope i can keep the momentum and make a couple more chapters this year, but im kinda busy with school and work...LOL . i'm just excited to have this posted so i can have more discussion about it T_T

anyway thank you if you read this far and thank you if you played etc etc yaahhhhhh omg ok BYE THIS IS SO EMBARRASSING im just so grateful to be in this fandom

[swampjawn]

Look Back VS AI Art

This is a real frame from Look Back (2024).

You might assume this made it into the final movie because of its director Kiyotaka Oshiyama (押山清高) doing HALF the key animation for the film and only fully finishing it A WEEK before it's festival debut.

And well, you might be partially right about that. But more importantly, this is the movie embodying its themes through its unconventional production process and the very lines on the screen!

In an age of digital tools, CGI, AI, and other combinations of letters ending in I, Look Back is an ode to art and the labor that goes into it, no matter how tedious or imperfect.

Every thought, every little decision, every stroke made by a person puts a little piece of that person onto the screen, and the imperfections that come from that process can be beautiful in the sense that they're evidence of the thoughts and process that went into creating an image. So in keeping with the plot of the movie itself, Oshiyama made a point of leaving those remnants - lines that are scratchy, overlapping, or half-erased, and normally would have been cleaned up in 2nd key animation (第二原画).

Ayumu Fujino has a tight grip on how she expresses herself, having this image to uphold as the perfect prodigy girl. She's afraid to let people see too much of her, lest that perfect image be shattered.

But at times the mask does slip, like this moment of sheer panic after she accidentally drops what is really an extremely rude manga strip under her rival's door by accident.

And it's these moments when that rough imperfection shines through the most! So this breakdown of polish in the art functions simultaneously as both a connection to the human labor that went into creating it, AND an impressionistic representation of Fujino's mental state within the world of the movie.

Not only are the edges of her backpack visible through her arm, her face even disappears completely, replaced by just the roughly sketched dividing lines that indicate the position of her eyes. At least personally, I never would have noticed this fully unfinished frame at full speed because the shot is just so well-executed! The framing is dramatic with Fujino surrounded by these mountains of sketchbooks in the foreground, and the motion is so believable, her posture - hunched over to the side to support the weight of the bag while maneuvering around the books, and the way her legs twirl around each other frantically, rotating this way and that.

But more importantly, this is a frame that an AI program would never draw, because it has no REASON to. There's no thought process, no decisions being made about how to express a feeling. Even if you did train an AI specifically to mimic these human imperfections, in Oshiyama's words, "It would just be a design. It would be a fake. The lines have meaning because they were drawn by humans. […] There's value in that." (MANTANWEB)

This is an adapted excerpt from this video! Go watch it or I'll dox you.

[autokeypro]

Everyday challenges for Automotive Programming Tools include complicated vehicle systems, strict safety regulations, and quickening technological advancements. However, many of these issues can be successfully resolved with the correct tools and technologies at their disposal, improving results and workflows and ultimately making cars on the road safer and more dependable. Understanding the unique requirements of automotive programmers, we at Auto Key Pro provide tools and solutions that optimize development workflows and boost output.

[thirsty-4-ghouls]

No one has been more convincing about encouraging me to play fallout new Vegas than the queer people in my phone. Literally every straight man I know in real life could not be half as convincing as the autistic queer people on this website

[barnesonly]

˗ˏˋ ★ Little Dove ★ ˎˊ˗

winter soldier x empath!reader

summary: Hydra sends you — a broken empath — into the Winter Soldier’s cell to keep him calm. You’re supposed to soften him. Control him. But instead, something starts to unravel. In both of you.

word count: 7709

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI— disclaimer: contains dark themes. read at your own discretion! angst, slowburn, captivity, tortures, hydra, violence, brainwashing, non-consensual experimentation, hurt/comfort, trauma, possible smut in future chapters? we’ll see.

Chapter One | Next Chapter

The hallway reeks of metal and blood scrubbed too clean.

It’s quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that presses down on you, thick and heavy, until even your own breathing feels like a violation. Overhead lights flicker with a dull hum, casting a sterile white glow that drains every shadow of warmth. You walk barefoot. The concrete floor bites at your skin with every step.

You don’t remember much anymore.

Not your name. Not where you came from. Just scattered pieces — the way sunlight used to feel on your skin. A voice calling you something soft. A memory of warmth. It all slips away when you try to grab it. Hydra made sure of that.

Now, you’re just a number. A subject. A tool. A thing.

Two guards flank you, their boots echoing alongside yours. You can feel them watching you, not with interest, but suspicion — like you’re a bomb that hasn’t gone off yet. Their fear is sour, thick like rot in the air. You feel it pressing against your skin. Your abilities hum at the edges of your nerves, always waiting, always restrained. You’ve learned to keep them quiet. Hidden.

At the end of the hall waits a door. Heavy steel. No window.

They key in the code. The lock hisses open.

And then — they push you inside.

The cell is dim and cold. Shadows stretch long across the floor. You don’t see him at first, not clearly. But you feel him — that looming, quiet pressure of someone who doesn’t just take up space… someone who dominates it.

The Winter Soldier sits in the corner, chained, silent. His hands rest on his knees. One flesh, one metal. The restraints attached to the floor look thick enough to hold a monster, not a man. He doesn’t look up when you enter.

Your breath catches. He’s still. Too still. Like a statue. Like death itself, waiting.

The door seals behind you with a mechanical clang. You don’t bother trying it. You know better.

You’re locked in. Alone. With him.

They didn’t give you a name. Not for him. They just said: “Calm him. Please him. Be useful.”

You inch forward. Not because you want to — your body screams to run — but because that’s what they trained you to do. That’s what keeps you alive.

When your eyes finally adjust, you see his face.

He’s beautiful in a way that doesn’t make sense. All sharp edges and silence. Cheekbones like carved stone, a scar cutting across his jaw. His lips are parted slightly, like he’s caught mid-breath. But it’s his eyes that stop you — dark, distant, unreadable.

You meet them.

And for a moment, nothing else exists.

There’s no heat in his stare. No hunger. Just… observation. He watches you like you’re something foreign. Not a woman. Not a threat. Not prey. Just something strange and quiet.

Your heart pounds.

Your powers shift inside you, stirring without permission. You feel it — the heaviness radiating off him like gravity. Pain. Loneliness. A dull, aching emptiness buried beneath cold steel and tighter programming.

Your chest tightens.

Is that… him?

Is that what he feels?

A voice crackles over the speaker embedded in the wall.

“Subject 09. Proceed with Contact Protocol One.”

You don’t move.

“Proceed.”

You swallow hard.

Every part of you wants to scream. To lash out. But you kneel instead — slowly, careful not to appear like a threat. You lower yourself in front of him, your knees hitting the cold floor.

You’re wearing only the white shift they gave you. Thin. Useless. It barely covers your thighs. You hate it. You hate that they make you wear it. You hate how small it makes you feel.

But he doesn’t look at you like the guards do.

He doesn’t leer. He doesn’t reach for you. He just… watches.

You reach out slowly, your hand hovering over his — not the metal one, the human one. The skin there is rough. Calloused. Real. You hesitate, breath trembling.

He tenses.

Not a lot. Just the smallest shift in his posture. But you feel it. Like a ripple through still water. He’s waiting. Watching.

And then, he speaks — voice rough, low, like it hasn’t been used in days.

“…Don’t.”

It’s not a threat. It sounds almost… tired.

Your hand falls back to your lap. You don’t speak. You don’t ask questions. You don’t touch him again.

But you stay. You sit there on the cold floor, knees burning, pulse thudding in your ears.

And he doesn’t look away. He just… watches you. Like he’s trying to remember something.

You don’t know why you speak. Maybe it’s the silence. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you — not like an enemy, not like a target, but like something foreign. A strange shape in his world of chains and blood. Whatever the reason, your voice leaves you before you can stop it. Barely a whisper. Scraping at the edges of your throat like it forgot how to be used.

“They think I can calm you.”

He doesn’t move. The words feel too loud in the stillness, like they don’t belong here. You drop your gaze, ashamed, fingers tightening in the folds of your shift like they might anchor you to something real.

“They didn’t tell me much. Just… that I’m different. That I feel things I shouldn’t.”

You pause, trying to find the right words. They never come out right. Hydra never gave you language for what you are, what your powers are — there were only orders, injections, silence.

“It’s not just emotions. It’s deeper than that. When someone��s near, I feel everything. Fear. Pain. Anger. It crawls under my skin like static. Loud. Constant. Sometimes I can push back. Soothe it. Dull the sharp edges.” You hesitate. “It makes people easier to control.”

He’s still watching you. But his eyes narrow slightly, like he’s parsing your words. Measuring them.

You shift on the floor, your knees sore against the concrete. It’s freezing. But the cold is nothing compared to the way his presence settles around you. Heavy. Unmovable. Like gravity itself has chosen him as its anchor.

“They said if you ever lost control again… I could stop it. That I could make you come back.” Your voice falters. “That if your memories returned, and you remembered things you weren’t supposed to, you’d still come back. For me.”

You don’t say what they really meant. You don’t need to. You’re not here to comfort him. You’re not here to heal. You’re here to bind him. To become his chain.

A new silence falls. It’s different now — heavier, coiled. Not quite threatening. Not safe either. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t spoken. But the shift is undeniable. Like a breath held too long. Like a storm poised on the edge of the horizon.

And then his jaw tightens. Barely. A flicker of tension across his face, so quick you might’ve missed it if you weren’t looking right at him.

You feel it before you see it. The emotion that pulses beneath the surface. Fury.

Not at you. At them.

And buried deeper still — like something lost in a cave of ice — is a quieter, colder thought. One that brushes against your mind with the gentlest ache:

I don’t want to hurt her.

The realization settles over you like a shiver. You hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t expected anything beyond blankness. You’d been told he was a machine in a man’s body. Programmed to kill. Nothing else.

But machines don’t feel lonely.

And they don’t try to protect things.

You meet his eyes again, slower this time.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you say quietly. “I don’t even know who I am anymore. But they think… I’m the key to you.”

That lands.

Not visibly. He doesn’t lurch forward or speak or flinch. But something changes. A thread of something unspoken, strung tight between the two of you. Not trust. Not yet.

But not nothing.

There’s a shift in the air — slight, barely perceptible. Not warmth. Not invitation. Just the barest flicker of something that isn’t rejection.

You exhale, slow.

For the first time since they locked the door, your limbs start to unclench. Not because you feel safe. Just… less cornered. The danger is still here, still heavy in the room — but it’s no longer aimed at you.

You watch him. Not like the scientists do. Not like the guards. You’re not measuring him. You’re listening.

His head is tilted slightly, his eyes lowered now, the long shadows from the overhead light cutting across his face like prison bars. The metal of his arm reflects just enough to catch your attention — stark against his skin, against the concrete, against you.

He hasn’t said anything else. But his silence isn’t empty.

There’s thought behind it. Tension.

You wonder what they took from him. What they left behind.

And without meaning to, you open your mind to the weight of him — that fractured storm you felt earlier, still coiled tight in the pit of his chest. There’s no invitation. No trust. But emotions bleed even through walls when they’re strong enough.

And his are screaming.

Pain. Rage. Regret. A low, smoldering grief that hasn’t gone out in years. It lingers at the edge of your senses like smoke in your lungs.

Your mouth goes dry.

You don’t know what they’ve done to him. But whatever he used to be… it’s still in there. Deep. Buried. Gasping for air.

He doesn’t meet your eyes again, but his jaw tenses.

He knows you felt it. For a flicker of a second, you’re afraid he’ll shut down. Close himself off. But he doesn’t. He just… breathes.

And you realize this is the only thing you’ve both been allowed to do without permission.

Breathe.

You shift slightly on the cold floor. Your knees ache. The concrete has started to burn into your skin, but you don’t move far. Just enough that your shoulder touches the wall, spine curling, chin dropping to your chest.

A whisper escapes you before you can stop it. “I don’t think they know what they’ve locked in here with me.”

Still no response.

But the quiet deepens. Less hollow now. Almost like he’s listening.

You don’t need him to speak. You just need him not to leave you alone in this silence.

And he doesn’t.

You sit together in that strange, fragile stillness — not allies, not enemies. Just two ruined things in a room built for ghosts.

It isn’t peace.

But it’s something.

———

The door hisses open again.

Same hallway. Same guards. Same cold bite of the floor under your bare feet… But this time, your hands are trembling. You hate that.

You hate how they shake, how the silence between the guards feels sharper than it did before, how one of them keeps glancing at you like he’s hoping you won’t come back out. Like he already knows the Winter Soldier might snap your neck this time. Or worse.

You try not to think about it. Instead, you focus on your breathing. One inhale. One exhale. Keep your heart steady. Keep your power quiet. You know what they want from you. You know the routine. Be soft. Be calm. Be useful.

Be what he needs. Not what you are.

The steel door seals behind you before you can change your mind.

He’s already watching you.

You feel it before you see him — that cold, oppressive weight in the air, like the temperature has dropped just because he’s breathing it. He’s seated in the same corner. Shackled. Still. But his eyes are locked on you this time.

Last time, he didn’t move until you were in front of him.

This time, he was waiting.

Your stomach tightens. You take one step. Then another. The light above flickers, humming quietly.

He’s expressionless, unreadable — the same carved face, the same ghostlike silence. But his gaze doesn’t slide off you. It lingers. Follows.

There’s something new in his eyes. Barely there. A flicker. Recognition.

It hits you in a strange way. Not comfort. Not hope. Something sharper. Something heavier. Because if he remembers you — even just your presence — then it means something stayed. Something got through.

And if something got through… they’ll notice. They always notice.

You stop a few feet away.

He’s still watching.

You lower yourself again, carefully. Knees to concrete. Hands in your lap. Not too fast. Not too slow. Everything you do has to be measured in here — every movement choreographed like a dance you weren’t taught properly but still expected to survive.

He doesn’t speak.

Neither do you.

The silence stretches long between you. Not hostile, but not easy either. Just… thick.

You press your palms into your thighs to stop the shaking. It’s colder this time. Or maybe you’re just colder. More hollow.

He shifts. It’s so small, so subtle — a tilt of the head, a change in the rhythm of his breathing — but you catch it.

You don’t look at his metal hand, not yet. You don’t reach for him. But your powers stretch — gently, invisibly — reaching without permission toward that emotional gravity he carries like a second skin.

And this time, it’s different. There’s still pain. Still loneliness. But buried beneath the weight of programming and silence… is hesitation. Curiosity. Like he’s trying to understand what you are. Why you’re here. Why you’re not afraid of him.

You exhale slowly.

“Do… do you remember me from yesterday?” you ask quietly. “I told you how I feel… things. How they sent me here, do you remember that?”

His eyes don’t change. But he blinks. Once. A long silence follows. You don’t expect an answer. You don’t even know if he’s allowed to speak without orders. You’ve never seen him talk to anyone else. Just you, just once, just one word.

You shift slightly on your knees, the concrete unforgiving beneath you.

“They don’t know everything though,” you whisper. “They don’t know I can feel when you’re not angry. When you’re just… tired.”

His jaw clenches — almost imperceptibly. And for a second, you swear his gaze softens. Not much. Not warmth. Just… less frost.

But not nothing.

It’s enough to make your breath catch. Enough to make you feel like maybe, just maybe, you’re not invisible to him anymore.

You don’t reach for him. You don’t touch him. You just sit there, eyes on his, breathing the same still air, and wait.

Your knees start to ache.

The cold from the floor seeps into your bones, and still, you don’t move. You don’t dare. Movement feels like it might shatter whatever fragile thread is holding this moment together.

His gaze doesn’t leave you.

There’s no warmth in it — not yet. But there’s no command, either. No dismissal. Just that same silent pressure, like he’s trying to figure you out molecule by molecule. And beneath that, something raw. Ancient. Exhausted.

The kind of tired that lives in the marrow.

You lower your head, just slightly — not in submission, not entirely. More like… reverence. Or maybe you’re just trying not to cry. It’s hard to tell the difference these days.

You try explaining once more, “They think I can fix you,” you whisper, voice barely audible. “That I can get inside your head. Soften you. Make you easier to control.”

You don’t say again. But it hangs there. Between you. They’ve tried this before. You’re just the newest tool.

You lift your eyes, searching his face. You don’t know what you’re looking for. Mercy? Recognition? Maybe just proof that he’s still human under all that steel.

“But you don’t feel broken,” you add. “You feel… caged.”

His brow twitches — so small it could be imagined. But you don’t think it is.

The chains at his wrists groan as he moves, just barely, shifting his weight. He leans forward — not much, not enough to be threatening. But enough to remind you what he is.

Powerful.

Lethal.

Close.

Your heart skitters in your chest, too fast. He must hear it — you’re sure he can. But he doesn’t react.

Instead, he breathes in — deep and slow, like he’s pulling you into his lungs, dissecting you with every breath. His eyes scan your face, not with hunger, not even with hostility. Just a kind of quiet, deliberate observation.

Finally, he speaks. “…They sent others.” The words are gravel, unused and dry.

It takes you a second to realize he’s talking to you. That his voice — low and rough and scarred — is meant for you.

“They didn’t last.”

Your mouth goes dry. You swallow, hard. You nod, slowly. “I know.”

He looks at you a beat longer, then glances away. Just slightly. As if even that costs something.

You follow his gaze. It doesn’t land on anything in particular — just the far wall, the flicker of the light above, the slow drip of a pipe you hadn’t noticed before. But the shift in focus speaks volumes.

He doesn’t want to remember them. And maybe he doesn’t want to remember you, either.

But he does.

Something stirs in your chest. It’s not hope. Hope is too dangerous. Too delicate. You don’t let yourself have it anymore.

But it’s something close.

You fold your legs beneath you, careful, quiet. Not because you’re relaxing — you’re not. You never are in here. But because the kneeling was starting to feel too much like worship.

And he doesn’t want that.

“Do you want me to go?” you ask softly.

He doesn’t answer right away. The silence stretches so long, you start to think he won’t.

Then, finally — softly, without looking:

“…No.”

One word. Small. But not nothing.

Your breath catches at his answer. You don’t know what you expected — silence, maybe. Indifference. But not that. Not no.

You sit with it for a moment, staring at the floor between you, watching how the shadows stretch and shift with the flickering light.

“…Why?” you ask before you can stop yourself. It’s not defiance. Just… curiosity. Raw and unfiltered.

His eyes snap back to you. Not harsh, but sharp — a warning in their depth. Like you’ve stepped somewhere you shouldn’t.

But you don’t flinch. You hold his gaze, even though your pulse is skittering against your ribs.

“I mean,” you continue quietly, “you don’t need me here. You didn’t ask for this. And they’re not giving you a choice. So why no?”

Still, he doesn’t speak.

But he watches.

And that says something.

You shift forward slightly, hands on your knees, voice barely above a whisper. “Is it because I didn’t try to touch you today? Because I didn’t follow protocol?”

He doesn’t answer. His expression doesn’t change.

But something… cracks.

Barely.

His jaw flexes again, and he glances away — not toward the door, but toward the floor this time, like the concrete might give him better answers than you.

Your fingers twitch in your lap. You could reach for him. You could touch his hand, risk the consequence. But you don’t. Not yet. Not until it means something. Not until he chooses it.

Instead, you lean in — just enough that your voice lowers to something secret.

“I don’t care what they want me to do to you,” you murmur. “I care what you want.”

A silence follows — thicker than the rest. It hangs in the air like a held breath.

You think he won’t answer. You think you pushed too far. Then—

“I don’t know,” he says quietly.

Three words. Bare. Cracked.

And somehow heavier than anything he could have shouted.

Your chest aches. It’s not a confession. Not really. But it’s more than silence. And you can feel the weight behind it — the emptiness of someone who’s spent too long in someone else’s control. Who hasn’t had a choice in so long, he’s forgotten how to make one.

You nod, softly. “That’s okay,” you whisper. “You don’t have to know yet.”

He looks at you again. This time, slower. More deliberate.

You think — just for a second — that he might say something else.

But the speaker crackles above, sharp and sudden. “Subject 09. Session complete. Return to holding.”

You don’t move. You glance back at the door, then to him again.

“I’ll come back,” you say, standing carefully. Your knees sting, your body protests. But you force steadiness into your voice. “If they let me. I’ll come back.”

He doesn’t nod. Doesn’t answer… But his eyes follow you to the door.

And just before it seals shut behind you, you see it.

A flicker.

Not warmth.

But not frost, either.

Not indifference.

But not control.

Just… him.

Still buried. Still cold.

But not gone.

———

The room is colder than his cell.

Not physically — but it feels colder. Like something was scraped clean too many times. Like warmth doesn’t belong here.

You sit on a metal chair. No restraints this time — that’s supposed to be a kindness, you think — but the table between you and the door is bolted to the floor. There’s a camera in the corner. Watching. Recording. Always.

Across from you sits Agent Kern.

Late forties. Clean-cut. Buttoned-up. The kind of man who smells like antiseptic and control. He’s not one of the guards who escorted you. He’s not muscle. He’s something worse.

A voice with authority.

He glances at a tablet. Then at you.

You keep your face blank.

“I’ve reviewed the footage,” he says, voice crisp. Clinical. “The Soldier did not become aggressive.”

You say nothing.

“He spoke to you.”

Still nothing.

He tilts his head, watching you with a kind of sterile curiosity. “Do you know how many personnel have attempted verbal contact with him over the last year?”

You do.

Because they told you.

And you saw the aftermaths.

Kern continues anyway. “Twenty-three. Nineteen are dead. Two were crippled. One remains comatose. The last… was transferred. Quietly.”

You swallow.

He smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “So you can understand our interest.”

You nod slightly. “Yes.”

“Good.” He taps something on the tablet. “Describe the interaction. From the moment you entered.”

You hesitate. Not long. But enough.

He notices.

“I sat,” you say quietly. “Same as before. He was watching me already.”

Kern doesn’t interrupt. He waits, stylus poised like he’s sketching your words into the tablet with each movement.

“I didn’t touch him. I didn’t speak right away. I just… waited.”

“And then?”

“I asked if he remembered me. From the day before.”

Kern taps the stylus once. “A violation of Contact Protocol One.”

You don’t flinch. “Yes.”

“But he didn’t react violently.”

“No.”

“Why do you think that is?”

You hesitate again. But this time, you answer.

“Because I didn’t treat him like a weapon.”

Kern blinks, expression unreadable. “Interesting.”

He writes that down. You shift in your seat, the metal groaning softly beneath you.

“I told him I could feel when he wasn’t angry. When he was tired,” you add. Quiet. Careful.

“And how did he respond?”

“He didn’t deny it.”

Kern leans back slightly. “He told you to leave.”

“No,” you say, voice firmer than you meant. “He said he didn’t know what he wanted.”

Kern’s eyes narrow. Not cruel. Just… focused. Like he’s trying to pin your soul under a microscope.

“You believe you’re making emotional progress.”

You say nothing.

He continues. “He remembers you. He hasn’t lashed out. He hasn’t shut down. That’s more than we’ve gotten in years. You’re aware of what that makes you.”

A tool.

A trigger.

A leash.

You meet his gaze. “It makes me useful.”

He smiles again. You hate that smile.

“Exactly.”

He taps the tablet again. “You’ll be sent back in tomorrow. Earlier this time. No medication. We want to see if the absence of suppressants alters your dynamic.”

You don’t move.

“Is that understood, Subject 09?”

You nod once. “Yes.”

“Good girl,” he says, already standing.

You clench your jaw. He doesn’t notice. Or maybe he does and just doesn’t care.

The door hisses open. Two guards step in.

Interview over.

———

You returned to your cell.

Your door slides open with its usual hiss — but tonight, it sounds sharper. Like a blade.

You step inside and don’t bother pretending. Not this time.

The moment it shuts behind you, your back hits the cold metal wall and you sink to the floor. The breath you’ve been holding since the interview comes out in one ragged exhale. Your knees draw up to your chest. Arms wrap tight around them. And for a second — just one — you let yourself feel everything.

Because there’s no one watching now.

Probably.

The cameras hum in the corners, but they don’t care if you break. They don’t care if you fall apart, as long as you’re whole enough to be put back together before morning.

Your fingers shake again. Not from fear. Not entirely.

It’s the feeling. The weight. The constant, crushing hum of emotions that don’t belong to you, pressing under your skin like trapped lightning.

You feel too much.

You always have.

It’s what made you a target. What made you a test subject. What made you useful.

Useful.

You choke on the word.

They don’t see you. Not really. You’re not a girl. Not a person. You’re a pressure valve. A chemical bond. An emotional sedative wrapped in skin. All they want is to know if you can keep him calm — if you can hold the leash without being bitten.

But you’re not a leash.

You’re not.

…Are you?

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes until your vision sparks white. You want to scream. To claw at the walls. To tear the shift from your body and burn it. But you don’t.

Because if you scream, someone might come.

And you’re not sure what would be worse — the punishment, or the fact that no one might come at all.

So instead… you whisper to the walls.

Your voice is hoarse. Quiet. But not empty.

“I don’t want to be useful.”

The words taste strange in your mouth. Unpracticed. Dangerous. Like you’re admitting something that was supposed to stay buried.

“I just want to be me again. Whoever that was.”

Silence answers you.

But your eyes drift to the wall behind you. Cold steel. Same as always. But you let your fingers rest on it — just for a second — as if you could feel through it. As if, somewhere on the other side, he’s there. Sitting in his corner. Watching the dark. Remembering you.

You wonder if he’s thinking.

If he’s feeling.

You wonder if he wants to.

A shiver runs through you, not from cold — from the sheer wrongness of this place, the things it turns you into just to survive. You press your forehead against the wall.

“Please don’t forget me,” you whisper.

Not because you’re afraid to disappear.

But because the more he remembers you…

…the more you remember you, too.

———

The guards don’t speak this time.

You almost prefer it that way. Silence is easier than pretending.

But there’s something off today. You feel it the moment you step into the hallway — the air heavier, tighter. Like the walls are listening harder. Like the building itself is holding its breath.

They didn’t give you the suppressant injection.

You noticed right away.

Your nerves are louder. Your power hums closer to the surface, like it’s tasting everything around you — the quiet fear from the new guard on your left, the sharp tension from the veteran on your right. You try to tamp it down, but it flickers regardless. Restless. Alive.

The door hisses open.

And he’s already watching you.

Same corner. Same chains. Same silence. But this time, the moment you step into the room, your skin prickles.

He feels… closer.

No one moves. No one speaks. The door seals shut behind you.

And then — slowly — you walk.

Every step is deliberate. You can feel his eyes on you, not just looking, but registering. Studying you like a puzzle someone threw against a wall and told him to rebuild with bloody hands.

You stop in front of him.

His shoulders are tense. Posture tight. But he isn’t recoiling. He’s not resisting either.

You kneel again, the concrete familiar under your knees now.

“I didn’t get the shot,” you whisper.

His brow barely twitches — the subtlest sign he’s listening. But you feel the flicker of something through him. Uncertainty. Caution.

“And now everything’s louder.”

You don’t mean your voice. He knows that.

“I can feel more of you,” you add, quiet. “Not the programming. Not the violence. Just… you.”

It feels like telling a secret. One you’re not supposed to know.

And still — he doesn’t speak.

But something shifts. You feel it before you see it. The weight inside him — that tangle of pain and silence — it stretches. Brushes up against your power like two ghosts testing the same room.

Your breath catches.

Because for the first time, he feels you back.

Not just your presence. Not just your voice.

You.

Your grief. Your loneliness. Your ache to be seen. It leaks through in threads — not enough to overwhelm, just enough to whisper. You don’t mean to let it out. But you’re raw. Wide open. And the moment your energy brushes against his mind, something inside him slows.

Not calm. Not peace. But stillness. Real stillness.

His head tilts slightly.

Like he doesn’t understand what he’s feeling. Like it doesn’t belong to him. And maybe it doesn’t. Not entirely. But you sit with it anyway. Breathing slow. Letting him adjust to the noise of another soul in the room.

Minutes pass.

Then — his voice. Rough. Like gravel scraping through silence. “You’re… different.”

You blink. Stare at him. Your throat tightens. “So are you,” you whisper.

Something flickers in his expression. Not emotion — not quite. But awareness. Like he knows what he just did. Like he knows it matters.

Your fingers twitch in your lap. You want to reach out. But you don’t.

Instead, you say the one thing you’ve never had the chance to say out loud — not to anyone in this place, not even yourself.

“I don’t want to be their weapon.”

His jaw tightens. You don’t expect an answer. But after a long moment, you hear him exhale.

Slow. Heavy. Almost human.

You sit with the echo of his words.

You’re different.

They’re not some words he’s spoken — they’re intentional. They’re not a reaction. Not a command. They’re his. Chosen. Given.

It feels like a fragile thing, sitting in the space between you. Not quite trust. Not yet. But maybe something like recognition. Like the first bloom of something trying to grow in soil that’s only ever known blood and control.

You lower your gaze to your hands, folding them in your lap. They’re still trembling slightly, but not from fear this time.

“You said ‘don’t’ the first time I tried to touch you,” you say softly, voice barely above a breath. “Not because you were angry. Not because I scared you.”

You look up at him again.

“You said it like someone who didn’t want to be felt.”

His eyes darken, but not cruelly. Not coldly. Just… deeper. More guarded.

“I get it,” you say, quieter now. “I wouldn’t want someone inside my head either.”

He doesn’t respond, but you feel it again — that shift. That pause. Like your words are brushing up against something sharp inside him, and he doesn’t know if he wants to pull away or lean into the pain.

“I try not to,” you add. “Feel too much. It’s hard, though. Sometimes it’s like standing in a storm with no shelter. Everyone else gets umbrellas, and I’m just there — skin to the sky.”

You don’t know why you’re telling him this. Maybe because no one’s ever let you. Maybe because he’s the only one in this place who looks at you like you’re not some experiment in a dress.

Or maybe it’s because he hasn’t looked away once.

You take a shaky breath.

“I don’t know if you feel anything. Not really. I know they rewired things in your head. I can feel the static where your thoughts should be. But there’s still… something there.”

Your power hums again, subtle, just beneath the surface. You’re not reaching for him — not directly. But your emotions leak regardless, and you know he can feel it too now. The raw edge of your hope. The dull throb of loneliness that never really leaves you. The exhausted ache of wanting something real in a place that’s never allowed it.

“I’m not trying to break you,” you whisper. “I just want to know if there’s still a person under all of it.”

His metal fingers twitch. It’s small — barely more than a flicker of movement — but you see it. You feel it. And when you lift your gaze again, his expression has changed.

It’s not soft. Nothing about him is soft.

But it’s not empty anymore either.

There’s something there. Flickering. Tense. Alive.

“You don’t talk to anyone else, do you?” you ask, quieter now. “Just me.”

He doesn’t nod. Doesn’t speak.

But his silence says enough.

Your throat tightens.

“I think that’s why they keep sending me back.”

He looks away for the first time. Not because he’s retreating — it doesn’t feel like that. It feels more like… shame. Like he doesn’t want to be seen in this moment. Not even by you.

And still — you stay.

You don’t try to move closer. You don’t beg him to meet your eyes again. You just sit there, grounded in your own stillness, and offer him the only thing you have left.

Time.

The silence lingers.

It’s not heavy, not hostile. It’s a watching kind of quiet. Like something is beginning to shift in the spaces between breath and heartbeat, like the air has thickened with something unspoken and uncertain.

He turns back toward you.

His head tilts, just slightly. You can feel his gaze press into you, not cold or clinical — just curious. Quietly human.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

His voice is rough but it’s gentle, too, in a way that surprises you. Not a demand. Not a test. Just a question. A real one.

Your breath catches. No one’s asked you that in… you don’t know how long. Not since they took it from you. Scrubbed it out of your mind like it didn’t matter. Like you didn’t matter.

“I… I don’t remember,” you say, and the words sting more than you expect. “They— I think I had one… But now it’s just… gone.”

You don’t realize your fingers are curling into the fabric of your shift until you feel your nails pressing into your palms. Your voice lowers.

“I forget everything, sometimes. Not just my name. Whole days. Faces. Sounds. Like I blink and pieces of me disappear.”

A beat of silence.

And then — he nods.

He doesn’t offer false comfort. Doesn’t pretend it’s okay. But he listens. He hears you. His eyes linger a second longer than they did before.

And something subtle shifts in his expression — just enough for you to catch it. The faintest crease of thought. A flicker of something almost… protective. Like he’s already started turning the idea of you over in his mind. Not as a weapon. Not as a tool. But as a person. As someone who needs a name now. Someone he needs to remember.

A soft one.

Small.

Fragile.

Like a dove. Little dove.

He’s thinking it.

He doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s the way you move — careful, quiet, a ghost in bare feet. Maybe it’s the way you look at him without fear. Maybe it’s because in all this silence and blood and concrete, you’re the only living thing that doesn’t flinch when he breathes.

He doesn’t say it out loud.

But it’s there now. A name. His name for you.

And you don’t even know it yet.

—

Behind reinforced glass, above the cell like a god in a cage — one of the guards — Agent Voss watches the live cameras footage in silence.

He doesn’t blink.

The screen before him flickers with muted color — cold concrete, dull light, two figures seated on the floor like ghosts caught in a snowfall. The Winter Soldier is motionless, as always. But his eyes tell a different story.

They linger.

They watch.

Not with disinterest. Not with mindless submission.

With intent.

Voss leans back in his chair, arms crossed, a fresh page of notes untouched on the desk beside him. His sharp eyes flick between monitors, cataloging every shift in posture, every microscopic glance. He zooms in. Watches your lips move. No audio in this room — only the feed. Hydra didn’t want unnecessary noise interfering with judgment.

But Voss doesn’t need sound to understand what’s changing.

You’re close again. Closer this time. His body is still, but engaged. No tension in the shoulders. No signs of impending violence. And when you lower your head slightly — defeated, perhaps — he doesn’t look away.

That’s new.

“Unscheduled bonding,” he murmurs.

He picks up a pen, jots it down:

Soldier maintains eye contact. No evident resistance. Psychological tether forming.

He taps the screen with the back of the pen, right where your face is frozen.

Always the same posture. Always kneeling.

But he notices something else this time.

Interesting.

“She’s adapting faster than projected,” he says aloud, mostly to himself. “Emotionally reactive. Possibly empathic imprinting.” Another pause. “Still obedient, though. Still compliant. Kern will be pleased.”

He doesn’t say it, but it’s there between the lines:

Useful.

One of the guards near the back shifts uncomfortably. “You think it’s working?”

Voss doesn’t turn around.

“I think he’s starting to recognize her as other. Not target. Not threat. That’s the first fracture. From there… he might begin to protect.”

The guard frowns. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Of course it’s dangerous.” Voss finally looks away from the screen, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “But everything worthwhile is.”

He clicks the comms unit off.

“Schedule another session,” he says, already walking toward the door. “Give them twelve hours to reset.”

“And the girl?”

Voss pauses, glancing back at the monitor one last time. “She won’t break,” he says simply. “Not yet.”

He leaves without waiting for an answer.

—

Session ends. They drag you out. Back to your cell. The door hisses shut behind you with a mechanical sigh.

Same concrete. Same flickering light. Same walls that know more about you than you do.

But something’s different now.

You stand in the middle of your cell, barely breathing. Every inch of your body aches — not from injury, not from any visible wound — but from the kind of exhaustion that settles in the bones. The kind that crawls under your skin and wraps around your heart like a vice.

You feel everything.

Too much.

You should be used to it by now. The cold. The silence. The forced calm you’ve taught yourself to wear like armor. But tonight, it’s heavy. Suffocating.

You sink to the floor slowly, knees folding beneath you, your arms wrapping tight around your ribs like they might keep you from falling apart.

Your fingers twitch.

There’s a residual hum in your veins — leftover emotion that doesn’t belong to you. It clings to your skin like smoke: the Soldier’s weight, his silence, his eyes on you.

You felt him today.

Not just his pain. Not just his loneliness. But the way he looked at you. Not like a stranger. Not like an object. But like something familiar.

And it rattled you.

It still does.

You press your forehead to your knees and squeeze your eyes shut, willing the feeling away. You’re not supposed to care. You’re not supposed to let him reach you like this. That’s not what Hydra trained you for.

You were meant to calm him. Soften him. Be useful.

Not… curious.

Not afraid.

Not seen.

Your breath catches in your throat.

The worst part is — you’re not even sure if it’s you anymore. These feelings, this softness… is it yours? Or is it something you’re absorbing from him? Did Hydra put this in you when they put you in his room?

Did they make you feel this way on purpose?

Your fists curl in the fabric of your shift. It’s thin. You’re always cold. And no matter how long you sit here, how still you stay, it never feels like you belong to yourself.

You remember what he asked. The way his voice sounded—rough, uncertain.

“Your name.”

But you didn’t have one.

You still don’t.

And now, as the silence wraps around you again, you realize how badly you want one. Something to hold onto. Something that’s yours. Not a number. Not a protocol.

Just… something real.

You lean back against the wall, tilting your head to stare at the flickering light overhead. Your throat feels tight.

You wonder if he’s thinking about you.

You wonder if Hydra saw it. If they noticed the way he looked at you like a question he didn’t know how to ask.

You wonder what they’ll do if they did.

You close your eyes.

And for the first time since this nightmare began, you don’t try to forget him.

You try to remember him. Even if it hurts.

———

The door seals shut behind you with the same brutal finality.

But this time, you don’t freeze.

You walk.

Slower than before. More careful. But not afraid.

You don’t know what’s changed. You’re still in the same white shift. Still barefoot. Still a numbered tool in Hydra’s eyes. But something is different. Something in the air. In the way he’s already watching you from his corner like he’s been waiting.

Not out of duty. Not out of protocol.

Out of something else.

You don’t speak. You just lower yourself onto the cold floor again, knees screaming from too many hours on concrete, but you don’t let it show. You fold your hands in your lap and meet his gaze.

His eyes stay on you. Calm. Dark. Almost… alert.

You breathe in, slow. Let your nerves settle. “I wasn’t sure you’d still be here,” you whisper.

It’s a stupid thing to say. Of course he’s here. Of course he hasn’t moved. The shackles wouldn’t let him if he tried.

But you say it anyway.

He blinks. One slow movement.

“Where else would I be?” His voice is low — like a drum buried deep in the earth. It rumbles more than it speaks.

You shrug, just a little.

“I don’t know. Thought maybe they’d… move you. Or maybe they’d decide to end our sessions.”

He doesn’t answer.

You lean back slightly, shifting your weight off your knees. The chill of the floor soaks through your skin, but you don’t care. You’re tired. You’re always tired.

You watch his face. Still unreadable. Still stone. But there’s something just beneath it now — a flicker, a twitch of thought behind the eyes. He’s listening.

“They’re watching,” you murmur. “They’re probably expecting me to reach for your hand again. Or… say something sweet. Something useful.”

His jaw tightens.

“They want to see if I can control you.”

Silence. A beat. Then his voice again — quieter this time.

“Can you?”

Your lips twitch — not a smile, exactly. Just a break in the stillness.

“No,” you say simply. “I think they’re hoping you think I can.”

You glance down, fingers ghosting over the floor between you.

“I don’t know what they’re doing to you,” you say softly. “But whatever it is… it isn’t who you are. I can feel that much.”

His breath hitches. It’s small. Barely there. But you feel it. That same emotional current humming underneath his silence — low and bruised and buried under years of reprogramming.

Pain. Loneliness.

But this time — confusion, too.

Like he doesn’t know why he wants to believe you.

You don’t reach for him. You don’t touch him. You just sit there with him, sharing the cold. The silence.

And then — his voice again. Low. Almost a breath. Like it wasn’t meant to be said aloud.

“You can’t know that, little dove.”

Your head lifts slowly.

“What?” you ask, not quite sure you heard him right.

But he doesn’t repeat it. Doesn’t clarify. He just looks at you with that same unreadable gaze, as if surprised by himself. As if he hadn’t meant to speak at all.

A flicker passes behind his eyes. Regret? Confusion? You can’t tell.

You blink, throat tightening.

He doesn’t call you anything else.

Doesn’t say another word.

But the silence that follows feels different now. Heavier. Like something new has entered the room — not just a nickname, not really. More like a thought given shape. An instinct he didn’t fully understand. A name he gave without knowing he was naming anything at all.

Your heart beats faster. You don’t ask again. You don’t break the moment.

You just let it settle there between you — the weight of it, the meaning of it, the why of it. You don’t know what it means to him yet.

But you know what it means to you. You’re not a ghost to him anymore.

You’re something else now.

Something he sees.

And you have a name.

Next Chapter

[jontheredrc]

Well, it's about that time again...and I think I want to use some of this winter to work on other endeavors. If work is going to be so sparse, maybe I can put that extra energy into music composition...it's certainly been awhile, but I've been feeling close to inspiration lately. I mostly just hate all the setup that goes into music making...I might even change programs and work in MIDI just to skip steps in terms of fussing with the sounds of the instruments. That, and sometimes I'll have an idea, but by the time I can punch it into a program, I'll have lost the tune I was going for. It's difficult, but it'd be easier if I had a piano on which to bang out the tunes. Then I'd be able to remember them that way, and even get a leg up on knowing what notes they aare.

Anyway, have a great day, everyone! Love you! I dunno what my ex-roommate is planning. I know they wanted me to come to their house this week since I've got the next four days off. But they only mentioned it once, so...if it doesn't happen, I'll be all the more available for you folks! 👋💕

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The list of products Automax tools sell are:-

V2200 plus :

The V2200Plus is a 2-in-1  jump pack and battery tester that takes on the unexpected. Offering up to 35 jumps on a full charge, smart clamps to protect against common safety hazards, and features a 300-lumen LED light. A built-in Bluetooth module supports 12V battery tests by pairing an app with Bluetooth. The V2200Plus is a 2-in-1  jump pack and battery tester that takes on the unexpected. Offering up to 35 jumps on a full charge, smart clamps to protect against common safety hazards, and features a 300-lumen LED light. A built-in Bluetooth module supports 12V battery tests by pairing an app with Bluetooth. 

JS3000 :

The JumpSurge3000 is a 3000 Peak Amp jumpstarting tool and power bank for vehicles on and off the road. This device supports vehicles with 12V batteries on up to 9L gas engines and 7L Diesel engines. Capable of 45 jump starts on a single charge, the JumpSurge3000 is a robust and powerful tool capable of bringing a battery “back to life” in only 1 second. It's multiple protection systems and fast charging capability keep you ready for anything, no matter where you go or what you drive.

GScan Zenith Z5:

Introducing our first automotive diagnostic scan tool in the Z series.

Combined with our vast diagnostics software and the world's best industrial tablet, Z5 will give you diagnostic confidence.

Tornado 90000:

The Tornado90000 is TOPDON's newest cutting-edge smart charger, made for professional and commercial users. This device is suitable for all types of 12V and 24V lead-acid and lithium batteries, with a wide battery capacity range from 5 to 90 amps.

Jaltest V9:

Jaltest V9 is the module of Jaltest Diagnostics multi-brand and multi-system diagnostics tool designed to meet the most demanding workshop needs. It enables carrying out the most advanced diagnostics tasks for the repair and maintenance of commercial vehicles such as trucks, buses, trailers, light commercial vehicles, and pick-up trucks.

BT200:

TOPDON’s BT200 is an automotive battery tester perfect for new users, with easy plug-and-play operation, and an accurate display of test results. The tests will help users assess whether the battery needs to be replaced.

The tool is suitable for battery testing 12V with up to 2000 Cold Cranking Amps (CCA), cranking testing, and charging testing 12V&24V batteries. It can test Regular Flooded, AGM, GEL, EFB, and VRLA batteries. Test results are based on CCA, DIN, JIS, EN, IEC, GB, SAE, MCA, BCI, and CA Standards.

BT300:

TOPDON®’s BT300P is our newest 12V lead-acid vehicle battery tester with a Built-in Printer. It can test 100 to 2000 Cold Cranking Amps (CCA) batteries

BT600:

BT600 is TOPDON’s newest advanced battery tester for 12V vehicles. With a 3.5-inch color screen and a built-in thermal printer, this tool offers the ultimate solution for accurate, fast, and convenient testing. It allows you to easily view the battery's condition and print test reports in real time.  The BT600 adopts cutting-edge conductivity testing technology and includes reverse polarity protection to prevent improper connections. This multifunctional tool can measure the actual Cold Cranking Ampere capacity of the car’s battery, and its state of health, and quickly analyze the starter and charging systems.

TC001:

TOPDON’s TC001 is a portable camera that turns your Android smartphone/tablet or Windows laptop into a powerful thermal imager. Simply download the accompanying app, slot the TC001 in your device’s USB-C port, and unleash thermal technology that formally only belonged to special forces.

Perfect for home inspectors, HVAC technicians, electricians, automotive technicians, and even farmers looking to protect crops and livestock.

TB4000:

The Tornado4000’s smart technology matches the power output to the battery’s needs for safer repair and minimizes unnecessary energy consumption. With this, you can improve the performance and longevity of your batteries. With intelligent microprocessors, this product will charge two times faster than standard chargers, so you can offer timely and efficient services.

TB8000:

The Tornado4000’s smart technology matches the power output to the battery’s needs for safer repair and minimizes unnecessary energy consumption. With this, you can improve the performance and longevity of your batteries. With intelligent microprocessors, this product will charge two times faster than standard chargers so that you can offer timely and efficient services.

For any Queries contact the mentioned number and website:-

+91 92053 23885

+91 99580 57547

Watch Our Videos for More Details:

Automax Tools India YouTube

Topdon India YouTube

Available at Automax Tools India – Trusted by professionals nationwide!

For more details visit: www.automaxtools.co.in

[eobdtooluk-blog]

Lonsdor K518 Pro/K518 Series Update TOYOTA IMMO Models

Lonsdor K518 Pro/K518 Series updated TOYOTA immobilizer programming via OBD on Nov.20th, 2023.

Function:

Support add new key and all keys lost via OBD for TOYOTA

Require password from the 3rd-party

Free for new K518 Pro

Need annual subscription for K518ISE/K518S key programmer

Lonsdor K518ISE First Year/ Second Year/ Third Year Update Subscription

Lonsdor K518S First Year/ Second Year/ Third Year/ Lifetime Update Subscription

Support TOYOTA Models:

RUSH\2020-\Smart key

VELOZ\2022-\Smart key

4Runner\2021-\Smart key

4Runner\2021-\Mechanical key

Camry\2021-\Mechanical key

C-HR\2021-\Mechanical key

COROLLA CROSS\2023\Smart key

COROLLA CROSS\2023\Mechanical key

Corolla HV\2023\Smart key

Corolla HV\2023\Mechanical key

Corolla\2023\Smart key

Corolla\2023\Mechanical key

Hiace\2020\Mechanical key

Hiace\2021-\Mechanical key

Hilux\2020-\Smart key

Hilux\2020-\Mechanical key

Prius\2023\Smart key

Rav4\2019-2023\Mechanical key

Sequoia\2020-\Smart key

Tundra\2020-2021\Smart key

86\2017-2020\Mechanical key

86\2017-2020\Smart key

[alfedena]

It pains me the way leftism in the US is framed as “the government is spending all their money on the military when they should be funding welfare for us :(” When in reality like maybe we shouldn’t be funding the military because it is responsible for the murder of millions worldwide and it is one of the key tools in maintaining US hegemony? It completely overlooks the fact the economic success of the US is dependent on extracting wealth from other countries and doing so through violence. Government funded programs and public infrastructure exist in any capacity thanks to the fact that the American government and all American industries (at this point in time) have amassed enormous amounts of capital off of the labor and resources of imperialized and colonized nations. This type of response to imperialism leaves the central problem of imperialism entirely unaddressed, instead focusing those who benefit from living in the imperial core. Like yes privatization in the US is especially severe amongst Western nations but… your life is possible thanks to the exploitation of people in the Global South. American leftism is just entirely lacking in internationalism. We must reject such nationalistic conclusions and impress the needs of the global working class.

[colebabey888]

Why being delusional is the best solution | IT GIRL DIARIES

"being delulu is the solulu" - a pretty bitch

In today's world, being labeled delusional may often be seen as a negative insult, usually implying someone is out of touch with reality, which isn't wrong i mean.. ,but what if i told you embracing a form of delusion could actually be a powerful tool for manifesting your goals and changing your life?

Being delusional, in a positive sense, means creating a new belief or fantasy in your mind and living as if that is your reality. Over the years, I’ve realized that this type of thinking—where you treat the fantasy you create as your true reality—can lead to life-changing transformation.

View life as a game—one where you can choose who you want to be, like changing a character in a video game. I was fat and I didn't like that so, I decided to see myself as a "skinny girl" and live out that reality. I programmed my mind to believe this new identity, and my actions followed. The mind drives our actions; once I embraced my new self-image, my choices and behaviors naturally aligned with it. Eventually, I lost the weight, and that once “delusional” thought became my reality.

The key is to truly believe in the version of yourself that you want to become. By continuously reinforcing that belief, your mind will start sending signals that influence your actions to match this new identity. Whether you aspire to be wealthy, successful, or fit, the process remains the same. Create the fantasy, immerse yourself in it, and allow it to guide your actions until it becomes your truth.

So yes, being delusional is the solution. It’s about harnessing the power of your mind to reprogram your reality. By deluding yourself into the person you want to be, your actions will start molding you into that person, whether it’s the fit version of yourself, the wealthy version, or whatever else you desire. When used intentionally, delusion isn’t madness—it’s manifestation.

mwah! xoxo, colebabey8.88

www.investingforbeginners/gumroad.com